I have always been acutely aware of what others have thought of me. Which, generally wasn't much. I had always been quiet and reserved. My mother had told others I was shy when I was little; but that wasn't it. I had just always preferred to listen and observe. Even as I grew I spent my time writing in my journals for I felt there were things in Nirn that need to be written down that others had missed.
The first time I took a life was a surprise even to me. Having been mistaken as shy my whole life I had incurred the wrath of many childhood bullies. One was particularly terrible. I didn't mind him so much, I saw him as he really was. A huge, lumbering idiot. He knew it too, that was why he picked on me. I was everything he wanted to be. I was graceful, nimble and smart. He had long since moved past me and had funneled his frustrations into other things when I found him in the field.
I heard the yelps before I even knew they were there. Ferdinand had found a small dog, probably still a puppy and had taken it out into a field where he could hurt it without being found out. When I came upon the scene the small dog had stopped moving and its blood had covered the ground around where it was laying. I had never felt anything like the anger that flooded my chest. I threw myself at the large boy, screaming and pulling his hair; anything to get him to stop kicking the poor animal.
He threw me from his shoulders and turned his pummeling to me. I had brought a small iron dagger with me that particular day as I had decided to try my hand at whittling. When the boy descended on me I pulled it out in a panic, thinking I was going to end up like the small, unmoving dog. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the feeling of the dagger sinking into his chest, the gurgling sound he made as he sputtered his last breath, the look in his eyes when he realized what I had done. I would be lying if I said I didn't love it. I was fourteen. I threw the dagger into the lake northwest of the city and left the body in the field. The only thing I took home with me was the small dog.
That is all past now, and mostly siblings do not speak of their pasts. I have remained painfully aware of what people think of me, or since the events that happened in Cheydinhal what people think of the jester. When he first came to me from the Void I thought we had become one person, one insane, unstable being; but as I lived with him in my mind I found that rather we were like two people trying to occupy the same space. I am just as reserved as he is flamboyant. I am just as quiet as he is boisterous. I am just as sane as he is insane.
There are times when he leaves my thoughts clear, usually right when I awake in the morning, or right before I fall asleep at night. He dominates in times of extreme emotion, where as I dominate when there is peace or when our blade is needed to defend Mother. Mostly though, it feels like fighting with a child. I will build my thoughts, clear and structured; but just before I share them with another he barrels in and knocks them all over the place. So all I am left with to share is fragments of what I had been thinking, disjointed pieces of a full thought. For the most part it was just easier to let him do as he pleased.
Since coming to Skyrim I found that I was not only still filled with an aching loneliness, but it was coupled with a bitter coldness as well. More and more I was becoming the victim of my own temper. As long as I was alone it wasn't a problem, I could scold and mock myself with no remorse; but when I would lash out at another, injure or kill another for any reason other than Mother's defense I would regret it. In the dark, cold, loneliness of the night I would chastise myself for not exercising caution and restraint. One wrong move and someone would see me, see Mother and then we would never make it to our new home, all because I couldn't control myself. The jester would mock me; tell me I am just as big a fool as he is.
I didn't understand how these Nords could prance around in their armor with little to nothing protecting them from the cold. Even their women were large, menacing and wore nothing to protect them from the cold winds. I was an Imperial in my heart and felt as though women should be graceful and delicate, not helpless mind you. Nothing was sexier than a woman who could hold her own in both words and with a dagger, but they needed to be women. Not a man in a dress.
Normally when I came across someone while away from the Sanctuary I would either ignore them, or kill them, convincing myself they had seen me and could identify me later. When I saw the mostly naked, blood covered Dunmer woman kneeling on the road, begging for help something in me saw the small dog in the field, but that wasn't what prompted me to take her home. It was her hair. Her hair was beautiful, how I had always imagined Mother's hair. It almost glowed in the moonlight.
She had blacked out when I grabbed her arm, so I knew I could take her home without risking her seeing where our Sanctuary was hidden. I knew it was risky, but I wasn't technically breaking a tenant. She was covered in blood, and it wasn't hers. Perhaps she could become a sibling; our family was still so small. When I brought her into the Sanctuary the serious Redguard showed his disapproval with a grunt.
"If she becomes a problem, you will be dealing with it." He said, jabbing his finger into my chest.
"Cicero knows." I rolled my eyes.
I carried her down into my room and laid her on my bed. She was filthy. Not just from the blood that was splattered all over, which I enjoyed, but she was covered in mud and dirt. She was small, maybe in her late teens. When I began to clean her skin I found that she seemed older than that. Her hands were the more defined, delicate hands of a woman, her face was more pointed and not as round as a youth. After finishing cleaning her and spending longer than necessary brushing out her hair, I left her to rest.
I had only just returned when she awoke. At first it was her hair, when she opened them, it became her eyes. They were wide and almond shaped, like many Dunmer, but only her irises were the telltale red. The red seemed to almost glow; I had always had a love for Dunmer women's blood colored eyes.
When she spoke it became her voice. It was soft, listless almost. I had never heard a more beautiful voice. She sounded like the whisper of a breeze.
When she was embarrassed, it became the flush in her cheeks; like a kiss of pink left on a white flower petal.
When she walked, it became the sway of her hips. She was still visibly shaken when she first moved around the room, but there was a grace in her step I adored.
Then, as though all the other things weren't enough for me to love her instantly, it became her smile. It was beautiful. Wide, almost laughing it lit up her whole face; making all the other things I enjoyed pale in comparison.
I wanted to present her to Mother. I had convinced myself that was why I had brought her here, to be a gift for Mother. I felt like she was prettier than any of the flowers I could have brought, and therefore a better offering.
She seemed to enjoy Mother's presence, and she was respectful enough. She even recognized Mother's Dunmer beauty! Oh how it made my heart sore to watch her marvel in the dread beauty that is our Matron. But the meeting was cut short when she began to not feel well. I helped her back to my bed, where she quickly fell asleep.
I didn't want to leave her alone, so I found things to do in my room, mostly drawing in my journal. At first it was just doodling, but it soon became an eye, that was soon surrounded by the face of the lovely Dunmer in my bed. She had told me her name, and I remembered it, but I felt she was more of a flower than a name. I hummed to myself, trying to fill the silence that was becoming a grave reminder that Mother still hadn't chosen a Listener. I always hummed the same tune; it was one my mother had sung when I was small; something about a crow.
I had spent several hours trying to finalize the details on my sketch and I was beginning to feel tired myself. It had been about two days since I had slept and I found myself exhausted. I wanted to check on her one more time before sleeping at the table. I leaned over her on the opposite side of the bed from where she slept, so if she woke I could play it off as doing something near the small table. I had to crawl on to the bed to get a good look at her face. She was sleeping, peacefully, it seemed.
I couldn't help but smile, she was so beautiful. Maybe if I laid down slowly, quietly I could just rest next to her. I was quickly engulfed in sleep.
When I awoke it was dark, the single candle I had left lit had gone out and I panicked when I realized the woman was gone. The Redguard was going to kill me, and then Mother would punish me. I crept through the hallway trying to be as quiet as possible, so as not to alert anyone else that I had lost our guest.
I was making my way towards the Sanctuary door, sure that she would have left and I would have to kill her in the woods just beyond where we were. As I rounded the corner to where I had set up Mother's shrine I found her. She was standing before Mother, just staring at her. Several emotions ran through me at once, I was happy she found our Mother so fascinating but I was angered that she dared get so close to Mother without me there. It was my job to care for Mother's body so she could speak when she chose to and this woman was within three feet of her with no one around.
I made my way silently to the pillar nearest the shrine, if she was planning something terrible I didn't want to give her a chance to execute it.
"Yes, Mother." She breathed.
What was she doing? My eyes went wide. She was speaking to Mother. Not just speaking to Mother, oh no, I speak to Mother all the time. She was responding to something Mother was telling her. She was listening to Mother. My heart jammed itself up in my throat, I felt like I was going to choke and die then and there. My eyes filled with hopeful tears. For so long I had looked and looked for the Listener. I had even thought for a while that I could be the Listener and I didn't understand when Mother wouldn't choose me. She never chose anyone. She never spoke. She was always dreadfully silent.
"Yes, Mother." She breathed again.
Still more words? What could she be hearing Mother say? I would have to get the binding words from her; the words hidden deep in the Keeping Tomes. The only way for Mother to speak to poor, loyal Cicero. I was shaking, convulsing almost. If she couldn't produce them I would have to strike her dead before our Mother as proof that I was filling my duties and protecting her. I couldn't stand it anymore, I had to know. If I was to crush the Flower I wanted to know now.
"F…" I tried to form the word, but she didn't hear me. "F…Flower?" I gasped, louder.
She turned to look at me, concern on her face. "Flower was speaking to Mother?" I asked.
She smiled softly. Oh, how it made my heart ache. I didn't want to crush this Flower, please, please say the words!
"Cicero." She called to me, holding out her hands for me. I ran to her and took them.
"Please," I was on the brink of sobbing. "Flower must whisper the words. Tell Cicero the words he has waited to hear, please, end my tormented silence, Flower." I squeezed her hands, my heart resting in them.
She looked me in the eyes, I was going mad. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to my forehead, making my heart skip a beat. "Darkness rises when silence dies." She whispered in my ear. My legs gave out and I felt to my knees.
"Cicero lives to serve, oh great Listener!" I cried. My chest was heaving. I couldn't believe the moment was here, I had found the Listener. Found her on the side of a road. I brought her here, I found her.
She crouched in front of me, meeting her eyes with mine. I had tears and snot running down my face like a child. "You're not alone anymore Cicero. I am with you now. We are family." She wiped away some of my tears.
I could feel the jester's smile spread across my face, for once in my life I was grateful for it. I had never been good at smiling, and I wanted her to know how pleased I was even though I was at a loss for words. "Yes!" I exclaimed, so happy to finally hear those words. "Family."
I would like to say thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! It was a comment from one such review that sparked the idea for the next few chapters being from Cicero's point of view. So sit back and enjoy the sad, amusing insanity that will ensue.
