Jester on his Deathbed

Her cloak.

More like a security blanket, the only thing that kept her from breaking down into a bowl of vampire dust.

Why Mara kept it, she had no clue. The man who gave it to her was long gone, and she couldn’t say she liked him much anyway. Still, she sighed as she dug the cloak out from the bottom of her chest, in the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. It was there because she was trying to grow out of it…but she needed it now. She needed the comfort of that man- of that assassin, as she carried out her duties as an assassin herself.

“Go, and end that fool’s miserable life!!”

“…Yes, Astrid.”

Of course, it was quite noticeable how hard it was for her to choke out her words, but Astrid, whose words came out like a dagger, wanted Cicero dead. And, more importantly, she wanted Mara to have the honor.

She wrapped the worn cloak around her shoulders, inside out like she always wore it, so as not to draw attention to the red fabric with a black handprint in the middle. It may as well tell guards she was a murderer, so of course, she hid it, wearing the plain black side of the fabric on the outside instead.

It was when she finally started on her way to the Dawnstar sanctuary when she felt the first tear drip down her cheek.

~

“What….is life’s….greatest, illusion?”

“Innocence, my brother.”

Arbjorn was safe, Shadowmere was resting by the water, Onmund was back at home being a housewife, and she got the door open. Now, all that was left was to kill Cicero.

The Dawnstar sanctuary was cold and dark, and full of ghosts that she was forced to fight off. A year ago, she would’ve had to rely on knights and guards to defend her in her countess days, but that was long gone. Now, no one fought for her but her.

“Listener?! Is that you?! Oh, I knew you’d come!!” sang Cicero, but his voice was hurt. That didn’t keep him from laughing, though, “Send the best to slay the best! That pretender knew she couldn’t strike me down!”

His voice seemed to send needles through Mara’s heart, but she ignored it as she quickly stomped through the sanctuary, not even putting effort into stabbing the ghosts. She wore her hood, even though she didn’t need it. Though, in a way, she actually did- she didn’t want to see Cicero bleed, she didn’t want to hear him dying…but she had to. She had no choice.

“This isn’t what mother would want!! You kill the keeper or I kill the listener again?! Now that’s madness!!” Cicero shouted, making her stop for a second. Kill the listener…again? she thought. He may be mad, but that just didn’t seem like something he’d do…sure, he loved stabbing things, but he even gave that up for the night mother. Why would he have ever killed the listener?

…I must be hearing things. she quickly determined, moving on.

She clung onto her cloak tightly as she made her way through a much snowier area. The snow was a much welcome sight to her, as she always preferred it to the oven most nords called the sun, but she was not pleased at the sight of the troll- in fact, she was quite disgusted at it, and feared she’d get blood on her cloak. But, being a skilled warrior, she didn’t fear that actually being her blood. If any, it’d be the troll’s.

Flames shot from her hands, burning it before it could even notice her presence. Usually, she’d let Onmund handle the beast with his spark magic while she observed from afar, but she didn’t want him coming. It felt too…personal. But, she knew it wasn’t. Just…another kill. Just like the troll she just finished off, he would be lying in his own blood…she hurried through.

She looked up at him, seeing auburn colored hair, neatly brushed back, and a surprisingly calm face…

She stopped, thinking back to that day…the day of her execution in Cyrodiil, and the man that saved her and gave her that cloak.

Cicero had auburn hair. It was brushed back.

He was not, however, calm. No, not at all, so Mara continued. Futile thoughts couldn’t stop her, they couldn’t slow her down, she wanted to get it over with.

There was a black handprint on his robes, the mark of the dark brotherhood…

Her thoughts stopped her yet again. Cicero was apart of the Dark Brotherhood. But he didn’t wear the robes. She kept going.

More thoughts of the man cluttered her mind, and she couldn’t help but find the similarities between him and Cicero, but she fought to remember the differences. Her thinking didn’t continue to slow her down, though- instead, they were now speeding her up. She had to kill Cicero. To her, he was an insult to the man. She didn’t want him living anymore.

“Now, we come to the end of our play! The grand…finale!!” shouted Cicero, using the little of his voice he had left. Mara stopped at the door, putting her hand on the handle and pressing her forehead to the wood, thinking. She didn’t want to open the door. She didn’t want to hear what would be his last words, his last laughter. But she did want him dead. She wanted him very dead.

She opened the door, and it didn’t take her long to notice a few things.

First, Cicero was not, as she thought, hurt- in fact, he was very…energetic, should we say.

Second, he had a dagger.

Lastly, he was coming at her with it, with every intention to kill in his eyes.

“YOU!!!” he shouted, pushing her up against the wall, pinning her by her neck, which he now held his ebony blade closely to. She gasped, unable to comprehend anything.

“How DARE you!!” he continued to shout, ripping her cloak off and holding it tightly in his hand, “THIS, this is NOT your cloak, how DARE  you take my listener’s cloak!!”

W-What?! thought Mara, trying to piece it together, trying to tolerate what she thought- what she knew, was happening.

“C-Cicero, I-I-!” she started, but he quickly cut her off, banging her head against the wall.

“NO- if you want to fake being our listener, then LISTEN to ME, the only body that should wear this cloak is a DEAD ONE!!”

“But you gave me that cloak!!”

He stopped, looking at her with angry eyes. He laughed.

“No- never! I gave this to my listener- my TRUE listener- who would never give herself up to a faking pretender!!” he shouted, but he seemed to be allowing her to speak. She gulped.

“It was me- I didn’t drown, Cicero…you gave me that cloak when I was burning in the sun, at the execution, and you were helping me escape…” she explained, holding back tears, “And I fell into the water, you thought I drowned but I didn’t…and I guess…we both made it to Skyrim in one piece…”

She didn’t get to say anymore.

Cicero had already locked her in his embrace, falling to the ground, holding her tightly and possessively.

“You…my listener is alive…I didn’t fail the night mother…” he whispered to himself, and Mara nodded.

“No, of course not, Cicero…she loves you, and I’m very alive. I’m sorry I troubled you…” she said, trying to act calm, though she was shaking. Had Cicero always thought to himself that he killed her? That he ruined the Dark Brotherhood’s last hope?

“You’re alive…the Brotherhood is alive…” he whispered, almost as if he was in a trance. She couldn’t bare to look him in the eye- instead, she took interest in his chest, which she realized was, in fact, wounded. She took out her healing hands and healed him, but she struggled in his tight grip.

Just then, she felt a tear drip down her cheek, a tear passing on the sights and horrors of regret, pain…and helpless madness.

Cicero’s tear.

“C-Cicero- I-” she started again, but he once again cut her off.

“Listen to me, listener…” he started, but for the first time in his life, seemed to be at a loss for words, “…wear…the cloak, please. The sun shouldn’t be the thing to burn the listener, no no.”

“Cicero, please…” she said, looking at him, “If you’re so desperate to change things back to the old ways…why can’t you go back to the old ways too?”

He looked at her with a puzzled, now teary face, as she gulped once more.

“I…I read your journals. All the death around you…and the thought of killing the listener on top of that….” she forced her hands out of his grip, wrapping them around his neck and crying into his chest, “But you saved me. You saved the Brotherhood’s listener, you saved the night mother…you saved us all. Please, please, Cicero, you don’t need to hide behind laughter anymore, please…”

There was silence.

No laughter.

No listening.

Silence.

And she knew he hated it. As much as she wanted to just cry there, she couldn’t abandon him in silence again.

Instead, she took his dagger, wiping her eyes as she got out of his grip, standing up.

“Proof…I’m gonna bring this to Astrid, t-tell her…you’re d-dead…” she said, smiling, though her tears kept pouring, “But you saved my life, Cicero…this is the least I could do…”

Another moment of silence. She had to break it.

She laughed- a quick, happy laugh- as she left. She knew she’d be leaving him in even more silence, but…she had to get back to the night mother.

However, Cicero didn’t let her leave- not yet, at least.

He quickly jumped up, wrapping the cloak around her.

“Careful…you’re gonna burn.” he said, just standing there, looking down at her with a much gentler smile…like his old ways.

He didn’t move. She didn’t move. Until she laughed again, just a bit.

“…Thank you, keeper.” she mumbled, quickly leaving. He didn’t follow. She didn’t want him to. She couldn’t bare the thought that she was leaving him in silence.

~

“Cicero is dead.”

She dropped the dagger at Astrid’s feet, the hood of her cloak hiding her tear streaked face.

It was all the proof she needed.

Fake proof, but proof, nonetheless.