Turdas 5 Sun's Dawn 205 4E 10:00 AM
I ran gloved hands over the velvet enjoying the feel of it against my skin. I twirled to watch my image in the full length mirror mimic my actions. The flaps of the jester's cap flounced against the back of my neck lightly. I had to braid my hair and wrap it around my brow before the slightly too big cap would fit properly. The motley was pleasantly adhered to my skin as if it was made for me.
I thought of how Endarie had commented how similar my measurements were to Cicero's. Although he was broader in the chest, my own bust made up the difference. My waist was narrower, but my broader hips filled out the pants fine. The only problem was I keep tripping over the slightly curled toes of the boots. I could not get adjusted to the soft cured skin instead of the heavy steel enforced boots I had worn for years.
"It suits you," Cicero said from behind me. I turned to see the Fool of Hearts leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. One hand was tucked under his chin, the gesture he did when he was contemplating something. He was grinning. "Cicero can't believe that the Listener kept that outfit."
"You didn't want it," I said stiffly wondering if Cicero would go into a fit about the motley. We had fought terribly over the outfit when I had bought it. Cicero had feared I was trying to take away his trophy from his last contract while I just wanted to give him new clothes that were familiar. After he had slapped the clothes from my hands in a fit of pique, I had saved the outfit and tucked it away deep in my wardrobe. "I took it as my own."
"The Listener is welcome to it," Cicero said giving an ironic bow. I mirrored his actions exactly. Both of us were staring deeply at the other seeing who would look away first. Cicero straightened slowly and began a pirouette which I continued to mimic.
Slowly the two of us spun around the room, always opposite to each other, but gradually coming closer as Cicero shortened the circle. Finally, we were arm's reach from each other. Cicero placed one hand in the air with his palm flat. I placed mine against it and the jester led into a courtly dance. Our feet danced rapidly across the floor with intricate moves, but my eyes were only on Cicero's small smug smile. I had no doubt his were on mine.
There was a time I could not have done this, but years of the Fool of Hearts tutorage had attuned me to his every movement. We were tuned to each other in a way that was almost psychic, even if Cicero always led and I always followed. I might be master during contracts, but during dance and song Cicero ruled.
Cicero touched my hand so I would spin. Instead of moving with me, Cicero guided me so my back was pressed firmly against his chest. I sighed in contentment. It had been years, before Cicero's flight from Falkreath for attacking Astrid, since we had done the Stolen Shadow dance. "May I?" Cicero's breath tickled the hairs near my ear.
"Yes," I whispered. I had missed giving myself over to the Keeper like this, the act of ultimate trust as I had to submit completely to make it work. Cicero slowly moved as if stretching first my arms and then legs to see if I still remembered how to move with him.
When the Keeper was satisfied of my proficiency, he led me into a dance where he was my shadow pressed tightly against me. The heat of his body on my back was intoxicating. We leapt and spun so quickly I wasn't sure how I kept up. We ended our dance before the mirror again.
"Cicero believes the Listener was doing this when he entered," the jester said, his lips pressed into a smile against my ear. Gloved hands guided mine slowly up my body in a completely different way than when I was examining the motley. It was my hands touching me, but it didn't feel like it with Cicero in control. It was much more intimate.
Cicero manipulated my hands to undo the ties that held the collar closed. After it fell open, he had one hand slip into the opening and touched a breast. I could feel the heat of arousal flush through my body as the rest of the ties were undone and the top parted completely. Looking in the mirror, I could see Cicero's almost golden eyes sparkling with mischief as he tried this new dance with me. Thin lips trailed down my neck, unhindered by my normally loose, long hair while hands explored my body.
I wanted to turn around and bed my Keeper right there, but instead I left control to Cicero until he gave it back to me. If he was going to give it back to me that is. All I could do on my own was try to control my ragged breathing and stifle small mewls of pleasure.
I was guided to my bed and slowly lowered onto the mattress so I was on my back. Cicero rotated so he was before me, but keeping control. "Cicero should be behind Hecate for this, but he wishes to watch," Cicero murmured. His small smile was predatory. Still using my hands, Cicero pushed my pants open and slid my hands down until I was pleasuring myself.
One hand pushed my legs open further before shifting my hips upward. Cicero lowered himself until he was resting firmly against my groin. He ground himself against me as he had me move. Oh gods, had he ever felt harder?
"Do you want more? Do you want me in you?" Cicero whispered in my ear. I nodded, but that wasn't going to be good enough. "Say it."
"Yes." It was barely a whisper, but it was what was required. Both smoked damaged and patched velvet fell to the floor in a flurry. Even after Cicero entered me, we moved in sync.
My mind never drifted when I was with Cicero – my jester, my Fool of Hearts, my Keeper. I was always trapped by his intense amber eyes staring into my soul. He never let my attention wander. Cicero was always demanding of my attention and he always had it.
"Happy anniversary," Cicero chuckled against the hollow of my neck. It had been three years since I found the frustrated jester on the side of the road with his broken wagon and stranded Mother. It may have taken until I spared his life in Dawnstar Sanctuary for Cicero, but I think I had lost myself the first time I laid eyes on the last assassin of Cyrodiil. I had denied my feelings for a long time, but whenever I try to pinpoint when my feelings had become more than friendly or sisterly, I really couldn't find any moment, which could only mean they never had been.
If Cicero had willingly made every major decision in his life, I felt like every one of mine had been thrust into my life. Whether it was being the Dragonborn, the Listener, or Cicero's lover, I had never chosen my destiny so much as accepted it. If Cicero was the Fool of Hearts, maybe I was the Fool of Fate.
"What made you wear the outfit?" Cicero asked as he pushed a lock of sweaty hair out of my eyes. I had never worn the motley before today despite owning it for years.
"I was actually putting my clothes away for a change, when I noticed your little gift," I smirked. The motley had been tucked away in the furthest corner of my dresser, which I rarely used. I had a bad habit of just dumping clean clothes in the wardrobe or leaving them in the basket.
The gift in question was a small lock of hair braided and tied off with a faded red ribbon, undoubtedly part of the locks of hair I had given Cicero two years ago when I had trimmed his hair. Most of it must be hidden on the Night Mother somewhere, but he had left a small token for me and waited all this time for me to find it.
"Took you long enough," Cicero giggled as he stuck his tongue out at me.
"You usually are supposed to just give it to the person," I retorted.
"Where would have the fun been in that?" Cicero said with a mock serious face. I couldn't stop from laughing.
The lock of hair was just another one of the thousand little ways Cicero said "I love you" to me without using the words since he knew it upset me. It was the same thing when he massaged me, danced with me, or tumbled about to make me laugh. In return, I would crawl behind the Night Mother's coffin and hold Cicero when he was having a bad episode or take him on contract and be back in excruciating short amount of time so the Keeper could oil the Night Mother in time.
It would be so easy to say those three little words, but I just couldn't. As a sister or friend it was easy enough. But as a final declaration of commitment, I just froze. I still wanted to be like my namesake, that eternal maiden who ran across the country in the moonlight always hunting and always free.
If I were to say the Binding Words that normal people say to Cicero, I would have given the last little bit of myself away. There wouldn't be anything left that was just my identity. I wouldn't be Diana, Hecate, or any of the many names I had adopted through the years as a wanderer. Instead, I would be only the Listener and that was just too much to bear.
Instead I said the next best thing.
"Best friends forever?" I asked as I drew the Fool in for another kiss.
"Until one of us dies horribly in service to the Night Mother," Cicero promised.
9 Morndas First Seed 205 4E 1:00 PM
With the early victory in Markarth last year, the Stormcloaks had been able to push their advantage and took Fort Snowhawk near Morthal in the autumn of last year. In two weeks' time, the army would pick up their blades again to travel northwest to Fort Hraggstad in province Haafingar. Once that outpost fell, Solitude was due west and the final obstacle to Ulfric claiming Skyrim.
Cicero and I were walking in plain view wearing Stormcloak armor with no one challenging our presence. It always amused me that one of the dogmas of the rebellion was Nord lands for the Nords when there were so very few differences between our races. Often the only way I could tell a Nord, Imperial, or Breton apart was our names. There were short Nords, fair-skinned Imperials, and tall Bretons. As far as I could tell, Adrianne Avenici, the Imperial blacksmith in Whiterun, had lived her whole life in Skyrim. What was more telling of a person's race – where they were born or the heritage that flowed through their veins?
Walking blatantly through the camp without a helm proved something else I had hoped. No one recognized me. It had been unlikely because even when I was living as the Dragonborn I rarely made a big deal about it and wore my armor all the time. However, there was always the chance one of these soldiers had been a villager or a guard when I was fighting a dragon attacking their village and would remember the adventurer who Shouted a dragon to death.
But why should they when the "legend" was living among them as their general?
Most of the army was stationed within the fort, but there were still many tents littering the field outside the outpost. Most of them were soldiers who had either joined the war late or had been reassigned from other conquered Holds to help bolster the numbers of the army. The Empire still outnumbered the rebellion despite losing as many provinces as it had.
Life in any army is always the same regardless of what culture you grew up in or what cause you fight for. There will always be the noise of people living, whether that was the clash of metal as men spar, the marching songs, the clang of the armorer, the crack of the cooking fires, or the catcalls of blessed prostitutes of Dibella. I had not served for many years since my required time as a youth, but it all came back with the force of nostalgia. Memory is always so much kinder when you're not in the midst of living through it.
"Did you serve?" I asked Cicero who was walking slightly behind me to my right. I could barely see him shake his head.
"Cicero had already joined the Brotherhood," he smiled wickedly, "and was given an exemption." That had meant Cicero had joined very early since every Imperial must serve for two years once they turn eighteen.
We had reached the center of the camp where the general's tent was posted. A general was always placed in the center so if there was an attack they would be well protected by a ring of soldiers. It also made them more easily available to other commanders if there were concerns about orders. You could always identify the commanders' tents by the larger sizes and the bright banners with their personal insignia snapping in the wind.
This tent sported the shrine symbol for Talos, a Nordic man wearing armor with his head bowed over a two handed sword. Below the Talos heraldry was the personal heraldry of Ulfric Stormcloak. Damn, that man was much too good at politics for all his mastery in battle. By placing the two symbols together, his people would associate them as one. It also marked the Dragonborn as Ulfric's right hand woman.
"Guard our exit," I told Cicero as I pushed the tent's flap open. The Keeper nodded acquiescence as he casually leaned against a post.
I waited a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the tent. It was a big tent with a huge battle map placed on a wooden table that dominated the room. Too many of the markers were Stormcloak blue for my taste. There was a small fire with a kettle of food warming near it under an opening flap to let the smoke out. In another corner was a bedroll for if the commander was too tired to return to her own bed in the fort. A weapon rack took up more of one side.
Standing over the table examining the map was Lydia. The war had not been kind to her. Worry lines marked her face that had not been there three years ago. Lydia had always been stoic and what few words she usually spoke had been playful sarcasm. The firmly set lips of this general had graced few smiles or barked little laughter. Lydia still wore her hair shoulder length with her warrior's braid, but it held more gray strands than I remembered.
The Nord was wearing my dragon scale armor. It glittered with a faint rainbow hue of magic enchantment in the candlelight. The scales themselves were a cacophony of red, green, gray and black. I had not been picky on what color scales I had used to craft the different pieces. I noted that the helm, which was resting on the table, had been modified to include a visor that obscured the face of the wearer. It suited heavy armor design much more since they favored face concealing helms while light armored fighters preferred less visual obscurement. As an archer it had been essential that I could see as much of my surroundings as possible so I could shoot before my enemies got too close to me.
"Hadvar, I promise I have eaten lunch," Lydia said without looking up from her work. "You don't have to check on me, I swear by the Nine."
"Hello, Lydia," I said. I was surprised I could talk past the lump that had grown in my throat upon seeing her. "Or should I say Stormblade?" It was the title she had recently been bestowed by Ulfric as a reward for her latest victory.
Lydia's head snapped up in surprise. When she saw me, her mouth dropped so fast I could hear the jaw pop. I couldn't stop a small laugh at the sight. "My thane?" she gasped. "By Shor, you're alive!"
When I held my arms open, Lydia bolted around the table and gave me a big bear hug. I had forgotten how strong the woman was. It felt like my ribs were creaking. I could hear Lydia weeping while praising her gods. It made me burst into tears too. By the gods, I had missed my snarky housecarl.
"Where have you been?" Lydia said holding me at arm's length so she could drink me in with her eyes. She shook me lightly as if to make sure I was real. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear your hair loose."
I touched the flowing raven colored hair still untouched by time. "I don't adventure much anymore. I guess I got domesticated and leave it loose. No sense doing all that braiding without reason."
"Domesticated?" Lydia arched an eyebrow. "Gods, don't tell me you went and got married." She looked at my hand for a band of matrimony.
"No!" I shouted at the same time from outside Cicero said, "Yes!"
"Who's that?" Lydia asked looking towards the tent's entrance.
"Just my companion," I said kicking backwards at the flap hoping I would hit the jester. At the same time, Cicero said, "Her husband." I started blushing and had to clench my fist tightly so I wouldn't go outside and pound the Fool. This was not the time for his jokes.
"Have you come to join the cause?" Lydia asked changing the subject. She looked quizzically towards outside but didn't push the matter.
"No," I shook my head. "I came because I had a favor to ask you."
"Anything, my friend," Lydia smiled.
"I want my armor back," I said. Lydia's face fell in dismay making me feel like a heel.
"What?" she sputtered.
"That is my armor and I want it back," I said slowly as if speaking to a child. "You have stolen my name, my reputation, and my armor. If I take my armor back, you have none of those things. Give it to me."
"Diana, please listen to me," Lydia said regaining her composure. "I thought you were dead. I thought the Dark Brotherhood had killed you. There had been a letter from a courier to Breezehome. It only had the symbol of a hand and the line 'We know.' I didn't tell you and it was the biggest regret of my life. I figured they weren't a threat. Everyone knows what a joke the Brotherhood is and I thought the Dragonborn would have nothing to fear from a bunch of sell-sword cutthroats.
"Then we went to Windhelm for that disastrous meeting with Jarl Ulfric. When I awoke the next day with a terrible headache and you gone with only a cutting of nightshade to prove you were ever there, I feared the worst. I returned to Whiterun thinking that you would meet me there like we had done so many other times we had gotten separated. I waited for weeks and you never came home, and there was no word of you.
"I returned to Windhelm hoping I would find some sign of you. A whisper, a sighting, anything to lead me where you had gone. Finally, one day I was summoned to the Palace of Kings and given a personal audience with Jarl Ulfric. He showed me your dragon scale armor and told me how it was found scattered on the roadside. We could only assume a dragon had devoured you. Part of me died that day."
Lydia paused to wipe fresh tears away from her face. Instead of tears of joy, they were tears of sorrow. "I was devastated. I had failed you. I couldn't return to Whiterun with that knowledge. Ulfric allowed me to stay in his palace as his guest. He was so kind and understanding. He even allowed me to observe his war meetings. I learned so much about how this war was tearing our people apart. In time I saw that so many people were dying because of the stalemate for Whiterun. I spoke to Ulfric about what could be done and he told me only the Dragonborn could rally the people, but you were gone.
"I suggested donning the armor just to help secure Whiterun. With my knowledge of the plains, we were able to take control from Jarl Balgruuf easily. The army was able to move into Dragonsreach and many lives were saved from not camping on the cold plains during the middle of winter. When spring came, Ulfric suggested that he train me in the Way of the Voice. I was surprised by how quickly I picked it up. I can only guess from watching you train with the Greybeards paid off.
"By now I realized my duty. I had to help my country. I would bear your burdens as I had sworn I would do since becoming your housecarl and end the Civil War as quickly as possible. That is why I use the title of Dragonborn and that is why I wear your armor. I never intended to steal anything of yours. I thought you were dead and you would want to help as many people as possible. That's all I ever saw you do when I traveled with you."
I sighed placing my face in my palm. "Lydia, Ulfric manipulated you. He played you like a fiddle. I don't doubt he sincerely hoped I had died so I wouldn't inconveniently interfere, but he probably knew I had lost that armor before I had disappeared. Your coming to him was probably all of Ulfric's prayers answered. You were the one person who knew the Dragonborn best in the world and it would be so easy for you to impersonate me."
"I offered!" Lydia protested. "It was my idea."
"Probably after Ulfric or his lackeys dropped hints many times. What better follower than the converted?" I sneered. "He needed you to feel it was your idea and not his so you wouldn't question what you were doing. How could you even imagine that I would join the Stormcloaks?"
"If you were alive, why didn't you just show your face?" Lydia snapped back. "All you had to do was pop up at any time and this wouldn't have happened. Were you in a coma, kidnapped, blackmailed? What possibly could have stopped you from speaking up at any time?"
"I…I was otherwise engaged," I mumbled.
The flap to the tent flew open and Cicero popped his head inside. "As entertaining and heartwarming as all this is, Cicero suggests that we need to be leaving," the Keeper said. "Too many soldiers are gathering outside from the arguing."
"Cicero," Lydia snarled. Her face flushed with anger as she recognized the Imperial. Although they had only met the once three years ago, Cicero was very unforgettable. "You ran off with that…that clown!"
"He's not a clown!" I snapped back. "He's a jester."
"Cicero gets that mistake all the time," Cicero said as he grabbed my wrist and tugged persistently. "No offense taken."
"Jester?" I could see the gears clicking into place like a lock opening. I knew that motley would get us in trouble one day. "By Talos, there was a jester during that assassination attempt on Ulfric last year. Diana, he's with the Brotherhood!" A pause. Lydia's eyes narrowed with realization. "YOU'RE WITH THE BROTHERHOOD!"
Shit. Lydia was too smart for her own good. Unless it involved Ulfric apparently.
"Soldiers, to me!" Lydia rallied as she drew her two handed sword. "Assassins! Beware assassins!"
When the sword was at the top of its arc, I drew a deep breath and Shouted, "FUS RO DAH!" knocking Lydia backwards so she rolled over the battle table and slammed into the opposite wall of the tent. She landed gracelessly and tangled in the cloth walls.
I spun around and ran away with Cicero still holding my hand. Soldiers were everywhere as we ran. Rather than engage in combat and risk getting overwhelmed, we dodged and ducked attacks as we ran. When I regained enough breath, I Shouted time and time again knocking the soldiers backwards giving us the space we needed to escape.
I thought we were in the clear when we made it to the field and the closest enemy was more than a hundred feet back. Then I heard the yell of a commander call for archers and the unmistakable sound of many bows being drawn at once. I flipped around and Shouted, causing all of them to scatter away from us.
"Diana, watch out!" Cicero yelled as he pushed me to the side. I fell to my knees, but could still see an arrow pierce Cicero in the shoulder. One archer must have held back his attack. I looked up and saw Lydia lowering a bow with a smug look on her face. She had anticipated what I was going to do.
I scrambled to my feet and ran over to Cicero. "We gotta keep going. You can run with an arrow in your shoulder, right?" I tugged on the Keeper's hand, but he didn't move. I looked down and saw the glistening of poison on the arrow.
"Go," Cicero whispered. One hand slowly reached up to try to staunch the wound. "The Listener must go. Leave poor Cicero behind."
"I don't want to!" I cried. I looked up and saw a squadron bearing towards us. I hurriedly summoned Shadowmere and tried to drag Cicero on, but he was too heavy.
"You must go," Cicero sighed. "Cicero cannot move."
"She won't kill you," I said frantically hoping I was right. "She'll hold you to draw me back. Wait for me." I quickly kissed my jester and said three little words: "I'll be back!" I leapt onto Shadowmere's back.
I called myself all kinds of fool as I fled. I tried to convince myself that the tears on my face were from the force of the wind and nothing else.