Chapter Text
There was blood on her hands. Figuratively and quite literally. Her last contract had not gone the way she planned, and what was supposed to take no more than ten minutes lasted thirty.
The target was a nameless nord who, as per the usual, had crossed the wrong person at some point in his life. He screwed up, and in turn she had as well. The irony of the situation was sickening.
Her arrow had missed. And she NEVER missed. A simple contract turned into a literal knife fight in the basement of a tavern between her and the target. To say she was furious would be an understatement; she was uncomfortably close to hurling her bow into a fire.
Right as she let her arrow fly, the man had shifted a fraction of an inch to the left and her arrow lodged itself into the wall in front of him. The next thing she knew, a very large, angry man wielding a dagger was charging at her.
Swords and daggers had never been her strongest skill, and she had fumbled with the ebony dagger strapped to her thigh for a second too long when his fist landed a strong blow to her face that instantly shattered her nose and sent her flying backwards into an end table that split down the middle with the force of the impact. She felt more than heard two of her ribs crack before she lost consciousness.
If Cicero hadn't wandered down the stairs at just the right second, she would have died in that shithole of a basement covered in her own blood. He had somehow managed to eliminate the target, carry her not only out of the tavern, but outside of the city limits as well. She came to lying on a bedroll staring up at the ceiling of an abandoned shack, her wounds sore but healed, either by magic or an assortment of potions.
That was where she lay now. A fire crackled in the hearth, and above the sound of splitting embers she heard the hum of running water. It was a loud but welcome sound that carried reassurance; they couldn't be far from a road.
She shifted her weight to her elbows and pushed herself up into a sitting position, her new healed ribs sending a shockwave protest throughout her body. The pain took her breath away and she groaned, slumping over against the wall. She gritted her teeth and choked back another moan of pain as she slid back down into the nest of blankets. She had broken much more than a couple ribs.
"Listener!"
Cicero had very literally leapt across the room to her bedside, a healing potion in one hand and what appeared to be a wet cloth in the other. She studied his face for any sort of injuries. His face was tired and creased with worry, but his eyes sparkled. He was fine.
"The Listener slept for days. Drink this." As he brought the potion to her lips, she noticed his usually gloved hands were bare. They were small but broad and strong. The kind of hands used to strangle someone rather than help a wounded woman down a healing potion.
She swallowed the rest of the potion and grimaced at the taste it left in her throat. "Water." Her voice came out hoarse and she coughed in an attempt to clear it, but Cicero had already crossed the room and back with a pot of what she hoped was purified river water. He helped her drink, and relief washed through her when she tasted that it was.
"Thank you, Cicero." The jester placed the pot on the end table next to her and pulled up a chair, plopping down into it and fixing her with a stare.
"Cicero will do everything he can to make sure the Listener stays alive." He smiled that manic smile of his and then huffed, his face darkening. "Cicero cut that stupid nord's throat. To lay a hand on the Listener! Oh, Cicero made sure he saw the error of his ways before he sent his soul to Sithis."
Something in the way he spoke made her smile, but the reminder of her failure sat in her stomach like a rock.
"Cicero, I'm so sorry…" her eyes stung. The tears threatening to fall only made her angry, but Cicero seemed genuinely frightened by them.
He reached forward and touched a tear that fell down her cheek, a look of bewilderment carved into his face. "Why does the Listener weep?" She locked eyes with him and saw something unfamiliar pass through them, something unrecognizable that she had never seen in him. It only made her cry more.
"I failed! It was a simple contract and I butchered it. I'm so stupid. I failed Mother and the Brotherhood, and I put your life in danger as well as my own." She sniffled, but her tears evaporated under the heat of her rage. Cicero withdrew his hand and looked at her, the lines of his face deepening in confusion as his brows furrowed.
"Dear Listener, Cicero is more than capable of fighting. And stabbing. And dancing!" His voice rose several octaves and she realized quickly that he was very upset. "The Listener hasn't failed. The target is dead, and the Listener is alive with dear, sweet Cicero."
She angrily wiped at her face before looking at him again, his brown eyes fixed on her with the intensity of madness. She reached out to him and took one of his hands in her own and gave it a squeeze. Bewilderment returned to his face again and he looked unsure of how to respond to her sudden affection, but he made no effort to let go of her hand.
"Thank you, Cicero." Her rage still simmered, but there was no point in pressing the matter with him. Especially after he reassured her of her impossible success. At least she had stopped crying.
"We leave tomorrow. I need to speak with Mother." The potion he had given her earlier had eased her physical pain enough that her body allowed her to roll onto her side. She expected Cicero to leave her side and return to the corner he had resided in for the past several days, but she felt him staring holes into her back from his chair beside her bed. She was surprised to find comfort in his nearness, and after a time of lying there she fell into a dreamless, healing sleep again.