A Jester and His Boy

1.) Markarth

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone of the Elder Scroll series. I did not create Skyrim, though if I did, Cicero would be a marriage option. I only created 4 characters of this series. (So far.) Enjoy! (And read the author's note below.)

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A young man was sitting with a young woman at a table in an inn. They appeared to be having a type of interview. 

The young man was tall, clean, slender and looked like a Breton, the native people of High Rock. He barely looked twenty. He wore a brown long-sleeved shirt and over it was a long dark blue poncho with white and fringed edges. The poncho had a hood attached, but he was not wearing it at this time. There was also a blue mask resting next to his hand on the table. The mask had a plain face: horizontal slits for eye holes and no mouth. It was light blue and looked lightweight. His pants were black and slightly baggy. He wore black gloves with gold threading at the wrists and his black boots curled up at the toe and folded over mid-calf. There was also gold threading at the folds. He wore a silver ring on his right ring finger and had another ring on a chain around his neck. It had strange characters carved into it. His hair was silver and it extended to just below his ears and the ends were fringed. His irises were golden-not yellow. The pupils seemed to be a bit narrower than most-not making a perfect circle. 

The young woman was obviously a Nord, a native of Skyrim. She had a fair and slim build, but was taller than the man. She had a sizable bust, like most Nord women, and her hips were prominent. She had ebony armor which is protective yet heavy, so it was removed for comfort and placed on the floor. She wore a black long-sleeved shirt and tan pants. Her ebony boots remained on and her gauntlets were lying next to her armor. Her hair was long and blonde. She had blue eyes and darker blue war paint that started from below her eyes and extended past her jaw line. They seemed like tears. 

The young man spoke. 

"My story? You want to know about my story?" 

"Yeah," the woman answered. "I mean, you want to travel with me, right? I gotta know more about you. Why don't you start from the beginning? With... how you grew up." 

"How I grew up?" 

"Yeah. Why not?" 

The man seemed nervous. "H-How about I just start talking and you listen, okay?" 

"Go for it. I'm all ears." 

"Okay..." 

~~~ 

...I don't think my parents were my real parents. I looked nothing like them, and between you and me, there was only one instance I remember when they actually treated me like their child. We'll get to that later. I honestly never felt like I...belonged with them. It was a sad feeling. 

I've always had this silver ring around my neck. I always remember it being there. It was too big for my finger at the time, so I put it on a chain. Eventually, it got big enough or my finger, but I left it around my neck because I was so used to it being there. It has funny markings on it in a language I don't know. I asked my..."parents" about it. I asked what it said, what language it was in, and where it came from. Every time, they just said, "Maybe the gods know." 

Rather vague, don't you think so? 

Anyway, my parents always fought. There was never a moment when everything was quiet and at peace. My parents sometimes even hit each other. They would hit me too at the smallest offense if they were angry enough. I used to cry, but I eventually stopped altogether. After that, I never cried again until some years later. Those moments were the ones that taught me to harden my heart. Little did I know that they also planted the seeds of madness in my mind. 

Until I was 6, we lived in Markarth: the city on a mountain. I had one friend in Markarth, and he was an adult. None of the kids my age liked me much. They said I was too... rough on people. They were also unnerved by my silver hair and my gold eyes. Most said my hair and eyes were...unnatural. 

Anyway, my friend: 

I ran into him when I was playing in one of the rivers. I was about... 4...and a half. 

I had found a small fish, and was trying to catch it with my hands. He showed me the proper way to do it: have patience and strike fast. I managed to catch one, but it slipped, and made its way back into the water. It was okay though. I couldn't keep it. The man's name was Eltrys. I saw him frequently. I was there when he got married. I believe his wife's name was Rheida... I was small. I didn't pay attention much. And I still don't, at times. Anyway, his father was killed by the Forsworn, a group of people driven out of Markarth, but the city didn't investigate. He decided to investigate himself, and every now and again, I would help him. It was nothing serious: just eavesdropping, small stealth operations, etc. We met at the Shrine of Talos to exchange information. 

Eltrys had a saying. He said, "Everything is possible when you have faith." So he had faith that justice would be given for his father's murder. However, after I had turned six years old, the city had him killed for "sticking his nose where it didn't belong." I walked into the shrine and found him bloody on the floor and the guards that killed him still surrounding him. His wife was crushed. And I know his unborn child was as well. 

My heart was hardened once more. 

The guards said that I must be interrogated. I asked them if I could have Eltrys' silver ring when we were done. They said I could... if I came up clean. 

I was interrogated, and they asked if I knew about his investigations. 

"Yes." 

"Were you involved in his investigations? Did you help him at all?" 

"...no." 

"Do I detect hesitation?" 

"...no." 

They summoned my parents to account for my whereabouts, and I was shocked: 

My father told every and any lie possible to get me out of there. When I was released, my mother took her pay from that month and paid the guards. I was touched by my parents' efforts and my heart softened a bit. The guards gave me Eltrys' silver ring. I still wear it to this day. 

...well, onward with my story... 

My parents did what everyone else did in Markarth: smithing. 

It was a fair job: they got good pay, had nice hours, etc. He even owned a small forge of his own. 

However, my parents decided that we should move to Morthal. There was less crime in that Hold (a division of land) and there was also a mine in that area. 

On our way there, however, something happened that changed my life forever.

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To eliminate confusion, let me explain something briefly that some have had issues with before: at the beginning of the story, the two young adults are in "present time." A Jester and His Boy is a recollection of memories and the story of how one of the characters grew up, not necessarily current events. That is why it is told in first person. Get it? Got it? Good.