The Fool's Lament
Author's Note: Hello, hello once again. Another amount of time has passed since my last story. I often find that I like to go back and forth between original fiction and fan fiction depending on my mood. Today is definitely a fan fiction day, this time for the Elder Scrolls, more specifically Skyrim. I'm slightly ashamed to say that it's the only Elder Scrolls game I've played, although hopefully I'll get my hands on Oblivion very soon. I wrote this story mainly because I was surprised that no one (at least to my knowledge) had fleshed out Cicero's back story from his journals. That being said, since I have not played Oblivion, or any older Elder Scrolls game, I am not very familiar with Cyrodiil in general, which is mainly where Cicero's story takes place. So if I do get something wrong in my descriptions, please point this out to me. Thank you! And please enjoy!
Prologue
Many pairs of heavy soled leather boots stomped over the mossy stone of the sanctuary floor as the family hurried to the small, dirty room in which the Fool had slept, just off of the main chamber which housed the Night Mother's coffin. Arnbjorn was gone, he'd run after the Fool into the night, and the family was afraid that he would very soon, or was more likely, already dead. The Fool had betrayed them, betrayed the family that had so graciously welcomed him into their home with open arms. Well, maybe not open, per say. The Fool had had an air about him, one that had made the others keep their distance. It was an air of something not quite right; it scared them.
And now he'd run, but only after his insane attempt to kill Veezara, who now lay under the care of Babette. Arnbjorn had chased him out into the cold, dead night, and the rest of the family dug around the small room for a clue, any sort of clue, that might tell them where the Fool had gone.
The betrayal had shaken all of them. Babette tended to Veezara, the Argonian seemed pretty out of it, and she appeared calm. But 300 years of life had given her the opportunity to prefect her poker face, which was the best known to man or mer, and even still her hands shook as she scrambled around her alchemy lab, searching for the ingredients to an antidote that would sap the poison coursing through Veezara's body, towards his heart, which had festered on the Fool's knife. Nazir's eyebrows crinkled in confusion and concern, and for once, he made no jokes. In fact, not a single word exited his mouth as he dug around in the Fool's wooden chest in vain. Festus was humming nervously to himself, and kept swallowing, as if he had something stuck in his throat, and Gabriella muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "Great Sithis", as she and the old mage turned over the Fool's mattress. But Astrid was the worst of all. Her eyes burned with a hatred that went unparalleled in the history of Tamriel, but she seemed unable to direct her hate towards anything in particular. She paced back and forth across the room, flitting from task to task, but not able to focus on one thing, all of the while alternating between whispering and shouting "I knew he couldn't be trusted! I just knew it!"
Only the Listener seemed unaffected by the infectious attitude of her family. She seemed more numb than anything, or maybe just hard from the years of killing behind her, as she peered thoughtfully around the room, almost as if the task before them was as simple as finding the most efficient way to rearrange the furniture. Finally, after a few minutes of introspection, she strode calmly across the room to the one place that was unoccupied by frantic searchers, an unassuming, wooden cabinet. It opened with a mighty creak that shook its brittle frame. Inside, piled up so high that they fell out on top of the Listener as she opened the door, she found many, many lumpy packages of linen, each holding something seemingly different. Keepsakes? Possibly. But knowing the Fool, it could very easily have been something much, much worse.
But the Listener shrugged and began digging through the parcels, sifting through the pile for anything useful. It was difficult to guess what exactly she should have been looking for, for it was impossible to tell just what was in each parcel, for they were all different lumpy shapes and sizes. But soon, the Listener found a strange, uniformly square package that almost seemed to have the correct size and dimensions to be a book. Or several books, now that she felt along the side where she could swear she felt pages. If there was one thing she had learned in the years that she had traveled, it was that books were highly useful things. Books contained knowledge. A book just might tell them where a deranged lunatic might have slunk away to. Carefully, the Listener unraveled the linen wrapped around the square parcel, and inside, found exactly what she had expected to find: several books, five of them, now that she looked, tied together with a bit of string. They looked very old and faded, or maybe just not respected, as books should be.
She didn't open them, it was not her place. "Astrid", she called over her shoulder, and said family member shot across the room faster than a crossbow bolt. Astrid stared at the thin books for a second before her mind shuttered into the right gear and she realized how important they might be. She feverishly snatched them from the Listener, who had been holding them in front of her face, as if they were the most important artifact ever unearthed. Astrid seized the string, and yanked on it with her bare hands. It was supple, and held firm for a moment before snapping against Astrid's iron willpower.
"Everyone", she called to the rest of the family, and the room abruptly went silent. If Astrid was demanding their attention, then they had better well listen, for any plan was better than none, and if anyone could come up with a brilliant plan, it was Astrid. She smiled, back in a position of power, no longer helpless. These people, this family, would listen to what she had to say, and it calmed her. "The Listener just found these books. They might tell us where Cicero's gone".
The change in atmosphere was immediate. Calm swept across the flustered room, and the family gathered around Astrid, the immovable, calmingly present leader of their little patch of the world. She opened the first book, which, conveniently had a number one written on the cover. The pages creaked and moaned as she did so, maybe from water damage or general disuse. Astrid took a deep breath as the family leaned in closer to catch every word, and she began to read...