Chapter 8
2nd Era 582
I woke to Cicero screaming and shrieking. I bolted up in bed and it took me a couple of forever-filled seconds as I searched frantically for the intruder before I realized that Cicero wasn't shrieking at someone but rather himself. He was still in the corner where he'd been (what I assumed was) last night, but he was waving his arms in the air and causing a ruckus. I got the gist from his near-gibberish that he'd fallen asleep while he was watching over me, and was angry at himself. I quickly got out of bed and tried to comfort him, lest he cause all the bottles at the bar to shatter.
"Cicero! Cicero! Stop!" I shouted, and he instantly stood stock still, sniffling and whimpering. "Its fine! Nothing's wrong! No need to be angry at yourself!"
His bottom lip was quivering and his eye were watery. "But Empress! Stupid Cicero fell asleep! Stupid me fell asleep when I should have been awake!" He groaned. "Ugh... Stupid Cicero left you unwatched! Ugh!"
I came closer and hugged him. I heard booted feet hurrying outside the door. Someone coming to check out the screams, no doubt. I smoothed his red hair as I embraced him. I felt his body trembling as he held onto me tight. I murmured in his ear, "Shhh... Everything's fine. I'm fine. You slept so you can guard me today. Okay? I'm not upset with you. I love you, Cicero. Everything is alright."
His trembling eased. "Yes, Empress. Cicero strives hard not to disappoint."
"I'm not disappointed in you. I never have been."
At that moment the door flew open and Vanus Galerion stood there, the barkeep/innkeeper behind him. Spells glowed in Vanus' hands and both men looked worried. Those looks eased as they saw there was nothing and no one in the room but me and Cicero. "What's going on? Why was Cicero screaming?" Vanus asked, lowering his hands and sheathing the spells.
I smoothed Cicero's red hair once more before I faced Vanus and tried to explain: "He was screaming at himself. He fell asleep and was angry that he fell asleep. That's all that was going on."
He stared at me, shifted his gold eyes over at my guard (who was now rubbing his eyes) and back at me again. The look on his face said plainly that he didn't understand at all why the hell I would have along a guard who would cause such a commotion over such a little thing. I got that look all the time, both in "veiled form" and "unveiled form", so I knew it when I saw it. But what they didn't understand was that Cicero - though not considered "traditional" in terms of guard mentality - was an excellent guard. He was loyal, he was deadly, and he definitely had oodles of personality. Sure, sometimes he brought down the house with his screams when he was disappointed with himself (or someone disappointed me), but I didn't see that as a reason to get rid of him. It was just a part of who he was.
There was a long pause before the barkeep asked, "Uh... Okay. So... do you need any... breakfast?"
It was such an awkward-laced question that I had to struggle not to laugh. I instead endeavored to keep my face straight and answered, "Yes, please. I have a long road ahead of me."
* * *
Somehow I found myself at the road again. It was just a short stretch of partial forest before I was back at the bridge where I'd started. I couldn't believe that entire trip was... in a space that small, but then don't mazes take up a smaller area, anyway? There were a lot of hallways I went through, so I guess it was just... really deep underground. Had a hard time understanding how they built something that deep underground, though.
I passed a small cabin with an old lady out front, sitting in a chair on her tiny deck. She was wearing a blue robe (not like a bath robe, but... like a druid would wear, I guessed) and greeted me with: "I'm just a poor old woman, dear. No need to trouble yourself with me." I had just sort of smiled and nodded and continued on, but something about her and that house itched at my mind. Why call attention to that she was "a poor old woman"? Most old people I'd ever known didn't call attention to their age like that, or to random strangers, no less. And if she truly had been "a poor old woman", why was she wearing a robe like that? I would have expected her to wear shabby clothes if she was "poor", but those robes weren't shabby at all, they were nicely made and spoke somehow that she was more than she seemed. Also, she had no door to her house. Some "poor old woman" would have had a door on her place, especially when Riverwood was just over that way, with its wood mill. She called all sorts of attention to herself with that sentence. It just didn't settle well with me.
I was musing over this when I came across a man on the road, about where I'd been earlier when I felt the "pull" from the tomb. He was dirty and burnt all over his arms and legs and a little on his head, as well. He wore more of that Roman-type armor, but it was in disarray and soiled. He was sitting on the side of the road, on a stump, looking exhausted. I approached him carefully.
"You," the man called, voice dry-sounding, like he was parched. "You, I need your help. I thought I could make it to Whiterun, but I just... can't."
"God, are you okay? How can I help?" I asked, not bothering to hide my shock. He looked... well, terrible. I couldn't begin to imagine what happened to him.
He grunted as he shifted in his seat. "I need you to get a message to the city... there was a dragon attack in Helgen. Burnt it to the ground. It was... headed this way. Can you please help me?"
I nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course. Absolutely. Do you need help standing? I can-"
He slowly shook his head, like it hurt. "No... I just... need to sit here for a while." He looked up at me. If he noticed my pajamas and their garish colors, he said nothing. Instead, he seemed to change his mind about something. "My uncle is in Riverwood... Can you... can you help me get to him? I thought I could tough this out and head all the way to Whiterun... but I just... just can't."
"Of course. Here..." I replied, as I leaned down to help him up. He limply swung his arm over my shoulder as I helped him up off the stump. He smelled... like he was singed. Like many... burnt things. Burnt, once living things. It was a revolting host of smells but I kept my grip on him as we slowly shuffled back to the village.
* * *
We were on our horses again; Vanus conjured his and I sat on mine with Cicero sharing the saddle with me once more. Right after breakfast, he hit the road again. The food was what could be expected for a place in the smack dab of nowhere, but it was simple and filling and, besides, who needs a ten course meal all the time? I was pretty unpretentious, so it was all good with me.
"Okay, so... where were we again?"
The Arch Magister glanced over at me. "Pardon? Where were we with what?"
"We were talking last night... Oh, that's right. Cicero. I promised I'd tell you what makes Cicero... Cicero."
Something tinted his eyes. "Yes. That. He clearly seems to be... mad, if I may be truthful."
I laughed. "Yes, that's been said before. By many people. Even the Dark Brotherhood itself said he was crazy."
His eyebrows raised incredulously. "How could you possibly know what the Brotherhood felt about him?"
"How do you think I found the place? I had a network of spies to help me, including one on the inside who was... recruited into it. Don't ask me how he got in there." I gave him a warning look.
He nodded once.
I continued on. "He said they mocked him behind his back all the time-"
"They mocked me!" Cicero's angry, shrill cry broke the air. The horse still didn't spook. I couldn't believe how well it was trained. "They mocked Poor Cicero! They laughed, they pointed, they stared! Oh, they would regret it in the end! The Fool of Hearts bested them all, he did!"
I smiled and patted his knee behind me. "Yes, Cicero." I continued: "He said they mocked him and made jokes about him. Cicero has been the Fool of Hearts for years, from what I could tell. He was shut in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary for years and years with the Night Mother after the Dark Brotherhood fell apart. He was really lonely and, being appointed the Night Mother's Keeper, he was under oath not to kill, so he was haunted by his last contract years before: a jester. Months became years, and the Night Mother never named a new Listener to hear what the Void desired: more contracts, more souls. Finally, eight years later, he came to Skyrim and the last Brotherhood Sanctuary in Tamriel with the Night Mother's coffin to try to resurrect the guild." How to put this lightly? Cicero obviously went insane from trying to be someone he was not: the Listener, the person to hear the contracts made by someone to kill someone else. I'm sure being absolutely by yourself in a big, dark Sanctuary also had something to do with it. I was walking on thin ice, here. I wanted to tell Cicero's story, but without offending him. So picked the best tract I could: "Cicero became a jester to be one with the jester he had once slain. Loneliness can also make you sad."
Cicero piped up, "Yes! Cicero was so alone, so alone! The jester kept me company! Until... I became the jester! Yes! Cicero was reborn as the Fool of Hearts! Cicero the Man was no more!"
I smiled as Vanus eyed me. I knew he'd have to put together what I'd all said, but he'd get it, sooner or later. He was shaking his head in disbelief. Who in their right mind would have someone around who said they were a jester when they were also a former assassin and now Imperial Guard? Me, I guess.
* * *
As I helped the man into the village, I asked, "Where does your uncle live?"
He grunted as he leaned heavily on me for support. "He's... He's the blacksmith. His name's... Alvor."
"Where does he live?" I repeated. We were now in front of "The Sleeping Giant Inn". Some dog around the corner was barking incessantly and a kid kept telling him "Good dog!" and that's the last thing I was irritably thinking: I wished the dog would just shut the hell up.
"Sorry... I... It's that building, there," he faltered, looking towards the long building I'd seen earlier when I'd come here; the one with a forge under its porch. I heard hammering of metal-against-metal and figured this Alvor was outside and forging stuff. I shuffled slowly forward, trying to keep the soldier on his feet and walking, but he was heavy and the bad smell wafting off of him was starting to get to me. As we passed the steps up into the building, the glow of the forge peeked around the corner, and I began to say aloud, "Alvor? Alvor! I need help!"
There was a pause in the hammering and the man I'd seen earlier when I'd first come into town looked around the corner. Puzzlement quickly turned to shock and horror and he quickly moved forward, arms extended. "Haddvar! Ye gods, what happened to you, boy?"
The man apparently named Haddvar grunted and mumbled, "Helgen was... burned to the ground. It was burned by a... dragon."
Alvor frowned. "A dragon? Are you sure?" He looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. "And who's this?"
"Just someone who saw him on the road," I replied. "I was on my way to Whiterun and saw him just past Riverwood's bridge."
"Boy! Why didn't you come here in the first place? What were you thinking!" Alvor exclaimed, helping Haddvar by taking him by the other side, lessening my load.
Haddvar groaned as his weight shifted between us. "I'm sorry, uncle... I thought... I thought I could just tough it out and make it." His head drooped.
Alvor glanced over at me. "Help me get him into my house," he said, speaking past the injured and now barely conscious soldier.
After hauling Haddvar into Alvor's house, I was greeted to a shriek as a woman came up from the basement and saw the burnt and dirty soldier on one of the beds by the fireplace.
"Sigrid! Quickly, go to Lucian and get some potions for him." the blacksmith said to the woman, who was now pressing her hands to her head in horror.
"I have potions," I thought to mention, remembering the bottles I'd picked up at the tomb. "Just tell me what you need."
"Oh, thank the gods!" Alvor said, before pointing to the red one peeking out of my pack. "That one, he needs that one. It will heal his burns."
With Alvor and Sigrid's help, I was able to give the (what I now knew as a healing potion) red bottle to Haddvar, as his uncle and aunt eased him up to a sitting position to drink. Haddvar coughed a little before murmuring a thank you and falling asleep.
Alvor eyed me. "Do you really think this was a dragon? I thought I saw something fly overhead some time ago, but..."
"I saw it. It was a dragon," I told him. Hey, I may have been new here, but I knew a dragon when I saw one. Few things - even in fantasy - look like dragons, after all. "It flew over that tomb up there-" I gestured to the barrow I'd been to "-after I came out the other side. It was big and black and its orange eyes glared at me as it flew away."
"Gods... first the war, now dragons. Trouble loves company, they say. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood's defenseless. See if you can get the Jarl to send whatever troops he can. If you can do this for me, I'll be in your debt."
I nodded. "I was headed there anyway to speak to the Jarl, so I can take this message for you, but you don't have to be in my debt. Its just a message."
He shook his head. "No, you'll be saving us all here, and... thank you for helping my nephew. I don't know what he was thinking; that he could make it all the way to Whiterun in that shape." He now seemed to be berating himself: "I should have seen him walk through town. He passed right by my forge!"
I shrugged. Sigrid was wiping a damp rag over Haddvar's dirty head. He seemed deeply asleep. Or passed out, was more likely. "When you're busy, lots of things can just... pass you by and you never noticed. Don't be so hard on yourself."
He sighed. "Well, I should..."
I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I was in a person's house that I didn't really belong in, helping their injured nephew inside notwithstanding. "I need to go. I'm glad I could help. I'm going to try to make it to Whiterun, and I'll relay your message. I hope he makes it."
Sigrid looked up. "He will, thanks to you." She smiled, but I could see the worry in it all the same.
I didn't really know what to do, so I just sort of awkwardly smiled and nodded and opened up the door and left.
* * *
I could see the Imperial Palace's spire in the distance. Only a few more hours' travel, and we should be in the Imperial City.
"Do you have a plan once we get there?" Vanus asked. "The Imperial City is a stronghold for the Order of the Black Worm. I can only assume you know who they are and what they're capable of."
"Yeah, I do. Made by Mannimarco to spread necromancy and the black arts throughout Tamriel and in general corrupt anything and anyone, as dictated by their leader." I replied. I knew this was a sore and point of irritation for Vanus; it was a rival guild for magic (Vanus creating and leading the Mages Guild and Mannimarco - an old colleague of the Psyjics when they were both members - creating and leading the Order of the Black Worm), which I saw as a dark version of the Mages Guild. I just wouldn't tell that approximation I made to him; he hated the Order and I didn't want to get on his bad side so soon.
He grunted and looked disturbed. "An over-simplified description, but still correct. They won't let us in easily. I hope you have this all thought out, how you're going to go about this. It won't be easy."
"We have Anu on our side. There is nothing he can't do or purify. Padomay himself would have to be there in order to halt us, and he can't because he's still out in the Void."
After a few moments of thought, Vanus seemed to agree. "Well, I hope so. The White-Gold is Claimed across all aspects of Time, am I right?"
I nodded. "Once its taken, its done forever. No going back, ever. All the way back, and all the way forward. At no point can it ever be Unclaimed or Claimed for Padomay. The White-Gold is safe."
He sighed, as if in agreement. "Then we shall make this a day that the Order shall not ever forget."