It was a grey autumn evening, and the Listener and the Keeper were riding through the Reach, heads bowed against the sleet-needled air. Thael was bundled in furs, while Cicero favored a voluminous woolen cloak to keep out the damp. Usually Cicero liked the smells of rain-drenched stone and sodden wool, but today, they only seemed to make him colder. Poor Thael wasn’t faring much better -- the young Bosmer still wasn’t accustomed to Skyrim’s climate. He maintained a stoic silence, but Cicero could see him hunch lower and grip the reins tighter every time another icy breeze assailed them. The horses plodded slowly into the wind, and occasionally their hooves slipped on the slick cobblestones. The only advantage that Cicero could see was that even the Forsworn seemed reluctant to come out raiding today. They passed two small encampments without incident. When they came across a lonely inn by the side of the road, it took only a glance and a nod for them to agree to stop here for the night instead of attempting to camp.
“Welcome to the Old Hroldan Inn!” the innkeeper, a Nord woman, called as they entered. “I am Eydis. Come on in and dry yourselves off by the fire. You two look chilled to the bone.”
Thael nodded a greeting and went straight to the hearth. Cicero took off his dripping cloak and laid it across an empty table.
“Brrrr!” He shook himself all over. “Madame Innkeeper, believe me, this fine establishment was certainly a sight for sore eyes! Cicero was not sure if he was going to freeze or drown out there. You Nords! How can you stand it?”
She smiled. Her face was crinkly and kind. Cicero liked that sort of face. People with those faces always believed whatever you told them. “It is in our blood,” she said proudly. “What brings you to Old Hroldan? We get very few visitors...and even fewer foreigners, like you two.” Thael was climbing out from under all of his furs, and now that she could see that he was a Bosmer, the innkeeper was eying him rather suspiciously.
“Oh, Cicero is just a lowly jester, traveling with his master to Solitude,” he lied. “My master is a flutist. Learned the art on his mother’s knee in Valenwood. Oh, dear innkeeper, he could charm the birds from the trees with that instrument of his, believe me! I met him when – oh, the Divines have blessed Cicero with such good fortune! A monstrous bear was about to have Cicero for dinner. Master was out hunting, and happened upon poor Cicero. He took out his flute, played the sweetest song I had ever heard, and believe it or not, that bear was asleep before you could say ‘Cicero fricassee.’ Heh-heh. So you see, I owe him my life and I have been devoted to him ever since. We are on our way to the Bards’ College.”
“Oh, of course you are!” Cicero’s tall story seemed to allay any fears she might have had about the elf, and she gave him a smile. “How wonderful to have a pair of bards at our lonely inn! He must play for us later.”
Thael’s eyes went wide and he gave Cicero a panicked, pleading look.
“Oh, it’s a tragedy,” Cicero sighed. “His flute was broken! Snapped in two by wicked Forsworn marauders!”
“Yes. Yes! Broken,” Thael said, relieved. “I’ll need to have a new one made. I’ll only play Valenwood-made bone flutes. The craftsmanship just can’t be reproduced.”
“I am truly sorry to hear that. What savages!”
“But never fear! Dear Cicero will dance for you! Yes! Cicero dances and tells jokes and does all KINDS of splendid tricks! Watch!” With a flourish of his hands, Cicero made a flurry of silk scarves appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and began to juggle them. A few bits of colored cloth flying about, he had learned long ago, would distract most simple folk from the bloodstains on one’s clothes.
“Oh, how delightful!” Eydis laughed and cheered Cicero on until he fumbled and dropped one of the scarves. He collected them, stuffed them back into his pockets, and bowed deeply. She applauded and smiled, then said with a wink: “But I hope you have coin, too.”
If At First You Don't Succeed... 2/?
“Welcome to the Old Hroldan Inn!” the innkeeper, a Nord woman, called as they entered. “I am Eydis. Come on in and dry yourselves off by the fire. You two look chilled to the bone.”
Thael nodded a greeting and went straight to the hearth. Cicero took off his dripping cloak and laid it across an empty table.
“Brrrr!” He shook himself all over. “Madame Innkeeper, believe me, this fine establishment was certainly a sight for sore eyes! Cicero was not sure if he was going to freeze or drown out there. You Nords! How can you stand it?”
She smiled. Her face was crinkly and kind. Cicero liked that sort of face. People with those faces always believed whatever you told them. “It is in our blood,” she said proudly. “What brings you to Old Hroldan? We get very few visitors...and even fewer foreigners, like you two.” Thael was climbing out from under all of his furs, and now that she could see that he was a Bosmer, the innkeeper was eying him rather suspiciously.
“Oh, Cicero is just a lowly jester, traveling with his master to Solitude,” he lied. “My master is a flutist. Learned the art on his mother’s knee in Valenwood. Oh, dear innkeeper, he could charm the birds from the trees with that instrument of his, believe me! I met him when – oh, the Divines have blessed Cicero with such good fortune! A monstrous bear was about to have Cicero for dinner. Master was out hunting, and happened upon poor Cicero. He took out his flute, played the sweetest song I had ever heard, and believe it or not, that bear was asleep before you could say ‘Cicero fricassee.’ Heh-heh. So you see, I owe him my life and I have been devoted to him ever since. We are on our way to the Bards’ College.”
“Oh, of course you are!” Cicero’s tall story seemed to allay any fears she might have had about the elf, and she gave him a smile. “How wonderful to have a pair of bards at our lonely inn! He must play for us later.”
Thael’s eyes went wide and he gave Cicero a panicked, pleading look.
“Oh, it’s a tragedy,” Cicero sighed. “His flute was broken! Snapped in two by wicked Forsworn marauders!”
“Yes. Yes! Broken,” Thael said, relieved. “I’ll need to have a new one made. I’ll only play Valenwood-made bone flutes. The craftsmanship just can’t be reproduced.”
“I am truly sorry to hear that. What savages!”
“But never fear! Dear Cicero will dance for you! Yes! Cicero dances and tells jokes and does all KINDS of splendid tricks! Watch!” With a flourish of his hands, Cicero made a flurry of silk scarves appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and began to juggle them. A few bits of colored cloth flying about, he had learned long ago, would distract most simple folk from the bloodstains on one’s clothes.
“Oh, how delightful!” Eydis laughed and cheered Cicero on until he fumbled and dropped one of the scarves. He collected them, stuffed them back into his pockets, and bowed deeply. She applauded and smiled, then said with a wink: “But I hope you have coin, too.”