An iron tankard slams down on the counter beside me and Cicero's drunken voice sings through the musty air of the Windpeak Inn.
"Thoring, hehe... funny name...Another drink to quench poor, poor Cicero's thirst," says Cicero, struggling to keep his head up.
His arms hang loosely by his sides, like an old rag doll, as he looks up at the ceiling, giggling as if remembering an old funny joke. Knowing Cicero, he probably was.
"Just one more and then I'm cutting you off there... jester. You've had too much tonight." Thoring tells him, placing a rustic orange bottle of ale in front of Cicero.
Cicero's hand shakes in his gloves as he struggles to pull the cork out of the bottle. The cork comes out with a faint "pop!". His hand trembles violently as he tips the bottle, and about a quarter of the ale spills onto wooden counter. I smile, shake my head, and finish the rest of my ale. I unclip my coin purse from my belt and look at it. It's getting rather worn... I've had this thing for years now. I never really saw a reason to get a new one before, but now I fear it could tear at any snag. I take out a handful of shining gold septims and place them on the counter for the bartender to take. He takes the gold and turns around, muttering something under his breath.
"Excuse me, what was that?" I ask. I'm in too good of a mood tonight and too tipsy tonight to get into a fight, but I'm curious none-the-less.
He faces back to me. "Oh... nothing," he shrugs and turns around again, drying off some used tankards.
Apparently Cicero was listening in and didn't get the answer he was looking for. "What?!" he hollers loudly. "What did you say?! Tell us, tell us, tell usssss!" His arm with the tankard flays wildly, ale raining over the three of us.
"You absurd fool! Look what you've done!" Thoring screams.
He waves the tankard around until it's empty, and picks up the bottle the ale came in. "Tell me, TELL Cicero, or I'll smash this bottle into bits!"
"Fine!" the barkeep angrily conceeds, 'If you really need to know, I said that it's a damn good thing your friend here stops drinking before she starts shouting and tearing things apart like some kind of...draugr! We've all heard the stories!" He rips the bottle out of Cicero's hand just as he was about to smash it.
With his now free hand, Cicero grabs his ebony dagger and swings it over his head, with Thoring watching in terror as Cicero's hand clutching the shimmering blade comes closer. Time seems to slow down for me. I search for any possible thing I could do to stop this. This man isn't a contract, we can't just kill him! Mind scrambling, I think of something.
"Zun!" I shout, and with that the dagger flies out of his hand and hits the wall, clattering to the floor. At this point, the entire inn is staring at us with their jaws ajar. People even come out of their rooms to find out what the commotion is all about and gawk at us. "Cicero, come on! We're leaving!"
I grab him by the arm with no regard to if I'm hurting him or not, yanking at the red cloth of his shirt, which tears it a bit in the process. Thoring and Cicero scream at each other and I lose grip of him. He springs towards Thoring but I catch him again just in time and fling the front door of the inn open. I push Cicero out with as much force as I can while trying to close the door behind me.
Just before I get the door shut, I hear Thoring shriek "I don't want to see either of you around here again! Not you, you draugr scum, or your damn fool of a friend! Never!" And with that, I seal the door and run down the cold paths of Dawnstar with Cicero on my arm until the inn is far in the distance.
We slow to a steady walk and head towards the sanctuary, until Cicero stops. He crosses his arms and pouts.
"Bother and befuddle, my dagger! My smooth, sharp, ebony dagger... gone. The only thing that I've had all these years... gone..." he sighs. He looks distressed, which is a rare thing for Cicero. Almost all the time he's laughing about something or at least smiling about his last kill. Never distressed over anything.
I decide it would be better to comfort him when we got back to the sanctuary instead of trying to talk over the harsh, high winds of one of Skyrim's coldest cities. As we make our way over the hills of snow and rocks, everything is silent. After losing the dagger there's no more clinking or metal against the steel clips on his sheath. That was always Cicero's only problem when it came to stealth- he could never get that damned dagger to stop clinking. The only sounds around us now are the lonely winds. Cicero isn't needlessly rambling or repeating jokes I've heard a hundred times, not even trying to stifle a laugh. The usual Cicero hasn't even been gone half an hour, but I already miss him.
Through the snow we spot the sanctuary in the near distance. We finally arrive and after saying the password, go in to be greeted by the Night Mother. Well, she greets me. After all, I'm the only one who she speaks to. Poor Cicero. I know how badly he yearns to speak to our dear mother.
I sit him down at a table and go to find Babette. I need to fix Cicero's shirt. For reasons not hard to guess, it's not very common to come across Jester clothes in Skyrim. That's why I constantly need to sew up Cicero's clothes. I tried to get him to wear actual armor once, but after an argument and getting his hat and shirt off, he ran around the sanctuary yapping obscenities and locked himself into a cupboard until I agreed to give him his Jester's clothes back. Ever since that incident, Babette has kept some spare sewing materials around just in case something happens to his prized costume.
I find Babette sitting by her alchemy table, like usual. "Babette, I tore Cicero's clothes and need the things to fix them," I explain.
"What on earth were you two doing that caused you to tear his clothes?" she asks, a look of devilish suspicion in her eyes.
"You know, that kind of accusation sounds incredibly disturbing coming from a child."
"You know that I'm not a child, but if it's not that kind of steamy situation, then how did you end up ripping his clothes?" she demands. "I'm not giving you the stuff unless I know why."
"Okay, if you honestly feel the need to know everything, Cicero and I got kicked out of a bar. He had too much to drink and tried to attack the bartender when he said something bad about me. I ripped his clothes trying to drag him out of there. Besides, it was just his shirt sleeve. Now, will you give me the needle and thread," I explain.
"Fair enough," she says, handing the supplies over to me.
I go back to Cicero and pull up a wooden chair beside him. He looks up at me and smiles. He always seems to smile when I help him with something. I smile at him too. We've being traveling and carrying out assassinations together for years now. He's the most loyal companion I've ever had.
I motion for him to lay his arm across the table in front of me and he does. I stick the needle through the cloth and pull it back out again, and again, and again. The cloth tightens as I sew and about halfway through I hit his skin.
"Ooouch!" he yelps, clutching his arm.
I smirk and hold my hand over the place where I hit. "So you can take slashes from knives, arrows, and wild animal bites but you can't take a little pin prick, Cicero?"
" I never said I couldn't take it! It just hurts more when you do it, Listener. You know, because I don't want to stab you... well, actually I want to stab everyone... no nevermind, I don't want to stab you."
" I don't want to stab you either, Cicero." We both laugh. I finish sewing the hole and cut the thread with my teeth, tying it off in a messy knot. I never was very good at this. "There we go. Good as new. We should probably go to bed now. Nazir said he has some contacts for us in the morning."
"Ah yes, sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. Sweet, sweeeet night. Good night Listener." he says, walking off into the sanctuary. "Sleep tight, don't let the mudcrabs bite! Haha!"
"Good night, Cicero," I reply gently, rubbing my weary eyes and walking off to my own chamber, eager for another morning to come.