Death and Madness: Chapter Twelve

Games > Elder Scroll Series > Skyrim
Location and Time:  Skyrim post Helgen 201 4E
Main Pairing: Cicero / Dragonborn - Listener

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31st of Frostfall (October), 4E 201

12:03 am

Every bump had him wincing as the patched up wheel creaked under the weight of its axle. If that were not bad enough, even driving slowly with only one tongue was unwieldy at best. Without equal pull on both sides of the ever more frustrated mare, the wagon kept drifting to the left. Till finally after the third time of going into the field that hour Cicero decided to jump down and guide the horse upon foot. He ignored how his legs wobbled under him in fatigue. With tingling feet, he pushed on, determined to reach the meadery before calling it a night.

The mare however was not so patient and kept trying to nip him. This did not help improve Cicero’s already wary impression of horses since even in the past they never seemed to care for him.

“They smell the blood upon us and it scares them Cicero,” Atticus in their childhood had told him once while juggling.

Cicero paused as his mind fell back to that moment. How his brow knit in concentration over how his older and only friend could keep catching eight colorful, sand-filled leather balls, without paying attention. It was something Cicero still to this day was unable to do with just three while watching his hands. Even though Atticus had tried so very hard to teach him before leaving for the Imperial City. He had hoped to make his fortune there but he found infamy far more rewarding instead.  

“You can still come with me. It can be an act and we’ll make them all laugh. I’ll just keep juggling while picking up the ones you keep dropping.”

“Or I could throw them at you,” Cicero grumbled, crossed his arms and kept watching.

“That’s an idea. Or how about daggers instead of balls! Now that would get a crowd gasping.”

A life in the capital sounded wonderful, fun and exciting. Cicero had always wanted to go when the time came but sighed, “You know now more than ever that my mother needs me.”

“No. She doesn’t if she gets rid of it and there are ways,” Atticus snorted as he kept juggling. “She, your brother and you would be better off if your father had an unfortunate and fatal accident, rather than the kind where he puts another babe in her belly at what? Is she not over forty now?”

Not wanting to get into another argument Cicero ordered, “Come on. Quit fooling around. We need to go before it gets too dark. You may be able to afford to dally and play but I’d rather not earn another black eye if I come back empty handed. Plus he was in a rather sour mood when I left this morning.”

Concern caused his friend’s quick hands to falter. One of the balls fell to the ground and with a hollow laugh Atticus let the rest drop then bent down to stuff them into his pockets.  

“So is he out of ale or out of mead?"

"Both, now let’s go!"

"If that is your wish then I’ll oblige!”

Atticus gave out cheerfully as his right wrist and elbow spun out in a flashy court bow.  

Cicero gave a weary smile at how his younger and more serious self had rolled his eyes and bit the inside of his cheeks. Instead of laughing with him, he had snatched his fellow Imperial’s outstretched hand to yank him roughly along. Into the forests they ran with their skinning knives, bows and arrows. With each of their poor family’s tables needing meat they did their best to kill well and often.  

A painful horse nip to his arm had Cicero snapping back to the present. "Gaw! Mean old nag! How many times has Cicero stopped, letting you dally and delay us so you could rest, drink and eat all of Cicero’s carrots, hum?"

The mare only huffed and stomped her foot.  Her lip curled up to sniff the air in anticipation of another pilfered carrot from the Loreius farm.

"Cicero has nothing more for you-you ungrateful lazy beast," he huffed and released her cheek piece. Before she could bite him again, Cicero scrambled up to the seat one more time to set the wagon's break. With the sky remaining clear he set up camp by the road and was grateful that at least he would not have to worry about rain tonight. Letting the mare loose upon a tether to wander a little, graze and calm down he set about making a fire.

It was not an easy task without magika. He had tried in the past to understand it but even the simplest of spells seemed to take far too much time and concentration. At finding he had no easy talent for it, he made do in other ways by using a striker of quartz and a handstone made of pentlandite. Together they made some sparks upon a pile of dry grass and bark. It was not nearly as quick or flashy as when Beth had casually tossed a ball of fire into the stack of wood Lydia had arranged last night. Still Cicero carefully worked the tiny bits of energy to catch and grow to flames then added sticks and finally larger bits of wood.  

Once he had the fire going to his satisfaction, with a smirk he plucked a dead chicken from his pack. Her neck had been neatly snapped.  Before leaving the Loreius farm, Cicero spotted his hen.  Both the farmers and the guard never saw or heard what happened next. Now plucking off the feathers to prepare it for supper Cicero sang and chuckled.  

“And if I spy a laying bird, I'll snap its neck before it's heard. Hum… oh no-no that’s boring! Anyone and everyone kills a chicken eventually.” Ripping out more feathers, Cicero jeered, “Oh boo-hoo a chicken for the pot. No. Nobody will remember that."

‘What about a singing bird? A pretty-pretty singing bird,’ Atticus offered.

“Singing? Hum,” Cicero paused from stuffing the removed down feathers carefully away in a sack. Thanks to the pheasants from yesterday he nearly had enough for a small pillow. To consider Atticus’s suggestion, Cicero sang out slowly under his breath, “And if I spy a singing bird, I’ll snap it’s neck before it’s heard. Singing bird. Before it’s heard.” Cicero drawled out slowly warming to the idea. After singing it out for a second time his grin grew. “Oh yes that is much better! Brilliant! It certainly would be more unnerving to say the very least.” Getting back to plucking he sang the line over a few more times so he would not forget before humming one squeaky tune after another.

It was about an hour later when he was just about to take a bite of a roasted chicken's leg that he heard them. Between their noisy armor and stage whispers it took everything in Cicero not to chuckle at their poor attempts to sneak up on him. Biting into the chicken's leg he listened carefully as he slowly chewed.

"Well look at that. He's certainly dressed the part. Just like she said," the first drawled in a rough and deep voice.

"Wonder what's in that crate,” a second, younger and nervous sounding man whispered.

"She said it could be weapons," a third added grimly in a thick Nordic accent.

"Weapons? Wait? I thought she said skooma or moon sugar?" The nervous one piped up again.

"Does he look like a damned khajiit to you, Tegan?" The Nord snorted.

"Hey! Anyone can peddle that damn stuff!"

"Quiet you idiots, else he'll hear us!" The first growled low, followed by two cuffing sounds on helms.

“Ouch! That really hurt!" The guard, who Cicero guessed was Tegan, whined.

"Ouf!" The other grunted at the same time before he demanded,“Hey! And just who made you the boss, huh?”

Counting out at least three different voices from the shadows, Cicero started to worry. The odds of picking them off one by one were not good even without the complication of the Night Mother's presence. Taking out one of the clumsy guards would not even make him work up a sweat. But Cicero seriously doubted while he pursued and battled the second that the remaining one would be so kind or stupid as to stand idly by and await his turn.

With his stomach starting to tie in knots from the odds, Cicero still cheerfully called out, "Care to join me for dinner good Sirs?"

Their awkward shuffles and muttered curses had Cicero biting back nervous laughter as he continued to cajole, "Come-come out I say. Don't be shy there is plenty of this bird for all three of you."

To Cicero’s dismay five guards in standard uniforms of the Whiterun hold approached the campfire. That their faces were hidden by helms would make it near impossible to read them but Cicero guessed the biggest one among them was their leader. He was at least a head taller than the four other Nord men with him and the way he moved implied strength, confidence yet caution. The others moved stiffly and with uncertainty in comparison. One by one their helms would swivel to the larger awaiting instruction.

"Oh bother. Maybe not," Cicero muttered under his breath as he chewed quickly to finish off the chicken's leg. He was damned if he was going to die upon an empty stomach.

After tossing the leg bone into the flames, he scrambled to his feet as the oversized guard stepped into the fire light and got straight down to business in the same rough voice Cicero had heard earlier.

"We've heard some disturbing rumors about you?"

"What? Lil' old me? Nothing too bad I hope," Cicero flirted back, covering his heart with a grin.

"No,” the nameless Nord who spoke before stepped forward and puffing up his chest declared. “You stand accused of smuggling weapons and illegal goods. What say you in your defense?"

‘Careful-that one wants to be the boss,’ Atticus warned as he stirred in Cicero’s mind at the trouble before them.

“I know,” Cicero whispered. His grin wavered and sourly he inquired, "By who? The farmer?"

"No by-"

"Shut up Sifrd! He does not need to know who reported it! ” The leader butted in and added, “Look fool, just show us what's inside that crate to set our minds at ease and you can go on your merry way."

As the leader next started for the wagon Cicero hissed, "Your peace of mind is of little concern! There is nothing in there-nothing but my poor old dearly departed Mother!"

"We'll see about that," Sifrd muttered. The closest of all of them, he grabbed one arm. Before Cicero could even think to try and yank it free a second guard secured his other.

‘Easy Cicero,’ Atticus tried to sooth and take over.

Squirming in protest to the efforts of both the guards and Atticus, Cicero screamed, "No! No-no-no you won't! Don’t you dare! Why? All because some puffed up and overly decorated Thane doesn't truly believe I'm transporting my mother-my poor dearly departed mother!"

“Thane my ass. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater probably just wants someone to finally buy a house that’s been sitting empty for the last three years. No it wasn’t that weird little mage from Cyrodiil-”

“Sifrd! For the last time. Shut... up!” Their leader growled out as he and another guard climbed up upon the wagon.

“Ha!” Cicero crowed in his brief victory of worming some information out of them. His joy over how Beth had also not betrayed him however was short lived when the two men drew their iron axes next. Cicero with quick gulps pleaded, “Gaw! I beg of you, do not violate my poor dear Mother!”

When one of the other Nords started to lift his axe, Cicero struggled in earnest in their grasp and started to scream, “DON’T YOU DARE OR CICERO WILL-”

Inside his head Atticus cut him short and chided, ‘Ah-ah-ah silence for now. I’ll hold his tongue, Sweet Night Mother. Never you fret for we both shall behave but I do need more control of him.’

Feeling his friend slowly taking over his limbs Cicero tried to fight it as he whimpered, “No-no-no don’t let him… please no!”

The leader noticing what his assistant was about to do, just in time grabbed his wrist before he could bring the weapon down to start smashing the wood lid to the crate open. “What in Oblivion is the matter with you! Never mind just pay attention,” With his own axe the leader next demonstrated while he curtly instructed, “Use the blade of it to wedge under the lid and open it right. By the eight, I’m surrounded by morons!”

‘Do as they say or do let me play.’ Atticus tittered away in his head while cocking it to the side.

When Tegan in front of him drew his sword and leveled it at Cicero's throat he nervously urged, “Calm yourself. Please! Else we’ll have to take you in.”

Cicero could feel his friend’s spirit grow in power. As Atticus pulled his lips back to offer a full toothy and eerie smile, Cicero felt his mind being pulled away from what was happening as his body stopped struggling. A soft and dark giggle bubbled free from his throat. His eyes locking with Tegan's his lips whispered but it was Atticus who joked, "Oh do be careful with that sword, boy. Cicero doesn't like to be cut. No-no not at all..."

Everything slowed down as if it he were immersed in water. The edges of his vision darkening, Cicero felt he was drowning as he struggled to claw his way back to the surface and regain control.

‘That’s it. Just hold still and let the big one take a look at her.’

Cicero obeyed but only in a vain hope to regain some strength and put Atticus back in his place all the quicker. At least until one of the leader’s helpers jeered, "Mother my arse, let's see if Lydia’s tip pays off."

"Wha… Lydia? That-” Cicero growled out breathily as Atticus snapped his mouth tightly shut again.

I’m going to kill her! Kill her for this! For if the Night Mother's body is... Cicero could not finish the thought. He trembled and realized that besides being unable to talk he could hardly move even an inch. For the moment he did not mind as he was too caught up with the idea of tripping and shoving Beth’s treacherous servant into a deep slow river or lake. The vision of her falling into it and struggling to keep her head above water was enough to pleasantly distract him.

Oh how she will flail helplessly in all that shiny heavy armor. Cicero would only have to watch on and smile as the splashes and her pleas for aid quieted. A gentle death as the dark cold water embraces and sweeps her into the Void. A small kindness since Cicero doubts Sithis would offer any mercy to the unfortunate soul who lead to the destruction of the Night Mother’s mortal remains.

At the creaking sound of nails being pulled from wood over Lydia’s imagined desperate choking gasps for air snapped Cicero back to reality. Watching them lift the lid off the crate, Cicero tried to threaten and bargain, “No! You mustn't! I swear the housecarl is lying and her thane would not approve of this. You hear me? Thane Beth will be quite displeased when she learns of your mistreatment of me! She would also be horrified that you would violate my poor mother's rest.”

‘Nice try but I don’t think that would work. Best just let them look. The Night Mother hardly cares so long as they don’t damage her remains.’ Atticus tried once more to calm the Keeper down.

“No! No Cicero will not hold still or stand for this! Stop this madness right now and-and Cicero will be all too happy to not inform your Thane."

“Maybe we should listen to him. What if he’s right?” Tegan’s eyes darted back from their leader back to Cicero. “She is after all the-”

“Like Oblivion she is!” Sifrd snapped and giving Cicero’s arm a rough jerk. In fact he wrenched it so hard it made Cicero yelp in pain. “Listen! I don’t care what that little witch from your Thalmor arse kissing country supposedly is Imperial, she’s not a Nord! What? You all think a few arrows fired and spells cast as she and her pet elf hide behind a wall while some of our brothers died to face that dragon doesn’t make her-”

“But I heard-we all heard it. The Greybeards called for her,” Tegan argued back and lowered his wavering sword a little.

“Shut up the lot of you and hold him still! Sifrd, I said hold him! You hurt him again or I hear one more stupid comment about Nords, I swear I’ll come over there and bust you so hard your future children-should you be so lucky-will be walking funny. Look, we’re almost done. The coffin’s open but I can’t see a damn thing. Someone fetch and light me a torch,” the big one jerked his head to Cicero’s campfire. “We need to be sure.”

At the threat of fire getting anywhere near the Night Mother, it took all three guards to hold Cicero back along with Atticus shouting in his head to behave.

When the leader held a torch over her Cicero could only watch and whimper out, “Mother.”

‘Just let the big one look,’ Atticus reassured as Cicero could only tremble and hold his breath in terror.

Small motes of embers fell off the flames held over the Night Mother’s oiled body. His eyes tried to follow every one as they faded and floated away to harmless ash, still the flames were far too close to the Night Mother’s withered flesh and ancient bones.

The leader, after staring at the body for what seemed an eternity to Cicero, gave a curse and a prayer. “Dammit! Arkay and Mara forgive me. I… I thought… sorry-dammit.” Belatedly realizing the danger of the torch, he eased it away and ordered the man helping him. “Seal her back up, carefully!” To the others with regret in his voice he added, “Let him go.”

Relief and fury both simultaneously flooded through Cicero as the men unceremoniously let him drop to his knees. Tegan before him sheathed his sword and offered sincerely, "Sorry. No hard feelings I hope. We had to be sure with you leaving from Dawnstar. The Jarl there is one of Ulfric's biggest supporters and with you heading in the general direction of his other in Riften well..."

Cicero could not even look up or respond. Instead he trembled in relief as they all moved to do as they were told. The backs of their axes were now being used to re-nail the crate shut.

Eyes burning, he felt his arms wrap around himself as Atticus whispered soothingly, ‘There-there it is done.’

“No, I failed her-they could have…” Cicero whispered on a hitched sob and started to rock on his knees.

‘No you put on a good show of the grieving son. All that matters is she is safe and look! Look at how sorry they all are now. More importantly they will help us perhaps. You know what to do, don’t you?’

Slowly Cicero nodded and dimly realized the leader was crouching before him. It took him a few deep and long breaths before he had the will to look up.

"I... sorry for your loss," the leader awkwardly apologized once again.

Cicero did not hold back. He let hot and angry tears slip down his cheeks. He felt and hoped he looked utterly broken by what just happened, more the fool than ever.

“Happy now?” He weakly giggled and sniffed wetly. He would not feel shame over his tears. Cicero knew the value of not holding them or anything back. His father may have mocked and beat him all the harder for crying sometimes, but when the large man before him flinched it took everything for Cicero to repress the smirk of satisfaction.

“Ah yeah she… look again I’m sorry to have disturbed her to follow up on that tip. Even though it looks like she’s been gone awhile one never gets over the loss of one’s mother. Say, I’ll tell you what. We’ll escort you to the Whiterun stables. I’ll even put word with Adriana to steady that wheel and get you another tongue for that wagon.”

Playing weak was always easier. In fact Cicero did not have to act at all. Doubts had filled him to the brim. The only thing he could think to do was use it to his advantage, give a small nod and reluctantly take the guard’s offered large hand.

“Raanan,” the leader gruffly introduced and after pulling him up he gave Cicero’s hand a firm shake.

“That’s not a Nord name. Rather tanned for one too,” Cicero commented as he noticed Raanan’s bare golden brown arms.

“That’s because I’m not a Nord,” Raanan declared and yanked his helmet off to reveal his scarred up face, a milk-blind left eye and pointed ears.

“Oh my! You’re the biggest wood elf Cicero has ever seen!” He cried out as Raanan grimaced.

“Yeah-yeah, a big wood elf. That’s what they all say. Ha-ha, I get it. Come on and get your things together before I change my mind,” Raanan rumbled out as he ruffled up his short mohawk that had flattened from his guard’s helm.

“Really? Oh thank you! Thank you kind sir!” Cicero cheered as he wasted no time in snatching up his few belongings and kicking dirt over the fire . As Raanan helped him carry his pack back to the wagon, generously Cicero offered, “Chicken leg?”

“Ah,” Raanan gave it some thought considering it was nearly touching his red war painted nose. “Sure, um thanks.”

“You’re oh so welcome.” Cicero smirked, looked the large mer up and down then added, “There is more meat where that came from.”

~.~.~

8:09 am

The shrill notes of a flute made the ball of anxiety roll about in Beth’s empty stomach. Every off-pitch blow had her wincing as it yanked her closer and closer to consciousness. With dread, Beth knew it would only be a matter of time before the arguing would start up between her stepfather and the woman she’d always had trouble calling mother. If she was not tormenting Feildus, Ysbel would barge into Beth's small room, yank her from bed and in a manic state demand she practice.

“Ah g-gods, she’s had too m-much again,” Beth grumbled and covered her sensitive ears. That too much, being skooma. “Damn her! I hate it when she...” Beth gave a relieved groan as she scrunched her nose against the fur tickling it. She next stretched an arm out to confirm the bed was too big to be the one she had back in Bravil.

“S-she’s dead. M-mother’s dead,” she eased out and sucked in one slow breath after another. Once calmed Beth whispered, “K-katria? Are you awake?”

Beth already missed her warmth, and those shy but wonderfully soft kisses. Slowly, she reached out with another arm only to find the bed empty on her other side as well. The sensation of fur sliding between her fingers was cool, instead of the worn but always warm linen sheets from back home. Rising up on an elbow and still fully dressed, Beth squinted and twisted around in the dimly lit room for her bedmate as she rubbed the heel of her hands over a dry eye with a pout.

At hearing the pretty bard start to pluck a simple melody upon her lute in the main hall, Beth grimaced in pain. But despite the pounding headache from the wine they shared hours ago, she managed to work up to humming cheerfully along after she took a few minutes to freshen up. The unfamiliar slow song helped too, since it was something Ysbel would have never played.

As Beth splashed water from the basin over her face she was happy over discovering Katria was easygoing and kind. But most of all, the younger woman had been a wealth of information and fun company too. She could even see why Cicero fancied her and what little conscience Beth possessed was at perfect ease since she did not even have to prod the bard to sing all sorts of secrets about their mutual friendly jester. After downing just one glass Katria had been all too happy to vent while Beth simply offered a comforting shoulder. With a carefully crafted sweet and doleful expression Beth listened carefully and offered words of praise and support when Katria stated she was moving on.

Now with an impish smile, over all she learned about Cicero, Beth returned to the main room with a skip in her step.

“Sleep well my thane?” Lydia asked around a mouthful of porridge, at the bar.

“Not nearly enough. But spending time with Katria has been certainly enlightening if not most entertaining,” Beth yawned out and with a grin sat down next to her housecarl. “What of you? Rest well?”

“Ah,” Lydia struggled to answer as Beth paused to give a friendly wave to Katria. The warmth in the smile the bard returned had Lydia asking, “Are you-did you two-um nevermind. Sorry.”

“What? Can’t stomach the idea of two grown women sharing a bottle of wine, talking to one another and falling asleep in the same bed?” Beth whispered with a smirk. All so the woman’s father did not overhear them. “Compromising and scandalous as that may sound as if I would take advantage of her, or she of me, in such a state.”

“Again sorry, I meant no offense.”

“Good,” Beth accepted and gave Lydia’s shoulder a playful clap. “Besides I’ve come to realize I’m in little position to be caught up in romantic entanglements with anyone just yet, or do you think otherwise?”

~.~.~

Lydia relaxed and jokingly suggested, “Perhaps you should consult the Priest of Mara over there?”

“You know what? Maybe I should,” Beth agreed and scrambled down off the tall stool.

When she returned with the priest in tow several minutes later, Lydia groaned, "Oh no."

Her thane was wearing the exact same pleading look she had worn before offering to help the fool. After Beth introduced them and explained Erandur's suspicions on where the nightmares were coming from, Lydia tried to tactfully remind her, “But we need to get ready to leave for Windhelm tomorrow .”

“We could put it off one more day. This town and Father Erandur really need our help,” Beth pleaded as she clasped her hands under her chin.

“This isn’t our problem. We've got enough trouble of our own and isn’t your father expecting-”

“He would want me to help.”

“But-”

“Very well. Simply care only about the loot, Lydia!” Her thane’s hands dropped from her chin before she threw them out with an exaggerated sigh of disgust. Turning to the Priest of Mara, Beth gave an embarrassed shrug and reluctantly asked, "So there is perhaps some gold to be found in that Nightcrawler-"

"It's called the Nightcaller temple my child."

"Oh um... w-well wha-whatever it is called, there is coin to be had in there correct, Father Erandur? Maybe some other valuables too?”

The priest's jaw worked, a little taken aback by the question. Glaring at Lydia he grumbled, “I really don’t know if there’s still anything left of great value but yes, feel free to claim all that you can carry from there if that is what you wish for compensation.”

“Wait no... I-I didn’t mean it like that, Father.” Lydia apologized then muttered to Beth. “And you-you stop putting words into my mouth!”

“Whatever do you mean?” Beth gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. “Lydia, this is important. You heard Frida last night. That Nightcrawler-”

"Nightcaller," Erandur reminded as he shook his head and rubbed at the ridges upon his brow.

"Yes-yes, anyway and to the point whatever is happening in the-" Beth paused and to Erandur confirmed, "Nightcaller temple needs to be stopped."

Floundering now, Lydia tried to argue, “But that place is older than she is and if there is anything at all in there it’s probably rusted or crumbling. I doubt any armor or weapons will be worth the scrap.”

“Oh come on, please? There might be some gold, jewelry or gems on the bodies,” Beth tried to reason as she reached up to rest her hands on Lydia’s shoulders. “But more importantly Father Erandur needs our help. Why the town whole desperately needs our help!”

Her thane’s tone was sweet and pleading, however Lydia did not miss the fact her concern did not reach her calculating silvery eyes. It did not help that from behind Beth, Erandur continued to frown at her in disapproval.

Squirming under the priest's reproachful glare while repressing the urge to choke her thane, Lydia grumbled, “Fine. Lead the way.”