A Jester and His Boy

9.) Bedtime Stories

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone of the Elder Scroll series. I did not create Skyrim, though if I did, Cicero would transform into an awesome dragon. (THAT WOULD BE AWESOME.)

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Arcadia couldn't keep us in the store constantly, so she moved us to the inn. She paid for our stay which was so nice of her.

The room was small, but clean and efficient. There was nothing on the right side of the room, but on the left in the corner was the bed with a small nightstand next to it, and against the end of the bed, there was a large two-door wardrobe that was facing the right wall. My mother had taught me how to sew and wash clothes when we'd lived in Markarth, so I fixed all of Papa's clothes and kept them in the wardrobe. Farkas visited on some days, and he and Vilkas took me to "Belethor's General Store" and he bought some clothes for me. I got two pairs of clothing: a pale green shirt, a red shirt, tan pants and blue pants. He also got me a pair of shoes. I was grateful to them. They told me that I could call them my older brothers, and maybe when I was older, I could join their group.

"What group?"

"We're called the Companions," Farkas said, as we were sitting at a table in the inn. Vilkas was next to him.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"We fight where we're needed," Farkas explained. "If there's a disturbance somewhere, you'll see us."

There was a pause.

"FIXING IT," Vilkas added. We laughed.

"So you help people?" I asked.

"In our own ways, lad." Vilkas explained. "Sure, you could call a guard, or your father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate or something, but when it comes to handling the bigger problems of life, for example, a giant invading a farm, that's us." Vilkas turned his head toward a guard. "Most of these yella-bellied stand-ins will never see battle."

"The good ones are out fighting war and stuff. So we stay here," Farkas said.

It seemed like a good idea, but I would have to talk about it with Papa.

Going back to Papa, he didn't wake up when moved, and I was almost always near him. I wanted to make sure he was taken care of. When he was placed in his new bed, he moaned and then settled. I was afraid for him because he wouldn't wake up. Papa said he wouldn't sleep forever, but why wouldn't he wake up? It was almost two days, and I hadn't slept.

On the third day, I had my ear to his heart again. Papa suddenly took a sharp intake of breath. My head shot up, and we looked at each other. There was a moment of silence, and then he smiled at me.

"Dovah," was all he said. He raised an arm and pat my head as I silently cried. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek again and again, forgetting about his injuries for a moment. I was just so happy that Papa was finally awake.

After a minutefs embrace, he pushed me back and studied my face. "Dovah, why haven't you slept?"

"O-Oh, I-I..."

He stared into my eyes, and I suddenly put my chin on my chest, stared at my stomach and fisted my knees. "I'm sorry Papa. I wanted to take care of you like you took care of me. I was just so worried..." I didn't look up, but I heard him sigh. "Are...are you mad?"

He was silent. I heard him move on the bed, but I didn't want to look at him and see him angry at me. Suddenly, his hands took my arms, and he lifted me onto his lap.