One:

It was late in the day when Claret left the gates of Whiterun. With nothing but a small pack, a hunting bow and quiver, and a cloth wrapped bastard sword on her person, she moved quickly along the road. Why had things gone so poorly? A missive had arrived in the middle of the night for aid in driving off a dragon that had been spotted in the area. Why she bothered agreeing to it in the first place was beyond her. She was a Companion, one of the prestigious warriors of Skyrim that fought for glory, a good battle, and above all else, coin. She considered this her resignation, though she knew none of them would understand why she was leaving. They would find out sooner than later about what she had done. The call for aid from the Jarl's housecarl could not have come at a worse time. Most of her shield siblings had already been sent out to other missions, save for the newest of them and they certainly could not be expected to take on a dragon. Claret had jumped at the chance to test her skill against a foe as mighty as a dragon. Mainly so that she could gloat and rub it in Vilkas' snotty face afterward.

And then when she'd actually faced the overgrown reptile, it had spoken to her, spoken in Dovah. And she'd understood it. Her frame still quaked with the force of the slain beast's soul that had surged into her. It itched against her insides, far too large for such a tiny figure. Dovahkiin. Piss on that. The summons from the Greybeards was heard and promptly ignored. She had no desire to be held on high as some glorified savior of the world. Was it cowardly of her? Maybe a little. But honestly, could anyone really blame her? Was she afraid of dragons? No, not really. Yes they were fearsome and dangerous and huge, but she'd never been one to fear things that could kill her. She feared the responsibility, the thought of thousands of lives willing her to save them and failing. She also knew that titles like Thane and Dragonborn and Prophesied sounded an awful lot like commitment and loneliness and high expectations. The moment that the Jarl had mentioned appointing some woman named Lydia to her service, the small halfbreed had "noped" right out of there as fast as she could.

She was the last person that wanted to deal with anything like that. Hell, before Kodlak had found her in Riften stealing to survive she'd been a thief in the making. She'd only been around ten summers old at the time and she'd gotten her hand caught in the seasoned warrior's coin purse. And she'd been a handful. It had taken the old warrior years to get her used to the idea of not outright stealing whenever she wanted and even longer for her to stop being such a rebellious brat. But even at the age of twenty four those old habits still lingered. Habits that told her that being in the spotlight as the Dragonborn meant making herself a giant walking target for everyone wanting to get ahead in life. Survival at all costs. That was what she learned from her father when he'd sacrificed everything to bring her to Skyrim after her mother had died. The man had perished at the hands of bandits who had tried to kidnap the pretty little Nordic Bosmer girl. And he had told her, "Fly, Dove. Run and live no matter what!"

So that was exactly what she was doing. She was no hero. Her heart hurt a bit for the loss of her home in Whiterun. She truly adored Kodlak, Aela, and Farkas. Vilkas was an ass, but she had to grudgingly admit to herself that she would miss their constant fighting. Claret shook free of those thoughts and steeled herself. She'd not planned on remaining in Whiterun for much longer anyway. As a young woman, it was expected of her to find a strong man to marry and birth warrior sons to. Or to die of old age as a loveless crone. True, as a Companion she could have very easily lived out her days with the others fighting and making a name for herself. She didn't mind the fighting. She did however, dislike all of the rules. The Companions were all about honor and valor, fighting for good and all.

Honestly, she fought because she enjoyed it. Vilkas was the only one that ever really complained about her methods, claiming that she was deceptive and that stealth and sneaking was for weak little thieves with no honor. She promptly called him a stubborn moron.

She loved the thrill of hunting and stalking, much as Aela, though on a much deeper level. There was something utterly satisfying about seeing the fear and recognition on the faces of her foes before she killed them. Of course, such a thing was frowned on. So as she walked, Claret gradually felt waves of tension float away. She could follow her own rules now. A smile crossed her rounded face, full lips parting in excitement. She was strong, had coin, and was grown. She could do anything that she wanted now.

There was a lightness to her steps, her thigh high, thick leather boots carrying her with a happy gait. Her dress was simple, held in place with thin straps on her shoulders to leave her bare arms free. The dress was a dark green, huging her torso tight and cutting off at mid calf with long slits up the sides to allow for movement. A wide belt bound her waist held her daggers across the small of her back. Her sword, large for someone her size hung at her hip, while on her shoulders were strapped her bow and quiver. Slung over her shoulder and resting on her free hip was her travel pack with rations, flint and tinder, and a few changes of clothes along with other odds and ends. Her long hair hung in a thick plait over her shoulder, falling to her waist despite being braided. It was her one vanity, mostly because of her father. He had loved her hair because it matched her mother's so well.

Gleaming white and nearly to her knees when let down it was her most notable feature. Her skin was tanned a Nordic gold from hours in the sun, marked with the occasional scar and freckles across her high cheekbones. She looked delicate, with her toned arms and figure, her large almond eyes the color of the southern seas and slightly pointed ears giving her an exotic look. She was close to Loreius farm when she spotted an interesting spectacle. A man dramatically lamented his misfortune, pacing to and fro before his apparently broken wagon.

"Oh curse this DAMNED WAGON WHEEL!" He half shrieked as she neared and the half elf was unable to stop herself from chuckling lightly.

"Um, are you alright?" Claret inquired, earning the man's attention. He was dressed rather oddly, a jester of all things, hat and pointed boots and all. He fixed her with pleading eyes that were the color of glistening amber. His forwardness startled her, the Imperial man getting uncomfortably close. There was something about him, something not quite right that had her both wary and intrigued all at once. He was wild looking, on the verge of tears as he pleaded for her to speak with the owner of the farm to fix his broken wheel. This of course had her thinking. She needed a way to get out of the area quickly before the Companions figured out that she'd run off. No doubt Farkas and Vilkas would be sent to find her.

"Tell you what, I'll get him to fix your wagon, but only if you are willing to give me a lift," She offered with a small smile. He looked a little torn, biting his lower lip in thought as he appraised the girl in what she believed to be mistrust, "L-look if it's too much trouble I understand! I don't even really care which direction you are heading, even if it is only to the next town that is more than enough. And I can even hunt and cook! I just...haven't traveled alone before."

And it was true. She disliked the silence of long journeys without at least someone there to keep her company. But, not wanting to waste her coin on a mount or on a carriage, she hoped that the stranger would be alright with her hitching a ride for at least a little while. Besides, the carriages were easy to track and the boys would be on her trail too quickly that way.

"Well, I was going to give you coin, but a ride would be easy enough," He replied and the young woman's smile grew, unable to hold back her amusement when the jester all but danced at the prospect of having someone to talk to and having his wagon repaired. Pleased, the white haired woman set off toward the farmhouse. She knew the couple in passing, running into them in the market of Whiterun occasionally. They were good people from what she knew, but she could not understand why they would not help the stranded man. Sure he was a little...odd, but weren't all jesters?

Loreius was...resistant to the idea to put it mildly.

"Look, lass, there is something very wrong about that man. I can feel it in my bones that he is up to no good. We should call for the guard to handle him before he does something wicked," The farmer protested.

"But, if he stays here, isn't he more likely to do something wicked to you? At least with his wagon fixed and on the road, he will be away from your family," She reasoned and the man looked torn, "Besides, I'll be here to keep an eye on him."

With a weary sigh, the man nodded his assent, and giving him her thanks, Claret returned to the pacing jester.

"Oh the helpful, lovely stranger has returned! What did he say? Will he help poor Cicero?"He asked taking the girl's gloved hands in his. She tilted her head with a small smile.

"Of course. Don't tell me that you doubted me?" She half teased, earning a delightful cheer from the man who stood only inches taller than her. He clapped and danced about, twirling the laughing girl about with him in his exuberance. He certainly was energetic. But she knew he was not as simple as he made himself out to be. There was definitely something...wicked about him, the way he watched everything with a dark sort of calculation. And he smelt of blood and death. It clung to his being like a second skin and the hunter in her liked it. Naive she was not. He obviously was trouble in the making, him and that wooden box he guarded. But it was not her place to judge.

"Thank you, thank you, lovely, helpful, wonderful lady! Cicero is so very grateful!" He gushed with a grin that was not entirely pure, "May Cicero have the name of his rescuer?"

"Dove," She supplied simply with her own grin at his antics. Claret was not a common name in Skyrim and she was known in the region as a companion. The less she tossed her real name about, the better. Dove had been her childhood pet name and was easy to answer to.

"Such a lovely name for a lovely person. Dove, Dove, sweet Dove," Her name said in such a manner had a light flush coloring her freckled cheeks. He said it as though he were tasting it, as though it were something sensual. She licked her lips almost nervously and averted her gaze shyly to the farmer that strode toward them and missing the hungry look Cicero had fixed her with.

The farmer made quick work of the wheel and the entire time, Cicero's gaze did not stray from the beautiful halfling that had thought to aid him. She knew not whether his intentions were ill or otherwise, but the darkness in his stare had a mixture of fear and thrill tumbling through her gut. He was dangerous, that she knew. But then, so was she. Cicero paid and gushed his thanks to the man who seemed more than ready to be away from the jester. Though when he watched Dove placing her things on the seat next to Cicero, his face colored with alarm. The man motioned her over under the pretense of offering food for their journey and he spoke low and almost frantically to the former companion.

"Miss I beg you, do not go anywhere with that man. I have seen the way he looks at you and you are in danger," Loreius warned her as he handed her a small sack with a few sweet rolls that his wife had baked earlier that day. Dove felt her smile shift ever so slightly, her eyes growing cold as her own monster peaked out from beneath the layers of false innocence and virginal purity.

"I am not the one in danger, good sir. Of that you can be certain," She stated in a low murmur, the predatory look almost wrong on her angelic features, " Thank you so very much for your kindness."

The farmer could only watch in horror and despair as the duo started off down the road.

Cicero very happily babbled about this and that as she rode at his side, telling her everything from crude, somewhat twisted jokes to stories of his travels. His dark humor had her giggling as she listened and he seemed absolutely delighted to have such a pleasing audience. Dove was rather surprised by how easy it was to speak with the exuberant man. It was almost unsettling how natural it was. Though she caught herself glancing back at the coffin on more occasions than she'd have liked to admit. She just could not help herself. She caulked it up to be morbid curiosity. For all of the trouble the red haired man was going through his mother must have been someone special.

She talked only a little, content to listen to him and insert her own witty comments here and there. Cicero didn't seem to mind at all, all too happy to entertain the girl. The hour grew late, night settling over them quickly and they decided to make camp. Cicero made a makeshift shelter from the wind using the side of the wagon and a large canvas while Dove set about making a fire. They ate a light meal of dried meat and bread before Dove pulled out the sweet rolls she had been given. Cicero's face lit up in absolute joy at the sight of the frosted cake and she felt her smile widen at the sight of him so happy over something so small. And of course he had to make the most lewd sounds that he could while eating it, just to make her blush even redder. The little jerk. After saying their goodnights, she crawled into her fur lined bedroll with a tired yawn. The day had left her completely drained. Between the dragon, her own emotions, and traveling she was ready for sleep. Thanks to the blood in her veins, however, a fully restful sleep was nearly impossible.

Dreams of hunting filled her head. That is, until she caught the scent of old blood, and sweet oils, and something masculine. Her eyes barely opened to slits to the sight of Cicero perched over her, hovering entirely too close to her face. She had the man pinned beneath her with a dagger beneath his chin before he could do so much as blink. He let out an amused laugh, voice husky and eyes heavy lidded. Her breathing stilled as the scent of fresh blood split the air sharper than any knife. Her blue green stare roved over the fall of his shoulder length hair, turned red gold in the light of the fire. His proud Imperial features stood out almost white against the blanket of his hair, generous lips pulled into a grin that looked far too eager for her liking.

"Ah, Sweet Dove has caught naughty Cicero," He sighed, looking and sounding anything but sorry. Her brows furrowed suspiciously and his grin grew larger, " Not so sweet, are you Dove? No, no, much more than a nice, helpful lady, aren't you?"

She swallowed hard, the glinting obsidian blade nipping into his skin as she held him easily in place. Their position showed her exactly how pleased the red haired Imperial was to be under her and a dark flush burned across her cheeks.

"No more than you are a Jester," She retorted finally, while doing her best to ignore what was pressing up against her, "What were you doing?"

"Poor, naughty Cicero was merely watching Dove sleep. You move so much! What do you dream of, sweet Dove?" He asked curiously and she foolishly averted her stare from his intense gaze. The man had their positions reversed as easily as though he were toying with a mere child rather than the battle tested warrior she was. She struggled to free herself only to feel the chilled metal of what could only be a dagger against her cheek, " Ah ah ah, little Dove, that isn't very nice."

Her eyes fixed upon the thin cut she had made on his pale neck when he'd moved them. Blood slowly welled to the surface of the superficial wound and hunger hit her like a giant's club to the gut. From the look of awe on his features, she knew that it showed on her face. Her white hair fell about her in a loose mess, her eyes dilated until they were nearly black. Her small pink tongue rolled over her lips slowly, her mouth curling into a smile that was more than a little thrilling for the jester to see.

"I am not a very nice person, so that is alright," She replied, one of her hands moving to the collar of his skirt to bare more of his flesh as she raised her head up despite the threat of the dagger at her face. Cicero let out a breathy shiver when her warm tongue played over the small cut. She let out a moan at the taste of his blood, salt and copper and oh so sweet, " I would be very careful, Cicero. You should know better than to play with something that can eat you."

He made a somewhat strangled noise as her teeth teased at his skin lightly, the slight points of her canines scraping threateningly against his pulse. It was strange. His pulse was steady, despite the situation. What an odd person. His hat had fallen off long ago and his almost too red hair curtained about them.

"I'd suggest you go back to your bedroll and not sneak up on me in the future, my friend. I may not be so nice the next time," She added as she settled back comfortably in the thick fur, the dagger in her free hand tapping playfully against his inner thigh. Cicero laughed outright, golden eyes all but glowing with glee.

"Oh, Cicero likes you! I think that we are going to be such wonderful friends," He stated with a purr that had her insides squirming. Reluctantly the Jester moved off of her and sheathed his weapon. She had no doubt that he would have killed her in her sleep had she not awakened and surprised him. He watched her with a strange sort of intrigue, as though he were unsure of what to make of her. Clearly he'd hoped to enjoy killing her and had not expected her to react in such a way. More than once she thanked her beast blood. She brought the dagger that carried the faintest of traces of his blood along its edge to her lips, tongue flicking out to taste it more out of habit than anything else. Cicero shivered visibly and a small, almost eager noise left him. She rose to her feet, snagging her bow and quiver.

"I'm going hunting," And without another word, she moved off into the darkness. When she was far enough away to be out of earshot and sight, but still able to see the darkened figure of the Jester moving about the camp in the firelight, she let out an almost panicked gasp, gloved hand moving to cover her mouth and her fear caught up to her in one surge that left her breathless. He had honestly tried to kill her! She'd expected him to be dangerous, but not to outright try to get rid of her. It truly made her wonder at what he really had in that giant wooden crate. Just what was this man? She moved then, needing space, needing to hunt and escape from the torrent of emotion that flooded her system.

She sprinted across the hilly plains that stretched out across the central regions of Skyrim. The chilly night air filled her lungs and cooled her overheated skin as she tracked after a deer that had passed through. Her superior senses and night vision allowed her to pick up its trail easily enough even on the moonless night. She moved silently, taking care to mind her steps and to move downwind. Movement ahead had her stilling and crouching low in the tall grass. A buck grazed just below the hill she hid upon, munching contently upon the early spring shoots. The wolf in her rose closer to the surface, silken silver fur brushing against the insides of her skin. They would have him. She slunk through the tall grass, body moving in a way that no human could. And then she was moving, lunging with every ounce of her strength. A few hours later she wandered back to camp dragging the carcass along behind her. Cicero had been conversing with his mother softly when he noticed her, his eyes rolling over her wild appearance in appreciation. Her hair had fallen loose in thick waves about her blood smeared figure. Her lips were crimson from devouring the liver and heart of her prey that she'd killed with her bare hands rather than her bow.

She felt much better for it. She would not fear anyone, not even a crazy Fool. If he tried to kill her again, she would take his life.

"Touch me again without my permission and I'll send you to Sithis," She stated bluntly and without emotion. Cicero's eyes went impossibly wide, mouth falling slack against the promise. Her family had been fairly devout worshippers of the god of death, something that she herself continued more out of familiarity. She was not as devoted to him as they had been, but that did not stop her from praying to him when she took a life. Another taboo, of course. She was certain that the cause of most of Vilkas' rage toward her had been because he had seen the small medallion that she wore under her clothing at all times. For her, it was more a memento of her mother than anything else. The Bosmer woman had held the little child on her deathbed and told Dove not to be afraid or sad for she was going to Sithis and to rest with her family. The white haired halfling wore the necklace to keep her close.

His reaction was not what she had anticipated. The jester laughed. Full, genuine, amused laughter spilled from him like water from a fount.

"Be careful, Dove. You may just make me fall for you with such sweet words," He cackled. She frowned at him before shaking her head and turning her attention to skinning her kill. The rest of the night was spent in mostly blessed silence for her and after setting the meat for drying and wrapping some up for cooking later, Dove bathed in a nearby stream before falling to sleep as far from the Jester as she could, shelter be damned. She woke a few hours later at dawn and readied herself for the day. She glanced about the modest camp, eyes landing upon the still sleeping jester with mixed feelings. In sleep he looked entirely different. Peaceful, innocent, locks of red framing his handsome face.

She felt torn. But, resigned, she sat the small pouch with the last sweet roll near him before adjusting her pack and striding away from the road. Roads were a waste anyway. She planned to head south to the warmer areas of Skyrim, maybe find some work and lay low for a while until the dragonborn nonsense was behind her.

"Is little Dove leaving without poor Cicero?" Came the soft, almost childish question from behind her. She glanced back at the pitiful looking man with a curious expression.

"You seem like a bad influence," She remarked dryly and he scoffed.

"Obviously. But think of all the fun we could have! Cicero is very sorry for scaring little Dove. He did not know how truly wonderful she is!" He half begged, crawling over to sit at her feet. She could tell that he was just dying to cling to her legs and was fairly impressed with his self control.

"You tried to kill me," She deadpanned, earning a shrug from him and an impish smile.

"If it helps, Cicero tries to kill everyone!" He replied, startling a laugh from the young woman.

"You are crazy," Dove stated, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What was your first clue?" He cackled, "Cicero promises that he won't try to murder little Dove and that he will take her all the way to Falkreath."She bit her lower lip as indecision rolled about her insides. She should keep walking. And then she heard it. Soft, warm, and inviting.

Come, dear one. Stay with him.

A shudder rolled across her spine. Mother? Now, she wasn't one to believe in ghosts or premonitions or any of that, but hearing that loving almost motherly tone that sounded so much like home and belonging had her heart aching.

"Mother?" Cicero asked with a puzzled expression. Oh shit had she said that out loud?

"Nothing, just...fine okay, but only because I am going that way," She finally relented, earning a cheer from the red head that promptly hugged her about the waist, nuzzling his face into her middle as he looked up at her happily. She raised a single eyebrow and he released her with a nervous chuckle, hands out harmlessly.

"Right, right no touching!" He exclaimed with a grin that showed how much her threat did nothing to scare him. With a roll of her eyes she tossed her pack on the seat of the wagon and set about helping the silly murderer pack everything up. With the canvas secured over the back and everything situated, the duo set out once again. Cicero babbled on as though nothing awkward and life threatening had happened between them. If anything he seemed more excited than before, as though something she had done had endeared her to him. It didn't make her feel any safer around him. She remained on edge all day, even when they had passed a waterskin back and forth between munching on the bread and cheese she had brought with her. She felt her skin prickle about midday as they were coming to a fork in the road and she rose up from her seat. Cicero cast her a curious look and the small halfling searched the sky, feeling a heaviness settle in her chest. A soft, distant rumble confirmed her fears and she hopped down from the wagon.

"You should get your mother's coffin under cover, Cicero, we are about to have some unwanted company," She warned.

"Oh no, don't tell me! It's bards, isn't it?" He gasped, earning a laugh from the girl.

"If only," She retorted, tossing her pack onto the cart along with her travel cloak. Another roar sounded, this time closer and she trotted a good ways off from the shouting Jester that had heard the second roar for what it was.

"Dove! There's a dragon! It will eat you all up!"He hissed, flailing wildly. She cast him a playful grin and unhooked her bow.

"Not if I eat him first!" She chimed, nocking an arrow and watching the dark shape draw ever closer in wide circles.

"And they call ME crazy!" He cackled, urging the cart off the road toward a string of trees where it would be out of the line of fire. The jester turned just in time to witness Dove letting her arrow fly. The beast let out a peal of flame as the projectile struck hard into the side of its muscled neck. She tossed her bow aside, freeing the skyforge steel bastard sword from her side with an eager sort of mirth.

"Joor! Zu'u fen ald hi!" The creature roared out in its rough voice that shook the very air. Dove laughed outright, the wind from the dragons wings buffeting the grass and sending her hair dancing about her.

"Meyz ahrk unt mal siigonis!" She yelled back, clearly taunting the creature. Cicero found himself transfixed by her as she braced herself against the harsh wind that followed the beast's passing. Here was the frightened little girl that was so concerned about Cicero killing her facing something that was much more scary and dangerous without a care in the world. Interesting. Dove rolled to the side to avoid a burst of fire before turning about and breathing deeply. "FUS!"

A thick pocket of air surged from the petite warrior, catching the dragon's wing hard and sending it careening into the dirt. A pained snarl left the beast, broken bones jutting from its ruined wing. The dragon whirled to face the woman as she slowly approached it, the fires casting her in an unearthly, hellish light as an almost peaceful smile crossed her features.

"Dovahkiin!" The wounded beast spat drawing back from her in obvious fear.

"Ru, mal siigonis," She all but cooed earning another gout of flame that she deftly sidestepped. And then she was moving in close, jumping over a swiping tail. She slashed out at the creature with her blade, laughing at its frustrated attempts at attacking her. "Voth hin dinok hin zeyliik fen doj wah fey hond nol zey!"

And with that enraged snarl she slammed her blade deep into the dragon's skull. A roar died in its throat and panting hard, she yanked her weapon free, blood coating most of her front that nearly burned with its heat. Sweat beaded up on her forehead from exertion and her throat felt raw from the use of the Thu'um. It was the first time that she had ever actually used it and the urge to shout had forced it from her lips before she had time to really even think about it. She turned away from the body that had begun to crackle in death, looking up at the all but dancing Cicero who was practically bounding toward her. And then it hit her with the force of a hurricane, light and wind and voices slamming into her shaking form. She let out an almost pained moan, gritting her teeth and throwing back her head beneath the sensation. Memories and feelings rolled over her mind, images of flying, of hunting and feasting, flickered faster and faster until finally she was left kneeling on the ground, eyes wide and gooseflesh rising on every inch of skin. Cicero looked down upon her with a mixture of delight and wonder. He glanced at the clean skeleton behind her with a rueful smirk.

"A Dove that eats dragons. What a strange land we are in, Mother," he murmured before waving his hand in front of the daze looking woman's face, "Did that feel as good as it looked?"

"Hnnng, Cicero?" She groaned out weakly.

"Yeeess, little Dove?" He asked with a grin.

"Don't make me punch you," She stated before pushing herself up onto her feet. He only laughed more. After yet another dip in a stream and a change of clothes, they were on the move again and she could tell from the way the man fidgeted in his seat that he was absolutely dying to ask her about what had happened.

"Ask," She sighed finally as she braided her wet hair.

"Sooo, Cicero is not familiar with Skyrim...does everyone eat dragons? Or just the women," He asked curiously. She let out a soft snort and shook her head lightly.

"It's an old Nord tale. My father used to tell it to me before bed at night. Long ago Akatosh granted a man the soul of a dragon, giving him the power to shout like a dragon. He was called Dovahkiin, Dragonborn. There are prophecies that claim that when the black dragon Alduin the world eater appears that the Dragonborn with fight him to save the world. Apparently that is me," She explained almost bitterly. Cicero was quiet for a long moment before he turned to her with a snarky grin.

"Can I call you DragonLady?" He asked, earning a light smack to the back of his head and a sigh.

"You are lucky you're cute," She lamented, leaning back in her seat to watch the sky as it passed overhead. He all but giggled, batting his lashes at her playfully.

"Hear that mother? Dove thinks that Cicero is cute, the flatterer," He cackled.

"You really enjoy being hit, don't you?" Dove drawled only to have him send her a sinful look that hinted at things she didn't even want to think about.

"Only if you pull my hair and scream my name while you do it," He murmured in her ear, causing her to sputter and flail wildly, a bright flush across her cheeks. She had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a long journey.

"You do know that Falkreath is south, yes?" Dove remarked casually as she pulled her fur lined cloak about herself a little tighter against the evening chill.

"Of course!" Cicero replied happily, his expression as happy as ever.

"Uuuh huh. Sooo, why are we going North then?" She asked with a small smirk. He blinked at her owlishly for a long moment.

"Sightseeing!" He declared, thrusting a fist in the air enthusiastically, "Dove is in no hurry yes? Cicero wanted to explore before heading down to Falkreath. Poor Cicero won't be able to go anywhere for a long time once he takes mother to her new home, after all."

"Oh. Sounds logical," She replied with a shrug. Personally she didn't really care where they were headed. And now that she thought back on it, this way would take her away from Whiterun, while heading south would have forced her to double back past it again. Besides, she hadn't really explored much of Skyrim herself, "So where to first?"

"Cicero needs to meet with someone in Dawnstar, so that would be the best choice," He mused, tapping his lower lip with a gloved finger. Dawnstar, huh? She'd only been there once for a bear problem, but other than that, she didn't know much about it. The white haired female huddled into her cloak. She made a mental note to buy warm clothes soon. Despite it being summer, the northernmost cities would still have a fair amount of snow. Nord blood or not, she hated being overly cold. It made her cranky and sleepy. They rode in a companionable silence for a while; a miracle for Cicero, both lost in their own thoughts until they came to a fork in the road.

"Left will take us on to Dawnstar, however it looks like a storm in heading in tonight. Traveling at night may not be the best of plans," Dove said thoughtfully, eyes taking in the ominous looking snow clouds that were building overhead, "Nightgate Inn in close by. About a half an hour down the right path if you want an actual bed. Otherwise I would suggest we set up shelter soon."

"Cicero does not wish to leave poor mother all alone in the cold and an Inn would not be pleased with a coffin as luggage,"He protested, looking forlornly back at the wooden crate. She smiled ruefully and let out a soft sigh.

"Well we can't have that," Dove replied, earning a grateful smile from the man that for once seemed genuine. They situated their wagon off of the road a ways near a thick line of large pines. The white haired halfling took care to pull branches over the front to help conceal it from the road and above. The last thing they wanted was to draw the attention of bandits. Cicero was forced to tend to the horse, mainly because horses were absolutely terrified of Dove thanks to her beast blood. Settled into the shelter of the trees and the wagon with feed and water and a blanket that Dove had forced him to place on the animal's back, the shaggy brown beast of burden seemed content. His mother's coffin was carefully covered with the canvas to guard against the weather. Satisfied, the red head followed curiously after the young woman as she ducked her head underneath the pine closest to the wagon before disappearing inside completely. It was a large, old tree whose lowest branches rested on the ground and formed a cozy shelter around the base of it's wide trunk.

Cicero looked about in curious delight. It was like a tent! His companion set about clearing a space a few feet from the trunk of debris before building a small fire. At first he'd thought the tree would go up in flame, until he realized the genius behind it. The smoke filtered up through the branches and because the fire was in just the middle and kept fairly tame, the flames themselves did no harm to the green giant that they huddled beneath. Within moments the inside warmed considerably and the Jester applauded her ingenuity. Truthfully, it was Kodlak that had shown her the trick to using the old pines as a shelter but she bowed dramatically, nonetheless.

She piled up dead pine needles a little ways from the flames before having Cicero set up the bed rolls. Unfortunately she would be forced to sleep close to him thanks to the cold that had already begun to set in. The temperature would drop and even in the relative comfort of their little hideaway it was going to get very chilly. It would be a good test of trust for them, she felt. Dove fetched some snow in a tin pot, placing it over coals to boil before pulling out the deer meat she had saved along with a few spices and herbs she'd packed for this purpose. Cicero managed to produce a collection of carrots from his own pack, much to the girl's confusion. Why he had carrots and nothing else food wise was a mystery. She dumped in the meat first along with the chopped garlic nirnroot followed by the rest. The jester had curled up with a fur blanket as close to the fire as he could without climbing into the pot himself. He shivered, teeth rattling together.

"Cicero is regretting not choosing the inn suddenly," He muttered with a pout. Dove tried not to laugh, but he was far too miserable looking for her not to. Imperials and cold didn't mesh well. Especially Imperials that were new to Skyrim. Dove tested the stew before smiling, pouring a healthy amount of the steaming hot food into a bowl for him.

"Here, this will help. It's really hot, so careful," She warned as she poured her own. And of course the impatient Fool didn't listen. He fanned his mouth as his eyes watered from the heat that seared his tongue comically, earning a sigh from the woman, "Or not."

They ate quickly, Cicero gushing over how tasty it was and how lucky they were that he still had carrots for it. Still sore from the past two days, Dove slipped out of her boots and weapons, settling them well within reach of her bed roll before slipping into the soft furs. The simple, short fur top and leggings that she wore did little against the cold but it affected her much less than the red haired man so she slept closest to the outside. She didn't need her ride getting frost bite and dying on her. It was late in the night when Dove awoke, brows drawn together in confusion. She scanned the interior of the tree, shivering against the sharp cold. The fire had burned to red coals and in the dimness she noticed the lump named Cicero shivering almost violently under his bedroll. Dove was up and moving before she realized it, throwing her furs around the curled up man.

"Hey, Cicero, wake up," She murmured, shaking his shoulder gently. Bleary, golden eyes peered up at her with a lethargic sort of glaze to them.

"Nngh, Cicero is c-cold, Little Dove," He slurred out, a blue tint to his already pale lips. She bit her lower lip and let out a noise that was a mix of discomfort and reluctance. She couldn't just let him freeze to death. Being a werewolf, she had very little concerns about nudity or touching. Heck on most nights, she and several others curled together in warm puppy piles for comfort. But this man, this stranger wasn't pack, wasn't even a werewolf. Turning to throw more wood on the fire, she steeled herself. It wasn't a big deal. She would keep him alive and warm and that was all. Of course that didn't stop her from flushing scarlet and thinking far too much about being pressed against the man. Shedding her clothing quickly before she managed to talk herself out of it, the young woman pulled her bedroll against Cicero's before slipping under the furs next to him.

He had retreated back under the furs when she began tending the fire and the touch of her hand against his arm startled him into motion, his dagger flashing as he whirled to strike. He was slow, however thanks to his limbs locking up from cold and the woman snagged his wrist firmly, pulling the startled man against her side roughly.

"Settle down. I have to warm you up. You will die if you get too cold," She murmured soothingly. Cicero's limbs went slack, dagger falling harmlessly nearby as he cuddled in closer to her. Freezing toes wormed their way between her legs and his arms locked about her waist until he had effectively cocooned himself around her. It the situation hadn't been so serious Dove might have found it cute. She rubbed at this cloth covered arms and back and the jester let out a grateful groan. He snuggled his face down into her chest with a happy sigh and Dove suddenly found herself wishing the ground would swallow her whole. Her face felt hot, eyes focusing anywhere but on the head of red locks that had lodged itself under her chin.

"Sweet, warm, wonderful Dove. " He crooned out in a tone that for once held none of the madness he usually displayed. Thick, well cared for leather gloves stroked her side and a shiver of her own rolled through her limbs. He rose up slightly to look down at her with a rotten grin despite the gratitude in his gaze, "Cicero is glad we didn't stay in the inn now."

Despite her mortification, Dove couldn't help but laugh before yanking him back under the covers by a handful of his bright hair. He giggled against her collarbone as he settled down half on her. It was comfortable, aside from how embarrassing it felt for the poor girl. She felt him draw a deep breath of her scent as his breathing began to even out. And because she honestly didn't think that she could make things any more awkward than they already were, the white haired halfling ran her fingers through his surprisingly silky hair. It was so soft for a man's hair and she found herself more than a little envious of it. Her eyes drifted shut as she settled further into their makeshift bedding. Thankfully most of his shaking had subsided and he seemed much warmer.

"Thank you," She heard him mumble, his lips playing over her skin is a way that she knew was no accident. Opportunistic little bastard. Dove did her best to ignore the little flutter in her gut. She should have just let him freeze.

"Can't have you dying this early into our little trip around Skyrim, now can we?" She replied and the redhead chuckled happily. And she she felt him go entirely too still, the Imperial sucking in a deep breath. She looked down at him in confusion as he stared down at the hollow of her throat. A shaky gloved hand curled around the small obsidian pendant that rested there so innocently. She herself stiffened, wondering if he were offended by the proof of her religion displayed on her person. An almost crazed look entered his eyes and he licked his lips. Amber flicked up to fix aqua with a look that held so much heat it was a wonder that the tree hadn't caught fire. A flash fire tickled across her nerves from her scalp down to her toes, pulse kicking up into her ears.

"Sithis be praised, for you, Sister," His voice was full of darkness and everything she was told to fear and her toes curled against the sound of that near purr and the absolute adoration in his eyes. Chilled lips crushed against hers hard, wrenching a surprised sound from the woman. She was overwhelmed, her chest feeling as though it were about to explode from the force of the emotions that simple action ignited in her. Gloved hands framed her face, the scent of leather and blood and alchemy and the rich cedar laced masculine scent that was Cicero had her head swimming. A rough growl rolled from her throat and she tangled her fingers in his hair slanting her lips to allow him better access as her tongue swept over his lips. He let out a needy groan and their kiss grew almost frantic. Teeth clicked together and she wound her legs about his hips to pull him ever closer. Cicero ground his hips into her, unable to stop himself. And why would he want to? This felt wonderful! He had been alone for so very long and she was so sweet, so receptive, so...perfect. He felt his eyes grow hot as all of the loneliness, the running, the stress of the silence that never ended crashed into him with each caress of her lips.

She was not a member of the Brotherhood, he knew. He could tell from just looking at her. But the potential was there. So much beautiful potential waiting for Cicero to let it loose upon the living. It was only a plus that she worshipped the Dark Father. After laying his eyes on the mark of Sithis resting against her tanned flesh he could not stop himself. Her mouth tasted of the sweet wine she'd drank and his tongue danced against her's as he grabbed her hip with one hand and cupped her throat with the other. Dove's head swam from the assault on her lips, trying desperately to catch up with her body. She was no virgin and hadn't been for some time now, but this was nothing like before, this was... Alarmed, her slightly fanged teeth bit into his lower lip and the sharp taste of his blood flooded her tastebuds. Cicero, if anything was only encouraged further, a low almost wanton moan resonating from his throat.

She pulled away, sucking in great breaths of air to quell the racing of her terrified heart. The jester looked upon her with such need that every hair on her body rose on end. She looked absolutely gorgeous that way; hair a messy white silver backdrop against her flushed, sweaty skin. Her eyes were dilated and hooded with want and fear, but the sight of his blood staining her swelled, abused lips and chin was what nearly undid him. Her tongue flicked out to clean her mouth and his eyes focused on the movement. He was entirely ignorant of the cold now, blood heated more than it had been in so very long.

"Please," He whispered, voice hoarse. Not even he really knew what he was asking, but he knew that he only wanted more of her. And then he was on his back looking up at the mostly bare branches of the inside of the pine, the soft rustle of the needles telling him that she had left. He let out a frustrated scream, slamming his palms hard into the ground as he tried to process exactly what had just happened, "Stupid, foolish, impatient Cicero!"

Dove sprinted through the almost knee deep snow, oblivious to the cold and her nudity. She needed to get away from the tree, from the man that had her so very confused. Her heart hurt in her chest and her body burned for more of what she certainly wasn't going to let it have. It wasn't the fact that she had almost given in to this man that had scared her so completely, but rather the fact that he'd made it so damn easy. The emotions she'd witnessed on his pale face had terrified her. A fun romp was one thing, but what she had seen so clearly in his amber stare was eternity. It was just as terrifying as the thought of giving into her destiny. And then, she was changing and nothing else mattered but the hunt.

It was dawn when the naked woman stepped back inside of the shelter. She had spent what remained of the night hunting and feasting and forgetting what had happened between them. Cicero hadn't slept either and had instead written about the entire encounter in his journal, reliving each and every second over and over. He'd never be able to look at pine trees the same way again. His rage at being denied had subsided rather quickly. His Dove was a skittish and wild thing. He would have to force himself to be patient. He would focus on bringing out what he knew rested under the surface of her unassuming exterior. Scaring her away now would ruin his plan to have a new more permanent companion at he and mother's side. But first, he had to convince her that he wouldn't force her so that she didn't decide to end him and be done with it. That would not do at all.

Cicero felt her eyes on him as she redressed for the day, and did his best to continue packing diligently. He heard her move up behind where he was crouched and he turned to greet her with his usual smile despite his unexplainable trepidation. As soon as he rose to his full height, he was fixed with a hard stare.

"That cannot happen again," She stated firmly. And being the person he was, he could not resist teasing her.

"What cannot happen again, Dove?" He asked, tilting his head in a curious manner. The mischievous light in his eyes ruined all pretenses of innocence. She slammed the frustrating man up against the tree trunk and bared her teeth threateningly at him. Couldn't he take anything seriously!?

"You know exactly what, Jester," She hissed out, though she could not stop her eyes from straying to his lips. He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing aside a few stray strands of hair from her face and she flushed prettily for him.

"But you want it to happen again, and that is what scares you," He stated. She swallowed hard, unnerved by how easily he could see through her. His hand caressed her face so gently that she barely registered the smooth leather against her skin,"Cicero will wait. He is very, very good at waiting."

She shuddered and backed away from him awkwardly.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's just get moving before it snows more," She stated gruffly before turning to walk away. She did not like how utterly sure of himself he was. After packing up the wagon and coaxing the horse back into the harness they were off. The snow was deep but Skyrim horses were made for it and the big Clyde tromped through it as though it were a field of daisies. The duo sat in an awkward silence, Cicero for the sake of not getting thrown off the cart and Dove because she was genuinely unhappy with him. Well, more herself. She'd almost lost her resolve when she'd confronted him and kissed him senseless. How weak was she? And for a Fool of all things?! Pathetic!

Peace, my daughter. All is well.

That voice echoed through her thoughts and she shivered from the sensation and not the brisk air. And now she was hearing things. Lovely. The voice rubbed against her insides like the softest velvet and she felt the tension slowly melt from her a little at a time until she was once again resting comfortably beside the Imperial that had begun singing a lively but morbid tune. She noticed his occasional glances at her and had a hard time not smiling at his attempt to cheer her up, or at least distract her. And then she paid attention to the lyrics.

"And I found you tongue-tied in my twisted little brain. You couldn't crack a smile, I didn't catch your name. I don't blame you for walking away. I'd do the same if I saw me. I swear it's not contagious

In four short steps we can erase this," He sang merrily and her hands gripped the wooden seat below her until her knuckles turned white, "Step one - slit my throat, Step two - play in my blood, Step three - cover me in dirty sheets and run laughing out of the house, Step four - stop off at the Sea of Ghosts and rinse your crimson hands, You took me hostage and made your demands, I couldn't meet them so you cut off my fingers, one by one.

"This could be love, This could be love for fire forevermore," Cicero sang, his golden eyes staring over at the white haired girl with all of the certainty in the world and a smile that made the color in her face drain away. Shit.

Dovazhul translation:

Joor! Zu'u fen ald hi! : Mortal! I will destroy you!

Meyz ahrk unt mal siigonis! : Come and try, little lizard!

Ru, mal siigonis : Run, little lizard

Voth hin dinok hin zeyliik fen doj wah fey hond nol zey! : With your

death, your brethren will learn to stay away from me!