Chapter Text
Sora awoke with a gasp, her hands desperately grasping for her own throat. She had left claw marks on her arms while she slept, and the only thing she could hear was an echo of nothingness rattling back at her in her head.
“Darkness rises when silence dies,” she said aloud, to nobody, and then again. It was the only thing that she could hear in her head other than the oppressive, shifting darkness, and she held onto the words like a lifeline, as if they could save her from some darker fate. How long she sat there, thinking about her nightmare, she couldn’t say, only that the sun steadily rose with her thoughts until she remembered that she had a job, and would surely be fired if she didn’t arrive at Olava’s house to help with breakfast.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said Sora, practically bursting through the door into Olava’s living room, and then stopped, staring strangely at the blind woman. There was something familiar about the woman, besides the fact that she saw Olava every day.
“I’ll make breakfast.”
Olava, ever patient, kept knitting, the clack of needles distracting Sora from the ever-persistent deja-vu of something she had never experienced.
“Dearie,” said Olava, and Sora quickly turned towards her employer.
“What is it, miss?”
“I’ve got two bottles of Black-Briar mead on that shelf- yes, the one right over there, it’s Old Loreius’ favorite and I need someone to deliver it. Would you be a darling, and pop over there?”
“It’s a whole day to get there on foot,” said Sora, though in truth, she would be happy to get out of the city for a little while.
“Oh, I know,” said Olava, and smiled. “If you find any alchemy ingredients on the way, I’ll show you a thing or two about mixing potions, does that seem fair?”
“Of course, Miss Olava!” said Sora, shoving the two bottles into her bag. “Are you going to be okay, though?”
“Of course, dearie. I’m not completely blind just yet, you know. Though you are very kind to worry about an old woman like me.”
“I’ll be back nearing sundown,” said Sora.
“Oh,” said Olava, waving her off. “Don’t worry about coming back. Call it a day well spent if Loreius gets those bottles, and take the rest of the day off. Now go on, the weather is wonderful right now, but I can smell a storm brewing.”
Sora went happily. She had only lived with Olava since she was sixteen, but those three years had been the best of her life. Olava was kind, but no-nonsense, and Sora always felt like she had something to do that made her useful. The city was safe, and the work was enjoyable. The company, too, left little to be desired. Olava was like the mother she had never had, and she was glad to be in a place with people she loved and things she found interesting.
Such thoughts buoyed her down the path to the Loreius farm. Lorieus was a friend of Olava’s, though they rarely talked, with him so far outside the city, and her safely within the walls. She wondered why it was today, of all days, that had made her think of him- Olava had not mentioned him often on previous days. “Darkness rises when silence dies,” she mumbled to herself again, then stopped when she saw- clear as day, a wagon in front of the farm.
“Lorieus!” she called. “Is something wrong?”
He huffed. “Is something wrong? 'Is something wrong?’ she asks. Yes, something is bloody well wrong! Or maybe you missed the demented little man in the jester's garb, down by the road? Goes by the name of Cicero? Crazy fool’s asked me to fix his broken wagon wheel five times. He won't take no for an answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?”
“Oh,” said Sora, quite taken aback. “What’s the problem with that, then? I’m sure he’ll pay you well enough. By the way, Olava sent you something, said that she had some extra Black-Briar mead and that it’s your favorite.”
“Oh,” said Loreius, with surprise.
Sora sensed her opening. “Look, I’m being neighborly, giving you this, and I’m sure Olava would want you to pay it forward to her. Go help the little jester out. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
Lorieus sighed and scrubbed at his eyes. “Look, I... I... You're right. You're right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? Look, um... Thanks. And I'm sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I'll be down to help soon.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Sora, and began making her way down the hill.
“Hi, umm… Mister Jester? Cicero- oh!” Sora took a step back in surprise. She had been expecting a jester- after all, that’s who Loreius told her she would find. But she hadn’t been expecting someone of Cicero’s… particular manner. He seemed more mad than an entertainer, and it was, surely, an expensive coffin which he had in the back of his carriage.
“Poor mother,” he said. “Her home seems very far.”
“Loreius said he’d be down in a minute,” Sora offered with uncertainty. “He’ll help you fix your wagon.”
“Oh stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you! Here, here. For your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you again!”
“No problem.” Sora shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. She had never been particularly good at speaking to strangers, and ones like Cicero were even worse. Despite that, she didn’t want to leave him all on his own to wait.
“Do you want company?” she asked. “While you wait, I mean.”
That was something he didn’t expect her to say, clearly. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Cicero has been very lonely ever since leaving Cyrodiil. But it is nothing, truly, if it means that Mother will reach her new home safely.”
“That’s your mother in the coffin?” Sora asked.
“Yes, poor, dear, sweet mother. She must be reunited with her children. I am bringing her there, so that one of her children may Listen to her speak.”
Odd way to put it. “I hope you find whoever is supposed to listen to her,” said Sora. It was in her nature to indulge the ramblings of a madman, and to put him at ease for a little while. She had always avoided confrontation. The two of them watched as Loreius slowly ambled down from his farmhouse with a set of tools in his hand, and began to fiddle with the wheel. Sora laughed. “I’ve never much been one for carriage maintenance,” she said. “Or traveling, come to think of it, though I used to live in Riften as a child.”
Cicero clapped his hands. “My cousins live in Riften. Yes, yes, they do. We are… estranged, but they are kind. Perhaps I will visit with them again one day.”
“I hope you get to,” said Sora, and then, because the phrase had been pounding in her head, louder every moment that she spoke to Cicero, she said “Darkness rises when Silence dies, I guess.”
His face went strange, and suddenly, there was a knife at her throat. Loreius’s view of her was blocked by the wagon, and he had moved so silently that she doubted any of the guards had noticed that she was now being held at knifepoint.
“Where did you hear that?” he hissed at her.
“In a dream,” she said. Even with her quickened breaths, the knife still wasn’t cutting her throat like she thought it would. It was either a very dull knife, or Cicero was a very skilled bladesman. She would put her money on the latter. “I don’t know what it means, I promise, I just woke up and it was in my throat, please let me go, please, I helped fix your wagon, I didn’t think it was anything special, I just keep hearing it in my head, I promise.”
“Well then,” said Cicero, clapping his hands. All previous traces of ire were gone, and he looked positively delighted. “You will have to come with Cicero, to Falkreath. There, you will be introduced to your brothers and sisters. Oh, this is very exciting. Cicero will be arriving not only with mother, but with her listener!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Sora. “I haven’t heard a word from that coffin, and what’s a listener, anyway? I don’t want to go to Falkreath, I have to stay with Olava in Whiterun.”
Cicero’s smile faltered, then returned in full force. “It is disappointing that our Listener was not previously of the brotherhood, yet I believe that Mother knows what she is doing. I am afraid you will be coming with us, Listener.” He was fingering the handle of his knife subtly. No matter. Sora recognized it for the threat it was.
“I’m not a listener,” said Sora. She could feel bile beginning to well up in her throat. “I just want to go home. Olava is expecting me, and I can give you all this money back, I just want to go home.” She wondered if invoking Olava was a good idea, but it was too late now. “She’ll be worried about me if I don’t show up. I’ll come with you, just let me say goodbye to Olava first, in Whiterun. Is that okay? I don’t want to worry her, and then get the city guards looking for me.”
Truthfully, if Sora could get to Olava, she had no intention of returning to Cicero, but he didn’t need to know that, and even seemed like he was thinking about her proposal.
Cicero made a tutting sound. “We must make haste, sister, to the sanctuary. Perhaps you may go back to Whiterun later, and tell this Olava where you have been, but now, I must introduce you to your new brothers and sisters.”
So wherever Cicero wanted to take her, she was supposed to survive long enough to return to Whiterun. That would be a comforting thought, but she was still very focused on the now, and in the now, she was being kidnapped by a mad jester.
But Cicero had his hands on his dagger again, and so for the moment, there was nothing to do but take a deep, shuddering breath, and submit to whatever his plans were.
Sora prepared to depart for Falkreath.