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The wind was gentle through the grasses of Whiterun. You weren’t at the city yet, still traveling along the well worn cobblestone roads. The guards tower stands tall in the distance, and you can see the tips of a few farmsteads over the hills.
Peaceful, quaint.
It was the kind of day that you would forget come the next. That is, until you see something rather peculiar down the road. A horse, hitched to a wagon that had a wheel off its axle. There was no blood, no fire, the animal wasn’t distressed. So you kept walking.
The voice was what made you jump.
“Ah! Wagon wheel, damndest wagon wheel!” It’s high pitched, but loud enough to carry.
And then you see him, a short man with brown eyes and a shock of red hair. That was hardly the strangest thing about him, no, that in fact belonged to the jester outfit he sported. It was worn, mended in more spots then you could count, but it strangely fit him.
“Stuck! Stuck, stuck, stuck!” He chirps, and you come closer.
“Is everything alright?” You try, your eyes glancing to the wagon wheel.
“No! Can’t you see? My mother, well, not her, her corpse. You see, she’s quite dead.” He breaks off into a delirious chuckle before spinning on his heel towards you. “She is unmoving, at rest but far too still!”
He gestures to the cart in frustration and you hold your hands up in a mercy gesture.
“Alright. I take it the wagon wheel is broken?” You ask, knowing it was nearly impossible to not notice the state the cart was in.
“Yes! Yes! The wagon wheel has completely come off. Lorius though, over at the Lorius farm, he has tools!” He points over to a farmstead up the road, the building barely visible in the distance.
“But he won’t! He refuses to help poor Cicero!” He huffs, slamming his hands down in the air in frustration.
You feel a pang of pity for the man.
“What if I help?” The offer comes out before you register it on your tongue.
“Oh? Oh yes! Thank you, thank you kindly stranger. Yes, talk to Lorius, tell him, convince him to come help poor Cicero!” The jester looks to you with such hope in his eyes, they’re wide and bright.
You swallow.
“Of course. Just, wait here.” You start to make your way up the road to the farm, wondering if the detour is worth it.
“Of course! Thank you! Thank you!” His thanks echo in your ears, and you can’t help the soft smile that comes over your face.
It sours when you see the man named Lorius. He’s an older Imperial, dark hair but balding on the top. You notice his wife is a Bosmer, and they talk curtly to one another. You wave at him, and he fixes you with a sneer you don’t like.
“For the love of Mara- what do you want.” He spits it out like a curse, and you can’t help the way concern seeps into your voice.
“Something wrong?” You need to get him smiling, or those tools will be a long time coming.
“Something wrong? Something wrong? Of course something’s wrong, have you not seen the little demented man in jesters garb? He’s asked me no less than five times to fix his wheel, won’t take no for an answer either.” The man grumbles, and you feel a sick pit in your stomach.
You remember eyes that looked at you like that.
“He’s just a man in need of help, I’m sure he’d pay you.” You try cautiously, and watch in horror as the man's face splits into something ugly.
“Pay me? You think this is about payment? He’s hauling some massive crate, during these times? Could be anything in there, weapons, war contraband, skooma.” The word leaves his mouth with venom and you hunch in on yourself a bit. “Whatever that man is doing I will have no part in it. End of story. My tools stay where they belong, in my home.”
With that the farmer leaves you with a foul taste in your mouth. Your eyes narrow and your nose wrinkles, and you turn to walk back out towards the fields.
You make it around the farmers house and to his back window. You crawl inside, and lying there on a shelf are a set of tools that look like they’d fit that wheel perfectly. You grab them, and make your way out without a single sound.
You’re panting by the time you jog back to Cicero’s wagon, tools in hand. He looks at you with surprise, his mouth open in a small ‘o’. You grin something nasty and hold it out as proof.
“Lorius sends his regards.” You chuckle, and wave to the jester as you continue on your way. “Be quick about it, he’ll notice as soon as you start moving.”
The jester calls after you.
“Thank you! Thank you kind stranger!”
With that, you leave him behind, the sight of his jester hat disappearing over the hill.
Your mission is simple, plant the ledger in Honningbrew Meadery. A simple task you could do in your sleep, really it was the travel you were most upset with. It was a dull job, but it was required. The Thieves Guild liked to keep their hands in every pocket, and the Dark Brotherhood liked to have an easy way to sell stolen goods.
So, you plant the ledger, everybody wins.
That still doesn’t make it fun. It was almost comical how easily you slipped in and out and were back on the road before the sun had even drifted in the sky.
The sun had nearly set by the time you made it back to Falkreath. You weren’t in any particular hurry, but something kept nagging at the back of your mind. It only got worse when you saw a cart outside the Sanctuary door when you arrived.
The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you know something is off. You open the door, and instead of the gentle quiet you hear something else. Not quite voices, but presence.
Then the quiet is broken.
“Keep talking clown, we’ll see who ends up ‘punished’.” Arnbjorn is the first voice you catch.
“Oh hush you great lumbering lapdog. I for once am glad you and the Night Mother have returned safely to us.” That was Festus, though you didn’t know him to be sentimental. “Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition.”
“Oh, thank you kind wizard! I’m sure you’ll earn our ladies favor.” That voice.
You enter into the main hall and see him, the Jester with the cart from earlier in the day.
His eyes go wide when he sees you, a knowing smile across his face. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything when Astrid’s voice rings out. She’s standing on the balcony, connected to the drawing room.
“You are the Keeper here Cicero and you will be given the respect your title is deserving of. Understand, husband?” She looks over to Arnbjorn, and despite her hooded face you can see her smirk.
“Oh, thank you! Yes, thank you!” He babbles, giving a little bow.
“But make no mistake.” Astrid’s voice is thin, and your eyes dart to the Jester. “I am the leader of this sanctuary, my word is law. Is that clear?”
“Yes ma’am! You’re the boss.” Cicero gives a little salute before returning to his crate.
You walk over to him, curious about this newcomer and the strange thread of fate you shared. He looks at you with a strange glee, his expression somehow brighter than his hair.
“You! You’re the one with the tools! Thank you, thank you again! With your help I got Mother here safely.” He points to your armor, the things you’ve been wearing all day. “Cicero knew he could trust you to help.”
“Right.” You say slowly, feeling a smile work its way onto your face.
“So, you’re going to be staying here with us?” Cicero nods eagerly, and points down a hallway you don’t remember venturing down.
“The Keeper has his own room, Astrid has been so very kind to offer it.” There’s a thin note to his voice, but you don’t pay it much mind.
“Very well then, welcome to the Sanctuary.” Your voice is soft, and you turn towards the canteen. “Let me know if you need any help.”
You watch him pause for a moment, you can’t see his face, but his back is a thin line of tension. He turns to face you, and you swear you watch him smile just a second too late.
“Of course! I’m sure we’ll be fast friends, fast friends.” He giggles to himself and you can’t help but snort with him.
The braziers burn low by the time curiosity takes hold of you. You’ve cleaned your blades, checked your equipment, and have no contract. You wonder what the jester is doing. Did he eat? You didn’t see him in the canteen earlier, and he hauled the Night Mother at some point to her new home.
Finally the questions become enough to make your feet move.
The air is much colder down this hallway, and you can hear a slight hint of wind. Was there an opening you needed to patch? You got your answer when you come to find his room. He must have spent all day taking care of the Night Mother, as the room is completely disheveled.
There are unsalvageable parts, like the far wall that needed heavy repairs from where the beam gave. But broken old furniture and a rickety bed was all that made the place up.
Cicero is surprised when he sees you, and offers a strained smile. You know he likes this as much as you do, and you must have pulled some sort of expression because his hands quickly tidy what he can.
You wordlessly pick up the broken end table and examine it. It needs to be refinished and nailed back together in some spots, but it’s salvageable. In fact, with some work you think most of the pieces in here could be fixed.
The least you could do was help start.
You move to grab a broom and the man stops you, his hand holding tight around your wrist.
“Please! You’ve helped poor Cicero once. This is too much, yes? Cicero can manage.” His smile falls flat, and you can hear the tired note in his voice.
He doesn’t complain. That’s what decides it.
“You needed it then.” You don’t pull away, but his grip loosens. “You need it now.”
He works his mouth wordlessly, his eyes stuck open and staring at you. Finally he shuts his mouth and you can almost hear his teeth clack, he nods once and lets you go.
You haul the broken furniture upright and out of the way first. You do it without question, and he watches you out of the corner of his eyes as he tends to the more menial tasks. It's mostly cleaning, and he moves quickly, but you can tell he’s starting to slow.
You come to his aid, and he makes room for you.
You both work on a bookshelf, you wiping down the higher shelves while he works on the lower ones. You drag an empty brazier into the hallway that leads to his room. You fill it with coal, and get it lit.
While you two finish repairing the bed, the air around you starts to warm.
The sweat on your brow has cooled and the dust settled by the time you two are done. The room looks much better, a floor can be seen, the wall's damage is more clear, and the furniture is mostly intact.
You’ll need to fix it more later, but at least the man can sleep comfortably.
“Thank you.” Comes softly from beside you as you both take in the results of your hard work.
“I know.” You echo, and the words bounce softly against the walls.
“Do you need anything else?” You turn towards him, and he meets your eyes.
“No. Cicero is fine now.” He smiles, and this time, you can tell it’s not strained.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You turn away, and walk back down the hallway.
You leave him there in a room that feels lived in. Your back is sore and your hands are red but you feel something heavy lift off your chest. Tonight, you can rest knowing you hadn’t left him behind.