Don't miss out on your chance to own a copy of the story that has captivated the hearts and coinpurses of Tamriel! True Crime turned True Love:
The "tail" of Khajiit Dragonborn Rijaan-Djo (ri-HAN-jo), murderer of Emperor Titus Meade II, and his loyal companion, Cicero, Jester-Assassin of Cyrodiil.
Life is cruel in Skyrim, especially for outsiders, and a kind gesture can go a long way. As told through the legal proceedings of Penitus Oculatus vs Rijaan-Djo, our hero's journey unfolds. Throughout his trials he finds sanctuary not only in the Dark Brotherhood, but in the care of the Keeper - the only jester in Tamriel.
"When I met them I thought they were freaks, but I guess they're just freaky." - Belethor of Whiterun.
"They were in love from the beginning. I was there, please do trust that I could tell." - Anonymous
"Those assassins were a'smashin fosho." - Sam Guevenne
Note:
This is an epistolary style story, told as a series of journal entries, letters, and other documents. It includes a lot of fantasy legal-adjacent jargon, and will change in "seriousness" often. The story has many narrators, all with their own writing styles and motivations. They are not always telling the whole truth, including to themselves.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER TWENTY
(Vigilant's letter)
To Sister Velyra, on the Eighteenth of Morning Star, in the Fourth Era, year Two-Hundred and Two
You are never going to believe me.
Those two, the Khajiit and the jester, I have seen them again with my own two eyes. Not only this, but I have spoken with them! My dear, I dined with them last night at the very sanctuary I have sought refuge! I know you were ever so worried for my wellbeing at this pit of ungodliness, but how generously have I been rewarded for my bravery!
What a terrific fright they gave me when they arrived yesterday. I was sure I was dreaming, and of course you can assume, sweet Velyra, that it would not be the first time they visited my dreams. However, this time they truly were there in the flesh. I dropped the basketfull of nightshade I had just gathered, and I felt the pair’s watchful eyes on me when I picked them back up. They did not recognize me thankfully, so for most of the night I had the advantage of blending into the background. That is, at least, whenever I wasn't knocking something over in my anxious state.
The Khajiit was just as I remembered: quiet, brooding, and soft-spoken, with the most dangerously intelligent eyes. The jester, however, seemed as if he were abstaining from speaking altogether so as to not unleash a dreadful secret. He had not looked so serious when I saw him last! Nazir spoke to the Khajiit about the letter and I realized with no small measure of shock that he was the Dragonborn we had been speaking of for the past few days. Yes, truly. I am sure by now you believe yourself wiser than these tales I have for you, but I pray one day to show you these two men in person, and say that I have been truthful and correct this entire time.
We dined in relative silence after the commotion of their arrival, feasting on a nutritious meal of rabbit haunch, grilled leek, and baked potatoes. The leek and potatoes were my addition, but Nazir did truly craft a wonderful haunch over the fireplace. He made a point to instruct me on the process, and I let him. Although I am afraid he may be “barking up the wrong tree” as it is said, he is a gentleman, and not too terrible of company. However he gave no information on the mysterious pair besides their titles, and seemed confused when I suggested they were an item.
I asked the child vampire, and she seemed a bit more receptive. “I wouldn't be surprised, they're weird around each other,” she said before adding, “but they're weird by themselves too.” I asked if they could be in love and she laughed. “I don't think either of them knows what love is.” Despite her horrific affliction, I do believe her to possess a wisdom far beyond her physical years. However, I still insist that the tenderness I have witnessed between them is much more than just an opportunistic romp.
Despite their solemn countenance, the Khajiit and jester exchanged many glances over dinner that I felt were surely quite meaningful, and I am almost entirely sure I saw them holding hands later in the evening. Everyone had parted for the night, and I heard them whispering to each other in one of the side rooms. I passed through under the guise of organizing, and they both jumped at the sight of me. Their hands, which bridged the gap between them, were suddenly torn away and hidden in pockets or behind their back. The Khajiit gave me such a stern glare that I nearly swooned.
They slept in separate bedrooms, which I'm sure was equally unfortunate for all three of us. Then in the morning they readied two horses and left again. Unfortunately, that is all I know at this time, but if they are fellow members of this death cult, I will certainly see them again. Sweet Velyra, how I wish you were here with me. I believe this sanctuary gives us far better chances at survival than being on the road and roving with bandits. I know you said you found refuge with that farmer boy in the Reach, but I doubt he can protect you the way I could, and it makes me rather jealous to think he gets you all to himself. Perhaps you could bring him along, if he is as skillful as you claim. I can vet him easily.
With a bushel of the ripest, most choice morsels of my undying adoration,
M
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
The horn is gone. This one hates thieves. They make everything more complicated than it should be. None of this is worth the diversion of Rijaan-Djo's attention. Not when there are other things to be focused on. He is exhausted. He is done.
This one should have never gone beyond the contract the Night Mother had given him. He is Listener, not Dragonborn. Sithis is his teacher, not some man hidden away on a mountain, who won't even show his face. He has allowed enough of this, and now he is through. There is nothing this one wants more than to have a moment to breathe. A moment alone. With Cicero.
We are camping now and will return home tomorrow. Rijaan-Djo is too upset to speak with his family tonight. To explain to them that he is giving up the whole “Dragonborn” thing entirely. It is times like these that remind this one how necessary Cicero’s care is. Cicero is able to say much from very little, but it is also nice when he uses many words to say nothing at all. Nothing except “We are safe.”
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal untitled entry)
This one had a nightmare.
Safe. In the tent. With Cicero in my arms. Rijaan-Djo woke up in the night sky. Nothing but wind under Rijaan-Djo's feet, and the stars winking at this one like they knew a secret. Rijaan-Djo was still holding Cicero. He was sleeping soundly. Sweetly. He did not feel as heavy as he should, but this one held him tight just in case. His hair kept getting caught by the wind. This one brushed it out of his face.
Then Rijaan-Djo saw her.
A figure in the stars, cloaked and darker than night. She came to us with her arms spread wide. This one did not recognize her until she spoke.
“My child,” she said. “My sweet child.”
It was her. The Night Mother. Alive. Young. Smiling. She looked at Cicero and Rijaan-Djo drew him nearer. Kept him away.
“The sons of the final sons.”
She removed the cloak from her shoulders and wrapped it around us. It glittered and winked like it was full of stars, and the lining shone like the moon. She brought her arms around us both and whispered in this one's ear.
“Do not be afraid. You will be a family again.”
And she was gone. We were alone again in the sky. Rijaan-Djo watched Cicero’s face, wishing to understand. His beautiful ruby hair crept into the cloak like mycelium. Turned to blood. Soaked the tapestried fabric. Made it heavy and thick.
“Wake up,” this one said.
Cicero opened his eyes and smiled sleepily.
“What is happening?” Rijaan-Djo asked. The blood soaked shawl grew thicker, heavier. It became a new material. Leather. It unfurled and spread out, catching the light from the moon. Catching the wind. They were dragon wings.
Cicero whispered, “Happy Birthday.”
Then Rijaan-Djo woke up. Back in the tent. Cicero was still in his arms. Still asleep. Everything was okay. But this one feels like nothing is.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER NINETEEN
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
This one finds it difficult to conjure words describing what has occurred, but he wants to remember and will try his best. Going to bed last night had left Rijaan-Djo with so much worry. Worry that he was messing everything up again. There were so many nerves bundled up around getting close to Cicero again. As close as we had been. As close as we wanted to be. And in the morning, the little Keeper was still so quiet. So serious. It turned this one's stomach.
But on the road, he started again. It made Rijaan-Djo happy to hear him sing, to hear him make himself laugh. It was birdsong in a desert. A promise of life. Oasis. Home. Rijaan-Djo drank it gratefully. And when he asked Rijaan-Djo to join, this one tried his best. The words were not so hard to find.
Sad old men with voices rough
Taught Rijaan-Djo just enough
With one big shout, a forward slide
He pushed them off the mountainside
And Cicero laughed. Said it was perfect. That he wished it were true. Detailed the ways he wanted to kill them, if Rijaan-Djo had only asked him to. He is so beautiful when he’s bloodthirsty. This one feels so much love in his heart for Cicero that it threatens to come out every time he speaks. Every time he laughs.
“You’re getting so good at that!” Cicero trilled, and gave a swift and confusing dance to punctuate his joy. This one did not see how his legs moved in such a way.
“What was that?”
The Keeper brought worried eyes to Rijaan-Djo's. “Sorry. Was that weird of Cicero to do?”
“No!” What a foolish thought, that he had been too strange. “This one has just never seen it. You will do it again.” Cicero gave a timid laugh. Said he wasn't sure if he could. Tried anyhow. He hopped in one spot for a second, his arms poised behind his back. Then this one saw him pull one foot back, then push it forward, and then swap it with the other. And again. And one foot switched in a way that didn't look possible. Then he was facing the other way, then back around, always on the unexpected foot. It was dizzying. Like a magic trick. Cicero slowed and returned both feet to the ground. He looked ashamed.
“I know it's… different,” he said, “I try not to do that one when people are watching.”
“It is amazing.” This one's blood boiled seeing Cicero frown. Hearing him say, “Not everyone thinks so.”
“It is impressive. Rijaan-Djo could not do that if he tried.”
“Oh. Cicero could teach you.”
That was not what Rijaan-Djo meant. “Ah, no no. You cannot get this one to dance. Especially not whatever that was.”
Cicero got close, his palms open wide with excitement, looking for a place to hold Rijaan-Djo. To make sure Rijaan-Djo could not run away. “We can start small,” he said, “Just a little dance!” This one can sometimes have such a big mouth. It was a shock when fingers met waist. When Rijaan-Djo felt Cicero grab onto him.
“Oh no,” this one said. “Please don't do that.” The Keeper's giggle ripped through Rijaan-Djo.
“Why not?” He asked. “Do you think you would embarrass yourself?”
“Yes.”
This one hoped that would be answer enough, that Cicero would understand. But he felt a hand find one of his own. An arm weave further around his waist.
“Alright… well, so what if you do? We’re alone.”
It was too much. Rijaan-Djo had been trying not to look at Cicero, but now he sought refuge in sweet, dark eyes. In a wily smile. Then he felt Cicero move him. Try and walk him across the ground. He was still trying to dance with Rijaan-Djo. That upset this one. Did Cicero really not know his own double-speak? Not know what he was doing to poor Rijaan-Djo? Or was this all a part of it? Was he flirting?
Was Cicero teasing Rijaan-Djo?
This one brought a hand to Cicero's face and felt him melt into it. Heard Cicero’s surprise as it encroached his hairline and reached the back of his head. Drank in the lustful gasp he gave as Rijaan-Djo balled it into a fist.
“What did Rijaan-Djo say?”
Cicero gave a triumphant smile, even as this one’s fist tugged at his hair. “Okay, maybe not this time. But soon.”
So arrogant. Rijaan-Djo pulled until the little fool's chin was held high. All the while, he squeaked and moaned under the grip. A glint of metal peeked out from his colorful hat. It was the moonstone circlet. “You are perfect,” Rijaan-Djo said, bringing a hungry mouth to the Keepers pretty neck. Felt it. Tasted it. The fire grew with each new sound that was drawn out of Cicero. So grateful. So eager. Rijaan-Djo also felt grateful. Eager. He explored Cicero’s jaw, collar, ear. Grabbed Cicero by the waist and felt slender hands claw at his back.
“Oh,” this one heard, “oh, Listener.”
This one pulled him as close as possible, but it was still not close enough. Instead, Rijaan-Djo pushed Cicero off the path, to a tree that was broad enough to keep him still. Sturdy enough to keep his knees from buckling. Cicero’s warm, dark eyes were wide with excitement, and his sly grin twisted with pleasure as Rijaan-Djo pressed as hard as he wanted to. Rijaan-Djo pulled Cicero’s legs apart and stole the territory for his own. Cicero reached for a kiss, and this one felt hot, ragged breath. Resonant groans. A desperate tongue. Pushed deeper and felt him harden against this one’s leg. Grinded against him.
Cicero sounded like a wild animal. It was music to this one’s ears. Rijaan-Djo could not have stopped if he wanted to. Not now. It was frustrating, knowing the Keeper could feel so much more than him. This one snuck a hand under his waistband. Released himself from the confinement of extra folds of skin and fur. Pushed again. It was unlike anything Rijaan-Djo has felt before. Raw and wild and desperate. And good. Better than anything else. Correct.
A leg wrapped around Rijaan-Djo. He happily filled the space it created. Rocked faster. Lost his mind at the Keeper’s noises. At the feeling of nails digging through his armor. At the growing wet where our bodies collided.
Cicero sounded like he was drowning when he cried, “Listener” again.
“No no.” This one was tired of titles. “What is this one’s name?”
Cicero let out a wicked laugh. “Rijaan-Djo!” He bucked against this one’s leg, gasping and writhing and squeezing. “Rijaan-Djo!” That name has never sounded so nice. So decadent. So beloved. It brought this one over the edge. There was no stopping the torrent of pleasure. Cicero must have felt it too. He clung tighter, clawed deeper, cried out with complete abandon. Then he came, as well.
We braced against each other. Struggled to find breath. To hold our bodies up with shaking legs. Cicero brought his arms around Rijaan-Djo's neck and sighed deeply. Drew this one into a tight hug.
“Oh, Rijaan-Djo,” he said, “I love you. I love you so much.” And he began to cry. And laugh. This one held him together as he melted. As he shivered and sighed and giggled. Told him Rijaan-Djo loved him too. Cicero said it again and again, and each time this one responded in turn. Though it was not necessary anymore, it still felt wonderful to say. Wonderful to hear. And since Rijaan-Djo had already given himself, there was no reason left for Cicero to say it. Other than because he meant it. Because it was true.
We did not think about our soiled clothes until they grew cold. Only then realized the mess we had made. Together we washed in the river. Spoke sweet words but did not dare touch until we were through. Our bodies and clothes needed to be clean for the trip. We scrubbed and hung up the sticky articles. Resigned ourselves without any complaint to setting up camp once more. Rijaan-Djo's heart aches to go too long without feeling him, so we have stayed together all evening. Cooing and brushing and promising for each other. Holding and being held. Loving and being loved.
There is no understanding why this one has been given this gift. Why he is allowed to feel such tenderness. Why he of all people has this beautiful, wonderful man. Rijaan-Djo is afraid to question how long he will have this. Afraid to let the question go either. This one prays it will be forever.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
The weather was better today than this one had hoped, and there were not quite enough bandits on the road. We arrived in Dawnstar quickly and without issue. Because of this, we are staying at the sanctuary tonight. It is nice to see Rijaan-Djo's brother and sister again, but it is strange to be back after such an eventful journey. Thankfully their biggest concern, besides the skeever Babette mangled and Nazir’s extremely clumsy new recruit, is Rijaan-Djo being Dragonborn. They are more excited than this one is. It still makes very little sense in this one’s mind, and he will be happy to get his meeting with the teacher over with.
It is extremely difficult for this one to wait. Rijaan-Djo wants this all to be over with so he can just relax and enjoy himself. A family’s watchful gaze can be oppressive, and Rijaan-Djo's room is torturously quiet. Once the horn is retrieved, we can be back on the road and one step closer to being free of all this.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
(Lydia’s journal)
15 MS 4E 202
By the Eight I’m going home! I don't know who or what I'm going to have to serve in the afterlife for this one, but I don't care! The Dragonborn pulled me aside when we got to Ivarstead, gave me a coin purse, and told me to go back to Dragonsreach. I laughed in his face.
“I would if I could,” I told him, “I contacted them when we were in Dawnstar, but they said tough luck. I'm your housecarl whether either of us like it or not.”
He thought for a moment, then asked what a housecarl does. I explained that since I was sworn to his service, my duty was to protect him and all he owned with my life.
“Including money? Houses?”
Duh, is what I wanted to say, but I just tried to confirm in the most respectful way I could muster. He nodded, then pulled out another coin purse. This one was huge, and heavy. He said it contained about seven thousand gold, and he plopped it into my hand.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“There is a home in Whiterun, yes? Buy it. Keep it maintained for when we return.”
“I'm just supposed to carry all this money on the road? I'll get robbed.”
“Buy a horse.”
I looked around us at the tiny village of Ivarstead and shrugged my shoulders. “Where?”
He sighed and produced another bag of coins. I wish I had known he had that on him this whole time, he could have bought my respect.
“Find someone with a horse,” he explained slowly, like I didn't understand, “and give them however much you need to. All horses have a price.”
“And the rest of the money?”
“Think of it as an allowance.”
Sure thing, boss. It seems he wanted me to leave as much as I did, so I did us all the favor and took off. It wasn't too hard to find a villager in need of some hefty coin, and the old mare isn't too bad. Stubborn, but smart. I don't think I'm going to dread their return to Whiterun, honestly. I heard the jester shouting some things to the Dragonborn last night that made my stomach turn, but at least now I know they're not just heartless bastards. Well, one of them’s a bastard, but he’s not heartless.
Currently my biggest worry is what I'm going to say to the Jarl. Gods, to Irileth. I don't even know if I want to look at her right now. Am I really nothing more to her than just another pawn? Whatever. I'll just keep my head high, purchase Breezehome on behalf of the Dragonborn, and hole myself up in one of the rooms for a week or two while I nurse my pride.
(Cicero’s journal)
15th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Well, Cicero feels rather useless. Yes, the trip was harrowing! But now that we’re here, at The Throat of the World… All there is to do is shout and learn. And that's all Rijaan-Djo! Poor Cicero’s been resigned to waiting and writing… At least Rijaan-Djo sent the mule back to Whiterun. The only thing worse than waiting alone would have been waiting with her! Yes, I know she can't help being an intrusion, but she could at least be more polite about it. Cicero knows her glares when he dances, when he sings. But it never bothered me before when people would stare! Hmm, I guess travelling with Rijaan-Djo spoiled poor Cicero…
The Listener admitted something a little… salacious today, while we were on our way up the mountain. Well, so did Cicero, but… Oh, I just feel like his confession was much more thrilling! We were so close to the temple! Nearly at the top! And thud went something big in the snow, big and white and angry! A frost troll…
Legendary as they may be, dragons have nothing on those! Normal trolls are so vicious that harvesting from them is really better left to the professionals, but a frost troll? I worried we had reached… the end of our journey. It barreled down the mountain at us like a lightning bolt! Angry and fast and strong and stinky!
“Cicero has a confession!” I shouted. I didn't want to die with too many lies… Ugh, and then I told him about the hole… The teeny tiny gigantic hole in the stone wall at the sanctuary. And he gave Cicero such a surprised look! I wanted to tell him I'd patched it up but the frost troll reached us! We fought desperately, and nearly lost the battle a few times, nearly lost our footing on the mountainside too… But we won! We lived! Cicero didn't have to confess. Oh, how embarrassing.
I started to sputter, to correct myself! The hole was gone! Cicero made sure of it! Felt terribly for it! But once Rijaan-Djo caught his breath, he started to laugh. “This one did not want to say, but he will since we are still alive. Rijaan-Djo, ah, peeked at you. When we were piecing together the blade. At the inn.”
I didn't understand what he meant. I asked him to clarify.
“This one did not understand why you acted embarrassed to see Rijaan-Djo out of his armor. Thought it wouldn't matter if he looked when it was your turn.”
He wiped a bit of blood from his forehead.
“This one was surprised by how he felt when he peeked. It was the first time Rijaan-Djo realized he could be attracted to you. This one is sorry for intruding on your privacy.”
Oh boy, I thought. “You watched Cicero change?”
“That is why Rijaan-Djo caused so much trouble after. He did not know what to do.”
“Trouble?” Oh, poor Cicero couldn't piece together this puzzle Rijaan-Djo had given him!
“When, uh…” The Listener looked nervous! Such a rare occasion! “When you were combing, and this one… It was surprising. Your breath. This one’s reaction to it. Rijaan-Djo was not mad at you, he was mad at himself.”
All Cicero could say was “Oh”! He was talking about when he rubbed against my lips. When he sprang up from the chair and looked so angry. Cicero had been right? That Rijaan-Djo was upset, not in spite of his own actions, but because of them? And it was because… he watched Cicero change? Oh, I knew I felt eyes on me! I knew I had heard him gasp as I turned back around. And when he got into bed! I knew he was so much more distant, more distracted than usual! I saw him flinch when I got under the blanket, but! Oh, I thought I was just making it up! Tricking myself, teasing myself!
I realized Rijaan-Djo was gone. I panicked and looked around, only to find him sticking his dagger into the dead frost troll’s side.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Where is the fat?”
Oh Rijaan-Djo, ever the opportunist. I showed him where to cut, and we harvested enough frost troll fat to last for years! At least, as long as Cicero preserves it… A good several pounds heavier with our spoils, we continued our trek! Ever onward! To the Graybeards!
It is… not what Cicero expected. Well, maybe what he expected, but not what he hoped for. I spent many years in different temples like this, learning some of the best, some of the sneakiest ways to fight, but… this was nothing more than a monastery for old hermits! And they’re so afraid! So afraid of their own voice that they silence themselves! Silence others! This is what the Graybeards are?
But… Rijaan-Djo seems not to mind. So humble Cicero will wait for him to be done.
Hold on.
Cicero hears shouting, and not the expected kind. Perhaps Rijaan-Djo has changed his-
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
Rijaan-Djo does not do fetch quests. Rijaan-Djo does not do favors. Rijaan-Djo does not grovel or compromise or settle. So why is Rijaan-Djo having to do all of these? The withered corpses on top of the mountain know nothing of this one's world. Know nothing about people. Do not know how to instruct or give tasks without making themselves look like asses. Rijaan-Djo may have had an easier time learning from Mirmulnir than from these idiots.
This one said he did not feel comfortable shouting. That it felt like barking out an earthquake. Like using this one's lungs as a war drum. The one who spoke said he understood the weight of such power, but still he told Rijaan-Djo to use it. To shout at him. This one was glad to knock the old man off his feet, but still the shock was overwhelming. He taught Rijaan-Djo how to make it stronger, and had him shout even more.
Then they brought Rijaan-Djo outside and taught another shout. One that threw this one to the ground like he had been struck from behind by a mammoth. Then they taught him to strengthen it. Made him nearly fling himself off the mountain. They said it was so that Rijaan-Djo could get to the peak, so that Rijaan-Djo could speak with his actual teacher. If these men are not his teachers, then what is he doing here?
This one wanted to barrel past them and find his teacher, but the wind on the mountain was strong and biting. Deadly. They said Rijaan-Djo would have to learn to make his new shout more powerful, but would not teach him! Not until this one did something for them. Said it was to “prove” this one was Dragonborn, as if that was not what Rijaan-Djo was already doing.
Why are there always strings?
Fine, this one will get their stupid horn.
This one found Cicero writing in one of the side rooms and brought him to his feet. Told him we were leaving. Explained the stupid fetch quest once we were outside. He seemed just as anxious as Rijaan-Djo to leave. We retrieved what things the house carl had left at the inn. At least what we could carry between us. It will be a long journey to Ustengrav and it would not do to be over encumbered as we travel. The sun was setting, so we set up camp outside the village. It has been very quiet.
It makes this one nervous.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
Every fiber of this one's being is on edge. We have been silent since we made camp. Apart. Focused on other things, on nothing. The Keeper, the Keeper's story, the only thing this one wants to do is hold him. To feel him again in his arms, in his mouth. To brush his hair and tell him he is perfect. But that is not all Rijaan-Djo wants to do, and now he is paralyzed. It is frightening to stoke a flame when you are in a dry forest. When any spark could create a wildfire. Rijaan-Djo sent the house carl away, wanted to be alone with Cicero. But now that he got what he wanted, he understands that she was not the obstacle. This one is.
What has happened to Rijaan-Djo? Why is this so difficult? So terrifying? Perhaps it is because this one is unused to doing the asking. Rijaan-Djo finds himself waiting for the Keeper to ask instead. He glances at Rijaan-Djo and this one knows what he is thinking. But he does not approach either. This is infuriating.
(Cicero’s journal)
16th of Morning Star, 4E 202
The birds sing so much more clearly in the morning, before Rijaan-Djo is awake. The lovely sound tries to make the world seem the same as it's always been, but that isn't true, is it? Not when there are so many new and different things fighting for Cicero’s attention. Fighting to cut through the tweeting and scream at him.
Maybe Cicero was too excited about last night… Oh, it didn't matter how much I worked myself up! How much I tried to get close to Rijaan-Djo. I just… couldn't. Ugh, what is wrong with me? At least, what made poor Cicero so cowardly? Everything in me wanted to give myself to him, to let him surround me and take whatever he wanted! But… we didn't even kiss! Oh, we barely even cuddled! And everything we said to each other was shallow and useless.
Ugh, it's all so useless… Half of Skyrim wants a piece of Rijaan-Djo for themselves, and I have him all alone and do nothing? After everything we've said? Everything he’s said? He called sweet Cicero his love. Yes, it was in Ta’agra, but it still counts! And I want so badly to believe him. To be his love.
So why can't I? When we went to bed last night, barely even touching, Cicero wanted to cry from frustration. From fear. From that awful! Dreadful! Deafening silence! I want so badly to be his. But how? How when I'm so petrified? Rijaan-Djo is so… different from anyone I've ever been with. Nothing works the same with him. Nothing feels the same!
Hmm, maybe I should just go back to what I know works.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
If Rijaan-Djo can not drop the porter off in Ivarstead, he will push her off the Throat of the World. This one would relinquish everything but his tent if it meant he no longer needed her. A lighter load is not worth these trials.
Cicero keeps getting on this one’s nerves, and it is no secret why. Yesterday when Rijaan-Djo gave in and reacted, pulled him near and told him to be quiet, it was nearly impossible to leave it at that. To not rip the silly little outfit from his body and possess his hair, his skin, his pretty cries. To not take what Cicero wishes to give, and use it the way it was meant to be used.
Last night can not happen again. Rijaan-Djo does not think he could stand it. We were in his tent. He was brushing Rijaan-Djo's fur. Always so gentle with Rijaan-Djo, always so attentive. This one was so relaxed he could feel himself drifting to sleep again. But Rijaan-Djo was not ready for sleep, and woke himself up. Cicero’s cooing became wry.
“You can fall asleep,” he lilted.
“This one does not want to fall asleep.” Rijaan-Djo thought that would be enough.
“Why not?” The Keeper’s voice was not innocent. It boiled in this one’s stomach.
“He has things to do before he sleeps.”
Rijaan-Djo heard the Keeper give a dark chuckle. Felt a whisper on his ear.
“Like what?”
Then Rijaan-Djo felt a kiss on his cheek. He reeled at the unexpected touch, and turned to face a wide-eyed Cicero. Like the fool hadn't meant to. Ah, so it is a game, this one thought. Then Rijaan-Djo will win.
This one pushed his face toward Cicero. Brought his nose to a flushed cheek. Nerves won for a moment, and Rijaan-Djo remained a hair away. Felt Cicero giggle against his lip. Knew the Keeper was happy. The nerves subsided. This one tasted him for the first time.
His mouth was soft and pleasant, and his reaction to Rijaan-Djo's kiss was nothing less than exquisite. This one felt the Keeper melt and writhe as his mouth was forced open by Rijaan-Djo’s tongue. Felt his hands grasp at the back of Rijaan-Djo's neck, the front of Rijaan-Djo's robe. Thin, eager, searching fingers. Heard ragged gasps as Rijaan-Djo gave him more, took more from him. He was being too loud.
We heard movement from the other tent. Slow breathing was difficult to retrieve when we were sharing the same air, so we parted. Cicero looked at this one, and it was known. We had the same thought, that the porter had to go.
“I guess we should go to bed,” Cicero whispered.
“Wait,” and the Keeper looked thrilled by the word. “May this one brush your hair?”
Cicero brought his fingers to a lock of his own hair and frowned.
“You do not have to let Rijaan-Djo.”
But he shook his head. Turned around. Told Rijaan-Djo that he could. This one found himself hesitating to touch the Keeper’s head, as if he had not just explored it with his mouth. His hair was smooth, silky, pliable. This one worried there may be nothing to detangle. But as Rijaan-Djo ran his fingers through the ruby satin curtain, it began to tie at the ends.
“Oof,” he said. “Could you start at the bottom?”
Rijaan-Djo had forgotten, when the Keeper did his own hair, he did start with the ends. This one regrouped his efforts toward the thin, fragile bits that splayed and tied together.
It is beautiful, the way his lovely hair falls just on his shoulders. The way it drapes his face, the way it adorns it. How it feels in Rijaan-Djo's hands as he pulls it back. Beautiful, graceful, soft. It is perfect for Cicero. This one is honored to help take care of it.
In the peaceful brushing, Cicero broke the silence. Told Rijaan-Djo a story. This one will not put it to paper. It is not Rijaan-Djo's story to tell.
(Cicero's journal)
15th of Morning Star, 4E 202
He kissed me. Rijaan-Djo kissed sweet Cicero. And oh no, not a little kiss at all.
I was brushing his fur when I got… a little carried away. He was fighting sleep, said he had things to do before bed. Hehe, there wasn't anything left to do but be held by Cicero, and I could tell, that was what he wanted to stay awake for. Sly Cicero did pick on him a little. I wanted him to say it! To say that he wanted to stay awake for Cicero. But when I got to his ear, oh it took everything in me not to kiss it, to not glide my lips across his jaw like before… And all that energy had to go somewhere! So I gave him a teeny tiny peck on the cheek.
And oh, he jumped. Rijaan-Djo turned in place, rolling around in poor Cicero’s lap, bringing an arm to rest behind Cicero, nearly laying on Cicero… And he stared at me with his big, stern eyes. Oh so worried I was, thinking how was Cicero to know how far was too far? He brought his mouth right up! Up to Cicero's, so close I could almost feel fur. I smelled breath, heard it resonate through his chest. Deep and dark and sweet, like sweetrolls. I giggled as I remembered the smell. And then he kissed me.
I hadn't actually expected him to! Oh, I don't know what I thought he was doing… Trying to intimidate poor Cicero? Giving him a taste of his own medicine? But when Rijaan-Djo's mouth met my own, when I felt lips, teeth! Tongue! Oh what a glorious tongue! Cicero couldn't think of anything but the kiss. That Rijaan-Djo was finally bridging that infernal, awful space between us!
And how powerful he was… Oh, he grabbed Cicero, held me still as he invaded me. It was all I could do to hold onto him and not tear myself inside out with need.
But there was a noise.
It was the packmule.
Our kiss broke like prized porcelain and it took so much effort to piece ourselves back together. Oh, how I wanted to strangle her… Blasted interloper. We kept quiet and listened to her moving inside of her tent. Had we woken her up? Oh, what did it matter! The moment was gone! Rijaan-Djo looked so anxious, and Cicero didn't want to push him… So I asked if he wanted to just go to bed.
But he said he wanted to brush Cicero's hair first. I almost said no! No, of course not! That is for the Keeper to do, never to have done for him! But… there have been many things I've asked of Rijaan-Djo that I didn't offer in return. And many things Rijaan-Djo has asked that Cicero has not answered… So I let him.
And wow! Cicero did not realize how intimate it was! This is what he had been doing to poor Rijaan-Djo? I guess it's no wonder why he was so timid about it at first… Feeling his claws gently graze my scalp, feeling him pull my hair back and work his fingers though… It’s true it was exhilarating! But it was also… so very relaxing. Comforting. Scary.
A feeling welled up in Cicero. It rose up from my stomach and felt like it was going to choke me. Inevitability. It was time for Cicero to answer some questions.
“Cicero… did have a mother.”
I felt Rijaan-Djo pause his brushing, then continue wordlessly.
“She was… very quiet. Very proud. We were part of a big family, an old family. They had some distant, and… illegitimate ties to the Septim Empire.”
“Septim,” Rijaan-Djo repeated.
“I know, but it really wasn't that-”
“Like the money?”
I knew where this was headed. “Yes, like the money, but it wasn't like I was-”
“Ah, so Cicero is royalty?”
I couldn't help but groan. No no, I told him. Not even close.
“Oh, but you are of royal blood?”
I told him to cut it out, to let poor Cicero finish his story.
“Ah, this one is sorry, your highness.”
“Shut up,” I laughed. Thankfully Rijaan-Djo laughed as well, and finally let me continue.
“The only thing my family ever really got out of it was a parcel of vineyard and a horrible complex… We had to live up to the ‘Septim standard’. Pft, as if we didn't owe our entire existence to one of a score of mistresses. Life was… difficult for poor Cicero when he was young. Nothing could be out of place, nothing could be different, or new, or exciting. Otherwise it was a disruption. Cicero may not have always had this laughter inside of him, but he did have… something. Something that made staying still, staying quiet, staying the same… difficult.”
“I was too young to go off on my own, and Mother would always fire Cicero’s governesses over such petty disagreements, so I spent almost all of my time with her. She was… quiet, like I said, and never yelled at poor Cicero! No, never disciplined him, but… Well, she would keep track. She would remember when disobedient Cicero would say the wrong things, or forget his manners, or not give the right expression… and she would tell Father.”
I felt Rijaan-Djo's hands grip my hair for a moment, and he stopped brushing. But there was a lot more I had to say.
“I didn't see him a lot, he was always out on some very important business, but when he did come home… He would sit Cicero down and tell him all the things. All the things Mother saw foolish Cicero do to dishonor the family. He would ask me why I couldn't be better. Why I couldn't just try harder… Why I wanted the family to be embarrassed of me.”
Rijaan-Djo's hands landed on my shoulders. Squeezed.
“It was like Father was this immortal beast that knew all my secrets, and Mother was his spy. I couldn't stand it. Cicero did not have many friends as a boy, but he saw! He saw that not everyone was so inspected! So terrorized! I needed somebody to help me free my bonds! Escape the spotlight! Kill the beast. Cicero… knew of the Dark Brotherhood… and after a teeny bit of research, knew how to call them. But he needed… a corpse.”
It took quite a bit of time figuring out how to tell the next part! But judging by how Rijaan-Djo brought his hands to my arms and laid his forehead on the back of my neck, he had an idea of where Cicero was going.
“Father was a powerful man, and mighty with a sword. Mother was… not as strong. Cicero snuck into her bedroom one night and ended her with a satin pillow, embroidered with lavender and primrose. It… took some time. I brought… the effigy down to the basement, where I hoped the servants wouldn't find me. I lit the candles. I said the chant. And I waited. It was the first time I had seen a dead body.”
“Cicero,” Rijaan-Djo said. I shuddered at the vibration of his voice on my neck. “You do not have to open these wounds.”
I reached a hand to one of his, looped my fingers. “I want to.”
“I haven't actually… talked about this before. Other people knew, yes, but they were excited for young Cicero. The Breton who took the contract, the family he brought me home to, they all said Cicero had such potential. He was twelve. He… slipped away. And they waited. It wasn't until I was fifteen that I was able to pick up a blade. Able to wake up a little and try again. Try for my new family, my real family. And I didn't have to try as hard. I always made them proud.”
“Listener, did you read Cicero’s journals? Back when he ran away to Dawnstar?”
Rijaan-Djo brought his head up from my back and set it atop my shoulder, then slid his arms around my waist and held me close. “Yes.”
“Then you've known. When I killed the jester… something broke in me. Something that held me in place, kept me from messing up. Something that had kept me safe my entire life. He was… reckless, and joyful, and strange… You could tell from a single glance that there was something different about him, and he wore it like a badge of pride. Like he knew a secret nobody else did. And everyone hated him for it, I hated him for it! There was no reason for his contract save for the simple fact that he existed and did so without shame or sorrow. I heard his laugh everywhere after that.”
I fought to continue, though poor Cicero’s voice was getting hoarse with emotion. “And then I was alone. Burning sanctuaries, a false Listener. So many mistakes, and they left me all alone. I thought it was punishment. Or destiny! Or some god’s cruel idea of a joke. To leave poor Cicero again, alone. Stuck waiting. For eight years. With the corpse of his mother.”
I felt Rijaan-Djo shudder and a rogue tear escaped at the thought that Cicero’s story was enough to upset him.
“I tried to be good. I tried to do things right. I took care of her and tried so very hard to hide the laughter. I thought that maybe if Cicero made up for what he had done, for what he was, Mother would finally speak. But-”
A laugh erupted from me. A wild, broken laugh.
“But she never did! No, never a mother's voice for Cicero! He was cursed! He was unworthy! He had messed everything up again, and it was his fault. It was his fault his family was dead!”
The tears came freely now despite poor Cicero’s protests. They were fast, and plentiful, and embarrassing. I turned so I could hug Rijaan-Djo and he held me tight, let me cry into his chest.
“And then I met you. And you were the Listener. You were who I'd been waiting for! And I… saw something in you, something I hadn't seen in anybody else. Something that looked like Cicero. Thank you… for letting me dote so much… I genuinely do like to.”
Rijaan-Djo chuckled and squeezed me tighter.
“This one is sorry he did not appreciate you sooner. You are perfect.”
Haha, as if I wasn't crying hard enough before… He held me like that for a long time, letting me cry as he rubbed my back. It was… nice. Gah, that really was something I thought I would never have to talk about again, never want to talk about again. But… I feel safe with Rijaan-Djo. Maybe safer with him than I do with myself. Cicero never thought he would be allowed this feeling. Love. And I think I've had it from the very beginning.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Rijaan-Djo whispered. “The Night Mother has spoken to this one about you.”
That was a surprise. “Really?”
Rijaan-Djo stroked my hair before answering.
“It is hard to remember. It was the first thing she said to Rijaan-Djo, before this one knew you well. She called you dear. She seemed sorry that her voice was not for you.” He brought some of the strands back behind my ear. “You never failed her. And Rijaan-Djo thinks that she brought us together. When Rijaan-Djo asked for guidance, she retrieved you.”
“Cicero heard a whisper that night,” I admitted, “that's why I went to her. But I couldn't tell if it was her voice or yours.”
“Perhaps it was Rijaan-Djo, but we were on opposite ends of the sanctuary. If she did not give you her own voice, she gave you this one's. You were meant to find Rijaan-Djo.”
I giggled. “That sounds like destiny.”
“Yes,” he said, “it does.”
A hand met my face and up I turned, up to look at him. He smiled so sadly.
“Ahziss ari.”
Oh, poor Cicero’s heart raced. I never told him I had lessons as a boy on Ta’agra! Still haven’t! Hehe, maybe I never will, and then he’ll say more… He brought his lips to mine again. Gently, slowly, briefly. A goodnight kiss. The whole night, he held sweet Cicero in his arms like I would slip away, like I could slip away! And when we woke up, he stayed. Kissed Cicero good morning. Quickly, sweetly. And neither of us cared to say a thing when we finally emerged and the mule shot us a look. She can just deal with it.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
(Nazir's journal)
13th of Morning Star 4E 202
I really don't know what to say. I would be furious that they all conspired behind my back, but Babette is so upset over the whole situation that I can't help but feel bad.
I brought an initiate home this morning, a Bosmer named Menesse. Her and her buddies tried to rob me on the road to Winterhold, and while their paltry hand-axes and willow bows couldn't make a scratch, her magic was formidable. I cut down her men and made her an offer, and the rest is history. She's not much of a talker, but at least she seems well-learned. Maybe I can try to ask her about the book she’s been reading.
Well anyway, we came back to a complete mess. I mean that metaphorically, the sanctuary was in pristine condition despite whatever Babette may say. Right as we got in the door, we heard crying coming from Babette's room. I ran to her, and found her drowning in tears, holding a vampiric-looking skeever.
“Nazir,” she sobbed, “I don't know what to do.”
Looking down at the skeever in her arms, with pronounced fangs and glowing red eyes, I realized it was Scrappy. I asked Menesse to grab him while I calmed Babette down.
“What happened?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”
“No! But-”
She started to cry again. Menesse yelped, and I saw Scrappy leap from her grasp, and scurry toward the kitchen.
“Don't let it go in there again!” Babette shouted, leaping up and tearing through the sanctuary. “It nearly ate everything!”
We followed her into our moderately stocked kitchen. Nothing looked like it had been moved since I had left. Babette seemed mortified and started swearing that it had been ransacked. She asked desperately if I believed her. I told her to tell me everything, starting from the beginning.
She had tried to kill Scrappy. I doubt Cicero gave her the idea, but the clown definitely helped plan the attack, and while Rijaan-Djo didn't exactly lend aid, he did wish her luck. She slipped poison into Scrappy's food on the day I left. Apparently that hadn't been enough to kill him however, and Babette got impatient and tried to finish the job herself. The way she told the story was extremely worrying. She seemed incredulous, verging on hysterical. “The damn thing wouldn't die!” she exclaimed after detailing every attempt. Poisoning, drowning, smashing with the broad side of a pickaxe… It was all pretty gruesome, even for me. She said that in a fit of rage, she used Vampiric Drain to finish the job, casting it until she felt it was overkill.
“And then-” she gasped, wide-eyed. “It fucking ran.”
She chased Scrappy for three days until finally catching him in the marshes outside of Solitude. By the time she got to him, the disease had already run its course. Not able to kill him and not wanting to release him into the unsuspecting wild, she bound him and brought him back to the sanctuary.
“Were the bonds really necessary?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Babette then tried to convince us that Scrappy had been terrorizing the sanctuary since he returned, eating all our food, drinking all our alcohol, getting into documents and sensitive ingredients, all while she fought to control him. I looked at Scrappy, who was now peacefully napping in a corner. That all just doesn't sound like the skeever I know. Menesse cast a few healing spells and dowsed him in a potion of cure disease, but nothing changed.
“It is too late, your foul corruption has spread,” she told Babette, who shot me a furious glare.
“Who in oblivion is this?”
I told her to calm down, to stop antagonizing our new recruit. Menesse squatted down to be at her level.
“What happened to you is terrible, but your disease, flagrantly shared, has created this monster. He is your responsibility.”
“Nazir, please tell me I can kill her.”
“Absolutely not. And in some aspects I agree with her.”
I saw the betrayal in her face. I sat her down and clarified.
“Babette, I didn't get a sanctuary pet just to keep things the same. And I didn't do it to honor Gabriella. I did it because I knew how much you liked Lis. The happiest I ever saw you, besides recounting your contacts, was when you were playing with her.”
“I did not play with Lis!”
“Then why did Lis trust you more than anyone else? Maybe even more than Gabriella?”
She didn't answer, she just wrung her hands into her dress and started to cry again, more softly now as she remembered.
“I miss them so much, Nazir.”
“I know you do. So do I. And I know a skeever isn't going to change that, but I hoped it would at least cut the silence of all this mourning. Babette-” I held onto her little arms and made her meet my gaze.
“You tried to kill Scrappy, and now, somehow, he's a vampire. I still don't understand the logic behind that, but what I do know is that there is only one person in the Dark Brotherhood right now who can take care of him. You.”
She wiped her eyes and grimaced at me. “He's crazy.”
I couldn't help but laugh. “Then he fits right in.”
Babette led me to a letter on the table. It was chewed to pieces and had little pink tracks of something sticky on it, like jelly. Babette warned me that she had already read it, and that it was quite the doozy.
She was right.
Rijaan-Djo, Dragonborn. The Night Mother's Listener, the harbinger of revolution. A Khajiit, a dragon of Nordic legend. It's… a lot. He seemed so nonchalant about it for some reason, like he doesn't even know what's happened to him. Though if he's going to the Graybeards, I guess he'll figure it out soon enough.
I asked Babette where the mead had gone and again she blamed Scrappy. Whatever. After the couple days she's had, she probably needed it. Though now that I write this, can a vampire even drink mead? Either way, I have to go shopping again. Between a vampiric skeever, a distraught child, a Listener-Dovahkiin, and me having to take care of the damned Night Mother again… I need a drink. A stiff one.
Maybe Menesse would want to go with me.
(Official letter)
13th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Lydia,
The Jarl hears your concerns in regards to the Dragonborn Rijaan-Djo. We were aware, however, of Rijaan-Djo's affiliation with the Dark Brotherhood, and chose to employ his services in spite of this. As long as he is taking steps to combat the ongoing dragon crisis, we will continue to provide him with our support. This includes you, Lydia, as you have been been given the honor of the title Housecarl for the Dragonborn. While his beliefs may not match our own, it is imperative to put aside any personal qualms you may have over your assignment, and continue to serve him to the best of your ability. If you witness him or any other members of his party commit a serious crime, you are encouraged to report it to us. Otherwise, please try to honor us at Dragonsreach with your professionalism and discretion.
Dragonreach steward Proventus Avenicci
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
There are not enough rooms in Whiterun for us now that we have our house carl, so tonight we made camp along White River. It is a good spot, with lots of histcarp and butterflies. This one enjoys watching them.
The journey has been tranquil. Quiet. It is beginning to grate on Rijaan-Djo's nerves.
Cicero has tried pushing, cooing. It is not that Rijaan-Djo won't let him. It is that Rijaan-Djo can't react. It is the house carl. She does not make her disdain of us a secret, but she is always around. Always watching. One would hope by exploring the vast and varied expanse of Skyrim that she would make a friend. Find a hobby. One could not be so lucky.
The only moments in which Cicero and Rijaan-Djo can speak without worry of being overheard are when this one switches tents at night. Ah, that is what you could call a bit of a routine now. Though after the first night we both decided that robes were beneficial to a good night's sleep. Still, it is excellent. Rijaan-Djo has rare and pleasant dreams. Cicero is a remarkably gentle person in the small hours of night, and says sweet things to Rijaan-Djo. Things that this one is starting to believe are true.
It is frightening, giving another person access to your weaknesses. It feels like letting your fingers relax when you have been clinging to the edge of a cliff. Like holding your breath underwater and having someone tell you it's air. To breathe. And sometimes, when Rijaan-Djo gives in. Breathes just a bit.
It does feel like air.
(Lydia’s journal)
14 MS 4E 202
Jarl Balgruuf can kiss my ass.
“Personal qualms”? Is Proventus insane? When we got to the Sanctuary I thanked the eight because I was sure it was my ticket out. And then to be approached by a courier outside of Whiterun? I thought I was home free! I thought surely everybody at Dragonsreach would have the sense not to work with the Dark Brotherhood. Am I the crazy one?
At least I'm not too worried these guys are about to sacrifice me to Boethiah or something. Yeah, they're assassins, and they're weird as hell, but I don't think I'm in danger. They make sure I have everything I need for camp, the Dragonborn buys me food and alcohol, and they never seem too concerned with how much help I am in a fight.
Really the biggest problem is the tension. I don't know exactly what’s going on between them, but I can tell you it's not subtle. The worst part is, they're actually kind of sweet. I know, awful, but now not only do I want to throw up, it also really makes me miss Irileth.
I wonder what she's doing right now. It's still early, maybe she hasn't started her work yet. I wonder if she knows that I'm stuck with assassins. Well, surely she would, she assigns all the housecarls. Wait, then does that mean she assigned me? To a duo of hormonal murderous madmen? It was Irileth?
Oh no. Oh that really sucks.
(Cicero’s journal, entry accompanied by several pencil sketches of Dragonborn Rijaan-Djo. The pigment applied to image 3 and 5 is consistent with powdered yellow mountain flower)
14th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Traveling with Rijaan-Djo has been wonderful! Hmm, I just wish our packmule wasn't around all the time… Cicero gets time with him, but it's not enough.
But that's not to say Cicero doesn't enjoy the time he does get with the Listener! Oh, the nights are so warm with Rijaan-Djo in his ear, on his chest, surrounding him and being surrounded… I don't think either of us can go back to sleeping alone! Last night the Listener stayed in his tent, and I worried that he was angry at poor Cicero! But I worked up the courage to sneak out, into the night, and find him. It made my heart race seeing the third tent! Wondering if that woman was still awake, if she heard poor Cicero. Now I get why Rijaan-Djo always looks so nervous when he comes to see me! Oh, but when I opened Rijaan-Djo's tent flap, asked if I could join him… he looked elated.
“This one was worried he was smothering you.”
I couldn't help but giggle, and shushed myself before I made too much noise.
“Smother me,” I whispered.
Oh, and he did so happily. He sat up and grabbed at my robe until he could wrap me in his arms, then pulled me back into the blankets with him. I'm not sure there was a single part of me that wasn't held by Rijaan-Djo, squeezed by him… Well, maybe there were some places… We’ve been careful not to, hmhmm, start anything we can't finish, not with listening ears nearby. No, never anything with the mule around…
Oh, and in the day, poor Cicero has to pretend that everything is fine! That everything is normal! That I'm not dying to hold him, to touch him, to taste him… Hehe, I was a little bad today. I just wanted some kind of attention from him on the road that wasn't just talking. So, I pushed. Not literally this time, but I knew how to get under his skin, so I did! Everything the Listener said, Cicero had a little quip for, a little joke, a little flirt. The more daring I got, the more I saw his hair raise! Something I said must have finally hit a nerve, and… hehe, I got what I wanted.
Cicero felt the Listener’s hand on his lower back, felt him grab through my shirt… He hooked his hand firmly around my belt and yanked! Nearly knocked poor Cicero off his feet! And he dragged me so close to him, so close I could have held him. I saw his nose, his jaw, his mouth get nearer! Nearer to Cicero’s cheek, then right on his ear! I felt his other hand firmly on the back of my neck as he kept me where I was. Felt his hot breath everywhere as he growled-
“We are not alone.”
Then he let me go. Gave me a knowing look, caught back up with the woman, and we were back to pretending. I wonder if he would be upset if I killed her.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
[Exhibit M: A short series of letters sent between Dragonborn housecarl Lydia and the estate of Jarl of Whiterun Balgruuf the Greater, herein referred to individually as “Official letter”.]
(Official letter)
11th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Esteemed Jarl of our Mother Hold Balgruuf the Greater,
I request to be relieved from my station. The Dragonborn has proven himself to be a dangerous and evil man. He is a member of the Dark Brotherhood and brought me to their sanctuary in Dawnstar. I can give you their location if you will retrieve me. They plan to go to High Hrothgar next, and I believe we can be intercepted on the road to or from Whiterun.
With the greatest respect,
Housecarl Lydia
(Lydia's journal)
11 MS 4E 202
I knew it was a big mistake to give this maniac any kind of power. He's a dark brotherhood member, him and his boyfriend, and they brought me back to their damned sanctuary. If they so much as look at me wrong, I'm showing them just how good a warrior I am. At least it's just us three in the sanctuary, and I could take Dee and Dum with one hand tied behind my back. At least, I hope I could. They're not that physically intimidating, but if they're Dark Brotherhood members, I need to keep my guard up.
There's a corpse here, and they keep doing stuff to it. Dee was… cleaning it, or something, and Dum has been sitting in front of it for like a half hour or so.
Gods, they freak me out. Ever since we left Morthal the Dragonborn has been wearing this skin-tight enchanted armor and the other one put on a freaking jester costume. Apparently they were in disguise. Yeah, can't let anyone know you're a jester and a Khajiit or whatever. I think he even shaved his face. Crazy. And they haven't stopped talking since we left! Not even about anything in particular. If they're not talking, they're singing, and if not with each other, with themselves.
And they're so touchy with each other! I'm not really surprised this guy has a personal caretaker, but why do they have to be… like that? Letting the jester whisper sickly sweet nothings as he preens him. And did the Dragonborn really not think I heard him sneak into the jester's tent in the middle of the night? Oh, “this one can not sleep,” give it a break. Gross.
I can't wait until Balgruuf gets me out of this mess, I don't care if he assigns me to Riverwood. This is just ridiculous!
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
This one is not sure how long he wants to keep doing all this. Dragons. Dragonborns. Grey Beards. Destiny. It is all too much to understand right now. Not when he is worried about softer, more delicate things. Everything, even the Mother's voice, is drowned out by Cicero.
This one did not take silence for an answer and did not trust Cicero by his actions. He was sure that the lack of a yes meant a no, that Cicero had revealed his true intentions. Rijaan-Djo knows now that it was wrong to rush him. To keep asking him questions he did not want to answer. Cicero respects this one. That is enough. Rijaan-Djo does not need to hear that he is loved to know it is true. To feel it, to see it.
Cicero comforted this one after he absorbed the dragon’s soul. Let Rijaan-Djo lean on him, held his hand. Drank with Rijaan-Djo and did not use that to his advantage. Not even when this one gave him an opportunity. He got upset for Rijaan-Djo, for things that have not upset this one in a long time. He said he cared for this one. That is not lust. Not any of it.
And in the morning, when the thirst that comes with drinking forced Rijaan-Djo from his sleep, Cicero asked him to stay. To return to bed, to him. He was yearning made human, lounging with loose ruby hair and azure robe, pulled tight from rolling in his sleep. He looked embarrassed by his own request, and Rijaan-Djo, while he feels bad for making him repeat it, is not sorry he did. This one has never known a softness like that which Cicero has for him. Has never known a comfort like being in his arms.
The day after, we were given a new travel companion, so talk has been rare. But what words the Keeper does say to Rijaan-Djo are gentle and knowing. In the night this one found the empty space of his tent to be too vast, and returned to Cicero. Asked to be held once more.
Realized Cicero sounded unsure.
In the dark, Rijaan-Djo had not noticed that Cicero had foregone his robe. All this one could decipher were silver crescents of moonlight on the cuts, the curves of his body. The startled tone of his voice. But still he beckoned Rijaan-Djo inside. His strong body pressed softly against Rijaan-Djo’s back. The skin of his stomach and legs and arms thrilled this one, and he could not help but feel Cicero’s body reacting the same. Even then, Cicero was still. He ran his fingers along Rijaan-Djo's side but did not seize his opportunity. Held Rijaan-Djo close but did not take. Promised and did not lie.
Rijaan-Djo knows he can not prove it was the truth, but this one feels like he can trust Cicero. Feels like he needs to. Rijaan-Djo could not climb the highest peak in Skyrim without him, could not speak to the men with Gray Beards and Dragon Shouts. Could not feel whole without his presence.
That is not lust.
(Cicero’s journal)
11th of Morning Star 4E 202
Out again, on our way to the Throat of the World. If Rijaan-Djo says he can not sing, maybe he’ll shout! He's… happier around Cicero now. But still I haven't answered even one of his questions! He told me something last night that made me think. Of course, at the time we were in very… private circumstances. I was nearly asleep when I heard the ties of my tent being loosened. It was a particularly warm night, and I remember worrying that I was going to have to fight an intruder half-naked! But it was Rijaan-Djo. Still, I gathered my blanket around my waist, and asked what was wrong.
“This one can not sleep.”
It hadn't clicked in my mind what he was asking. He clarified.
“May Rijaan-Djo sleep with you?”
I really have to explain phrasing to him sometime. Oh, I went red hot. I wondered if he could see that poor Cicero did not have any of his things on, that all to separate us would be a thin linen undergarment! I struggled to find a way to explain that to him delicately. He jumped.
“Ah, this one did not realize. Would you be embarrassed?”
A laugh escaped me, betraying my nervousness. But I said no, that I would be fine. That he was welcome to stay, if he wanted to. He seemed relieved. He crawled into Cicero's tent, and he… he was expecting me to hold him again. But I was petrified to assume so, and when he turned his back to me and asked if we could sleep “like this”, I misunderstood. I turned around and let his back touch my own, but he quickly shifted again. I looked back to see big eyes, nearly black in the inky shadow, watching me intently.
“What is it?” I asked, and he grimaced.
“That is not what Rijaan-Djo meant. Here,” he said and gently grabbed my hand. Cicero followed his lead. He brought me around to face him, then turned his back again, keeping his grip on my hand. As he sank back into the blankets, he brought our hands slowly around his waist and across his chest, pulling me close behind him and keeping my arm pressed firmly against his torso. I guess Cicero also needs to teach him the phrase “little spoon”.
Every inch of my skin warmed on contact with him. Yes, Cicero’s hand was free to explore a terrifically lean and downy chest, free even to dare for territory on the waist, on the stomach… but everywhere else! Everywhere else on Cicero's body was subject to Rijaan-Djo’s whim. He pushed against poor Cicero, until there was no room between us at all! The fur against my stomach tickled relentlessly and kept every nerve in my body on high alert. His insistence on getting as close as he possibly could to poor Cicero, the pressure of him sinking into Cicero's lap, like he was trying to crawl inside of me… it killed any chance of bodily willpower.
I panicked when I realized how hard I was becoming. Quickly I shifted away, angling myself to shield the Listener. Oh, but he pulled again! Again at poor Cicero’s hand! And he pushed again, back into my lap. Shamefully I conceded, and there was no longer any hope of hiding my excitement. I felt him pause, and his breathing faltered.
“Sorry,” I mumbled into the ridge of his back. “Is the Listener… going to be uncomfortable?”
I felt his hand squeeze my own, before manipulating my fingers to lay out flat against his stomach.
“This one missed feeling you against him. Uncomfortable is not the word.”
I held him tighter, burying my face deep into the plush fur between his shoulder blades, happily, hungrily breathing in mountain flowers, memorizing sweat. My hand left his side, and as soft as sweet Cicero could, I trailed a finger down his back. And oh, how Rijaan-Djo squirmed…
Such a charming sound, the sharp gasp that took even him by surprise. The glimmer outline of his head turned swiftly, and Cicero knew he was warning me. I brought my hand back to his side, but the fool of hearts couldn't help but giggle.
“Oopsie”
How pleased I was to hear his chest resonate with a little chuckle as well! Again he squeezed Cicero's hand.
“Be careful.” He said.
Oh, I remembered that one. “Really?” I cooed. “Is that because Rijaan-Djo likes me?” Cicero didn't mean much by it… just to tease! But Rijaan-Djo just buried himself deeper into my arms.
“Yes,” he said. “This one likes you very much.”
Cicero didn't know how to respond! The weight of those words, from Rijaan-Djo, sat so heavy in my stomach! So I didn't say a word.
“Cicero?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“This one only asked if you loved him because he has experienced deceit, but-”
He trailed off for a second, maybe finding the words, maybe steeling himself for them.
“This one has known your love since before he could accept it. Before he deserved it, if he even does now. He did not trust his own eyes. You do not have to answer Rijaan-Djo every time he questions.”
I braced myself against his back, suddenly feeling quite lightheaded! Rijaan-Djo has known Cicero’s love? Hm… Does Cicero even know his own love? The Listener relinquishing his questions caused my own head to be full of them! Swimming in a sea of them and yet no words of answer to be found.
All I could think to do was pet. A strong, reassuring hand, or the gentle static buzz of fingertips, Cicero wasn't sure which would be more comforting, so he did both. One, then the other, then the first again, across his side, his hips, his stomach, then his side once more. Over and over until my hand dropped and I succumbed to sleep. When I woke up, he was gone. He was making breakfast.
Did Rijaan-Djo really say that he knew Cicero loved him? Yes, Cicero cares deeply for him, and cares more and more deeply every day. Yes, Cicero worries himself sick when Rijaan-Djo is not doing well. Yes, Cicero wishes he could track down everyone and everything that bothers Rijaan-Djo and rend their souls from their useless bodies. But… is that love?
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
[Content Warning: The following chapter contains implied references to sexual assault and past trauma. Reader discretion is advised.]
(Ysolda's journal)
10th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Such an unexpected turn of events! There is a Dragonborn, and it's Rijaan-Djo! I never thought I would see one in my lifetime, and for it to be a Khajiit, this is just unprecedented. He went to the inn after slaying that awful beast and the room erupted! Everyone wanted to be the first to buy the Dragonborn a drink. He seemed shaken though, and his jester answered most of the questions. Maybe I was wrong about them after all, and Cicero is more like a steward. It would make sense for such a powerful and influential person to have an entourage. Still, I wish he had done at least one shout.
Either way, we made sure they were well fed and boozed for the night, and they seemed appreciative. At least, appreciative enough to get piss-drunk and nearly kill themselves on the staircase when they finally made their way to bed. I think they earned it. They were still awake by the time I was cleaning up for the night, and I overheard them talking. I know I shouldn't have pried, but, well, I still had more chores to do. Plus I feel like the Dragonborn's business should probably, rightfully, be the people of Skyrim’s business. Either way, I listened.
Rijaan-Djo was singing, “There once was a woman, as fair as an evening - ”
“ - of springtime in old Stros M’Kai!” finished Cicero.
There was a throaty laugh and the clatter of a chair. I thought as I swept up that Hulda should have them reimburse her if they broke it. Then I heard the bed groan, followed by a screech:
“Watch out! Stay on your side, you nearly squished poor Cicero!”
“Ah, sorry, sorry… though, it is not like you would mind.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“This one was mistaken, but not entirely. If you give as much as you say, it is only fair that you take back. Rijaan-Djo is surprised you have not propositioned him yet.”
I heard a gasp. To be honest, I had to hold one back myself. I hadn't realized what kind of conversation they were having. But it got worse, quickly.
“Proposition?” The bed creaked again and I heard quick footsteps followed by a shrill laugh. “I wanted to live!”
“This one would not have killed you.”
“That's funny, because Cicero remembers you nearly biting his head off the first time he tried to brush your fur! And then when you pushed your… your neck into my face!”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“It happens.”
“What happens?”
There was silence for a moment, and Rijaan-Djo responded in a measured tone. At least, as measured as he could muster without being sober.
“The world is cold and deadly. Being found attractive is more often than not an opportunity. For protection, for food, for your life.”
“You think,” Cicero hissed, “that I’ve done all this… under the assumption that you would owe me… that?”
“It is normal.”
“No! No, it's not! Who told you it was?”
There was silence again.
“Rijaan-Djo?” Cicero lowered his voice. “Who told you that?”
“It is normal… when you are traveling. If you are weak, or small, or not respected. If you have no other options. It is good to have… an ally.”
“Oh,” Cicero and I said in unison. I covered my mouth, fearful that they had heard. At this point I thought that Hulda would be ashamed if I stayed, but Hulda had left for the night, and there was no way I was leaving now.
“Rijaan-Djo, that, that… shouldn't have happened to you.”
Rijaan-Djo laughed. “Oh, who cares? Rijaan-Djo is unwanted. Rijaan-Djo is not special. He does not know what terrible sorcery he has done to trick the gods, to trick you. There is no reason why anyone should care.”
“I care! Cicero cares!”
“You do not love Rijaan-Djo.”
“Is… is this why you've been asking me? Oh, Rijaan-Djo… Yes, it may be difficult for me to say but… do you really not know how much Cicero cares for you? Respects you? That I would never do that to you?” He began to raise his voice. “Yes, Cicero was… is… attracted to you, but never would I have even thought of… of using you! That's ridiculous! How low do you think of humble, obedient Cicero?”
“Respect? You respect Rijaan-Djo?”
“By Sithis, of course I do! Do you think anyone else would have spared poor Cicero’s life? Nobody puts up with me the way you do! I’m not blind!”
The throaty laughter returned, softer than before. Rijaan-Djo sounded like he was near tears.
“Ah… haha… So Rijaan-Djo is not as alone as he thought.”
There was a quiet shuffling, which I think was them returning to bed.
“Oh, Cicero,” Rijaan-Djo sniffled, “What is this one supposed to do? He is the Dragonborn? What a horrifying world.”
“I know. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow when we go back to the Jarl. Until then, you need to get some sleep.”
I finished my chores in silence. I… don’t know what to make of all this. The Dragonborn is upset with his title? They are together? They aren't? And his past… I'm not sure what all of this I can even tell people. I guess I should just keep hush for now.
(Whiterun secretary's minutes)
10th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Official minutes for the meeting of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, Dragonborn Rijaan-Djo, Dragonborn entourage Cicero, and soldier Lydia.
Jarl Balgruuf: There's no question about that. It was a mighty deed. You've earned a place of honor among the heroes of Whiterun. But there must be more to it than that. Did something... strange... happen when the dragon died?”
Rijaan-Djo: Your guards called this one “Dragonborn”.
Jarl Balgruuf: Dragonborn? What would you know about the Dragonborn?
Rijaan-Djo: Nothing. But a spirit came out of the dragon and went into Rijaan-Djo. Fed him.
Jarl Balgruuf: So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you.
Rijaan-Djo: The who?
Jarl Balgruuf: Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World.
Rijaan-Djo: Ah, no no… This one did not hear any summoning.
Jarl Balgruuf: How could you not? It rattled the walls.
Rijaan-Djo: And when was this?
Jarl Balgruuf: Last night.
Rijaan-Djo: Ah.
Jarl Balgruuf: Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards, it's a tremendous honor.
Rijaan-Djo: Ah hah.
Jarl Balgruuf: You've done a great deed for me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun, and I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl. We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn.
Rijaan-Djo: What.
Cicero: Thank you, your highness. Your Jarl. I mean you are Jarl. Thank you. We're gonna, we're going to go now.
Rijaan-Djo: What is this? Who are you?
Lydia: The Jarl has appointed me to be your housecarl. It's an honor to serve you.
Rijaan-Djo: A house-carl?
Lydia: As my Thane, I'm sworn to your service. I'll guard you, and all you own, with my life.
Rijaan-Djo: You do not need to do that.
Lydia: This is my duty.
Rijaan-Djo: Fine. You will carry your weight?
Lydia: I am a skilled warrior, you will not be disappointed.
Rijaan-Djo: (Laughs) Ah, no, that is not what this one meant.
(Adjournment of meeting)
(Lydia's journal)
10 MS 4E 202
Am I cursed? Is this a prank? Tweedle Dum is Dragonborn and now I have to carry all his shit? Jarl Balgruuf has been hinting at a promotion for weeks, but this is just NOT it! Gods, and I won't get to see Irileth anymore.
This guy doesn't even seem like he wants to be a thane! All him and his weird little friend want to do is just ogle at each other and make up things to argue about, it's sickening. And again, like I said, I just have to carry all this shit around like I'm their packmule! We literally only left Whiterun a half hour ago and I'm completely certain that my life would be better if I just abandoned ship, changed my name, and hightailed it to Solitude, or Cyrodiil.
Crap, I think we're moving again. This is not over! I'm going to get reassigned!
Once I can get a letter out!
(Cicero’s Journal)
10th of Morning Star 4E 202
We made camp outside of Morthal. Rijaan-Djo wants us to be at the sanctuary by midday tomorrow. He said he wants to speak to The Night Mother and plan his next moves. I'm worried about-
By the Dreadlord, I thought that dumb hag would never leave.
I don't… know how to begin talking about last night. Oh, how terribly sad Cicero was for Rijaan-Djo. Ugh, it's no wonder Rijaan-Djo felt like he needed an answer, but did he really think… that of poor Cicero? Of humble, obedient, lowly Cicero? Yes, Cicero would love to be surrounded by Rijaan-Djo, he would love to be given more of Rijaan-Djo than anybody else had… But to take? To coerce? To deny protection, or food, or-
By Sithis, his life.
I wish I could learn their names.
Make my own checklist.
But, Cicero is sure that even if Rijaan-Djo does remember… he wouldn’t say. He hasn't really mentioned it at all since last night, but I know he at least remembers the conversation. Especially after this morning…
I woke up with a headache, and such a dry mouth. It was still very early, but my body wouldn't let me go back to sleep. I felt a… weight on my shoulder, on my leg. It moved and I realized it was Rijaan-Djo. He was curled up right next to sweet Cicero. I heard his soft snoring grow quiet as he woke up. A shift in his weight. He was going to sit up. Going to leave.
I felt my hands meet fur and he stopped. I realized I had unthinkingly reached! Reached out to him and put my hands on his waist. I tore them away like Rijaan-Djo was made of hot coals.
“Wait,” is not what the fool of hearts meant to say, but it came out anyway.
Rijaan-Djo looked back at me, those ever-piercing eyes searching poor Cicero’s. Oh, I feared the worst! Two massive blunders, one right after the other, and Rijaan-Djo couldn't have missheard, couldn't have misunderstood! Cicero had touched his bare waist, pulled him back, told him to wait… Rijaan-Djo stretched his body toward the nightstand and Cicero knew he had blown it, that the Listener was getting up…
But-
Instead, he grabbed the water jug that was sitting on his side table, poured it into the little goblet, and drank. Then he poured again, drank again! He poured a third time, and… handed it to me.
“Drink,” he commanded.
Wordlessly I obeyed. Poor Cicero really was thirsty… So was Rijaan-Djo still, by the look of it. Once I had finished, I handed it back so he could have a third cup.
“Ah,” he sighed, “This one has not been hungover in a long time.” The third cup was downed with ease.
“Now, what was it you had asked Rijaan-Djo?”
I think I blushed so hard I turned purple. For a split second there was a tiny flame of hope, hope that he didn't hear.
“Well?”
Gah, Cicero really can't lie to him, even when he can't tell the truth either… I felt myself struggling to remember any words, let alone the right ones!
“Um… I, uh, wanted you to… wait… But you don't have to!”
Again his eyes searched poor Cicero’s. Again he leaned away. He put down the jug and the goblet. And then… he returned. Very gently he lowered himself back into bed and curled up against me. He pushed against my arm and I raised it, only for him to bring it around his shoulders. And he got closer. He leaned over Cicero and brought a hand up to my waist. He let Cicero put an arm on his warm and broad back. He let Cicero hold him.
I felt hot breath on my chest as he sighed.
“This one is sorry for lying to you. He did hear what you said. Just wanted to hear it again.”
Cicero is surprised he is still alive because I'm very sure my heart exploded. I wanted nothing more than to hold him in that moment, and I could… I could run my hand over his arm, over his shoulder, over his hair. I could coo, and I did. I could squeeze, and I did!
Once it was light, we gave a more earnest effort in getting up. We had a meeting with the Jarl, after all. And that went… okay… Rijaan-Djo was given the title of Thane of Whiterun for his service, and now there's a porter we have to keep track of. Cicero doesn't trust her at all, but Rijaan-Djo just seemed happy to offload his bags for a while. I don't think it's sunk in for either of us yet, Rijaan-Djo being Thane… being Dragonborn… But honestly, who could absorb all that? Heh, for lack of a better word.
(Party letter, untitled entry)
Hello Babette. The courier brought Rijaan-Djo your letter a couple days ago, but this one thought he would probably return to the sanctuary faster than any letter he tried to send. We were surprised to find the sanctuary empty, and Rijaan-Djo is disappointed to have missed you and Nazir, but he knows you are both busy. Your absence did worry the Keeper, but The Night Mother looks the same as when we left, so no harm.
This one would wish you luck on your kill, but we have not seen the skeever here so maybe it is congratulations instead. Perhaps Nazir will find it in his heart to forgive you. If you have not killed it yet, let Rijaan-Djo say that sometimes it is a good idea to leave space in your life for the things that annoy you.
Many things have changed since you saw us last. Too many to explain, so Rijaan-Djo will state them plainly and let you and Nazir work them out.
Mirmulnir was a dragon. One that had been camping near Whiterun and stealing cattle. Rijaan-Djo and Cicero killed it, and this one absorbed its soul. Did not mean to, it just happened. The guards called this one “Dragonborn” and taught him to shout like a dragon, though they themselves could not. The Jarl gave him a title and a “house-carl” to carry his things. Told Rijaan-Djo to find the men with Grey Beards on the tallest peak in Skyrim. They will teach Rijaan-Djo what this “Dragonborn” means. We will be on our way there by the time you read this.
Also, Cicero has become an invaluable companion. The Brotherhood will need to find a full-time replacement Keeper so he can continue to travel with Rijaan-Djo. He is sure to prove even more useful in the coming weeks, as Rijaan-Djo cleans up this dragon mess. Please understand that Rijaan-Djo has given this decision much consideration. It is for the betterment of the family. Of the Listener.
This one misses you and hopes you are doing well. Please do not get yourself killed.
Rijaan-Djo
P.S. To the right are six bottles of Blackbriar Mead. These are for Nazir. He will know if any are missing. Attached to one of the bottles is the list of new contracts. Happy killing.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
We have left for the barrow. Tonight we are resting in Riverwood, and plan to attack in the morning. Rijaan-Djo has received information from a local shopkeep, and he says there are many draugr and other dangerous creatures. This one hopes the gold they carry will make this all worth his time. If not, it seems the shopkeep is wanting to pay a good sum for an artifact inside. He should hope his price will beat all other merchants in Skyrim, otherwise the claw stays with Rijaan-Djo.
This one does not like the inn. The lady always follows Rijaan-Djo around like he will steal something. Stupid racist Nord. Rijaan-Djo is an assassin, not a thief. If he wanted your things, you would not be alive to stop him. Rijaan-Djo suggested we camp, and Cicero agreed. This one is glad. The river has many excellent spots to set up tents, and Rijaan-Djo believes they did find the best one.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
Cicero has confused Rijaan-Djo. Until now, this one believed the Keeper would tell him anything he asked. Rijaan-Djo has bared what small pieces of his soul he could find, at least what little he could say, but Cicero still keeps secrets. Rijaan-Djo thought it was a simple question, at least for people other than himself. We were sitting by the fire, had just eaten apple cabbage stew. Cicero was brushing Rijaan-Djo's fur as normal after supper. This one was thinking how pleased he was that the Keeper added apple to the stew, just because Rijaan-Djo had asked. It was sweet and warm. Reminded this one of something from long ago.
"Do you have a mother?” this one asked.
Cicero giggled. “Of course, so do you.”
“No,” this one said, “before the Unholy Matron. When you were a child.”
The Keeper was dead silent. Kept brushing.
“Well?”
He stopped. “I don't want to talk about that.” His voice was stern.
Rijaan-Djo was upset! What is this? We can make up songs together, roll against each other in the grass, but cannot say if we had a mother or not?
“This one had a mother,” Rijaan-Djo tried, “Don't you want to ask about Rijaan-Djo's mother?”
Again, he spoke plainly and coldly. “I don't want to have this conversation.” Then he stood up. Did not look at Rijaan-Djo. “Cicero is tired. I'll see you in the morning.” Then he went to his tent. Rijaan-Djo has not seen him for the rest of the night.
Is Rijaan-Djo mistaken? Is it that Rijaan-Djo should reveal his heart but Cicero can say nothing? “Apology accepted,” this is not an answer to a confession. It is forgiveness, not dedication.
But this one knows the way the little Keeper looks at him, knows where he looks. Perhaps Rijaan-Djo was wrong, that Cicero is just like the others. That there is so much lust that love has no room. Perhaps Rijaan-Djo's comfort will be confined to brushing fur and rolling in the grass. That Rijaan-Djo may say whatever he wants and never learn a thing about Cicero.
He hopes this is not the case.
(Cicero’s journal)
8th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Tiny clockwork jester
Spinning on a track
Never falling, never failing
Never turning back
Gears were getting weaker
Tread was getting thin
Picked up a knife, cut down his life
Never spun again
I wish Rijaan-Djo would just leave well enough alone. We were fine! We were happy! Why does he have to ask so many questions? And now! Well, now… Cicero thinks he's upset. Knows he's upset. But… I didn't want to lie.
We cleared Bleak Falls Barrow, which was no problem! Even when that dunmer bandit tried to trick us, Rijaan-Djo simply chopped his heel and let him clear out the next few rooms alone, as the draugurs chased his blood trail, haha. The deathlord was easy, and the loot trivial… but that wasn't the problem.
The problem is tonight. And last night. We set up camp at the same spot we were before we entered the barrow, and as if it sparked his memory, Rijaan-Djo asked again. Again! About Cicero’s mother, about his past. The long ago, long before anything Cicero is now. Before the laughter. Cicero hates remembering. Poor Cicero hoped he could one day believe it was a past life, someone else's. But not when he keeps getting asked questions about it!
And then, Rijaan-Djo asked more questions… and they were just as hard to answer.
Questions like, “Do you love Rijaan-Djo?”
Ugh, Cicero didn't know what to say! Cicero didn't want to say anything! So I asked him back and he didn't answer. That showed him, I thought. It's been so long since Cicero loved and was loved. And never the jester… No, never did the poor fool of hearts think he could love and be loved. But Rijaan-Djo asked more questions.
“Do you only find Rijaan-Djo attractive? Do you only want to take and not give? Is there no warmth in a fire?”
Cicero didn't - still doesn’t… fully understand what he meant… but I knew one thing.
“Take and not give? Why do you wound poor Cicero so? I give so much! And not because I have to, but because I want to!”
“Why?” He asked.
I exploded. “I don't know! Because I can! Because the Listener lets me!” Cicero grew extremely tired of the conversation and tried to leave! Tried! But Rijaan-Djo caught his hand.
“Please,” he said, “Do you love Rijaan-Djo?”
Oh, the Listener was so sad. Sad, yellow eyes searching Cicero’s, squinting to protect from the smoky campfire. I was overwhelmed! So… Cicero fawned again…
“Well… Cicero can love you… if that's what the Listener wants… Cicero does want you to be happy…”
Rijaan-Djo let go of my hand. “Go,” he muttered. “Go on to bed. Leave Rijaan-Djo here. This one was mistaken.”
What was I supposed to do? No, really… Cicero had no ideas. He just looked so… defeated. His shoulders, so low… I went to touch one, but Rijaan-Djo moved. Moved away from poor Cicero’s hand… Oh, I wanted to shake him and remind him that it was Cicero who took care of the Listener, Cicero who stayed by him after the attack on the sanctuary, who waited with anticipation for just a single word. It was Cicero who was still by his side! Wanted to be by his side! Forever!
But… love? Such a dangerous word! One that Cicero can not take chances on! So, he went to bed. Up, to his tent. To write this. Alone.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
The stone is retrieved. The claw returned. Sold at a hefty sum to an ungrateful shopkeep. Returning to Whiterun. The road is long today.
(Cicero’s journal)
9th of Morning Star, 4E 202
The fool of hearts thought things could not get worse.
Rijaan-Djo is… the Dragonborn.
The Listener is the Dragonborn.
It doesn't make any sense. It's like a fairytale… or a bad dream. That was the name given to all the Nord heroes in books, all the kings, and warriors, and very important people… but Rijaan-Djo isn't even a Nord! Oh, and Rijaan-Djo looked so sad when we found out… When we finally killed that damned dragon and its very being, its soul was ripped out of its body. And then it engulfed Rijaan-Djo! Like he had become his own hurricane, his own sun. It wrapped him in light and wind and sound and purpose like he was ascending… to godhood.
Oh, and the guards hoopla-d and told him to shout! Shout! And shout he did! Like a thunderclap! Like a dragon! And down he went, knocked off his feet from the force, or the shock, or both! Cicero had to pull the guards away from him just to help him up, the wretched boars! No more, I said! No more questions! No more cheering! Let Cicero help our little family's Listener get away from this… this nonsense!
We walked the winding riverbank until Whiterun felt far enough away. Far enough for Rijaan-Djo to breathe again. Oh so quiet he watched the water pass by, while I rested on a tree stump. Then he walked up to Cicero… sat down behind him, and leaned back. Used sweet Cicero for support while heaving out a mournful sigh. Then he whispered a question. Cicero was not sure it was for him.
“What… is wrong with Rijaan-Djo?”
Cicero couldn't think of what to say, didn't know if he should say anything! Instead, I brought one of my hands from the stump and ever so gently found one of his. Oh, Cicero was so worried he would pull away! That he would get up again and stay away from poor Cicero… but he didn't. He let me loop my two smallest fingers around his. Let them stay there. Stayed there with Cicero until he could speak.
Then he said he wanted to get a drink. I agreed wholeheartedly, so back to Whiterun we went, back to the Bannered Mare. We rented a room and took some seats at the bar, where Cicero is writing now. But oh… People keep bugging Rijaan-Djo. Asking him questions, telling him to shout, buying him drinks… Rijaan-Djo has been bought so many drinks, he's even started giving them to Cicero! And of course Rijaan-Djo remains silent so I’m the one who has to deflect all the questions! At least Cicero has a steady supply of mead…
Hmm, speaking of… The lady at the bar said they made a mean mudcrab cake… and Cicero is hungry…
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER TWELVE
[Exhibit K: One plain brown cloth-bound travel journal, imprinted with the official emblem of Whiterun, procured from the Dragonborn’s Whiterun housecarl, Lydia, herein referred to as “Lydia’s journal”]
(Lydia’s journal)
06 MS 4E 202
Looks like stupid blew into town. Some bandit looking types wandered into Dragonsreach and tried to get straight through to the Jarl, and they acted all surprised when they were stopped by Irileth. I was personally surprised she didn't gut them immediately. Gods, she's so hot.
She looked at me again today, when she passed me in the hall. She said good morning. One day she'll see just how much of a catch I am, and stop treating me like just another lowly servant. Until then, I'll just keep shining her armor and imagining her inside of it.
Anyway, she ended up talking to them about something. Probably when the next faire was going to be, or where they could find enough skeevers to train their blade without killing themselves. They looked pretty pissed when they left, too, probably because they were empty-handed. Damned sell swords, every one of them wet behind the ears and looking for the next handout.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
This one would have killed the dark elf if she had not been swarmed with guards. Only an idiot would perform the black sacrament, would entreat the will of Sithis, for a dragon. Imbeciles. You get attacked by the same dragon every week for months and you hire an assassin? What does she expect Rijaan-Djo to do, shout it out of the skies? Ridiculous.
Rijaan-Djo will do the fetch quest. Get the stone. Kill the dragon. Somehow. Then kill every last idiot who pushed my buttons today.
[Exhibit L: Excerpts from Dragonsreach’s royal secretary's minutes, herein referred to as “Whiterun secretary's minutes”. It should be noted to the reader that any omissions were made at the behest of either Dragonsreach housecarl Irileth or Dragonborn Rijaan-Djo.]
(Whiterun secretary’s minutes)
6th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Official minutes for the meeting of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, Court Wizard Farengar Secret-Fire, Housecarl Irileth, Khajiit traveler Rijaan-Djo, and Imperial traveler Cicero.
Irileth: Watch your tongue. I know you have a lot of questions, but I'm trying to answer them. I wasn't the one who roped you into this. If the (redacted) had’ve just listened to me instead of contracting this out, that dragon would already be dead, and you wouldn't have to get your precious claws dirty.
Cicero: The (redacted)?
Rijaan-Djo: This one sees no dirt under your nails, elf. Your men are well fed and lazy. These are no signs of struggle.
Irileth: How dare you imply that I have not done everything in my power, that my men have not fought to the best of their ability. We have lost good soldiers fighting this infernal beast. But we grow tired. The dragon has razed our crops and stolen our farm animals. It has terrorized our people and stalled every essential function of our city. A whelp like you does not understand the-
Jarl Balgruuf: Irileth, that's enough. This is a lot to put on a simple adventurer.
Irileth: Sir, with all due respect, these two are not simple adventurers, they are members of the (redacted). Our council with the (redacted) must not have gone as well as we thought. They performed the (redacted) and contacted the (redacted) behind our backs.
Jarl Balgruuf: The (redacted)? Didn't they murder the Emperor?
Irileth: Allegedly. I doubt it. Their forces are highly trained and deadly, but they lack the creativity and nuance for that. Don't give me that look. You, Khajiit, will you accept the contract?
Rijaan-Djo: This one is named Rijaan-Djo, and that is not how this works. A contract has been accepted by the Night Mother, and-
Irileth: And Sithis’s will must be done, yes I know. So you accept?
Rijaan-Djo: This one does not accept, but still he must do.
Irileth: Good enough. Farengar? Do you have the papers?
Farengar Secret-Fire: Ah, yes, here we are. This is a sketch I've made of what you're looking for, a “dragonstone” hidden deep within Bleak Falls Barrow, just outside Riverwood. And this is a map I've-
Rijaan-Djo: Hold on. Rijaan-Djo thought he was killing a dragon.
Farengar Secret-Fire: Rijaan-Djo is, I mean you are. But you should get this first. The dragon isn't due to attack again for another week or so and we need this tablet.
Rijaan-Djo: What's it for?
Farengar Secret-Fire: All you lot need to know is that it possibly holds the secret to defeating this dragon menace once and for all.
Rijaan-Djo: Rijaan-Djo does not do blind fetch quests, mage. You will tell Rijaan-Djo or you will not get your little rock.
Farengar Secret-Fire: Ah, I see you're not the trusting type. Well, when you get back with it, I may explain. And until then, will the promise of a hefty sum of gold change your mind? Besides, it might be your only ticket to killing Mirmulnir. You do have to complete your contract, don't you?
Rijaan-Djo: Do not speak of things you do not understand. This one will get your rock and kill your dragon.
Irileth: Good. Oh and, before you go, get some better armor. You two couldn't fight a cold in those things.
Rijaan-Djo: This one will be happy to be rid of you.
Farengar Secret-Fire: Safe travels.
Jarl Balgruuf: Ah, well. That went well I think. Don't you think?
(Adjournment of meeting)
(Cicero’s journal)
6th of Morning Star 4E 202
A dragon! Cicero was right! And now Rijaan-Djo and Cicero are on the hunt again! No, maybe not for the dragon yet… but for something! Something to kill the dragon! And no, not right now, but soon! Tomorrow! And how lovely to know that we get to pick up such an exciting contract. One Morag Tong’s trash is another, more capable assassin’s treasure! And, well, speaking of trash…
Rijaan-Djo insisted we dump our new armor as soon as we got back to the inn. I mean… it worked… though maybe it did make us look too innocuous. Can't have the Listener and his Keeper be the embarrassed party at a meeting with a Jarl! I kept the circlet, though. Hehe, that one wasn't really part of the disguise.
Is Cicero maybe looking too far into the gesture? Hmm… Who knows. But for whatever reason Rijaan-Djo did it, it was still very sweet.
We bought the armor from the general goods store because apparently there's not a single stitch of good clothing in Whiterun… and Cicero was going to feel so naked without his cap… I really don't know how Rijaan-Djo could tell, but he asked poor Cicero if he would like a circlet. But they were so expensive! Nearly as expensive as the lowly and bulky armor we were getting, and not even necessary!
I told him no! No, of course not! Humble Cicero, with a circlet? Maybe if it was pried off a bloodied noble, but bought from a store? But Rijaan-Djo wouldn't have it. He told poor Cicero to pick one. I picked the cheapest, and… he called Cicero a liar! I said copper and onyx were plenty for poor humble Cicero, and that he really only needed it to keep his hair from moving around! But again… Rijaan-Djo said pick, and to not lie this time.
Oh how difficult the choice was for Cicero! Three circlets, all expensive... But thank Sithis the second cheapest one was my choice. A silver one, with the brightest blue gemstones Cicero had ever seen! It sparkled like the night sky. Oh, or like the night sky reflected by water. Or a bowl of sweets! I picked it, and Rijaan-Djo looked like he wanted to call me a liar again.
“Why not the gold one?” He asked. “It has rubies that are blood red.”
“That one’s… nice,” I answered, but then I explained my choice. Rijaan-Djo laughed. “That is moonstone. Yes, it is very pretty.” And then- he bought it for me. Rijaan-Djo bought sweet Cicero a gift. A beautiful and expensive gift that glows like moonbeams on the sea. And the best thing- It fits well hidden under Cicero’s cap!
(Ysolda’s journal)
6th of Morning Star, 4E 202
I saw Rijaan-Djo and Cicero again today, not in the inn, but at Belethor’s General Goods. They were debating about which sets of armor to buy when I walked in. The quarreling didn't surprise me at all, but it was suspicious that they were buying armor that was surely worth so much less than whatever they were wearing. Rijaan-Djo's armor is unfamiliar and Cicero's outfit is… odd, but judging by the color and murmur of the sheen linings on both, they have some pretty hefty enchantments on them.
Belethor saw me in line and told them to hurry. He really doesn't know anything about customer service, but I can't say I wasn't also getting impatient. Finally, they made their decision and Rijaan-Djo went to pay, but something else distracted him. Cicero had been touching the crown of his head, and humming a discordant tune.
Rijaan-Djo noticed, and watched with a skeptical gaze. Belethor asked if he was going to get on with buying the armor, but Rijaan-Djo held up a hand.
“Hold on. Cicero, what is wrong with you? Is it your hair? Do you want a circlet?”
Belethor sighed and gave me a look. I shrugged back at him.
“What? Oh of course not!” Cicero replied. “Nothing so opulent for humble Cicero!”
“You will be uncomfortable without it. Pick one or Rijaan-Djo will pick for you.”
This time we both rolled our eyes. I was thinking if they didn't pick one soon, I'd pick for them! Cicero pointed at one and Rijaan-Djo got angry.
“Do not lie to Rijaan-Djo. Do not pick the cheapest, pick the one you want.”
They just kept arguing about which circlet to get. Belethor tried a few times to cut them short, but their attention was on each other. Finally, mercifully, Cicero made his decision. Moonstone in silver. Cute, considering. If I wasn't sure they were a couple before, Rijaan-Djo's reaction to his choice confirmed it. “That is moonstone,” he laughed, “Yes, it is very pretty.” They may argue, but I did think it was sweet that they shared their cultures. Rijaan-Djo looked so elated at Cicero’s choice that I nearly forgave them for holding up the line so long.
Belethor did not, however.
“Can you believe that crap? We'd make good money if we sold them both to a freak show”
Ugh.
He's such a jackass.
(Babette’s letter)
4E 202
Hey.
Rijaan-Djo, Cicero, I guess whoever picks this letter up first. I hope the contract is going well. Who’s Jarl now? Please tell me it's not still freaking Früldir Law-Bringer, that guy was a real stick in the mud.
Anyway, things are going okay here. I think Nazir's finally going to take that vacation, which is going to leave me with a lot more chores, but I'm not too worried. Not once one of the two things I'm taking care of is… taken care of.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER ELEVEN
(Babette's journal)
4E 201 202
Looks like the motley crew are back to adventuring again, not that I'm the least bit surprised anymore. I've started to learn that all their nonsense is less a mortal thing, and more a “them” thing. And it's not as if they don't both have their quirks. Rijaan-Djo wanted to speak to The Night Mother as soon as they got home, and it's a good thing he did. She had another contract. The name was weird and the contract holder was even weirder: The Jarl of Whiterun’s housecarl. I'm honestly glad they're taking this one, but I'm not so happy to be stuck with the skeever.
Cicero had a pretty good idea: we keep so many deadly ingredients around, it would only make sense for a skeever to end up poisoning itself. Nazir’s been talking about taking a vacation which means my hints have been working. I'll just wait until everybody leaves, then “accidently” leave out some poison I've been working on, mixed of course with a bit of egg and rabbit meat.
It’ll work, it has to. And it's just a little skeever, how much poison could it really take? I can handle Nazir's dumb jokes, I can handle Rijaan-Djo pacing and talking to himself at night, I can even handle Cicero’s singing and blatant innuendos! But I can't handle that damn skeever! I'm just so tired of shooing that thing off the dinner table, of hearing it try to open my bedroom door at night, of squeaking fucking Ragnar the Red, I'm just tired of it! I hate it! I hate this stupid rat!
(Cicero’s journal)
5th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Little field mouse, tick! tock!
Followed by a red! hawk!
It isn't that we don't! Talk!
You press into my hand.
Cicero is… anxious, for a couple reasons. First, and Cicero supposes, most importantly, is the Listener's new contract. Mirmulnir… Cicero doesn't know it personally, no, but it sounds like a fairytale name… Like a dragon name. But, no! Of course, that's a myth! Still, the Jarl’s housecarl being the contract holder… and having to go meet with her… in a castle…
Oh, what will Cicero and the Listener wear? Cicero’s poor clothes are all battered and patched up, and dirty… Not fit at all for a meeting in the Jarl’s home, even if we do only have to talk to his housecarl! And Rijaan-Djo… it's not that the Dark Brotherhood armor doesn't flatter him, it's just that it's not very… disarming. Hmhmm, well at least, not for most people…
That, um… is another matter entirely. The last time Cicero was moisturizing the Listener's hands, he did something that made me… nervous. I was just about done, just about let go of his hand… And snatch! His fingers caught Ciciero’s. Then, with his other hand, he drew out some troll fat salve from the jar. Not too much, not too little, exactly how much Cicero had taught him to use…
I realized what he was doing, and I tried to pull my hand away. “No, no,” I said. Can't be having that! But he tightened his grip. Didn't let poor Cicero go. I tried not to watch him as he worked the salve onto my hand. I tried to avert my beet-red face as his hands touched every part of my own, as he brought his eyes up to watch poor Cicero, to see how I reacted… Hehe, if Cicero felt watched from the other side… this was something else entirely. I honestly don't know how Rijaan-Djo stands it!
“You will not be embarrassed,” he said. Ugh, damn my imperial genes for this flushing face! As he moved to the next hand he added, “You are this one’s equal. Rijaan-Djo will return to you the same kindness you offer him.” I tried to argue, but… how could I? Especially when he said it with such… authority.
But still, Cicero is a little… alarmed that the Listener has started taking such liberties. Hmhmm, ravish Cicero, yes, but pamper him? The fool of hearts? That's madness!
[Exhibit J: One officially issued Whiterun Guard’s notebook, found abandoned in a guard station north of Whiterun, herein referred to as “Whiterun Guard's notebook”]
(Whiterun Guard's notebook)
6th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Gods, another awful day. Sit in the tower, watch the road, eat an apple, shift when your legs fall asleep. Days like these make me wish I hadn't’ve listened to my old Da and finished my studies at the Bard’s College. Said they were all a bunch of pansies, what does he know. At least pansies don't sit in a guard tower all day.
Saw one today, at least I think so. I don't know what else he could've been. A jester, with the pointy hat and everything. Quite a gimmick, but he did play it well. Must've been paid well too, he was travelling with an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood. Those guys have got every hold across Skyrim in their pocket. You can't do anything but smile and wave when they pass, unless you catch them red-handed. Even then, sometimes the bastards still get away with it.
The jester bard was singing, but not any songs I recognized. They were quick and simple, like he was making them up on the spot. As they were coming up on my bend, he ran up to the assassin and insisted he sing one as well. A dangerous game, little bard.
“Ah, no.” laughed the assassin. “This one does not sing.”
Up to this point I had no idea he was a Khajiit. They were still pretty far up the bend, and his colors made me think he was just an Imperial or a Redguard. The accent though, that's hard to miss. Once they had nearly reached my outpost, the jester bard had come up with five or six more songs, and I could more clearly make out the creature in Dark Brotherhood armor. It was some kind of were-cat. Either that, or in serious need of an apothecary. Poor thing barely had any fur. At least, not that I could tell.
The were-cat had been growing more agitated at the nonsense songs, and finally hit his limit.
“Fine! If (whatever his name was) sings, will you stop pushing him?”
I hadn't realized because they were so light, but the jester really had been gently pushing the were-cat’s shoulders each time he went past, like a dive-bomb, or a sweat bee. I readied my bow, certain the jester bard was pushing his fools luck too far. But the assassin stopped for a moment, and churned out an off-beat, off-key little tune. I don't remember it all, but he tried rhyming “one” with “thumb”, which was creative, putting it generously.
“See, you can sing,” the bard teased, “And we can work on coming up with better lyrics.”
“Oh, so this one's lyrics are not good?” The were-cat demanded.
“Does that matter to you?” The jester bard giggled and touched the cat's shoulder again. “I thought you didn't sing.” The cat growled and swatted his hands away. “Do not push this one. Why are you like this today?” I was sure the jester bard would take the hint, but he came back at the were-cat harder. My bow hand twitched as he gave a good shove. He must've had a death wish.
The cat reeled at the shove, but he looked more offended than overpowered. The bard stood defiantly near him, and with one swift motion, the cat placed one palm on his face and shoved him straight off the road. He crashed through the underbrush and landed in a pile of leaves. The were-cat watched for movement, and when he saw none, called out a name. There was no answer.
“Shit,” he said and ran in after him. I couldn't see from my post, but I could hear a tussle. Suddenly the bard was out of the trees again, on top of the cat, dagger poised to strike the assassin’s chest. That kill I wouldn't have stopped for anything, it's a good day when one of those monsters gets what's coming to him. But he hesitated, and the were-cat overpowered him, rolling him over on his back. I thought for sure I was about to witness a bloody death. To my surprise, the cat jumped back up, pulling the jester to his feet, laughing. Then they carried on into town as if nothing had happened. They hadn't been fighting, they had been playing.
Gods, I hate this job. Next bit of coin I get, I'm hiring a carriage to Solitude and finishing my degree.
(Cicero's journal)
6th of Morning Star, 4E 201
I can't believe it worked! Cicero tried all day to get under Rijaan-Djo's skin! In the end I just gave up and pushed him, and that worked. And while yes, he did push poor Cicero back, he followed it up with something much better…
I feigned an injury when he pushed me. I let myself lose balance and tumble into the grass, then I curled up like before… like when the Listener hunted poor Cicero through the sanctuary. I stayed quiet, stayed small. “Cicero?” I heard him call, then he came in after me. I rolled onto my back and looked up at him with as pitiful a look I could muster. He stepped between my legs to offer me his hand, and the trap was set. I accepted it, and snap! I hooked one leg behind his ankle and brought the other up, up across the hip, then kicked. His body folded like a letter and he tumbled backwards.
Quickly! Quickly I was up! Up and over, using his momentum. A mouse trap, pinning him to the ground. Poor Cicero didn't think he would succeed, that Rijaan-Djo would be so off guard… I dug for my dagger and flashed it at him for good measure, hoping it wouldn't be a… deadly mistake.
“Haha!” I exerted. “Cicero has you now!”
His expression changed, from hurt and fear, to anger, and then… To something… Something that Cicero thinks he can place, but… won't. All Cicero can say is that it carried a major tone of illumination, of hunger… of the bliss of consumption. Immediately I felt very foolish for climbing on top of the Listener the way I did. Very foolish, and… exposed.
I felt claws grab my hips. And not quick at all, no! But slowly, intentionally. Without much effort he pushed me to the side and rolled on top of me. Oh, Cicero’s poor face gets hot even thinking about it… Thinking about his arrogant grin, so close, just above me. Thinking about how his body pushed against Cicero’s, how he rested himself in between poor Cicero’s legs… And again he watched my face for the reaction he knew I'd have. And he laughed! He laughed and disconnected his body from Cicero’s, laughed and helped him up.
“Be careful,” he said, “This one likes you,” then started walking again! Walking like nothing happened! Oh, he drives Cicero crazy!
(Rijaan-Djo’s journal, untitled entry)
We have set out for Whiterun, to speak to the housecarl. She will explain to Rijaan-Djo who or what this “Mirmilnir” is and this one will be glad to be rid of it.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
We were traveling, and Cicero was being a grievance. He was singing. Dancing. Running off the path to look at butterflies. All very usual for him. But Rijaan-Djo kept feeling a knock on his arm as Cicero would pass by him. At first, Rijaan-Djo believed it to be on accident. But then at every pass, he would bump Rijaan-Djo again. This one did not know if Cicero did this to get Rijaan-Djo's attention, to annoy him, or because Cicero was upset at something Rijaan-Djo had done. This one even did what Cicero asked, sang the song. But still he prodded. He critiqued Rijaan-Djo’s improvisational skills.
And then he pushed Rijaan-Djo.
This one thought, what has happened? Is Cicero angry? Cicero's face did not look angry. He looked keen. Like he was giving a challenge. This one watched his crooked grin become a proud sneer and felt a fire explode from within. Without thinking, Rijaan-Djo grabbed him by the forehead. Pushed him back. Did not mean to push so hard.
Saw him disappear in the trees. Heard a crash. Heard nothing else, even when Rijaan-Djo called his name. Panicked. Jumped through the bushes. Found Cicero on the ground, shaking and holding his side. Like-
But Cicero was tricking him.
Rijaan-Djo did not see how Cicero did it, kicking him to the ground like that. One second, Rijaan-Djo was helping him up. The next, Rijaan-Djo was on his back. The solid ground sucked the wind out of Rijaan-Djo's lungs. This one returned to Nirn, and Cicero was on top of him. Cicero laughed as he brandished his dagger at Rijaan-Djo. He had tricked Rijaan-Djo, again. Pinned him to the ground. Let his hair fall in Rijaan-Djo's face and gave a dreadfully happy cackle.
And he was beautiful. And infuriating. And maniacal. And pressing on places that were already a bit sensitive. He looked down at Rijaan-Djo and his smile wavered. His blade dropped. He was unsure. How could Rijaan-Djo have not seen that smile? That waist? This one wanted the first back, but was happy with the second. Rijaan-Djo studied the hips. Remembers them now. Felt them with his hands. Rolled on top of Cicero.
This one became terrified. So many things he wanted. So many all at once. Cicero was panting, melting into the grass. This one knew without having to see him. The little Keeper was thinking the same thing as Rijaan-Djo. But it was too much. Too many decisions. Too many things to see, to smell, to touch. This one let Cicero go. Helped him up. Confessed to him and has not received an answer. Can not think about anything else.
Nothing in Rijaan-Djo's head but cuts, curves, folds, hair. Blushing over his shoulder as he undressed. Mirmulnir is a whisper on a mountain top compared to Cicero. And it is this one’s own voice who calls it.
This one sees Cicero now. Sees him laugh away quiet moments. Sees him brushing his own hair in the evenings. Sees the patches in his colorful clothes. The careful dedication. The steadfast demand for peace. For comfort. For happiness. It is what Rijaan-Djo wants too, but he did not know he could demand it. Did not know he could even ask.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER TEN
(Nazir's journal)
1st of Morning Star, 4E 202
Happy freaking New Year to me, I guess. Divines be damned. Cicero’s back on the road, and take one guess where I'm stuck. At least Babette offered to help this time, so maybe I can still get that vacation, as long as I can convince her to take care of Scrappy.
I'm thinking of looking for new recruits whenever I can get out of this place. After this, no more babysitter Nazir. Someone else can deal with all the sudden changes in plans.
(Cicero’s Journal)
1st of Morning Star, 4E 202
On the road, on the road again! Cicero and Rijaan-Djo! We spoke with the mage in the silly robes, and he's meeting us at the shrine. The shrine of… Mehrunes Dagon. But, Cicero convinced Rijaan-Djo to rest a while for some breakfast, just to get a little something on his stomach before off we go, killing once more! Cicero made honey-nut treats!
The Listener… hasn't talked much about last night, but he speaks softer to poor Cicero, is more clear and less… frustrating. He said this morning that he wanted Cicero to join him, instead of just pointing and hoping I understood. Last night, after we talked, he even let Cicero help him get back to bed, let Cicero pet his hair as he fell asleep. Let Cicero coddle, just a little, and did not become angry. Hasn't been angry at poor Cicero at all!
Hmm… Ah, but Cicero can't say he doesn't miss it just a little bit. That fire in Rijaan-Djo… but, perhaps there's still some in there, somewhere… and maybe it can be… better directed.
Still, poor Cicero can't help but think about… one little thing…
Love?
Did Rijaan-Djo really say “love”? Oh, of course he did, Cicero could never misremember that… But-
Well, Cicero never actually said anything about love… Yes, he enjoys his time with the Listener, and yes, he’s happy that Rijaan-Djo has embraced his presence, and yes, Cicero is buzzing with excitement for more embraces! But… love? Cicero still has oodles of questions… Some, yes, for Rijaan-Djo. But some as well, for himself.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
Silus is dead and Rijaan-Djo has the dagger. It was what this one had hoped for. What he worked for. It hums with daedric power. Merrunz was… unexpected. Nothing more than a big, destructive kitten chasing a ball. This one lied to him then stole his treasures.
(Cicero’s journal)
2nd of Morning Star, 4E 202
How good it is to see Rijaan-Djo fight with a smile again! Oh, how happy he was when Dagon spoke to him, told him to kill Silus.
“This one was planning on it,” he laughed.
Cicero will admit he was surprised when Rijaan-Djo pled fealty to the Prince of Revolution. Alliance perhaps, but not submission… But! Rijaan-Djo grinned at Cicero once he received the completed dagger.
“Now Rijaan-Djo can ransack this temple.” I asked if he was afraid of facing a daedric prince’s wrath, but of course he wasn't. “The big kitten can try to kill this one. He welcomes the challenge.” Hmhmm, ever the optimist… Cicero does really like how bullheaded he can be! But, again! Redirected…
The Listener was even happy when Cicero helped take care of him afterward, after we set up camp for the night. It's like whatever wire he has wound up so tightly in his dark, murderous soul snapped just a little bit, just enough that he can relax… for a few minutes at a time. And as long as it doesn't lead to my head being bitten off, Cicero is happy to take… advantage of those moments.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
Merrunz made Rijaan-Djo upset. He thought Rijaan-Djo would bow to his whim. That he killed Silus for him. Idiot. This one killed Silus because he could. This one also had fun killing the stupid prince’s men. Rijaan-Djo is not a pawn. The only one who can direct this one is The Night Mother. The will of Sithis.
The Night Mother finally answered Rijaan-Djo. Directed his blade. This one never thought he would say the things he has. To the fool. To anyone. But this is correct. Difficult for Rijaan-Djo, but correct. This one knew when he saw Cicero step out to stop his prayer. When he heard Cicero try to make amends. Cicero was wrong. It was Rijaan-Djo who was the fool.
There is something in this one. Something deep inside. Like a magnet. Pushes Rijaan-Djo away from love. From comfort. It is heavy and will not move. But Rijaan-Djo will try. For The Night Mother. For Cicero. For Rijaan-Djo.
Rijaan-Djo still hears the name. When he is going to sleep.
Mirmulnir.
This one is the hand of but one god. The contract will be fulfilled.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER NINE
(Cicero’s journal)
26th of Evening Star, 4E 201
Cicero will not be joining the Listener on any more adventures. I will teach him how to take care of himself and be done with it. That way I can go back to my duties, to The Night Mother.
Cicero was only doing what he always does as Keeper, and I told Rijaan-Djo as much when he interrogated me. Oh yes, he questioned me while I fixed his hair, before we set out. He asked if it was required of me to dote on him, and I said simply, “Humble Cicero is only doing his duty.”
He replied, “This one kills men who lie to him.”
Oh, what does he want from poor Cicero? To confess that he does it because he can? Because Rijaan-Djo lets him? Because it's the only way to get close and smell him again? Touch him? Because Cicero can tell it relaxes him? Bah! It's no use!
He… did something afterwards, and at first Cicero was hopeful! Oh, but the fool of hearts cannot be so lucky. He let Cicero keep working through the fur, getting it ready for the last piece of the dagger, and at some point a thought came into my mind. A way to bend the truth without lying. I leaned in, again! Again, close to his ear.
Then I said: … Oh, something, it all happened so quickly! So slowly! My mind raced but without thought! It was something about how humble Cicero wanted to take care of the Listener. How yes, maybe it's not one of the tenants that he should do this, but that Cicero enjoys helping. It took poor Cicero a second to understand what happened next.
The Listener pushed again, back against poor Cicero. Oh, but it wasn't my hand the Listener was pushing against… It was my face. His lips… My face, buried in fur and neck and ear! My lips, sliding across his jaw as he pushed. Oh, everything in Cicero boiled at the touch. And then, he was up. Again.
Angry. Again.
Oh that stupid… jerk!
Cicero is tired of it! He can't wait to be back home! To do his actual duties and leave this… mess to pick up after himself!
[Exhibit H: One floral embroidered cloth-bound journal, donated by its owner, one Ysolda of Whiterun, herein referred to as “Ysolda’s journal”]
(Ysolda’s journal)
26th of Evening Star, 4E 201
There was a commotion at the inn today. An imperial jester and a lone Khajiit walked in like a bad omen. The bar got quiet, but Hulda got them drinks and food, and let them rent a room. I'm glad she didn't immediately think the worst of them like everyone else, although they did look… strange. I caught both of their names before they had even settled in for the night: Rijaan-Djo and Cicero. I did have to ask the Khajiit to spell his name, but otherwise it was easy to pick up on. The Khajiit spoke in the third person, and the jester did mostly the same.
Rijaan-Djo stayed at the bar, drinking and laughing with some of the other patrons. Cicero, his jester companion, stayed too, but seemed nervous. Or maybe, anxious? He was so afflicted with Sheogorath’s blessing, it was really hard to tell. Eventually they went to their room for the night and none of us heard a peep. That is, until morning.
I was helping Hulda restock the mead when we heard the jester wail, “Wait, why are you mad at me? You were the one who did it!” Rijaan-Djo's voice growled out, “This one is not mad at you. Just… no, don't touch Rijaan-Djo!” “Fine!” the jester cried, “Then Cicero won't! He won't fix your hair or… your hands any more!”
“That is not what this one means!”
“Yes it is!”
It was quiet for a moment, and I looked to Hulda to see if we needed to intervene. She shook her head. Mikael whistled.
The jester broke the silence, in a quieter tone than before. A deeper, more defeated tone. “Cicero knows Rijaan-Djo does not enjoy his company. I'm not an idiot. A fool, yes. But not an idiot. Cicero will return to The Night Mother when we are finished with this blade. Return to his… duties.”
“You cannot leave,” Rijaan-Djo said. “Watch me!” Cicero replied. There was a movement of furniture, then more wailing from Cicero. “Don't touch me, you… you brute! You hypocrite! The Mother would not stay my blade if she knew… If she knew what her Listener has done to this poor fool’s heart!”
The door slammed open, and Cicero walked down the stairs and into the bar. He took a quick glance around the room and glared at those who were still watching. Then he walked out the front door. It was probably another five minutes or so before Rijaan-Djo walked down, toting their bags. I think he knew we were all looking, but he kept his head low and left the same way.
“Trouble in paradise,” Mikael joked. Oh, Mikael. He always knows just what to say.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
Retrieved the blade.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
The fool does not speak now. Neither does Rijaan-Djo. This one’s mind is full and his ears empty. Hands dry. Bed cold. The Keeper is not yet gone, but Rijaan-Djo misses him already.
In Falkreath, just before getting to the blade, Rijaan-Djo turned instead to home. His old home. The Keeper still not speaking, but understanding. He waited while Rijaan-Djo walked the lake. While Rijaan-Djo touched the door. While Rijaan-Djo turned the latch but did not go in. Just imagined going in. Imagined the life within. Held the feeling. Let it go.
Mother?
Can you hear Rijaan-Djo?
If so, please don't let him make a mess anymore.
[Exhibit I: A collection of letters sent from suspects Cicero and Rijaan-Djo to the Dawnstar Sanctuary, herein referred to individually as “Party Letter”]
(Party Letter)
29th of Evening Star, 4E 201
Hello dear Babette! We just received your letter. Things are fine.
We will be back soon.
~Cicero~
P.S. Cicero can help with the rat.
(Cicero’s Journal)
31st of Evening Star, 4E 201
It is morning. Cicero eats his bread and cheese in birdsong as the Listener sleeps. Tweet, tweet, tweet.
Today we return to the sanctuary, and I return to The Night Mother. Cicero will miss the Listener, yes, but… this is better. For both of us. And maybe, just maybe, the Listener will become more understanding. Some day. He's done it before…
But! Cicero will wait no longer! Can't wait!
At least, not for long…
The Listener took Cicero to the old sanctuary while we were in Falkreath. He tread the ground gently, like he would wake them. He averted his eyes when passing the old mage. Quietly, solemnly, he reached for the door. The Listener traced his fingers across the decorative impressions. Looked at it like he was trying to catch sight of Sithis himself. He turned the knob and Cicero could hear his breath shake. He squeezed his eyes, swallowed, and turned it back.
We left immediately for the Keep, for the blade. Pressing onward! Silently. Cicero hates it, but what can he say? What can he do without feeling the Listener's eyes? So he keeps it down.
The keep was actually a fun fight for Cicero, but really it's because he had most of the kills! The Listener fought well, but… without passion. Without his usual bloodthirst, his brashness. Killing one by one, like it was an obligation.
Cicero sees what the Listener is going through. He has lost his own family many times! But, the Keeper should not be kept from his duties by these… worldly confusions… He has obligations too.
(Nazir's journal)
31st of Evening Star, 4E 201
Well, I guess the trip didn't go to plan. Firstly, they arrived several days behind schedule. If we hadn't gotten that letter back from Cicero, Babette and I were going to track them down ourselves. The jester said Rijaan-Djo had gotten hurt at some point, and it had made travel difficult. They both seemed pretty down about the whole trip, and apparently the Listener is finishing the last leg of it alone. I don't know how that makes sense, but I guess that's why he's in charge. Rijaan-Djo will be seeing out in the morning, and I'm off Keeper duty for a while.
I might just go on my own adventure. Babette did say I needed a vacation.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
Baby swaddled, dearest boy
whispers, whispers
Did you hear, our pride and joy
whispers, whispers
Never growing, everybody
whispers, whispers
Now alone, nothing but his
whispers
(Cicero's journal)
31st of Evening Star, 4E 201
Cicero is back home. Back with the Night Mother. Just one more night and then maybe things will go back to normal… No. No, maybe then Cicero can convince himself they will.
Oh, foolish Cicero… Fool of hearts.
Is that all Cicero is? Jester to the Dreadlord? A plaything to rip apart like a chewtoy! Never worthy of the Mother’s love, of her-
I just heard a voice. A whisper.
Mother?
(Cicero’s journal, untitled entry, argued to be a continuation from the previous page)
Everything has changed.
Cicero really did hear a whisper, right next to his ear! He went to check on Mother and…
Rijaan-Djo was there. He did not see Cicero, because he had his eyes closed. He did not hear Cicero because… he was praying. Praying to The Night Mother. Whispering so furiously that Cicero could hardly keep up.
“Mother,” he said. “Please help this one. Open his eyes. Direct his blade.”
Then he said it again. And again. And again. Cicero realized he'd have to stop him before he exploded from his chant! He stepped from the shadow, and-
Big yellow eyes. Pointed right at Cicero and so wide, so mournful, so frightened! We both looked at each other, both knowing, knowing that Cicero had heard Rijaan-Djo. A shift in his weight, he was trying to leave.
“Wait,” I said.
And he waited.
“I don't… want you to think that Cicero is angry at you. I was, but…” Cicero felt himself fawning to the Listener. Hated it. Couldn't stop. “The Listener has been dealing with so much pain. And foolish Cicero should have known,” I crept up to Rijaan-Djo. “Did know that-”
“Cicero,” Rijaan-Djo said, wide eyes still on me, a clawed hand on my shoulder.
“The Night Mother has brought you here. She has answered this one's prayers.”
“What,” Cicero asked, “does the Listener mean?”
Rijaan-Djo laughed. A quick! Little! One-beat laugh that brought his head back, and then he basked like we were outside under the moonlight instead of underground. Cicero saw his permafrost expression melt a little bit, into a more peaceful form of smile… Then he faced me again.
“This one asked for guidance. She delivered you.”
The whisper. Had it really been…? Cicero heard the Listener take a ragged, heavy sigh. His hand squeezed my shoulder. I wanted to swat it away, but I didn't. Couldn't.
“This one is… sorry. Rijaan-Djo has not made it clear how much he needs the Keeper. To the Keeper. To himself. He is… afraid of needing someone. Of being so close. Of feeling like he may be loved.”
He took a while to find the words, but Cicero let him finish.
“But nobody makes Rijaan-Djo feel the way you do. Nobody else knows the silence, the hurt, the poison. This one's mind is never still, until you are there.”
Cicero has tried to write that verbatim, to remember. To remember his soft, sad eyes searching mine. I couldn't help it. “Listener,” I replied, and brought my hand up. Up, to his face. He startled like poor Cicero was holding smelling salts, but I gave him a second, then tried again. This time the Listener steeled himself to Cicero’s touch, and I heard quietly, for just a teeny tiny moment… his teeth chatter. Rijaan-Djo squeezed his eyes shut and let Cicero touch his face.
And then, like a mouse that had come out from its hiding place, a tear escaped the Listener and fled down his cheek, onto Cicero's thumb. Catch! Cicero brought his hand back, and looked at it. Rijaan-Djo looked at it, too, like he was worried about what Cicero would say. I took the tear, still pooling on my thumb, and slid it across my own cheek, killing it at my lips.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER EIGHT
[Exhibit G: A series of letters delivered from the Dawnstar Sanctuary to suspects Cicero and Rijaan-Djo, signed one Babette, each letter herein referred to individually as “Babette's letter”]
(Babette's letter)
4E 201
Hey.
Nazir told me to write you a letter and make it sound like him. It's only been a day since you left, but Nazir seemed to think that was time enough. I actually like that you don't talk all that much, so how come you're so worried about communication all of a sudden? Either way, I guess I can tell you about my day.
I had a pretty good lunch, some imperial traveler who had more coin than she had sense. I even got a new necklace out of it: gold with rubies. It's been kind of boring otherwise, without any new contracts. Just stuck at home.
When you get back, I need your help with killing Nazir's skeever and making it look like an accident. I think at this point he'd never forgive me if I ripped its head off. It's been scratching at my bedroom door at night.
Anyway, I hope you're doing well. Happy killing and all that.
Get back soon,
Babette
(Rijaan-Djo’s journal, untitled entry)
We arrived in Whiterun this afternoon and will be staying at the Bannered Mare before heading on. Rijaan-Djo is anxious to get to Falkreath and complete this blade. If it is so powerful it needs to be broken and scattered, it should be powerful enough to make this retrieval worth the effort.
The Keeper has been writing since we arrived at the inn, so Rijaan-Djo thought he could join him. The little fool speaks so much already, how much more does he need to divulge on paper? But when Rijaan-Djo walks near, he turns the book away. Ridiculous. Childish. This one wishes he could burn the thing, and then nobody could read it.
(Cicero’s journal)
25th of Evening Star, 4E 201
Rijaan-Djo and I set out from the sanctuary on the 22nd, but have been having… issues on our journey. The Listener had been traveling with an infected wound and didn't tell anyone! I set up an emergency camp and treated his calf, which had been split like a purse by one of those damned hagravens. We had some horker stew and…
Oh thank Sithis, he's not watching me write anymore.
AAAHHH!
How can poor Cicero even begin to write about what happened? How can the fool of hearts describe the first night of their journey, both wonderful and terrible? First of all: his skin! His fantastic skin, patchy and wiry in areas, but in others, so smooth and velvety!
Ahem, I’m getting ahead of myself. The Listener was injured, and the gash was mostly covered by his pant leg, so Cicero worked up enough nerve to get him to uncover it. Hoohoo, that in itself was enough to stop dear Cicero in his tracks. Yes, it was thrilling to see so much of him, but I also really wanted to know where he had been keeping his tail! And now, how to get it to stop brushing against me…
But the wound looked painful, so I pushed down that swelling, fiery feeling, and to work I went! Cicero was sorry when he had to disinfect… The poor Listener yowled in pain, and Cicero had to remind himself that he was helping. Hurting too… But sometimes those two are one in the same. I was glad when it was all over with and we could eat! In silence… Rijaan-Djo didn’t let poor Cicero comfort him after tending to his leg, so instead I just fell back into routine. And hoped that might be comfort enough…
I noticed that his hands were cracking again, and his hair getting tangled and crimped. I was glad he allowed sweet Cicero to help him, it looked uncomfortable! Cicero started with his hands, but the damned troll fat was nearly solid from the clammy air. It took a bit of time, rubbing and working and reapplying… but Cicero was getting used to this task and didn't mind. But when Cicero asked to comb his fur…
I wasn't expecting the Listener to take his shirt off. Yes, Cicero had already seen his legs. His legs… are a different matter. But they were quickly covered! Quick! With a blanket! To keep him warm! But his body… Cicero never even entertained the thought that the Listener would let me see him… like this. But he pointed at a spot on his back, just under where his armor would have sat, and asked me to help him. So I did.
Cicero’s hands had never been so shaky! He wanted to giggle wildly, but held his breath. Kept it down. Let it out in soft coos and hums instead. The Listener's fur felt so different on his back compared to his head! Almost… downy. It gave way to Cicero's hands much more easily, but he struggled to get further than halfway to the skin before it became one solid… thing again!
Then Cicero found it: a mat, nestled in the very center, fiercely guarded by thick fur all around. Using some oil, Cicero focused on that little tangle, and slowly it came undone. I saw The Listener’s back begin to twitch all over, finally relaxing. He took a deep sigh and tilted his head back so I could work further up. And then- he dozed off. Just for a second, but Cicero felt the shift in the Listener’s body as he leaned back, back, back, into my arms. And then he was up, just like that. Cicero admits he expected the Listener to storm off like before, but he held a hand out to me. Helped me up. Headed to bed. Still half naked.
Cicero gave him a moment, thinking he would surely change into one of the robes I had brought along… But, once Cicero entered the tent… the Listener lay fast asleep and still! Still! Still in nothing but the scrap of cloth he had tied between his legs! Oh, and it had been so cold out and Cicero thought ‘why not use two bodies to warm one tent’, and the Listener saw the one tent! And he had to have realized! He had to have- Oh, why does the Listener tease Cicero so?
I would be surprised if poor Cicero got any sleep! Yes it was so very warm, but the warmer I could get, the more his back rubbed against mine. At least Cicero had put one of the robes on… but it didn’t do much to help my legs… Every now and then, once poor Cicero was nearly asleep, a leg would brush against his, or a tail would find its way to very ticklish areas. And every time, foolish Cicero would wait, and hope it was on purpose. It never was, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…
Cicero isn't sure how much longer he can do this. So close! So far! So bitterly cold but still so warm! Falling asleep in my arms! Being upset when he wakes up. Yes, sweet Cicero enjoys his time with the Listener… but the Listener does not enjoy his time with Cicero. And to still have to sleep next to him, nearly naked, feeling his back, feeling his legs… And then to act as if nothing happened! To continue traveling without even a soft word… After much more of this, Cicero may drive himself mad.
Ha ha.
(Rijaan-Djo’s journal, untitled entry)
Rijaan-Djo hates staying in the cities. If the guards were not afraid of us, they would try and force this one to stay outside the gate like the rest of the Khajiit. The shopkeepers do not sell what Rijaan-Djo needs. They do not buy what Rijaan-Djo wants to get rid of. People call him “cat”. A little girl wanted to fight him. The dreadful priest shouted louder as Rijaan-Djo passed. It was all upsetting.
This one will be happy when morning comes.
(Rijaan-Djo’s enchanted journal, untitled entry)
This one has done something dreadful. It was an accident.
We were preparing for bed. The Keeper was nervous to change into his robe, but to what end? For what purpose? We are travelling together, so sleeping and changing together is not unexpected. Often it is a necessity. This one tried to be nice. Undressed first. The fool blushed and hid his eyes like a vestal maiden. It made no sense. Either one wants to look, and does, or has no interest and doesn’t care if he sees or not. What is the blushing and hiding? It made Rijaan-Djo self-conscious. The robe, once retrieved, was a welcomed cover.
When it was his turn, the Keeper turned his back to Rijaan-Djo. This one wanted to be kind so he turned as well. Faced the corner like a disobedient child. Heard something small land on the bed. Looked. Saw that it was the hat. Made a mistake.
Rijaan-Djo was punished for his curiosity.
Forgot.
Forgot who was behind him. Rijaan-Djo saw the man from the Thieves Guild. Saw his body. Cuts. Curves. Folds. Hair. Watched as he dropped the garish shirt from his shoulders. As he negotiated out of tight pants. The handsome redhead.
Rijaan-Djo felt like he had been kicked by a giant. It was the fool. He stared at the ceiling, stricken by his mistake. Got into bed and hoped sleep would find him before he was accompanied. It did not. Rijaan-Djo should not have looked. Now when he closes his eyes he sees cuts, curves, folds, hair. The fool’s. It excites him. This is a nightmare.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
This one has made things much, much worse. The Keeper is angry. Angry that Rijaan-Djo did not know how to react to breath on his ear. Not after his mistake. Rijaan-Djo will have much to think about if he wants to stay in his company. This one does not want to make this decision right now.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER SEVEN
[Exhibit F: One of a series of letters, allegedly sent between two former Vigilants of Stendarr, herein referred to individually as “Vigilant’s letter”. This particular document was recovered from a badly damaged satchel inside the ruins of the Hall of the Vigilant.]
(Vigilant's letter)
To Sister Velyra, on the Twenty-Third of Evening Star, in the Fourth Era, year Two-Hundred and One.
You'll thank me for this one.
As I was gathering some fresh snow for a pot of tea yesterday evening, I watched these two strange men make camp near the path to the main road. One of them looked injured, and I don't believe they had meant to stay. I would have invited them in, but lovely Velyra, if you had seen the way they looked, I doubt you would question my judgement. One was a Khajiit clad in an unknown and frightening armor, and the other man was dressed as a jester! As fantastical as it sounds, he was not just dressed the part, he played it as well. If you do not believe me at this point, turn back now, as this is only the beginning.
They walked up from the main road, deep in conversation. That is, I had believed them to be. In truth only the jester was speaking, rather enough for two people, and the Khajiit was silent. At the edge of the path, the Khajiit stumbled and the jester ran to his aid.
“Listener!” I heard him cry.
The jester was the only one I could hear from this distance. They talked for a moment and I heard, “Well why didn't you tell anyone?” The jester helped the Khajiit limp up the path, and I was worried they would request a room from us, but instead they cornered themselves into one of the little alcoves beside the road and set their things down. The jester laid out a mat where the snow was thinnest, and the Khajiit crawled over it, and onto his stomach. They were inspecting a wound, I discovered.
I heard, “It's either you take it off and I sew the hole up later, or Cicero cuts it off, and then the Listener has no pants.” He sounded irritated, if not a little bossy. The Khajiit said something back - he was much quieter than his companion - that made the jester scoff, but the former did comply.
Fair Velyra, have you ever seen a Khajiit’s rump? It was not as I expected! Before you ask yourself, he was still in his skivvies, so no I did not get to see his twig and berries, but I did get quite a wondrous view of his legs! Though I had expected them to be a bit hairier, they were undoubtedly manly and strong. And when he lay on his stomach, certain muscles squeezed in such a way that left me rather red-faced.
His injury was not quite so handsome. There was a terrible gash on his calf that looked like it had been left to improperly heal for many days. The jester, who was now remarkably quiet and solemn, retrieved some supplies from his bag and began the work of treating the wound. He uncorked a tiny bottle, almost pink in color, and held it aloft.
“Sorry,” I heard him say, and then he poured it.
The Khajiit writhed and cussed as the jester emptied the bottle and pressed a linen hard onto the smoking, fizzing gash. The former then cried out something in a language I did not recognize. I was surprised to hear the jester change his register. Where he had been impatient and frustrated before, he now fawned incessantly.
“Cicero is sorry, sweet Listener. A health potion is not enough! Oh, Cicero will be quick, he promises! He’ll keep you from harm, and keep this-” He grunted as he readjusted his grip on the bucking leg, “wound from festering! From injuring the poor dear Listener more!” He said some other things, but they were so frantic and numerous that I could not remember them.
They both started to quiet down after a moment, once the potion had taken effect - or more likely after it had worn off. The jester tried to rest a comforting hand on the Khajiit’s shoulder, but was swatted away. He said something quietly and pointed at his bag.
“Just get it over with,” said the Khajiit.
“Of course,” he responded
The men were silent for the rest of the procedure. After an application of a healing balm and some rather expertly wrapped bandages, the jester began to set up camp while the Khajiit rested. I was excited to watch the Khajiit a bit more as his companion worked, but Keeper Carcette was calling for me, so I scooped up my snow and headed back as quietly as I could.
But my dear, surely you didn't expect me to simply let them be, without sneaking back after my chores were done. Not when there was so much to write for you already! Under the cover of sunset, I snuck onto an embankment that overlooked their resting spot and got cozy under my woolen comforter. There, I watched in silence, thankfully undetected.
The jester had made remarkably quick work of the camp, and was already lighting a fire with some wood he procured. I was glad to see that he had only set up one tent. Of course this is for obvious reasons, but I also did not want to discover two dead men at our front door in the morning, riddled with frostbite. And Velyra, you of all people should know that body heat is my favorite way to keep warm.
The Khajiit had rolled onto his side now, with a blanket to cover him and protect him from the snow. He was eating something in a bowl, and tapping his foot in time with whatever ditty it was that the jester was singing. After some convincing, the fire grew and took on a steady life of its own, and the jester went to the tent and brought out another mat for himself. He placed it near the Khajiit's, and quickly began to lounge and eat as well. After some time, he looked over to his companion.
“Listener,” he said, “How are your hands? Or is your fur starting to tangle again?” The Khajiit turned his head away from him, towards my hiding spot, and I feared I would be discovered. It could have just been the cold, but I swear I saw him blush! I heard his gravelly voice say, “This one has been having troubles.”
Oh Velyra, when I say my heart melted - I've always had such a fondness for the brooding but sensitive type. And you may not believe me when I say this, but I think you would have found yourself quite stricken with the jester. While he was certainly mad, speaking about himself as if he were two or three individuals, I know how much you squirm when a lover pampers you.
Dutifully, the jester leapt to his feet once more, and rummaged through his medicine bag. The ‘Listener’ - as he called him - gingerly sat up and watched as the jester returned with an armful of supplies. He sat back down in front of the Khajiit and began his work.
First, with a small container of a lard-like substance, which looked to be hardened by the frigid temperatures. He negotiated out a small scoop of it, and began applying it to the Khajiit’s hands. I felt myself holding my breath as their hands glided across each other’s. Not a spot was missed as he worked it into the skin, paying special attention to certain little areas. They abandoned speaking altogether. It was as if all three of us were trying to keep quiet, afraid of disturbing the atmosphere of the moment.
Then the jester leaned in, I believe to whisper, and made a twirling motion with his hand. The Khajiit obeyed and spun around on his mat. I believe the jester and I shared the same reaction when he then reached his arms up to tug at the back of his armor, and squeezed his torso and head out of it. Wow.
Again I must admit that he was not as hairy as I had thought. I began to wonder if he were a hybrid, if Man and Khajiit could produce offspring. I rather long for the opportunity to test this theory, though it would cut my time as a Vigilant short. I could not believe it: the jester simply stood in place, instead of throwing himself at the lean and delicately furred back that was now steaming in the cold. If he needed any more clear an invitation, I should have liked to see it.
Instead, after much debating and a single, angry word from the Khajiit, the jester knelt down and crawled nearer. The Khajiit reached one arm again up and over his head, and tapped in-between his shoulder blades, where the patches of fur converged. The jester nodded.
“Oh yes,” he said, “Cicero sees it.”
Velyra, do you remember when we first came to the sanctuary and those two girls - I can't quite place their names - taught us how to braid each other's hair? They were the same girls we skinny-dipped with that burgeoning summer, surely you remember that. That memory, the scent of beeswax candles and jazbay seed oil, came flooding back to me as the jester glided his greased fingers through the Khajiit's neck fur. As sure as Stendarr's light, the pair of strange and dangerous men, backlit by their steady and cracking campfire, looked as if they were simply two girls having a sleepover.
“This one has been hearing another name,” I thought I heard the Khajiit say, though his voice was low and the words didn't make much sense. “Has been having trouble sleeping.”
“Oh?” Replied the jester softly. “Please do tell Cicero the name.”
“It does not matter. This one will take care of it later.”
“Then what did the Listener need from dear Cicero?”
The Khajiit did not reply, and remained silent until the jester was finished with his fur. This process took a rather long time, and looked to be quite tedious. After a while, the jester began to hum the same song from earlier and compliment his own work. His voice was truthfully quite calming now, the soprano warble gracing the air like a lullaby. I began to nod at the same time the Khajiit did, and together we startled awake.
The Khajiit rose to his feet and helped his companion up. Then, wordlessly, he took his blanket and climbed inside the tent. The jester took a moment to prepare the fire for the night, then climbed in after him. I remained for several minutes more, hoping I might hear noises, but none came. Perhaps they had been arguing, so they did not take full advantage of the beautiful and romantic night. Either way, I am quite certain they were in love.
When I ran out to check this morning, their camp was gone. I do hope so dearly to see them again, and show them to you when you return with the other Vigilants. Until then I will just have to think of you and pray for your safe arrival.
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
THE FOLLOWING IS A CONTINUATION OF JOURNAL ENTRIES, LETTERS, AND DISCARDED WRITINGS, SOME USED IN THE INVESTIGATION OF THE MASS MURDER ACROSS SKYRIM WHICH CULMINATED IN THE ASSASSINATION OF EMPEROR TITUS MEDE II. ALL WRITING HEREIN REFERS TO EVENTS AFTER THE EMPEROR’S MURDER, AND ARE NON-ADMISSABLE FINDINGS WHICH WERE COLLECTED AND DONATED BY DEDICATED FOLLOWERS OF THE STORY OF ASSASSINS RIJAAN-DJO AND CICERO.
ALL ENTRIES HAVE BEEN SEPARATED, LABELED, AND PLACED INTO CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER FOR READER CONVENIENCE.
CHAPTER SIX
(Cicero’s journal)
16th of Evening Star, 4E 201
Oh, how good it is for the Listener to be back! How much merrier are the halls that he walks in! And yes, sometimes Cicero still gets under Rijaan-Djo's skin (at least, that's what he said!) and yes Rijaan-Djo sometimes snaps and snarls, but he also laughs! He laughs at poor Cicero’s jokes! Not all the time, no of course not, but sometimes. When one surprises him. Hmm, Cicero has been trying to come up with more ways to surprise him… The Listener truly does have a wonderful laugh! And Cicero wants to hear it more…
He lets me brush him, condition him, moisturize his hands… That one's new! Cicero was afraid to ask but he didn't have to! One day, while sitting with Rijaan-Djo, I applied troll fat to my own hands as I always do before working with the Night Mother's new linens. The Listener watched, then took a big hulk of it in his one hand and slapped it on the other! Started scrubbing like he was washing his hands instead of massaging them!
No! No! No, I said and scooped it back up! Troll fat isn't cheap nowadays, and a little goes a long way. Rijaan-Djo looked angry at poor Cicero, then… hurt.
“Fine,” he said. “You will teach Rijaan-Djo.”
To say Cicero was giddy would be quite an understatement! But also, he was terrified. Yes, of course, this is a Keeper's natural duty, but to living hands! To the Listener! To Rijaan-Djo! Cicero felt himself forgetting the steps. We touched hands and then nothing! Cicero heard nothing but his own heart. The fool of hearts saw nothing but the Listener. It was like he had to pick his mind up off the floor and drag it with him, just to remember what to do! Eugh, and there was still way too much troll fat.
Honestly, if he had just asked Cicero in the first place… tsk… stubborn. Ah, but, I'm getting off topic.
The humble Keeper did his duty. That is to say, Cicero relied on muscle memory and imagining himself doing something far less… exciting. Cicero knows all the rough areas, the cuticles, the wrists, the webbing between the fingers, and was sure to get them all, of course! Moisturizer is useless unless you properly massage it in! But I can't say the process was easy at all. While yes, Cicero is happy to aid the Listener… he really wishes there was a way to keep Rijaan-Djo from watching him the whole time…
He asked again yesterday, while I was preparing for my Keeper duties. Cicero was surprised. Usually it takes a bit longer for the skin, even living skin, to dry out. But, sure enough… dry! Not as bad as before, but still starting to toughen and tighten. So quickly! Too quickly! Cicero will have to be sure the Listener is getting enough water each day, they weren't so dry when Cicero was in charge of his meals. When Rijaan-Djo…
But he's doing well now! I think murdering the Emperor was the best thing for him really. That, or slicing Commander Maro’s neck. Or bashing Amaund Motierre’s head in. Really, all three seemed to help. He still paces, still mutters. These days it's just Nazir, Babette, and Cicero, and then sometimes whatever new contracts the Night Mother gives him. Still stopping at bedroom doors, listening, waiting. But then, he goes to bed! Just a couple rounds and then he sleeps! Most of the time, at least…
Cicero has, ahem… fixed the draft in his room. It was a dangerous idea anyway. Especially now that the Listener is more… active.
In general, I mean, of course.
(Rijaan-Djo’s journal, untitled entry)
Rijaan-Djo is shopping for a new dagger. He was outside, letting the sun warm him, when a courier walked up. A brave man, walking up to Rijaan-Djo while he lies on his back, in front of the sanctuary of the Dreadlord Sithis. His letter was humorous, so Rijaan-Djo let him live. Someone had opened a museum. Rest has become monotonous, so he was glad for a short walk into town. Alone.
The fool seemed disappointed, as Rijaan-Djo was expecting. He is exactly why this one needs space.
The museum amused Rijaan-Djo. To have an entire house and use it to display a handful of books. Very strange. The mage wore an odd robe and wouldn't let Rijaan-Djo touch anything. This one would have killed him if the mage hadn't mentioned the dagger. A dagger to kill an emperor. This one does not need it anymore, but he was still intrigued. Three pieces, broken apart and kept safe like the books in the cases. Taking up room in somebody's possessions. If Rijaan-Djo had a dagger like that, he wouldn't keep it in a display case. This one was tempted to kill the mage now that he'd spilled his secrets, but of course he hid from Rijaan-Djo how to put the pieces back together. There are always strings.
Rijaan-Djo has left for the hilt, outside of Morthal. Alone. This one is happy to have fresh air and silence.
(Cicero’s journal)
20th of Evening Star, 4E 201
The Listener is gone, and did not even think of taking poor Cicero with him… He promised everyone he would be back soon, but oh I just can't help but worry! This is his first time out alone after the Falkreath sanctuary was ransacked. And Cicero can't help but feel that this is too soon! Too far! But, dear, obedient Cicero will wait… and worry…
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
Rijaan-Djo has started hearing her again.
Mirmulnir.
He heard the name, before, at the sanctuary. He did not tell his brother Nazir because the name sounded different in Rijaan-Djo's mind. The Night Mother whispered it, like whoever it is would hear. Rijaan-Djo had a feeling that he would rather avoid it for now.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
The hilt is retrieved. The Nord wanted to give this one trouble, but Rijaan-Djo flashed his own dagger. Told the Nord that he was simply in the market for his next emperor-killer. Then he became much more amenable.
The voice is still distracting, and keeps Rijaan-Djo awake at night. Keeps him tired in the day. At least all the fool’s noises drowned her out. Rijaan-Djo’s hands have become scaly again as well, and have itched just as bad as before the Keeper started tending to them.
There are many benefits to having the Keeper’s help, but Rijaan-Djo still wishes it were someone else’s duties, not the jester’s. He will just have to get used to the noise again.
(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal, untitled entry)
This one can not sleep. Has not since he left Dawnstar. Sleep is easier when Mirmulnir is not being whispered over and over. Rijaan-Djo did not realize how the silence isolates the Mother's voice.
Sleep is also easier when he can see his family, make sure all are accounted for. He wonders if they are all doing well. His heart grows heavy when he can not be sure. When he can not check. This, and Rijaan-Djo's neck has started to ache again. The fur pinches and pulls and it makes Rijaan-Djo weary to try and work it out himself. This one does not understand, he was never bothered by his hands and his neck before. Perhaps he just ignored them. Perhaps he has gotten soft.
Perhaps, this one misses the cooing.
What is Rijaan-Djo, a baby? A kitten? It is shameful. He had a mother. Has a new mother. Rijaan-Djo should not need this. Rijaan-Djo does not need this. It is nothing more than a convenience, and one he prefers, not requires.
(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry)
The hagravens are dead, and the pommel retrieved. They were a fun challenge for Rijaan-Djo, but one sliced him in the leg, just over the calf. Health potions stopped the bleeding, but riding to Falkreath would have been very uncomfortable. Instead Rijaan-Djo hired a carriage back to Dawnstar. After some rest, this one will be able to focus.
(Nazir’s journal)
22nd of Evening Star, 4E 201
Scrappy’s making a lot of progress. I can get him to follow a treat, which has opened up all kinds of doors. Not literally, but we're working on that too. I even got him to squeak out a bit of Ragnar the Red the other day! Babette said it was just noises, but it's not my fault she can't understand chord progression.
Also it looks like I'm back on substitute keeper duty again. Rijaan-Djo came back much sooner than any of us expected. He’d had a run-in with some hagravens and needed some help getting ready for the next steps. I wasn't surprised when he asked the fool to join him, but I definitely can't say I would have done the same. I don't see how he stands all the doting. Though maybe he likes feeling like he has inferiors holding up the tails of his robes as he walks. That I wouldn't be surprised by, no offense to him.
I do need to remember though, he asked us to write him letters. I joked that he must be leaving us forever, but he just said to write as quickly and as often as we could. I don't know what I'm going to write to him about; it's not like we know each other all that well, and he's never been much of a talker. But he is my friend and if that's what he wants from me, I'll make the effort. That, or get Babette to do it.
I've already got my hands full with the Night Mother. (Eugh)
Written by NotTheListener, Edited and Beta-read by NotTheListener’s spouse iinosins
CHAPTER FIVE
(Cicero’s Journal)
4th of Evening Star, 4E 201
What a show! What a fantastic show! And so lucky that Cicero got to see it all!
We stepped out at night, like planned. Sneaky, sneaky… Hehe, Rijaan-Djo even insisted we use cloaks, black as the Void. Out in the rain, out in the shadow, harbingers of death. The Listener lured Maro. Led him away from the rest of the agents. In the dark, silent as Sithis, Rijaan-Djo struck unseen. A gloved hand, pressed hard around his mouth. A single red ribbon, let loose from his neck by the Listeners blade.
Rijaan-Djo smiled. Quieter than breath he whispered, “This one chooses when to make a mess.” Then he pushed the body into the water.
Up, into the ship! Sailors and soldiers all around! Everyone died. Nobody heard. One by one, like a checklist. Holding them as they fell to soften the noise of their body. Cicero didn't even think about taking one of the kills for himself! Too busy watching! Too busy being very quiet!
And then we found the Emperor…
Oh, Cicero will admit he was worried! When the old man welcomed the ever-reaching arms of Sithis and gave Rijaan-Djo the easy kill! Loyal Cicero put his hand to his blade. Hoped that the Listener understood. But he looked at Cicero, and shook his head. I held my breath, and tried to trust him.
Then, he straightened his back, pulled out his blade… and handed it to the Emperor.
“You will defend yourself,” he said.
It wasn't an offer, but a command. Oh no, it was not a charity! But a challenge! The Emperor laughed. Cicero laughed. Rijaan-Djo did not laugh. No, not yet. But the Emperor was stronger than he looked, and when he got the better of Rijaan-Djo… then the Listener laughed. Like a dragon he unleashed a fury! A bright, burning fury that overwhelmed the Emperor with arms and claws. And he laughed! Laughed! Laughed! The Listener sounded like he was choking on his laughter!
“Titus Mede the Second!” he cackled, “Emperor of Tamriel!”
A quick jump and spin, and the Emperor lay dead, nearly decapitated.
I hadn't even seen him take his blade back.
Rijaan-Djo was injured. Just a little! But all over. He was too quick for the Emperor to slice him deeply, but still too stiff! Too stiff to avoid the blade entirely! He let dear Cicero apply a healing potion, but quickly! And then we were off! No sleep for the Listener and his Keeper! Off to Whiterun. Off to Amaund Motierre.
Cicero asked if the Listener had considered the Emperor's request. If we could strangle Amaund and bash his head in! Rijaan-Djo asked if that's what Cicero wanted to do and I said of course! He stopped, just for a moment. Shook his head.
“He is not more guilty than Rijaan-Djo.”
Cicero asked if it mattered if he was guilty. The Listener didn’t answer.
We came to the inn and the Listener told Amaund that he'd succeeded. The man laughed and Rijaan-Djo laughed with him. Oh, but not his laugh. It was one that didn't reach any other part of him. Then, he looked at Cicero. Dead on! To catch my attention. Then, the door. Then back to Amaund. Cicero giggled as he latched the deadbolt.
Oh, how the man bartered. “Oh so you believe I'm at fault? What’s done is done. I only made the contract, it was your choice how to carry it out!”
Hehehe…
The Listener caught the man by his throat! Lifted! Fastened him to a wooden beam with nothing but claws. He kicked! He scratched! He bartered more desperately! But it was no use.
“This one is not killing you for revenge. This one is killing you because he can.”
And then-
The Listener bashed his head in. Indeed he did! He did what sweet Cicero wanted! Hahaha! It was glorious!
Everyone heard the commotion but crash! Through the window we went! Out the gates, onto our horses. We raced all the way back to Dawnstar. The Listener leapt from his horse when we got to the sanctuary, but he stopped at the door. Looked at it. Closed his eyes.
“Nazir,” he said, “Babette.”
“Cicero,” I finished.
The Listener opened his eyes, opened the door, and the other two were there! They rushed Rijaan-Djo, asking him a hundred questions, big and small! Cicero was happy to answer. And Cicero was happy to get between them and the Listener, once I saw that he was creeping toward his bedroom.
So many questions!
I finally managed to escape them, and checked on Rijaan-Djo. He was already in bed, so sweet Cicero said he would leave the dear Listener to sleep. But! As Cicero went to leave! Scoot went the little chair by the Listeners bed. Just a little. Rijaan-Djo had pushed it toward me. Patted it, bright eyes digging in, entreating Cicero.
To sit!
Obedient Cicero sat, of course, of course! Sat and cooed softly until the Listener slept. Oh, and slept he did! For two days straight, save for water and horker stew.
(Rijaan-Djo’s enchanted journal, untitled entry)
Dead of winter, first sunrise
Fall on this one, warm his eyes
Golden collar, silken ties
Mountain flowers, butterflies
(Nazir's journal)
11th of Evening Star, 4E 201
Things have gone back to a flow state. The Listener started giving us new contracts, and Babette and I have found ourselves pretty busy taking care of them. Speaking of taking care, Cicero’s back to volleying between the Night Mother and the Listener, and he couldn’t be happier. The Keeper takes his job very seriously, and honestly I'm glad for him. Hell, let's be honest, I'm glad for myself. That clown’s a little easier to deal with when he's focused on his job.
Amaund Motierre’s payment was recovered, and boy did it help. After a bit of work, this place really started to shine. It almost feels like a home, like we're a family again.
Scrappy has learned a few tricks, nothing major yet. He’s pretty food motivated though, so I'm sure it won't be long before we even have him eating at the table. And this time, it'll be on purpose.
