A/N: This is the sequel to Agony of Loss. It won't make as much sense if you haven't read it.

Cicero looked up when he heard the Black Door open as it welcomed home a sibling. He schooled his face to calmness to hide the frantic beating of his heart. It had been almost a year since Phoebe had left to find out what it meant to be Dragonborn. Every time the Door whispered open, he watched, hoping it was his sweet sister, but fearing it was her too.

There was no sound as whoever entered walked down the stairwell. Not surprising. Silence was a second nature for most assassins, especially those who lived longer than others. An elongated shadow bobbed ahead, giving no indication of who it was attached to. Cicero wanted to jump up and race up the stairs to greet whoever it was, but he forced himself to stay crouched by Elaninde's side.

The Altmer mage was reclining in the throne-like chair before the table set to one side of the room. Once it had held Astrid's map of contracts, but now it was decorated with various gems and figurines from her native Summerset Isles. Impractical and useless like so many of Elaninde's pursuits.

When the figure arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Cicero lost his breath. It was not his dear Phoebe, but it was almost as good.

"I have returned," Babette stated simply. Her eyes, old and wiser than a ten-year-old had any right, flickered over Cicero, but she said nothing to him. Instead she approached the Listener and curtsied in the old Breton style. "Please forgive my prolonged absence, Listener. I had thought the Brotherhood lost and had fled for my safety. If I had realized that you," she paused, glancing at Cicero again, "or our dear Keeper had survived the Purification, I would have returned to pledge myself to the rightful leader of the Brotherhood sooner instead of hiding."

"I have wondered where you had gone," Elaninde lied. She had not cared one ounce of whether Babette had lived or died from the fire or Penitus Oculatus attack. Cicero had cared and had asked Phoebe to look for their little unchild sister. "We welcome you with open arms. Tell us where you've been all this time."

"I had been out picking flowers when the attack came," Babette said. "When I returned and found the Sanctuary in ruins, I turned east. I figured the further I was away from Imperial influence, the better. I tried Whiterun for a time, but rumors of the war coming there next were even less appealing. After a few failed attempts at finding a home to feed from as an adopt waif, I heard of a castle far to the north. A den of vampires laired there under a Lord Harkon, an ancient vampire lord. I petitioned to join them and he accepted. I think my apparent age amused him for he had never seen one like me before."

The tiny vampire shrugged as she dusted her skirt. "They were amusing for a time. There was a steady supply of blood from their cattle and I never wanted for anything. But I grew bored so once I heard that the Brotherhood was rising in power again I had to see for myself if it was true. I am so happy to see that not only have we survived, but we are thriving as well!"

"It was almost two years ago that I slayed Titus Mede II," Elaninde said, her teeth showing. "Why did you wait so long? Wasn't that proof enough we lived?"

"I had no way of knowing as I was keeping a low profile," Babette countered. "As an apparent orphan of the war, I was not going to be asking about the murder of the Emperor. The Volkihar Clan had not spoken to outsiders in centuries. It is a very isolated place. I think it would suit you, Listener, with its lovely old castle surrounded by the sea."

"If they are so isolated, then how did you hear about us again?" Elaninde demanded, sounding more suspicious.

"Lord Harkon's prodigal daughter returned to him and she brought a friend," Babette explained. "One of our sisters had heard rumors of vampires and thought to find me there. It was so clever of you to send someone to look for me."

"Of course," Elaninde smirked. She glanced at Cicero to see if he would call her out on her lie, but he remained silent. "We are a Family and we must watch out for one another."

"Always," Babette agreed. She yawned. "If you do not mind, I have had a long trip. I could not always travel at night and the sun drains me so. I suppose my old room is not still available? I would like to rest."

"It is not currently, but given your age and status in the Brotherhood, we can have it ready for you tomorrow. In the meantime, I am sure Cicero would not mind giving up his room until then. Isn't that right, Cicero?"

"As the Listener commands," Cicero murmured, nodding his head in obedience.

"Excellent," Elaninde purred. She waved her hand in dismissal. "Help Babette with her things."

Cicero fairly leapt from his place to grab Babette's things. "This way, sister," he said as he hurried to lead her away.

Babette followed the small Imperial as he walked to his room. She was unsurprised that it barely looked lived in. "How long?" she asked once they were finally alone. "How long has Elaninde been sexually abusing you? Phoebe spoke none of it to me."

The Keeper did not look like the man Babette remembered in the slightest. There was no hint of laughter or song on his lips. He was still, too still, especially compared to the capering man he once was. His frame was skeletal and the fancy clothes, measured for his exact fit, hung loosely on his frame. Babette could make out hints of bruises and scars around the edges of his collar and wondered how much of his body they covered.

"Why would the unchild say such a thing?" Cicero tittered nervously. He rubbed his hands over his arms, almost hugging himself.

"There is no need to lie to me, Keeper," Babette said gently. She started to place her hand on Cicero's arm, but thought better of it. Victims of abuse were typically skittish to touch. Instead she sat on the bed and gestured for Cicero to do the same. "I have spent more than two centuries hunting sexual predators. They are my preferred victims. I know the signs of one as well as the signs of their prey. The minute I walked into the room I knew."

"Phoebe didn't know," Cicero admitted as he joined Babette. "She couldn't have. It started after she left." His hand moved to cover his mouth, another victim's gesture to help keep in any screams. Tears silently fell down his cheeks as he remembered. "Please tell Cicero that she'll be home soon. Please." When Babette shook her head, he asked, "Then did she at least have a message for sweet Cicero?"

"No," Babette repeated. Cicero looked at her suspiciously but did not challenge her on it. There may have once been a time when he would have, but not now. Not after Elaninde. "I really do want to rest," she said.

"Of course!" Cicero said, jumping off the bed. He bowed deeply. "If the unchild has need of anything, she has but to ask."

"I will," she promised with a sharp tooth smile. As soon as Cicero left, Babette scrambled off the bed and headed towards her old room.

She needed to go to Falkreath and now. She couldn't use the front entrance, not with Elaninde ruling from the entrance room and Cicero dogging her heels. But every good Sanctuary had multiple exits and Babette knew about the one her tiny stone room hid.

As she slipped into the cramped tunnel, she thought of the message Phoebe had given her for Cicero. "Tell him that I might not be able to come back. I know I promised him, but I must face Alduin soon. There is no promise that I'll survive and it is all too likely that I won't. Tell him…tell him I love him and he will be the last thing I think of if I do die. I just don't want Cicero to wait for me if I'm dead. It's too cruel after everything he has been through."

There was no way in the Void Babette was going to deliver that particular message. Not after what she had seen. She had partly agreed to come back because she had grown bored with the Volkihar Clan, but she had also been asked by Phoebe to watch over Cicero while she was gone. Babette had been told about how much Elaninde bullied the Keeper and had been prepared for that. She had not been prepared for this. And frankly it was too big a problem for her to handle on her own. Phoebe was going to need to know and decide what to do from there.

"Dragonborn, there is a courier here for you," Delphine said.

Phoebe looked up from her meditations in from of Alduin's bane – the large mural of when Dragonrend had been created and used against the dragon god back in the old times. She picked up her katana from its resting place on her lap and sheathed it before standing up. "What does he want?"

"He says he has a message for your eyes only," Delphine shrugged. "He bears the proper courier seals, so I believe he's sincere."

Phoebe followed the Blade Grandmaster down the stairs to the area outside that hosted the blood seal. Only the blood of a Dragonborn could open the seal. It had only taken a few drops of Phoebe's to solve the final obstacle to Sky Haven Temple.

The courier stood nervously next to the blood seal, completely unaware of the significance of the swirling patterns in the ground. Phoebe was impressed that he had made it up here alone. There was a Forsworn camp nearby and they would not recognize the standard rules of hospitality and neutrality to messengers.

"Who sent you?" Phoebe asked gently. No sense making the man more nervous, but she needed to know. Not many were aware of her presence here.

Obviously there were Esbern and Delphine, the two remaining Blades. She had met Delphine after the Greybeards had sent her to retrieve Jurgen Windcaller's horn. The Breton had gotten to the horn first and left a note for whoever came for it. After proving she was Dragonborn by absorbing the soul of a dragon, Delphine had explained that dragons were coming back to Nirn.

Phoebe had returned to High Hrothgar long enough to return the horn and let Arngeir know about the dragons. He had been upset about her interactions with the Blades, but she had decided to leave the tranquility of the Throat of the World to train her martial abilities with the Blades to learn how to fight dragons better. She had felt like a fake with the peaceful pacifist Greybeards so any reason to leave had been a relief. An assassin had nothing to learn from them.

Given that they received supplies only rarely from kind pilgrims, it was unlikely that the Greybeards had sent a message to her. That left only one other option.

"I don't know," the courier admitted. "She was a little girl. About so high," he held a hand at hip level. "Had brown hair. Breton by the looks of her."

"Babette," Phoebe groaned.

After finding the small vampire in Volkihar Castle, they had traveled for about a day and a half together south before parting ways as Phoebe went further west and Babette continued south to Falkreath. They had not known each other for long, but Phoebe was given the impression that Babette was a lot older and wiser than her face would imply. What could have caused her to send a letter and so soon?

Phoebe blanched when she read the note. It had to be bad. There were only two words:

Come home.

"And that is the gist of it," Babette finished. She played with her empty cup, running her finger along the rim. "I have had to draw a few conclusions since Cicero is understandably being pretty closed mouthed on the matter, but I highly doubt I am far off on any of them."

When Phoebe had returned to Sanctuary, Elaninde and Cicero were gone on yet another clothes expedition to Solitude. The vampire child had been glad to have a quiet moment with no chase of interruption as she explained what had happened while the Imperial had been gone.

The two females were in Cicero's old room sitting at the table. A pot of tea sat between them, long cold after Babette's tale. Phoebe clenched her hands in her lap as she stared to the side.

"Nothing to say?" Babette asked lightly.

"I have plenty to say," Phoebe growled, her eyes flashing. "I'm just too angry to get the words out."

"Do not blame yourself," Babette advised. "You were not the one who hurt him. From what little Cicero was willing to tell me, you were the only person who was kind to him. You were the only one who saw the person and not just the pet Keeper of the Listener."

"But I should have known she wouldn't be happy with just trying to humiliate him!" Phoebe protested, tears in her eyes. "I knew how she ran him into the ground and how she barely gave him time to eat or do anything he wanted. I knew that she didn't respect him or what he had given up for the Brotherhood! And I left him alone with her knowing what kind of monster she was!"

"You are focusing on the problem and not the solution," Babette said.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning what are you going to do about this?" Babette sighed. "Cicero will not leave and you will not leave without him this time. But you cannot stay here watching out for him all the time. Even if you could find a way to turn Elaninde's sadistic nature to some other pursuit, you still need to go back out there and be the Dragonborn. The Listener is the highest ranked member of the Brotherhood so it is not as if you could appeal to a higher power."

Phoebe rubbed her chin as she thought. "There's one higher power," she said. "I'll just present my case to her."

Cicero leaned forward in his saddle to see if he could get a better view of the Black Door. He was eager to get home. Surely Phoebe was finally back! The unchild had been back almost two weeks when Elaninde had declared she was going to Solitude. Cicero had wanted to stay, but could think of no acceptable reason. He had oiled Mother the night before and no one was allowed in her sanctum without him. More often than not the Night Mother's chapel was locked from prying eyes, but it saddened Cicero that no one could bask in her terrible glory as she deserved.

"Why are you so eager to be home?" Elaninde demanded. She was riding next to Arnbjorn while Cicero was slightly ahead of them. "You have been acting odd ever since Babette returned." Acting odd meaning he hadn't been moping every second of every day.

"Cicero misses Mother," he said vaguely.

Elaninde would have pushed Cicero on the matter, but her attention was diverted by the large group of assassins standing in a group in the meeting room. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "Why are all of you here?

"Sorry, Listener," a Khajiit said, her tail slashing from side to side. "We were asked to wait here."

"By whom?" the Altmer asked, her eyes narrowing. She clearly did not like someone else asserting authority even if she was gone.

As Elaninde demanded to be told what was going on, Cicero did a quick survey of the gathered group. There were a good dozen assassins and as far as he could tell it was the entire Sanctuary in one place. Normally there was only a handful of the Family in at a time.

"I did. I called them all in, Listener," Babette said suddenly. She was standing at the top of the stairs that led to the training area. "It is important that all of the Night Mother's children be present during times of great change."

"What does that mean?" Arnbjorn growled.

Babette mysteriously smiled and beckoned them all to follow before retreating downstairs. Elaninde and Arnbjorn shared suspicious glances before warily trailing behind the Breton. Cicero dogged Elaninde's steps, but he wanted to sprint ahead. The only Family member missing was Phoebe! Whatever was happening was her doing!

"Did you know that there is another rank in the Brotherhood?" Babette said conversationally as she walked. "It is not very common knowledge because only the Black Hand is supposed to know about it. Traditionally there are four Speakers and a Listener. Four fingers and a thumb if you will. Each Speaker employees a special protégé to perform unsavory tasks for him in times of betrayal and doubt. They were known as Silencers and they were the most deadly of the Night Mother's children. Even the Tenets had no sway over them for they were used for the Purifications of Sanctuaries when necessary. Of course, you had no way to know any of this. It's not like you have been around that long in the Brotherhood or had any reason to research more about the old traditions. You keep the Old Ways, but in word only."

By this point Babette had reached the center of the main room that housed the training area, the forge and the waterfall. She spun and pointed an accusing finger at Elaninde. "Elaninde, you have not kept the Tenets! You have not honored the Night Mother as you should have as her first child! You have mocked the Keeper and by extension you have mocked the Unholy Matron. You are judged as unworthy of the title of Listener and will forfeit all rights and privileges associated with the title. If you leave now, you will be granted your life for your service, no matter how petty it may have been. What say you in your defense?"

Elaninde laughed long and cruelly. "Arnbjorn here could rip you head off as easily as a fly's," she sneered.

"Order it and it will be done," the werewolf growled.

"You're much too small and weak to do anything to us, vampire," Elaninde sniffed. "You may be old, but to an Altmer you are still a child. I suppose you are going to be the one to evacuate me, child?" she sneered.

"No, but I will," answered a female voice. Phoebe stood tall and proud in her dragon scale armor at the top of the stairs that lead to the Night Mother's chapel.

"Bright and brilliant, indeed," Cicero whispered, a smile growing on his face.

With the light from the red stained glass reflecting off her multi-colored dragon scales, she looked like the Wrath of Sithis herself. At her side was a Blade's katana made of some sort of bone instead of the traditional folded metal. "I have prayed to the Night Mother and this is the answer given to me. You're a disease, Elaninde, and I will remove you in whatever means necessary."

"Surely you don't claim that the Night Mother has spoken to you," Elaninde scoffed. "I am the Listener! She speaks only to me!"

"Is she speaking to you now? Has she warned you of what was going to happen? Did you whisper anything to prepare you for this revolution? Because I prayed that if she found you lacking to answer with her silence and it appears that she's answered in my favor!"

"I tire of this," Elaninde said. "Someone kill her. You!" She pointed at one of the Orc Brothers. "Slay her."

The chosen assassin nodded before drawing a pair of Daedric daggers. He charged Phoebe with a mighty battle cry. Phoebe coolly watched him advance. At the last moment, she quick drew her katana and sliced off both arms as well as a diagonal cut across the Orc's skull causing it to fly free of the Orc's head. It landed pointed up like a bowl and rocked several times before coming to a bloody stop.

"I will kill anyone who attacks me!" Phoebe promised. She flicked her sword to clean it of the blood before resheathing it. "I have not been idle this last year I have been gone," she said, sweeping her gaze over the room. "I have been hunting dragons! Do you think you compare at all to those legendary beasts?"

A loud whisper ran the through the room as the Brotherhood reacted to Phoebe's claim. Cicero saw a combination of shocked and disbelieving looks. Arnbjorn growled, but Elaninde was expressionless. To anyone else she would look like she was on the verge of boredom, but Cicero knew that look meant that she was seething inside. Well, good!

"Ten thousand septims to whomever brings me her head!" Elaninde declared.

This was enough to convince three more to try their luck. They darted forward ready to dogpile the small Imperial so she could be taken easier. Phoebe dodged among them until they were all facing her. Once they were in a small cone, she Shouted, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A gout of flame engulfed all of them leaving them charred corpses. While she was recovering from her Shout, Arnbjorn changed into a werewolf and closed into melee with her.

He roared, spittle flying everywhere, as he swiped his six inch long claws in a rapid swings. Phoebe fell back, holding up her katana to block Arnbjorn's attacks. His claws created sparks as they scraped across the bone blade.

"You don't have to do this!" Phoebe begged.

"She's my Alpha," the werewolf growled. "I gave up Astrid for her. Do you really think I would choose you over her?"

"Kill her, kill her, kill her!" Elaninde screamed, her voice high like a fox.

"You would choose the Night Mother, your rightful mistress, was my hope," Phoebe hissed. She managed to cut Arnbjorn deeply across his chest, but the wound immediately started to heal.

"No matter how sharp your bone blade may be," Arnbjorn laughed deeply, "my beastblood will heal it."

"One cut may not be enough, but what about a thousand?" Phoebe asked. "SU GRAH DUN!" Swirls of wind covered her arms and her strikes were even faster than ever. Instead of wide swinging strokes, Phoebe was making many jabs. Arnbjorn tried to retreat, howling as he went, but Phoebe dogged his steps not relenting.

Cuts appeared all over the werewolf's fur, soaking the coarse hairs in blood. Arnbjorn tried his best to claw or bite the Dragonborn, but she was faster than he. Finally, Phoebe hamstrung him, causing Arnbjorn to fall to his knees. He gave one final howl that was cut short when she lopped his head off at the neck.

"Who's next?" she growled, still in a crouched position with the katana.

Elaninde's eyes swept the remaining Brotherhood to see who she could send, but she didn't like what she saw. The survivors were backing away slowly as to not draw attention. The Khajiit who had talked to Elaninde earlier said, "This one thinks it is time for the great and powerful Listener to show her worth. It is one thing to kill an unsuspecting victim. Can you handle a foe who seeks your death?"

"I abhor getting my hands dirty," Elaninde sniffed. She threw her red cloak to the floor as she stepped forward. "I had thought Arnbjorn had picked a better crop of killers, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to have a lackluster lot given his previous group." She flexed her fingers as she grinned evilly. "You will regret challenging me, child."

"We'll see," Phoebe said, taking a different stance. She was now leaning with her sword behind her. "Let's see if your bite is as big as your bark, bitch."

"I am one of the Altmer," Elaninde bragged. "We defeated your pathetic Empire thirty years ago with hardly any effort. What is one Imperial compared to a nation?"

"When you fight the Dragonborn, you don't fight a single person," Phoebe smirked, "you fight an army."

"FUS-"

Before Phoebe could finish her Shout, Elaninde threw up a protective ward.

"-RO DAH!"

The Unrelenting Force Shout ripped over the mage, but it did not touch her or Cicero behind her spell. Several other siblings were caught in the aftermath and thrown back against the far wall. Phoebe gave a mighty "KIAI!" and charged Elaninde as she swung her katana at the elf.

Elaninde jumped back with one arm still raised to maintain the warding spell while her other hand glowed with lightning. She released the bolt at Phoebe, who leapt out of the way, causing her to miss her swing.

"You think I haven't had to dodge all sorts of fire, lightning, and ice this last year?" Phoebe challenged.

"You think I haven't destroyed a dozen like you?" Elaninde countered. "I lived for decades in the Aldmeri Dominion courts dealing with backstabbing, political or otherwise. I lived long before your grandparents ever kissed and I'll live longer than your own grandchildren."

"You might be surprised," Phoebe scoffed. She came in low on Elaninde's right and thrust her sword hard against the barrier. It shuddered from the force of her blow, but still protected the caster behind it.

"Getting frustrated yet, Imperial?" Elaninde taunted.

"A little," Phoebe admitted. She shifted to an overhead two-handed posture. "But you have to run out of magicka sooner or later and then you're mine!"

"I never run out of magicka," Elaninde laughed. She dropped the ward and ducked into Phoebe's reach. Before the Dragonborn could react to her sudden move, Elaninde overcharged a fireball in both hands and jammed it into Phoebe's chest. A loud "boom" filled the air as Phoebe was thrown smoking back into the waterfall.

The mage paused as Phoebe sputtered water and struggled to stand. "Pathetic little human," she snickered. She threw her arms open in a wide gesture. "You thought you were going to fight a weak spellcaster, but instead you face a master."

"Your ward does you no good if you can't cast it in time," Phoebe growled. "WULD!" She blurred as she sprinted towards the Listener. Elaninde gasped, but she was unable to put her spell back up in time.

Phoebe suddenly stopped when Cicero jumped between the two women, the tip of her blade stopping barely a hair's width from his neck. His arms were thrown open similar to how Elaninde had hers, but his in a gesture of protection instead of pride.

"Why?" Phoebe whispered. Every nerve in her body was screaming to kill him and finish the job of the Altmer before she could get her defenses back up. "Why are you protecting her? I thought you hated her more than I did!"

"Cicero is loyal," he answered, his voice so low Phoebe could barely hear him. "Cicero follows the Tenets. If he does not, what is he but nothing?" Tears trailed down his face as he looked away in shame. "Cicero looked and looked for a Listener for so long, he cannot stand by and let this one die. She is a terrible person and treats poor Cicero like he is less than nothing, but she is Mother's chosen. Cicero will not fight sweet Phoebe, but he can't stand idly by. Cicero can't wait another thirteen years for Mother to pick a new Listener." He finally looked at Phoebe, desperation in his eyes. She could see if she were to kill him, he would thank her for the final release of the Void. "Cicero is sorry."

"Isn't there anything I can say to change your mind?" Phoebe asked, steeling herself for the only answer her Keeper could give.

"No," Cicero chuckled. "The only words that would sway Cicero have already been spoken by another."

Phoebe sighed as she sheathed her sword. "I could never hurt you, my Keeper." She ignored Elaninde's taunting laugh. She had come here to free her friend, not bury him. She would have killed anyone else. She would have killed an entire Hold for him.

Fire crackled in Elaninde's hands as she prepared an incinerate spell. Phoebe closed her eyes, ready for the end when she felt Cicero's arms around hers. "Together at least?" he asked.

"I could consider nothing else a higher honor," Phoebe smiled. She started to lean forward to kiss Cicero one last time when she paused. She looked up at the stained glass window above the waterfall that connected the Night Mother's sanctum.

"Move or die, Cicero," Elaninde warned him. "I have no qualms against killing you if you stand with this traitor."

Before he could answer, Phoebe whispered in his ear. The Keeper's eyes widened as he slowly stepped away from the Dragonborn. Elaninde's cruel smile widened as she charged her strongest spell. Let the fool watch his lover burn.

The words of incantation were on her lips when Cicero spun on his heel and sank his ebony dagger into her gut. The spell died in her hands as she gasped. Elaninde could not speak, she could barely grunt, as Cicero twisted his knife in her liver. She crumpled to her knees, looking up at the Keeper.

Hers eyes were full of "Why?" while his gaze burned with the satisfaction of watching his nemesis kneel before him. She mouthed the words, no sound given to them as the pain ran through her body. Blood red nails weakly trailed down Cicero's forearms as she attempted to scrabble for purchase.

Cicero's only answer was to smile as he pulled the bloody knife out with an audible "pop". He flipped it in his hand so he could hold it in a downward position as his other hand grabbed Elaninde's chin. It seemed only fitting to take the bitch's tongue first before moving on to other acts of vengeance.

Phoebe moved past Cicero and Elaninde, drawing the attention of the room to her. She invoked enough of the thu'um to make her words heard by everyone and to make sure no one would miss the lesson given this night.

"Elaninde has been dethroned as Listener. She is no longer part of the Brotherhood. If any of you have a problem with this, you are free to leave with no further repercussions. Her reign is over and things are going to change around here. The life you've been used to, for good or ill, is over. Now go and give the Keeper his privacy."

The remaining assassins looked uncomfortably at each other as their former leader was slowly being sliced and diced before them. It was clear many of them were thinking that they could try to step forward to help Elaninde; she wasn't so badly hurt that she couldn't be healed. It was also just as clear none of them cared enough to risk their own skin for her.

In ones and twos they left the main room. Some went retreated to the kitchen or the initiates' room, probably to gossip about what had happened, while the rest went outside to return to whatever pursuits they had been dragged away from. Finally, only Phoebe, Babette, Cicero and Elaninde remained.

The Altmer's screamed were muffled and garbed after Cicero had cut out her tongue. He kept a constant pressure on her stomach with his boot as he exacted his revenge on her. Let her feel the pain he had felt, let her know the helplessness, let her be in agony as long as her body would last, hoping against bitter hope something would change enough for her to survive.

"Keeper, when you're finished, clean up here and meet me in your room," Phoebe commanded as she stepped around the bloody mess. Cicero nodded, not looking up from his task. "When you're done with her body, place her heart before the Night Mother's shrine."

She followed words to action and left the training area for the stairs that would lead to the Night Mother's chapel on the side that connected with Babette's room.

"What did you say to him?" the vampire child asked as she scurried along. "What made Cicero change his mind?"

"I said the only words that matter," Phoebe said. "I said the Binding Words." She wouldn't repeat them for anyone else. They were for her and the Keeper only. Darkness rises when silence dies.

It was late when Cicero finally came to his room. Phoebe had been waiting for hours and had passed the time mostly by reading. He had been deadly silent when he entered the room and Phoebe only sensed him after months of learning how to sense the living dead.

She had been prepared for him to be covered in blood from head to toe, but Cicero had always been meticulous. There was some blood on his hands and a spray on his face, but otherwise the Keeper was clean. He looked tired, but there was vitality in his eyes that had been missing before.

"Hey," she said gently, closing her book. She moved to stand, wincing as she bent forward.

"You're hurt," Cicero said, darting to be by her side.

"Well, I did take a fireball to the gut," she joked, one eye squinted shut in pain.

"How did you survive that?" Cicero asked as he nudged for her to lie back on the bed. "Not that Cicero isn't grateful, but Cicero saw you burn those siblings to a crisp and that was from a distance."

Phoebe chuckled and winced even from that. "Paarthurnax taught me a special meditation for the Fire Breath Shout. It makes my own Shout more powerful while making me more resistant to other sources of flame. And," she shrugged, "I made sure that all of my armor is enchanted against fire, ice, and lightning. You know since I fight dragons."

"Clever girl," Cicero said. "It must be scary to fight those things."

"Not as scary as the thought of losing you," Phoebe whispered.

Cicero moved to touch her hair, but he stopped when he noticed the blood on his hands. "Cicero should clean up."

"There is some warm water by the fire," Phoebe pointed to a pot by the brazier. "I also have some food for you. And most importantly of all," she grinned as she pointed to Cicero's dresser, "something to change into when you're done."

The jester's motley, recovered from Elaninde's room, was waiting for him. It was folded, albeit a bit messily. Cicero sighed happily as he hugged the outfit to his chest. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for everything."

Phoebe couldn't think of anything to say, so she just smiled and nodded. A comfortable silence settled between them as Cicero quickly cleaned up. It was dark in the room, but it was impossible to miss the multitude of scars and bruises crisscrossing over his body. Some of them were older than others. Some scars were faded and barely noticeable while others were fresh. Some bruises were purpling while others were yellowish.

"If I had seen those, I wouldn't have bothered trying to talk to her," Phoebe growled. "I would have just jumped that bitch the moment I saw her."

"Cicero is glad you didn't," he said as he settled his cap on his head. Phoebe thought he looked real for the first time since she had returned. It had felt like she had seen some sort of doppelganger when Cicero had entered the room behind Elaninde.

He settled on the bed next to Phoebe after he picked up the covered platter. He took a few bites, but mostly he just sat there playing with the food.

"Not hungry?"

"Cicero doesn't want much of anything anymore," Cicero admitted. "There didn't seem much point. Anything Cicero cared about, Elaninde took away. Except Mother. She never tried that. At least not directly." He sighed. "Cicero thinks she had hoped that he would give up, quit being Keeper, leave the Brotherhood. It would have been her final victory."

The silence returned, but it was much more uncomfortable this time. Cicero scowled as he stirred his food aimlessly. Phoebe hated how still and quiet he was now. She missed his laughter and songs.

"Falced Siruliulus is the head of a traveling circus," Phoebe said suddenly. "One day he is approached by a Breton man who is dragging three creatures behind him – a tamed sabre-cat, a miniature spriggan, and the biggest, ugliest, foulest smelling horker he's ever seen. The Breton says, 'I hear you have a slot in your show and I'm hoping you'll be interested in one of my oddities.'

"Falced looks over the creatures, but his eyes are drawn back time and time again to the horker. It has the longest, most yellow tusks he's ever seen. Its mustache is the thickest he's ever seen. Its flesh is thick as armor and covered with bristles. 'What do you want for the horker?' he asks.

"'That's not a horker!' he says to the man, 'That's my wife!'"

For a long moment, Cicero stared at Phoebe in shock. She started to wonder if she had misjudged the idea of a joke when the redhead threw his head back and started to laugh as loud as possible. He hunched over and slapped his kneed as he screamed with laughter. "Oh, I love that one," Cicero said when he finally got his breath back. He looked at Phoebe critically. "When was the last time your bandages were changed?"

"About four hours ago," Phoebe said, amused by his sudden change in demeanor. She started to shrug and changed her mind. "I guess I should find Babette and have her change them."

"Cicero will change it," he insisted. He darted out of the room before Phoebe could get up and was back shortly with Babette's first aid supplies. "Lift your shift."

Phoebe smiled at his bossy nature, but did as commanded. She had to move slowly and hissed quite a bit as the skin pulled, but she did manage to hike her sleeping gown up over her hips with a little help from Cicero.

Cicero removed his gloves before tugging off the bandages. The flesh underneath was cracked and burned in an almost starburst shape. "Imagine how bad it would have been if you had been the slightest bit less protected," he murmured as he ran his fingers over the angry skin. "You'll need at least a week to recover and even then you won't be a full strength. Definitely none of that jumping around you did tonight. That will have to wait months at least."

"That feels good," Phoebe sighed as she relaxed under Cicero's touch. She frowned at Cicero's words. "Unfortunately, I don't have that long. I was on my way to capture a dragon using an ancient trap in Dragonsreach. Odahviing, Alduin's right hand dragon, should come when I call his name. I will bind him and force him to tell me where the dragon god is."

"Not in this condition," Cicero tsked as he wrapped the new bindings around Phoebe's waist. "The Listener will need to heal first." The title hung awkwardly between them for a moment before Cicero turned to put the extra bandages away. "It's true. You are the Listener. You said the Binding Words. The only way that Mother could communicate with poor, sweet Cicero. It doesn't matter what Elaninde was or how she acted. You'll do a better job of it, Cicero knows."

"I have to defeat Alduin first," Phoebe insisted. "He plans on destroying everything and I will not allow that. Not only do I happen to like living, but it would steal souls away from Sithis. We can't allow that, now can we?"

"No, no, no," Cicero agreed. "That wouldn't do at all." He tilted his head to the side. "It seems to Cicero that he must serve Mother and the best way to serve Mother would be to assist the Listener in her contract."

"You want to come with me?" Phoebe asked. When Cicero nodded, she smiled. "You would do that for me? Help me kill a dragon?"

"For you, Cicero would do anything. For you, Cicero would help you kill a god," he clarified. "We must make sure you come home safe and sound and more or less in one piece. Cicero does not think he could handle waiting for yet another Listener. There have been too many as is."

Phoebe yawned. She was tired after such a long and stressful day. It felt good in Cicero's bed with him next to her, gently petting her long hair. She curled up in the curve of his arm. "We'll talk about it more tomorrow," she mumbled as she drifted to sleep.

Cicero hugged her gently, enjoying her warmth and the sweet smell of her hair. The thought of running under the open sky, searching for a contract, getting to kill again after so long thrilled him, especially when he thought of his shining, brilliant Listener by his side. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, "Let's kill someone."

They were going to have so much fun!