A Jester and His Boy

4.) "Papa"

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone of the Elder Scroll series. I did not create Skyrim, though if I did, Cicero would get his own horse.

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I was still in the arms of The Fool of Hearts when we stepped outside.

There was an overcast, being as we were in Dawnstar's frozen hold, so it wasn't extremely bright, but I hadn't seen the light of day in almost a year, so when we went through the exit, I had to abruptly hide my eyes in the crook of his neck from the blinding light.

It was summer in Dawnstar, so there was no snow on the grass, just some dew.

We went down a small slope, and just as the ground straightened out again, there was a small body of water. Even if it was summer, I was a bit surprised that it wasn't frozen over.

He placed me next to the water, and told me to await his return; he needed to go to his cart.

It was very cold, regardless of season. Still being shirtless, I had no way of covering myself except by crossing my arms over my chest and holding my shoulders. I started to shiver.

I was worried he wouldn't return, but it only took him 15 seconds to return with a knapsack, a bucket and a blanket.

He lifted me to place the blanket under me, and pulled out a number of rags and some bottles.

He filled the bucket with the cold water, took a rag, and wiped my face with it. He was gentle and diligent. He ran the rag over my shoulders and I shivered. He wiped down my arms and chest, then my stomach. When he moved over my ribs and sides, I giggled because it tickled. He moved around behind me and wiped my back. He did not remove my trousers, but rinsed the cloth and ran it up and down my legs, avoiding my wound, and wiped my feet. I giggled again.

He took dry rag, and dried me off. He then ran back to his cart and returned with a second jester's shirt. It looked just like his. He told me to raise my arms and he placed the long-sleeved shirt over my head.

It was very soft, although I had been in a potato sack for almost a year, so nearly everything seemed soft. He told me he had no pants for me, and to not remove my "pants," as that would be too indecent. He then proceeded to look at my ankle again.

He soaked a rag in the water, and proceeded to wipe my ankle. I took a sharp breath as my wound stung and hurt quite a bit. He continued cautiously and took another rag and poured the contents of a bottle on it, then wiped my ankle again. I let out a short scream. "Apologies," he said. "Cleaning wounds is never nice. Especially when they're your own..."

He wrapped my ankle, put the contents back in the bag and returned to his wagon. When he came back, he had another bag with various types of food in it. I ate carrots and spinach, but I refused everything else. I was too weak to eat.

"Yes, yes. The wound drained your blood, weakening you. You will not be forced to eat, but you will be asked, and it is recommended."

I leaned back on my blanket as he walked away mumbling.

"Might need more supplies..."

He went to the wagon, and came back with a roll of paper. He sat next to me and unrolled it. It revealed itself to be a map. I sat up on my bottom to look at it.

It was a map of Skyrim. (For those that are unfamiliar, it reminds the author of a giant Australia.) He pointed to the northernmost city on the map, near the (imaginary) center-line of the country. "This is Dawnstar."