A Jester and His Boy

2.) Fort Dunstad

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone of the Elder Scroll series. I did not create Skyrim, though if I did, Cicero would have a thousand more quotes.

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We were nearly to Morthal, when bandits stopped us. My father offered them money to let us pass. 

"How 'bout you just give us the money, and we'll sort out the rest." 

...I... 

I'm sorry... 

I'm going to skip ahead a bit. I can't...retell this part of the story without being sick... 

I need to move on. 

The point is: my parents were tortured and killed right there in the road, right in front of me. 

I didn't cry. I just stared. 

The bandits saw fit to drag me to their fort by my silver hair. It seemed to take forever to get there. It was the coldest place I've ever been to. I could always see my breath. Even in the summer. But I think that was the very thing that saved my life. 

We'll get to that later. 

I was ripped of my clothes, and I was given a...I don't quite know what it was. It was like one of those loose potato bags made into pants. It was the most irritating thing I've ever worn. I'm surprised I didn't get as many rashes as I thought I would. The bandits didn't take either of my rings because they said they were junk. 

I was taken to a large fort, and when I got there, I was thrown into a cage full of children. There were 10 of us altogether. Across from us were two cages: one with skeever (gargantuan rats) and another with wolves. 

I tried to ask the children where we were and what was going on, but they were either too scared, or too weak to answer. I was scared too. What WERE we doing here? What would bandits need children for? I was so scared I felt sick, but I still didn't cry. 

Some children were taken out of the cage. Some came back okay, some tired, some torn up, and some didn't come back at all. Those that came back were given food. The others eyed the morsels like they were holy grails. 

Then came my turn to leave the cage. 

I was thrown into an enclosure in the center of a room. There were people all around. Most snickered. 

"Look at him. He couldn't rip a whisker off a skeever." 

Others looked at me with a sort of pride. 

"I'm gonna bet on him. He's got a fair build and fiery eyes." 

"What's fiery eyes got ta do with it?! He ain't worth the time or money!" 

I heard a call from the back. "Throw the runt in with him!" 

I was confused. 

Suddenly, a gate was lifted, and a skeever jumped out. It saw me, and its dirty fur bristled. 

There were hoots and hollers. 

"Git 'im!" 

"Bite his skin off!!" 

"Whack its snout!" 

I assumed I was going to fight this skeever. It lunged for me. I jumped to the side and pushed its rear out of reflex. 

More hoots and hollers. 

It jumped to the left, then the right. It lunged for me, and I glanced at my ring. I got a sudden burst of courage and flung my arm and slapped its snout. 

There was applause, while boos also commenced. 

It picked itself back up while I gathered my breath. I put up my fists, and it lunged again. I swung and gave it's temple a right-hook. It was out for the count. 

Cheers and shouts erupted. 

I saw money given and taken, and I was thrown back into the cage. I got the food, but when I looked at the other children, I felt sorry for them. I divided my food with them, and they all were grateful. 

It went on like this for months. Children died, and new children were brought in, but our number never reached more than twelve. 

Sometimes, people would come to the back and buy children for their own uses: perhaps slavery, their own underground fights, or any other reason. The children were noisy during that time; they kept begging people to buy them. I guess they figured anywhere was better than here. However, I never reached in the buyer's direction. In fact, I often hid from them. Here, at least, I knew how to survive. I didn't even consider what could happen if I went with one of them. 

Every time I won, I shared my winnings. Sometimes the other children did too, but other times they just kept it for themselves. I didn't blame them. 

None of the children talked to me, so I kept myself busy by talking to myself. I couldn't stand their unresponsiveness. I pondered out loud mostly. Eventually I started laughing at my situation, or at any situation. They thought I was mad. 

I think I was. 

It went on for months. I kept getting thinner, but somehow stronger. Something kept driving me. Maybe it was my madness. Or perhaps my fear of dying. In all of this, I knew that nothing could save me from this horrible place. So what was the point in fearing eventual death? 

I remembered Eltrys' words: everything is possible when you have faith. 

For the time being, I shoved the words out of my head. 

In all that time, a tear was not shed. 

But one day, something happened. Someone came into the fort yelling about something. We were in the cages toward the back, so all we heard was "...heard about us...summoned...investigating!" 

Two men came back to the cages and talked in low voices. 

"What...kids?" 

"...lost their purpose. ...grow...recognize us." 

"So, kill them?" 

"Let's...boss." 

They left, and I feared the worst. I tried to warn the children, but they all just kind of... gave up. It was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. 

I wasn't giving up, but it was too late to do anything. 

They came back and opened the cages. All of a sudden, there was a huge commotion on the other side of the fort. I don't know what was going on, but apparently someone was in the fort. Suddenly, the men started grabbing children and slaughtering them while I had no idea what to do. I was in panic and terrified. 

Suddenly, my ring around my neck vibrated against my chest. I looked down and the carvings on it were pulsing a light blue color. A deep, gravelly voice came from the ring, but it seemed that only I could hear it. It said, "Play dead." 

I had no other options, and I was in no position to argue with the seemingly wise voice coming from my ring. So I did as it said, and quickly collapsed on the cold ground. 

It worked, but it was horrifying. I held my breath the entire time. At one moment, a child got loose and landed near me. A bandit took his knife and attempted to stab him, but instead sliced open my ankle. It took every bit of my willpower not to scream in pain. Once all the children seemed dead, I no longer had a drive to get up. I still did not cry. 

The wound apparently made my "playing dead" more convincing, so the men left me and the bodies, and they shut and locked the cell door. What for, I couldn't tell you. 

I finally continued to breathe and watched my breath twist and twirl in front of me, then disappear. 

I laughed at its pathetic existence.