When I was thirteen, I began stealing more than just bits of food, clothing, and blankets. I started slipping into homes of those who had so much more than us, who never knew the pains of hunger or the chill of not having enough blankets to ward away the chill once the fire went out. Not to steal their money or jewelry like some might think, but instead to take one of the toys their children had but never played with due to the overabundance of such things.
Often, the child was nearing an age where those toys would be put away or thrown out soon anyhow. Why shouldn't my little brother, the one who brought smiles to all in my family, have a chance to play with something that wasn't made from bits of clay and scraps of cloth so worn they weren't useable as anything else? I just wanted to see his smile when he had something soft to hug while laying on the pile of ragged furs that made up his bedding.
Mostly they were furs that I had 'found' over the years and, knowing how much Bastian needed the warmth, my parents refused to question how I got them, only sending a disappointed gaze my way before sighing and adding the latest 'find' to the slowly growing pile. Every time he woke up better rested or warmer than before, I would smile and ignore the small pain in my heart at the slowly growing distance between me and my father.
I'm so sorry father, but Bastian needs me. Even more than you need me to be that innocent girl you wish I could be, he needs me.
--------
I was nearing my fifteenth year of life when my father died, bandits having assaulted the mine he worked at each day. If he'd been younger, healthier, then he might have survived the wounds until the soldiers had arrived, but he wasn't. And so he didn't.
My mother screamed and cried, holding Bastian in her arms as she watched the gravedigger slowly piling dirt upon the lid of the wooden coffin. There would be no stone marker for his grave, only a simple wooden cross bearing his name that would rot over the years and only ever be replaced so long as someone remembered who was buried there. After that, it might be a blank cross or maybe a rock to mark the spot until that too was forgotten about.
The death of a poor man was often as forgettable for most as his life was.
--------
I finally turned 15 and suddenly I couldn't do anything right in my mother's eyes. It wasn't my fault that Bastian was ill! I'd done what I could to find ingredients for soups, but I had no control over him being able to keep what she made down or not.
And I couldn't keep stealing things in town! She needed to let me leave for longer than just a few hours, but she had become so paranoid after father died! Not that I didn't understand, but I needed to go further away, where my face wasn't known. And after father's death, it seemed like everyone had learned the face of the ever quiet Juniper.
No, I needed to go someplace new, someplace where I could fashion a new identity. And if it meant breaking Bastian's heart to do so, then I would suffer the pain of knowing I hurt him. After all, I would do anything to take care of him, to help him get better and live a longer, happier life.
Even if it meant that eventually, Juniper would have to vanish from his life. If I had to remake myself into someone different, so be it. I would be reborn as many times as I had to be for him. If I was lucky, maybe once in a while I would be able to find a little happiness for myself. And so I vanished from Bruma, leaving nothing behind to tell them where I went.
--------
A few days later, a courier came into Bruma with nothing but a pouch of coins, a small cluster of juniper berries nestled atop the 80 or so septims within. Just enough for a regretful mom to buy a cure disease potion for her very ill son. But at least she knew her daughter lived, even if not the life she'd wanted for her.
And if sometimes she prayed, begging for any deity that was listening to please protect her daughter and keep her safe, well... nobody needed to know but her and whichever deity was listening to her that evening.
Just as she would never know just who it was that listened to her prayers.
--------
Just a few months after I turned 16 I met the Jester. I hadn't expected such a meeting, let alone the smile that danced upon my lips and the silent laughter that shook my body, but I must admit that it was a welcome change from the somberness that had filled me since hearing the troubling news from Bruma.
I worried about my mother, but even more, I worried for my brother's safety. I'd sent extra coin with the last courier in hopes mother would use it to leave Bruma before things got worse, but I knew that she could be stubborn.
Over the next several weeks, I kept running into the Jester. Each time, I felt a smile grow upon my lips at his capering and playful dances, the now-familiar silent laughter leaving me breathless from his jokes and riddles. In time, he noticed my quiet presence in the small crowds he gathered each time he wandered into the square.
It was not until the third month of my quiet presence amongst the otherwise noisy crowd that he introduced himself to me. I could do nothing but give him a smile in return, having no paper to write my name upon and no voice to speak it to him.
But I began bringing scraps of paper and charcoal with me after that and in time we became friends.
--------
It was shortly before I turned 17 that we became more than friends, my silent feelings for the Jester finally noticed by those ever-watchful blue eyes of his. He didn't say anything, but the way he began to spend more time with me, to sit closer when the chance came or how his fingers would brush against my hand when he would pass me something... it was clear enough to me that he was not disinterested in me and that gave me the courage to write my feelings down for him on a piece of fine parchment.
I spent so much time perfecting the words I had to say before placing them on the ridiculously expensive piece of parchment that I ended up with a rather large pile of scrap paper, but it was worth it to me when I looked at the final product of my efforts. It was almost like looking at a piece of art, the way the words seemed to caress the surface with their flowing lines and gentle loops. Each letter had been painstakingly formed, not one stroke of the quill hurried. I'd put my very heart and soul into this letter to the Jester I'd come to love.
He'd smiled at me after reading it, pulling me gently into his arms as he whispered sweet words into my ears. Although he had set the letter down and seemingly forgotten to grab it when he left the room I called home, I did not mind. It meant I was able to keep it safely in a place I could look at it and remember the smiles we shared, the feel of his lips on my own, and the euphoria of meeting someone who loved me without care for my lack of voice.
It was his presence in my life that kept me from breaking apart when one of the couriers finally came back with the news that my mother was not to be found. No word could be found of her or my little brother Bastian, nor could any sign of them be found in the nearby towns. Unknowing of whether they lived or died, all I could do was mourn their loss. For without knowing where they were, if they even still lived, they were as lost to me as surely as if they were dead and I would not know either way.
Damn the war and its aftermath. Damn the Thalmor and damn the Emperor with them.
YOU ARE READING
Bound By Madness
FanfictionStory begun October 19, 2019. She started life as Juniper, the daughter of a miner and his wife. After an accident in her early years of life, she loses her ability to speak. To survive, she makes choices that sometimes go against what her father tr...
