As dawn broke on the next day, John snuffed out what little embers were left of his campfire and continued on his journey north. The encounter with Cicero was still fresh in his mind, having been swimming since last night.

Regardless, he shook it off. It wouldn't be the first time someone knew who - and what - he was before their first meeting. His reputation made sure of that. While the jester was an anomaly that had vague hints of insanity, so too did a lot of the people he used to work with. Just, their insanity was masked behind a thin veneer of professionalism.

John shoved the jester into the same slot. Only, he had no need of hiding anything.

Stretching once, he strapped the Ebony Blade onto his back, securing it only slightly more than he would a regular weapon. He hadn't had a need to use it yet, and he'd prefer not to. But that didn't mean he wouldn't if he was left with no other choice.

Better that he use it to protect himself than let it fall to someone completely random.

Soon enough, he was back on the road. Like before meeting Cicero, there was not much of note to be had. The occasional traveler, cloaked in thick furs. More wildlife than John had seen before, now that he was well outside the confines of the bigger settlements.

John had to admit, he didn't expect to be seeing sabretooth tigers - or sabre cats as the Nords called them. He made sure to keep well out of their way whenever he saw one. He was confident in his abilities, but no sane man would want to fight those things.

The next few days were routine. He'd wake up, walk, hunt some game, then set up camp for the night. Soon enough, the plains of Whiterun were replaced by cliff faces. The air, only tinged with the slightest bit of cold, was replaced with howling, frigid winds. Small snow patches became mounds and hills, forcing John to make more than one detour to avoid sinking.

John didn't know whether the morning or night was worse. In the day, sunlight would hit the snow and reflect right back into his eyes. Snow blindness. The former assassin had experienced it in the past, and while it was not immediately life threatening, it usually happened in the more remote regions, where stunted vision could mean life or death.

That was certainly true for northern Skyrim. Just one wrong step and he could be falling into a hole hidden by the snow.

It wasn't like he could move during the night, either. The winds were well below freezing by that point, and it was only the thick furs he had that kept him warm. Fire was a luxury at that point. He couldn't keep one going outside without the wind putting it out, so he either had to find a cliff that protected it, or more commonly, go without one for the night.

John was beginning to think that whatever message Balgruuf sent out never made it. If this was the best path to Dawnstar, then most people would be frozen over before they got close.

Oddly, or perhaps worryingly, the Ebony Blade was warm to the touch whatever the weather. Was it a hallucination caused by the increasing cold? No, John was familiar enough with those types of situations that he was certain that the Blade warming was very much real.

That he had caught himself grabbing it unconsciously for warmth was enough for him to wrap it in whatever else he could, his own comfort be damned. He wasn't sure why it was doing what it did, but he wasn't going to take chances.

It was during one of those frigid nights that he saw something in the distance. He had been able to set up a campfire just below a cliff, while providing a good view of the snow-covered road. As the night continued and the snow died down just slightly, he could see a small bit of light in the distance. Then another, and another.

A settlement of some kind. A fort, maybe? Judging by the size of the lights, he would wager it was around a mile away. Easily walkable in twenty minutes tops. That is, in normal conditions. With the snowstorm and the knee high snow, he'd put it at around an hour or more of walking.

Frankly, John didn't think he'd survive the trip. As much as he desperately wanted the warmth, he would rather he be alive to feel it.

The wind howled through the cliffside, biting into his skin despite the layers of fur and mammoth coat he had. He could feel the exhaustion settling in, the cold sapping his strength bit by bit. He cursed himself for not preparing better, but there was little time for regrets now. He wasn't going anywhere until morning, when the storm would (hopefully) calm down.

John crouched beside the small fire, his back against the cliff for extra protection from the wind. He adjusted the wrapping around the Ebony Blade, eyeing it warily. Even now, its warmth seeped through the layers of cloth he'd bundled it in. It wasn't a comforting warmth, though. It was unnatural, like the heat of a fire that burned too bright, too fierce.

It reminded him of himself, back before Helen. Back when he wasn't anything more than a killer.

He knew that he didn't know everything. John could still confidently say that he didn't want to turn back into that.

The snowstorm began to pick up again, a fresh gust of icy wind blasting across the cliff. John huddled closer to the fire, deciding that come morning, he'd make his way toward the lights, no matter the risk. He couldn't afford to linger any longer in this frozen wasteland that the Nords called home. The storm was as relentless as the thoughts swirling around his head, but John knew that survival meant pushing forward.

Let fate decide whether the Blade needed to be drawn. For his own sake, he prayed it wouldn't.

He didn't need to wait long, it seemed. As morning broke once again, the snowstorm receded. In its place was even more snow, piling up in bunches sometimes taller than he was. Many animals had been caught in the storm, freezing to death. While it was tempting to gather them up, he couldn't afford the weight to slow him down.

That, and he had no real means to thaw out a completely iced over rabbit.

Still, the building - a fort as his guess proved right - came into view. Some time during the early morning hours, the external torches were snuffed out, and he could see the figures of some men and women patrolling the outer walls.

Thankfully, they seemed to be wearing Imperial guard uniforms. He hadn't really expected a welcoming party, this far out into the wilderness. John had been somewhat worried that the fort would have been populated by bandits, or worse.

That being said, he couldn't blame them for stopping him when he came up to the gates. John was still covered in furs, came out of nowhere right after a snowstorm, and had the distinct, if also wrapped, form of the Ebony Blade.

Had he been in their position, John would have been more than ready to shoot himself full of arrows. It spoke a lot when he was only told to wait, and before long, the sound of a gruffer voice from the top of the walls called out.

"Who the hell are you?"

Gruff as it was, it was also surprisingly female. John had to blink a couple of times as an armored woman stared down at him. Clad in Imperial colors, the Nord woman glared at him, and off to the side, he could see bowmen at the ready.

John coughed slightly, even as his foot slid to the side, ready to bolt the moment something happened, "John, of Riverwood. I was hoping to rest a while before heading to Dawnstar." He had to wince as his voice sounded scratchy. The cold had done a number on him, and he desperately needed to recuperate. Maybe even feel his hands for once.

There was one thing about Nords that John could very much appreciate; they didn't turn down their homes for those in need. Particularly, shelter those who need it from the cold. More than anyone on Tamriel, those who lived in Skyrim knew all too well the dangers of their climate.

As such, offering a place to stay was an unspoken rule. A custom that spoke of the homeowner's hospitality and the would-be guest's honor. Just about two things that Nords very much took seriously. Indeed, even though this was clearly a military installation, he could see the conflict on the woman's face, as well as the hesitation of the bowmen.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of staring at each other, the woman sighed and motioned for something behind her. The gates of the fort dragged open as she spoke, "Come in, we'll have a talk while you get settled, John of Riverwood."

John gratefully hurried inside.

Entering the fort, John gave a sigh of relief as he could finally shed the furs that had been wrapped around him for so long. It had gotten to the point that it wasn't that they'd smelled bad - he'd stopped sweating due to the cold a while back - and more of he could finally relax without having the constant scratchiness of it all. Whatever method they used to keep the cold at bay, be it magic or otherwise, was doing wonders.

Unfortunately, his relaxation couldn't last long. The woman, obviously the commanding officer from how she held herself, soon came into view, accompanied by some of her men.

"You know, it's not exactly normal for someone to come waltzing into an Imperial fort." The woman narrowed her eyes at him, "And from Riverwood? Not much reason for anyone from there to come up to Dawnstar."

John caught on to what she was implying immediately, "You think I'm some bandit?"

"Spy, bandit, hell, Dark Brotherhood assassin. Sure would explain things better than just being some civilian from Riverwood."

"I'm not lying." He jerked his head to his back, where the Blade was, "Just have a package for the Vigilants of Stendarr, nothing more, nothing less."

Scoffing, the officer waved him off, "The Vigilants? The only thing they care about is the Daedra."

"Yes."

The woman paused at John's reply, "What?" She had to take a second look at the wrapped package, then back at John. The former assassin nodded with as much seriousness as he could. The officer swallowed, paling as she did so, and her men suddenly looked much less confident.

"I…Okay then, ground rules. That, whatever it is, is not to be opened anywhere near here. Check with the quartermaster if you need supplies, though you'll have to pay in coin. You can recuperate here for as long as you want, but if I need to, I reserve the right to kick you out. Understand all that?"

"Crystal."

All things considered, the terms were better than he'd hoped for. The officer knew he was heading for the Vigilants now, and the implications of it were not lost. The officer's sudden shift in tone was noticeable, her gaze lingering on the wrapped Blade as if it were a coiled serpent ready to strike. While they didn't know what exactly it was, they were clearly not going to take any chances.

Nor was he going to challenge that hospitality.

The men stationed here wouldn't be an issue. Once word spread, as it often did in garrisons like these, he would likely be left alone to his devices. Nobody wanted to deal with Daedra. Those that did were often clearly some form of mentally unstable, enough that the screening processes for the Imperial Legion would stop them from being recruited. At least, he hoped.

Regardless of it all, he now had a place to stay a while, and that was all that mattered. Giving one last nod to the officer, the woman seemed to remember something.

"Ah, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. If any of the men question you why you're here, tell them that Legate Rikke has given you permission to stay."

Commissioned by: brutalcrab

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: FireRogueWolf25, brutalcrab and Tassimo.