“Ladies first,” he'd murmured. She'd laughed and told him no, guests first. If most of the blood in his body hadn't been flowing straight to his cock he might have said no... but as it was, his big brain wasn't really thinking properly, it had been over a decade since anyone had looked at poor Cicero like that, and so he'd carved again and swallowed the meat down.
And then Namira had spoken and Cicero's world had imploded. He'd just stood there staring as Lady Namira herself had told him he'd pleased her, that he was now Keeper of her Ring, and to wallow in his wretchedness as her newest champion. He'd just nodded, tears rolling down his face and then she'd been gone... but her ring remained on his finger.
“She spoke to me,” Cicero whispered, staring vacantly into space.
“Yes,” Eola said softly, coming to stand before him, stroking his face, staring in awe. “You're everything I hoped you'd be... and more.”
“She spoke to me,” Cicero whispered again. “Twelve years of tending to Mother and nothing and I bring Namira one victim and... and Cicero gets to hear her voice...! Named Champion... Keeper...”
“I know!” Eola breathed, still smiling at him. “To be given that honour... I'm so proud of you.”
Cicero nodded, biting his lip and then he was sobbing, howling his heart out on Eola's shoulder, clinging on to her as grief for twelve wasted years as the Night Mother's Keeper, resentment at said Night Mother for never repaying him with her voice, not ever, not once, washed over him, tearing him apart, making him cry with the sheer emotion. And then the love, the hope, the realisation he'd been claimed by another... the realisation he was free, thanks to the woman before him.
“All right, champion,” Eola whispered, rubbing his back. “You're all right. It's a little overwhelming, I know. Oh honey, I've got you, it's all right.” She raised her voice to the rest of the coven, two of whom Cicero recognised from Markarth market and stables. “Right folks, our champion is clearly touched beyond words, so he and I are going out for a little privacy. Carry on without us and drink to Namira's glory. Tonight we have been blessed, brothers and sisters!”
The coven cheered and raised glasses, all praising Cicero's name. Cicero smiled tearfully back and raised the ring so they could all see it, before following Eola out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They sat under the stars by the river, Cicero huddled in Eola's arms as she stroked his hair and comforted him, and then he started talking, hesitantly and rambling at first, then telling her everything, all of it, all the Brotherhood's secrets, the Sacrament, the Listener, how he'd been one of their best assassins until the Listener died and the Night Mother came to Cheydinhal. How he'd become Keeper and how the others had left, left him alone in the dark for so long, so very long! Then he'd gone to Falkreath, to the last remaining Sanctuary, but found no Listener, just heretics who'd abandoned the old ways and mocked him as a fool. In the end he'd lost his temper when Astrid had insulted the Night Mother and tried to kill her, and had to run for his life... and then he'd found the Blades and their Dragonborn, Jarl Elisif of Solitude, High Queen to be. And she was pretty and nice and had been kind to him before and saved him again from Arnbjorn, so he'd joined up with her. That and depriving Astrid of the large sum of money she'd receive on Elisif's death struck Cicero as amusing.
“Jarl Elisif,” Eola said faintly. “High Queen of Skyrim according to the Empire. Dragonborn. And you joined up with her.”
“Yes!” Cicero giggled. “Yes, yes! Sweetling, she... she eats dragons!”
“Really?” Now that had grabbed Eola's attention. “I didn't know there was meat to be had on a dragon! How does she get through the scales?”
“It burns,” Cicero breathed, eyes wide as he described it to her. “The dragon burns and she takes the fire into herself! It is all bright and shiny and she takes the fire and then the dragon is gone! Dead! A skeleton! So obviously Cicero was very impressed and now he helps her. Keeps her safe. From Stormcloaks and Forsworn and Thalmor... and discreetly stabbing false Dark Brothers and Sisters when they get too close.”
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 12.10
And then Namira had spoken and Cicero's world had imploded. He'd just stood there staring as Lady Namira herself had told him he'd pleased her, that he was now Keeper of her Ring, and to wallow in his wretchedness as her newest champion. He'd just nodded, tears rolling down his face and then she'd been gone... but her ring remained on his finger.
“She spoke to me,” Cicero whispered, staring vacantly into space.
“Yes,” Eola said softly, coming to stand before him, stroking his face, staring in awe. “You're everything I hoped you'd be... and more.”
“She spoke to me,” Cicero whispered again. “Twelve years of tending to Mother and nothing and I bring Namira one victim and... and Cicero gets to hear her voice...! Named Champion... Keeper...”
“I know!” Eola breathed, still smiling at him. “To be given that honour... I'm so proud of you.”
Cicero nodded, biting his lip and then he was sobbing, howling his heart out on Eola's shoulder, clinging on to her as grief for twelve wasted years as the Night Mother's Keeper, resentment at said Night Mother for never repaying him with her voice, not ever, not once, washed over him, tearing him apart, making him cry with the sheer emotion. And then the love, the hope, the realisation he'd been claimed by another... the realisation he was free, thanks to the woman before him.
“All right, champion,” Eola whispered, rubbing his back. “You're all right. It's a little overwhelming, I know. Oh honey, I've got you, it's all right.” She raised her voice to the rest of the coven, two of whom Cicero recognised from Markarth market and stables. “Right folks, our champion is clearly touched beyond words, so he and I are going out for a little privacy. Carry on without us and drink to Namira's glory. Tonight we have been blessed, brothers and sisters!”
The coven cheered and raised glasses, all praising Cicero's name. Cicero smiled tearfully back and raised the ring so they could all see it, before following Eola out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They sat under the stars by the river, Cicero huddled in Eola's arms as she stroked his hair and comforted him, and then he started talking, hesitantly and rambling at first, then telling her everything, all of it, all the Brotherhood's secrets, the Sacrament, the Listener, how he'd been one of their best assassins until the Listener died and the Night Mother came to Cheydinhal. How he'd become Keeper and how the others had left, left him alone in the dark for so long, so very long! Then he'd gone to Falkreath, to the last remaining Sanctuary, but found no Listener, just heretics who'd abandoned the old ways and mocked him as a fool. In the end he'd lost his temper when Astrid had insulted the Night Mother and tried to kill her, and had to run for his life... and then he'd found the Blades and their Dragonborn, Jarl Elisif of Solitude, High Queen to be. And she was pretty and nice and had been kind to him before and saved him again from Arnbjorn, so he'd joined up with her. That and depriving Astrid of the large sum of money she'd receive on Elisif's death struck Cicero as amusing.
“Jarl Elisif,” Eola said faintly. “High Queen of Skyrim according to the Empire. Dragonborn. And you joined up with her.”
“Yes!” Cicero giggled. “Yes, yes! Sweetling, she... she eats dragons!”
“Really?” Now that had grabbed Eola's attention. “I didn't know there was meat to be had on a dragon! How does she get through the scales?”
“It burns,” Cicero breathed, eyes wide as he described it to her. “The dragon burns and she takes the fire into herself! It is all bright and shiny and she takes the fire and then the dragon is gone! Dead! A skeleton! So obviously Cicero was very impressed and now he helps her. Keeps her safe. From Stormcloaks and Forsworn and Thalmor... and discreetly stabbing false Dark Brothers and Sisters when they get too close.”