Chapter 1: The New Kid

I was just getting settled into my new room when I heard the door open behind me. Looking back, I saw the browned face of a Redguard boy, maybe a year or two older than me. He wore the good-quality Imperial-style tunic and trousers that were common in the city of Solitude, and he was carrying a lute under one arm. We stared at each other in surprise for a moment, the corner of a bedsheet in my hand, until he finally stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"You'll have to forgive my surprise," he said with a slight smile, putting his lute down on the desk next to his bed. "I didn't realize that I was getting a roommate."

"Yeah," I responded, "sorry about that. I just got here this morning, and things have been a little crazy."

"I imagine that it must have been. Crazy, I mean. Everyone else has been moved in for days, and classes start tomorrow."

"If I could have gotten here any sooner, I would have," I offered. "The roads have just been bad, what with the civil war and all." I extended a hand in friendship, hoping to salvage what was left of a first impression, and I was grateful when he took it.

"Ataf," he finally said by way of introduction. "I'm the youngest bard at the college."

"Probably not anymore," I laughed. "The name's Aventus. Aventus Aretino. I'm fourteen."

"Seriously?" he asked, looking me up and down. "I would have guessed you were at least a year older than me." He paused for a moment. "Or that you were a Nord."

"Imperial, I'm afraid," I replied. I took the opportunity to sit down on the edge of my bed so that I wasn't looming over Ataf. "Originally from Windhelm, though."

"That would be why you're 'afraid' of being an Imperial then," he smiled, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "You seem like an interesting person, Aventus Aretino. Fourteen years old and accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in Skyrim. An Imperial from Ulfric Stormcloak's capital living in the heart of the Empire's power. Willing to brave the roads during a civil war just to come to school. I'd love to hear your story."

"No, you wouldn't," I said more seriously than I intended. When Ataf looked at me strangely, I laughed and rubbed the back of my head nervously. "I just mean that I'm more boring than you're making me out to be. There's nothing unusual about me."

"I somehow doubt that," Ataf smirked.

"Really," I insisted. "I'm nothing special."

As the walls of Solitude came into view on an early morning on the first of Hearthfire, I sighed.

"What's wrong, sweety?" Hecate asked.

"I can't believe I have to go two years without killing anyone," I complained.

"Aww," she said with mock sympathy. "Sorry, hon. Maybe we can work in a contract killing on your spring break or something."

"Really?" I asked hopefully. I looked back up at the outline of the Empire's stronghold in Skyrim, a slight smile playing on my face. "That would be swell."

We were riding side by side on the driver's seat of a wagon with most of my worldly possessions in the back, along well as a full-grown ice wolf named Pavot. I looked over at her, marveling at the transformation that had occurred on the road between Dawnstar and Solitude. She was always beautiful—long, dark hair, ocean-blue eyes, and a tanned complexion that spoke to both her Imperial heritage and her love of sunbathing—but as Hecate, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, she usually had a dangerous look about her. She preferred clothes that were easy to move in, since she was an archer by training, but would occasionally dress in the black-and-red leathers of the Brotherhood.

Right now, she had her hair up in a double-braid that had its loose ends pinned to the back of her head. The effect took ten years off her face—and she already looked younger than her thirty-five years. She was wearing a stylish traveling dress in a blue-green color that made her eyes sparkle. Her daedric bow, the lethal weapon she called Styx, was nowhere to be seen. She could have easily passed for my older sister rather than my mother, a cover story that I still wasn't entirely comfortable with, given some of my feelings toward her.

Not that she had ever noticed them in the slightest.

"Hecate-" I started.

"Diana," she interrupted. "You have to remember to call me 'Diana' while we're in public from now on."

I sighed to myself, more quietly this time. I was terrible with cover identities, let alone multiple persistent ones. It was why Hecate—or Diana, rather—had enrolled me in the Bards College of Solitude under my own name. It was a risk if I were to ever be associated with the Dark Brotherhood, but I was far better at concealment and stealth than I was at verbal deceptions. Training me in such delicate arts was one of the reasons that Diana had wanted me to become a bard in the first place. She felt that it would be a good learning experience.

Still, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. After all, I was the youngest member of the Dark Brotherhood—an elite order of assassins in the service of Sithis, the Dread Lord of the Void, and of his envoy, the Night Mother. Our blades drank the blood of the wicked, exacting holy vengeance for those desperate enough to enact the Black Sacrament. In my two years with the Brotherhood, I had killed over a dozen men and women, earned more money than many citizens would see in a decade, and honed my body into a living weapon.

Now I was being sent away—away from the family and the profession I had come to love—to sit around with a bunch of lute-playing milk-drinkers for two years.

Looking back at Diana, I realized that I would have done far worse just for her asking.

"Diana," I said, carefully emphasizing the name, "are you sure I have to go with you to the Blue Palace? Wouldn't it be better if I just settled in to the college?"

"Absolutely not," she replied firmly. "Elisif the Fair is an old friend of mine, and she's dying to meet you."

Diana looked like she was less than excited about the whole thing too and just trying to put on a cheerful disposition about it. I knew that she hadn't wanted the two of us to be linked publicly—it was just too much of a risk to the Brotherhood—but when she enrolled me into the Bards College, she had been required to come up with a reason to be interested in my well-being for Viarmo, the headmaster. The quickest lie she had been able to come up with was that I was her adopted son.

And this was where things went out of control.

As Ulfric Stormcloak's rebellion had pressed ever closer to the Imperial holdings in the west of Skyrim, things in Solitude had become more desperate. When the news that Ulfric had recruited the Dragonborn, legendary savior of the world, to his cause… Well, Elisif had apparently taken the news poorly. The Dragonborn had been a close personal friend of hers, and the news that the woman she admired and respected had sided with her husband's murderer had left her inconsolable.

The Dragonborn—a woman named Diana. Who was riding with me toward Solitude. Who had taken the name Hecate when she had forsaken her heroic status to become the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.

The problem here should be apparent.

Well, Hecate had visited Solitude a while back, run into Elisif by accident, and explained away her two-year absence with a lie about being married and settling down. She had assured the fair widow that she had not, in fact, joined up with the Stormcloak Rebellion and was simply trying to live a quiet life. The truth would have been even worse. The knowledge that Ulfric's "Dragonborn" was a pretender had comforted the young widow, and Hecate had been willing to leave it at that.

Unfortunately, as headmaster of the Bards College, Viarmo was in frequent contact with Elisif. At some point, the two of them had compared stories and realized that Diana the Dragonborn had adopted a son—who she now wanted to enroll in the Bards College. Everything had snowballed from there. Now, Diana was virtually obligated to make an appearance at the Blue Palace, the seat of Jarl Elisif's power, and formally present me to her court. Moreover, the "false" Dragonborn had demonstrated an actual ability to use the thu'um—the power that men sometimes called Shouting—which made Diana's return to the public life a necessity.

This was why I hated lying. I just preferred to kill people.

Once Ataf sat down, I stood back up to continue putting away my things. My room at the Bards College was smaller than the room I had slept in back at Dawnstar Sanctuary, but more private. One roommate was less than I usually had, since only the highest-ranking members of the Dark Brotherhood had private sleeping quarters. The rest of us shared a common sleeping room, living shoulder-to-shoulder as a family, if occasionally a dysfunctional one.

I walked over to where Hecate had left my traveling trunk and bent down to move it to the end of my bed. My back suddenly flared with pain, and I saw stars. I must have blacked out for a second, because Ataf was suddenly next to me, steadying me by holding onto my shoulder.

"By the Divines," he cursed. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I managed to gasp before sitting down heavily on the edge of the trunk. I was so used to doing for myself that I had managed to forget that I was still recovering.

A few weeks ago, I had been on contract out near Falkreath when things went terribly wrong. I had wound up with extensive injuries, including cuts and bruises, cracked ribs, and a sprained back. Honestly, I was lucky to have survived. I hadn't fully recovered when the deadline for school came around, so Hecate had risked us traveling while I was still healing. It hadn't been too bad for the most part, but trying to lift my chest on my own had been a sharp, painful reminder of my continuing state of reduced strength.

"Maybe I should get a teacher…" Ataf said nervously. I must have looked even worse than I felt.

"No," I insisted, a little more steadily. "It's nothing serious." I stood up, my knees shaking more than I would have liked. "See, I'm fine now."

"What was that?" he asked. "You looked like you were stabbed in the gut."

"Oh, I fell off a horse a few days ago," I lied. "Bruised my back and ribs, but nothing too serious."

"Well, you should take better care of yourself," Ataf chided. "Let me help you move your trunk."

"I appreciate the help," I smiled.

Working together, the two of us managed to move the heavy chest into place at the foot of my bed, though I was sweating and shaking by the end of it. Ataf looked a little winded himself.

"How in Oblivion did you even get this thing in here?" he asked when we were done.

"My… mother… had some of the staff bring it in," I told him. "I would have had them put it where it belongs if I had been here, but she insisted that I come with her on business while they got our things put away."

"Your mother has business in the capital?" Ataf asked, the inquisitive gleam returning to his eye.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. This was going to be a long two years.

After dropping off our wagon at the Bards College, Hecate and I had walked down a few blocks to her house in Solitude, Proudspire Manor. It was conveniently located less than a five minute walk from the college, situated in a very upscale residential neighborhood that housed some of Solitude's most prominent citizens. Proudspire Manor shared a walkway between its front door and the door of another, similarly sized mansion, a style of connected homes that seemed common in this part of the city.

As we approached the manor house, Hecate's face suddenly went tight and drawn. I followed her gaze to the front door of the opposing home, which stood slightly open.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"That house…" she said nervously. "I didn't think anyone was living there."

"Did you know the previous resident?" I asked.

"Only a little," Hecate responded. "I was a guest at her wedding."

Before she could explain any further, a Dunmer woman wearing the heavy armor of a warrior came through the open doorway. Hecate's eyes widened in recognition, as did the Dunmer's eyes when she glanced our way.

"Dragonborn," said the Dark Elf with a slight nod.

"A pleasure as always, Irileth," she responded, using the lighter tone she normally adopted when she was being Diana. "I take it Jarl Balgruuf is around."

"His lordship has already been escorted to the Blue Palace for the morning court," she responded airily. I got the impression she didn't like Hecate very much. "He asked me to come back and get his children ready."

"I thought you housecarls never left your jarl's side," Hecate snarked.

"Normally, I wouldn't," Irileth growled. "But Balgruuf's children take forever to get ready in the mornings."

"No, Irileth," responded a young man with a pleasant smile as he ducked between the doorframe and the glowering housecarl. "Dagny takes forever to get ready in the mornings. The rest of us have slightly more reasonable grooming times." He turned to look at Hecate and nodded. "Hello, Diana. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Frothar?" she asked. "I barely recognized you. You've gotten big."

I took a moment to appraise Balgruuf's son. He was almost as tall as me, but broader-shouldered. I guessed that he was perhaps two or three years my senior. He had dark brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail and was clean-shaven. All in all, he was passably handsome, but it was his clothing that made me feel like a backwater nobody more than his looks. I felt like a grimy peasant in my rough riding leathers; Frothar was immaculately dressed in the latest Solitude fashions, a dark-blue doublet and leather pants with a short jacket and fur-lined cloak. At his side was a gleaming, oiled scabbard with the jeweled hilt of a dueling sword sticking up from it.

The clothing transformed him from a good-looking boy to a prince. I couldn't help but feel a little envious. While I had finally come to understand that I wasn't bad-looking, I felt that I had a forgettable face. It helped as an assassin, but it also meant that there was less there to accentuate. On the few occasions I had been required to adopt a disguise for a contract, I found that wearing fancy clothes just made me look silly.

"Father will be happy to see you," he continued, paying me no attention at all.

"As I will to see him," Hecate responded.

"Dagny's almost ready," came a sullen voice from behind Irileth. She stood aside to make room for another teenaged boy, this one my age or perhaps a year or so younger. He was shorter than his brother, and darker of hair and eye. His hair was almost as long as Frothar's but worn loose and messy. From the heavy bags under his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept very well—in years. He was not as well-dressed as his brother, but if it hadn't been for the tired eyes and the vaguely annoyed expression, he would have been significantly more handsome.

"Thank you, Nelkir," Irileth said, then leaned in through the doorway. "Dagny!" she shouted. "We're leaving!" I couldn't hear whatever response might have come, but Irileth paused for a moment before shouting again. "Then leave it! You don't need two of them!"

Heavy footsteps pounded through the house, loud enough that I could hear them from outside, and then a girl came stomping out onto the portico, nearly barreling into Irileth and her brothers before coming to a stop. Her hair was a dark-blonde color, pulled back into a single heavy braid that fell past her hips. Her dress was a dark blue that complemented her older brother's doublet, accented with lighter blue ribbons and a blue-grey sash. I could only describe her as "chubby." She wasn't fat—just soft all over, like she had never lost her baby fat after hitting her growth spurt. Though she was shorter than both of her brothers, she was clearly the middle child.

"Why the rush, Irileth?" she asked haughtily. "It's not like Daddy is going to have time for us with all of the war councils going on."

"It's important that we're with Father as much as possible," Frothar chastised. "He needs us near right now."

"You mean important for his image," Nelkir groused as Irileth locked up behind them.

"Please, children," Irileth sighed as she turned back to them. "Let's not argue in front of the Dragonborn."

"Oh, gracious!" Dagny exclaimed, finally looking our way. "I hadn't realized that we had guests."

"Neighbors, actually," Hecate responded. "I hadn't been aware that Jarl Balgruuf had moved in next door to me."

"It's not like you're in Solitude very often, Diana," Frothar teased.

"Hopefully that will change now," she responded solemnly. "We're stopping in at Proudspire to change clothes and freshen up before I speak to Jarl Elisif."

"We?" asked Dagny, looking over at me. Her expression said that she had seen better-looking skeevers than me. "Who's your squire?"

"My son," she said, then coughed to stifle a laugh when Dagny and Irileth's eyes bulged. I smiled too, trying to keep a pleasant face. "I had hoped to introduce him at court today, but I suppose you all get a special preview. Aventus, it's my honor to introduce the children of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater: Frothar, Dagny, and Nelkir. Also," she indicated the Dunmer woman, "this is Irileth, Balgruuf's housecarl."

Frothar strode down off the portico to us and extended a hand to me in friendship. I took it gladly, though I was a little put off when he leaned in and hugged me too. I knew that Nords traditionally exchanged embraces instead of handshakes, but it was more physical contact than I was used to from the Brotherhood.

"I wasn't aware you had a son," Irileth said suspiciously.

"I'm adopted," I offered over Frothar's shoulder. Dagny's face immediately became less interested. "My birth parents died when I was little. Diana was kind enough to take me in and give me a home."

"Don't let Irileth or my sister get to you, Aventus," Frothar said after he released me from his powerful grip. "Irileth is always sour, and Dagny's just upset that there weren't any sweetrolls left in the house this morning."

"At least you can get a decent sweetroll in Solitude," she sniffed. "Unlike Whiterun."

At the mention of Whiterun, Frothar's good humor seemed to vanish, and Nelkir's face became even darker. Irileth locked the door to their manor with a snap and turned on her heel. Dagny seemed to realize that she had said something unpleasant and walked away from the housecarl. She barely gave me a glance as she flounced past me. Nelkir quietly trailed behind her, though he gave me a slight nod as he went.

"I suppose we'll see you both at the Blue Palace," Frothar offered as he moved to join his siblings. Irileth came up behind them, nodding respectfully to Hecate as she passed.

"Seeing those three makes me feel old," Hecate sighed once they were a good way down the street.

"What about seeing me?" I joked.

"You'll always be my little boy," she smiled, not realizing how much that statement pained me.

Ataf had finally gone out for the evening, leaving me to rest in our shared room. Mostly, I was tired from all of the questions that Ataf had asked me while I was settling in, rather than weary from the trip. Hopefully, my roommate's enthusiasm on the topic of me would die down in a day or two, once I emphasized to him exactly how totally dull and normal I was.

After Ataf had been gone for a few minutes, I locked the door to the room. He had a key, naturally, but I would hear him if he tried to unlock it, which was the important thing. It was time to look through my things and see what presents my family had sent along to keep me occupied in my exile. I wasn't supposed to be taking contracts while I was at school, so I doubted it would be anything interesting.

When I opened up my traveling trunk, I was pleasantly surprised.

Beneath the several outfits of decent clothing, extra boots, personal supplies, and a couple of blankets was a hidden catch that unlocked a panel from the bottom of the trunk. Lifting the panel revealed nothing at all—only a couple of inches of space where one might hide a journal or coins. I decided that I should probably mock up a fake diary and put a few septims in here to make it look more authentic.

The truth is, most people didn't snoop at all—and the ones that do normally stop when they find something that's been hidden. They rarely suspect a second layer of secrecy.

I felt around the edges of the hidden space and found the four recessed buttons that unlocked the real hiding spot. Once all four were depressed, a drawer popped out of the front of the chest along the bottom, so subtly that I had to grab the edge of it with my fingernails to get it moving. It was about six inches deep and ran the width and length of the chest. As I pulled it out, I whistled softly in appreciation for Nazir's planning skills.

The drawer was covered by a thin layer of wrinkled felt, making it look like an empty chamber at first glance. Lifting it up revealed a cache of weapons and my personal suit of Dark Brotherhood armor—red and black, with a cowled mask to conceal an assassin's identity. I traced my fingers along the black hand symbol emblazoned on its chest, feeling a surge of pride. Laid into shaped grooves on either side of the armor were the tools of my trade: a garrote, a brace of throwing knives, a chisel-tipped dagger used for puncturing armor, and a dozen vials of poison and potions, all carefully labeled. I made a mental note to send a nice thank-you letter to Babette.

The only objects I didn't recognize were wrapped in cloth. When I unwrapped them, I found a note, written in Nazir's tight, neat script, saying only "For Aventus: Practice!" Situated under the note was a pair of gloves—heavily padded, with multiple bracing straps, and riveted metal strips along the knuckles and top of the hand. I pulled them on to find that they were heavier than they looked; I guessed that the metal was ebony from its weight and color. When I tried an experimental punch with them, I was surprised at the way the gloves increased the force of my swing. I smiled, recognizing their purpose. Nazir was always complaining that I needed to improve my hand-to-hand skills, so I supposed this was his way of giving me a little nudge.

When I looked back into the chest, I noticed that there had been one last thing tucked under the gauntlets. It was a metal cylinder a little longer than my hand with a catch along one side and a weighted knob on the top. The whole thing was much heavier than it looked. I pushed the catch but nothing happened. I tried swinging it around a couple of times, expecting some sort of result only to be disappointed. I was starting to get frustrated until I decided to push the catch and swing it at the same time.

As I did, the weighted knob extended away from the handle, nearly tripling the weapon's overall length before coming to a stop. The weapon clicked into place and I released the catch, testing its weight and heft. It was some sort of telescoping mace, collapsible to make it more easily concealed, but it was heavy enough to crush bones when swung at full force. I thumbed the catch again to collapse the mace back into its original form and smiled. On the bottom of the handle was a maker's mark, stamped into the metal—a dragon coiled into the shape of a crescent moon. It was Diana's mark, as opposed to Hecate's preference for a tragedy mask. This was a present that I could keep with me, rather than having to hide it with all of my other gear.

I tucked the collapsible mace into my belt and put everything else back, carefully folding the chest back together and relocking all of the hidden catches before putting my clothes and possessions back on top. After that was done, I unlocked the door, grateful that Ataf hadn't decided to come back while I was busy.

Now that I knew what I had to work with, I had to find a place where I could keep up with my physical training. Just because I was off the active list for the next two years was no reason to get soft. I had originally thought that I could just head over to Proudspire Manor a couple of times a week and train in the basement, but my this morning's events had disabused me of that notion.

Proudspire Manor had been a short stop for us, just long enough to change clothes into something more suitable for my presentation to the jarl of Solitude, so I hadn't gotten a real sense of the place. Most of the house seemed unfurnished, which Hecate assured me she would take care of with the jarl's steward once we were done with court matters.

Once we were cleaned and dressed, we took a short walking tour of Solitude. I couldn't deny that it was by far the most beautiful city I had ever been in. Hecate had been very disappointed when I told her about what the Stormcloaks had done to Whiterun; I had grown up in grey and gloomy Windhelm, so I was used to the Nordic aesthetic—bare stone walls and cobbled streets—but Hecate was used to the clean wooden walls of Imperial homes, adorned with paint and flowers. I imagine that Nord cities being less prone to fires than those in Cyrodiil wasn't something she cared much about.

Solitude was something entirely different, though. It combined the traditional stone buildings preferred by Nords with the smooth designs and beautiful adornments of Imperial cities. It was a true fusion of the two cultures, hovering on a promontory of stone above the Carth River delta. The city gave an impression of stability and grandeur, untouched by the civil war beyond its walls.

It was an impression only somewhat sullied by the extra-large contingent of Imperial legionnaires training in the courtyards around Castle Dour, the Empire's great fortress at the heart of the provincial capital. I could see soldiers in the segmented armor of the Legion practicing formations and drilling through the open gates that led to the castle. I started to veer toward it when Hecate took my arm and pointed us onward.

"Aren't we going to the castle?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "we're going to the palace."

"What's the difference?" I said, confused.

"A castle is a place for soldiers," she said. "A palace is a place where people actually live."

As she explained this, we rounded a corner and I suddenly realized how foolish I had been to think that someplace as dull and practical as Castle Dour could be the heart of a city like this. Stretching out onto a spur of rock hanging over the river, the sun behind it like a halo, was the Blue Palace. Though it was made of the same fitted stones as much of the city, its roofs and gables were tiled in blue slate and blue-veined marble, and its high walls were broken every few feet with huge stained-glass windows. Its arched gateway led into an interior courtyard lined with boxes filled with flowers next to clustered stones covered in moss and wrought-iron benches.

It was huge, awe-inspiring, and far too much to take in during the short walk to the doors. Guards nodded to Hecate as she passed, giving no indication that her presence here was unexpected or unwelcome. The guards wore the usual face-concealing helms of Skyrim soldiers, but their red livery was a sharp contrast to the blue and grey tunics of the Stormcloaks, with whom I was more familiar.

Inside, the Blue Palace was just as impressive. The huge windows let in natural light that gave the place an airy, open feeling, and there were potted trees and flowers everywhere. Servants moved to and fro in neatly kept uniforms, while people of importance made their way through the palace to the upper level. Hecate led me up the stairs past more guards to a high-ceilinged throne room where about a dozen people milled about, waiting to talk to the woman seated on the throne.

If the Blue Palace had been beautiful, it was a pile of mud and rocks next to its most important inhabitant. Jarl Elisif the Fair lived up to her title—and more. When I first laid eyes on her, I was literally breathless for a moment. Looking at Hecate, I could see that it was the sort of reaction that never really went away; my usually resolute Listener was almost starry-eyed while looking at the young widow. Her strawberry-blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and her blue eyes seemed to take in the whole crowd without diminishing any person in it.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on.

"You're drooling," came a sardonic voice from behind me.

I spun, bringing up my left hand in a defensive gesture, before realizing that I wasn't in any danger from Dagny, the girl I had met earlier. I quickly brought my hand the rest of the way up to my chin and rubbed it to cover my reaction.

"Am not," I insisted, checking the corners of my mouth with my fingertips.

"Uh-huh," she snorted, crossing her arms and frowning. "Then were you just keeping your mouth open to stay cool?"

Before I could come up with a witty retort, the steward—a burly, red-haired man with an equally red beard—called out Diana's name.

"Diana!" he near-shouted across the room. The assembled crowd turned to look our way, and Dagny pulled back from me a few paces. "The Dragonborn has chosen to grace us with her presence!"

"Good to see you as always, Falk," Diana—she was Diana now, I had to remember—said, walking forward to clasp forearms with the man.

"I'm glad you chose today to visit the court," Falk rumbled. "We've got a few guests who had heard rumors about the Dragonborn siding with Ulfric Stormcloak and were looking for reassurance. I can't think of anyone better to reassure them than the Dragonborn herself."

"That can wait, Falk," came the lilting, demure voice of Elisif the Fair. "Can you at least give my old friend a moment to say hello to me?"

Falk stood aside as Diana walked up to the throne and knelt before it. I wasn't sure what to do exactly, so I just walked up as well and knelt beside her. I jumped slightly when I felt Elisif's soft hand touch my shoulder, and I nearly melted again when I looked up into her kind blue eyes.

"Always a pleasure, Jarl Elisif," Diana said softly.

"Stand, please," she insisted. I got the impression that Diana kneeling before the jarl was some sort of political maneuver, but I wasn't sure what it meant. "We're old friends, after all." Elisif looked back to me as I stood then asked Diana, "And who is this handsome young man?" I blushed at her words, and I could have sworn that I heard Dagny huff indignantly somewhere behind me.

"If it pleases you, Jarl Elisif," Diana said in a louder voice, turning slightly to take in part of the crowd as well as the jarl, "allow me to introduce my son." The crowd murmured briefly, and I felt slightly dizzy as the weight of their collective gaze fell on me. I was an assassin, used to working in the shadows—I had never been the object of such public scrutiny before.

"Diana," Elisif began, quirking an eyebrow, "I didn't realize you had a son at all, let alone one nearly full-grown. Would you mind explaining to the court?"

"As you already know," Diana replied, conceding to the request, "I had hoped to retire to anonymity after defeating Alduin. I felt that I had done more than enough for the world already."

"No one denies that, Dragonborn," Balgruuf said, stepping forward. "You saved Nirn itself from destruction. No one could have asked for more."

"Thank you, my jarl," Diana said with what sounded like real sincerity. "For the time I was… gone… I secluded myself away from the world to rest, recover, and train in the thu'um. During that time, I fell in love—had a family." This part was true, at least—though I doubted that the assembled courtiers would have been as approving if they had known that the family Diana was speaking about was the Dark Brotherhood.

"A few months before my battle with Alduin," she continued, "I had visited Windhelm to speak with Ulfric Stormcloak about possibly ending the war. He asked for my allegiance instead, and I refused it. The whole thing would have been a wasted trip, had it not been for Aventus here." She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and I beamed at the crowd. This part was true enough too, if slightly distorted. "His parents had died, and he would have been sent to an orphanage—or worse, starved in the streets—had I not intervened."

"Diana saved my life," I added, looking down into the face of my savior. Divines, when had I become so much taller than her?

"Back in Cyrodiil, we believe that saving a life makes you responsible for it," Diana smoothly picked up from me. "Once I had taken Aventus in, I found that I couldn't bear to let him go again. My husband and I adopted him." The crowd made a polite show of gentle applause at her generosity, making me feel awkwardly like a show animal. "For the last several years, I've been trying to live a simple life out of the limelight. When I finally caught wind of the rumors of this false Dragonborn, I returned as soon as I could to put them to rest."

"And how do we know that you are the true Dragonborn," asked one of the courtiers, "and the one in Ulfric's service the false?"

"I could Shout at you if you like," Diana said dryly, drawing laughter from the court. "Honestly, though, it should be enough to know that Elisif and Balgruuf know me for the true Dragonborn. I'm sad to say that my personal armor—and my identity—was stolen by my former housecarl, Lydia of Whiterun." Balgruuf's face turned down at the mention of his traitorous housecarl. "I believe that she was manipulated into this by Ulfric Stormcloak, rather than acting out of any malice. We all know how charismatic the Bear of Eastmarch can be when he wants. Even I was nearly taken in by his act for a while."

"We have all seen the true colors of Ulfric Stormcloak," Elisif said darkly. "A real hero doesn't use a power like the thu'um to murder his king." Her face turned down, and her expression seemed to bring the whole room into shadow.

"In happier news," Falk said quickly, taking up the burden from his jarl, "now that the Dragonborn has returned to us, it is the court's honor to appoint a new housecarl to her."

"What?" asked Diana in confusion. "I didn't ask for a new housecarl."

"It wouldn't be right to let a thane of Haafingar go without a housecarl," Elisif said, recovering her composure. "Now that you'll be staying in Proudspire Manor a bit more regularly, you should have someone to protect your home."

"I defeated Alduin," Diana insisted. "I think I can run off any thieves that might bother me."

"I have no doubt of your prowess," Elisif smiled, "but you can't be expected to be at home all the time, even if you were planning to move to Solitude permanently. It is a gesture of the court's appreciation for all you have done." She leaned forward slightly and caught Diana's gaze. "It would mean a great deal to me."

"Of course, Jarl Elisif," Diana agreed, seemingly hypnotized by Elisif's big blue eyes. She shook herself out of it and sighed. "When do I get to meet this new housecarl?"

"I'm here!" I heard a chipper shout from across the room. "Over here!" I looked over to see a tall Nord woman wearing heavy armor jogging through the crowd. Whenever she bumped into someone, she would mutter a brief apology, all the while waving to Diana with one hand and occasionally jumping up to be seen over the crowd. Her hair was a shade darker than Elisif's and her eyes a darker blue. As she approached, I could see that her face was covered with a spattering of freckles. She wasn't as beautiful as the jarl, but otherwise the women were physically similar enough that I wondered if they were related.

"Diana Dragonborn," Falk rumbled, "allow me to introduce your housecarl, Jordis the Sword-Maiden."

"I'm honored to meet you, my thane," Jordis bubbled excitedly. "I'm so thrilled to be in your service!"

"Right…" Diana trailed off. She turned to the red-haired steward. "I take it you'll see to the furnishing of Proudspire Manor?"

"Of course, Dragonborn," he smiled.

With that exchange, court seemed to be breaking up for the day. Balgruuf came over and embraced Diana briefly before returning to his children. Dagny gave me a final scowl of disapproval before turning to follow her father out of the room. I wondered briefly how I had managed to offend her so badly in such a short amount of time, but quickly put it out of my head.

"I would appreciate it if Aventus' relationship to me stayed out of the public eye," Diana was saying to Elisif and Falk when I turned my attention back to them. "He's studying at the Bards College, and I don't want him to be targeted for any retribution against me."

"I understand completely," Elisif said, taking Diana's hand. "The dignitaries present today are all trustworthy-"

"Trustworthy enough," Falk interrupted with a grunt.

"And I'm sure that they will accede to your wishes," the jarl concluded without acknowledging the interruption.

"Thank you, Elisif," Diana said, leaning in to hug the younger woman.

"It's a shame that your husband couldn't join us today," Elisif said as they broke their hug. "Hopefully he'll be with you the next time?"

"Possibly," Diana hedged. "He's away on business a lot, so it's difficult to arrange our schedules for these sort of trips. Yet another reason I had hoped to stay away from politics."

"You're very lucky to have someone you're so anxious to spend time with," Elisif mused sadly. Diana gave her an understanding smile and patted her hand. I knew that Ulfric had murdered Elisif's husband, the former high king of Skyrim, but for her to still be so sad about losing him years later, she must have been deeply in love.

We said our goodbyes shortly after that and made our way back to Proudspire Manor. Jordis tagged along with us, smiling the whole way and occasionally making chipper commentary about how happy she was to be serving the Dragonborn, and how lucky she felt, and how nice we both seemed, and how she would do us proud… It went on at great enough length that I finally tuned it all out.

"Look," Hecate announced when we got back to the manor, "I'm only going to have one rule in this house." She gestured at the stairs, where movers were carrying furniture into the previously unoccupied rooms, then she stamped her foot. "No one is to use my bedroom while I'm gone. I don't care if I only use this place one day out of the year. That's my room, and it's only for me."

"What about Cicero?" I teased.

"Him too," she allowed, blushing.

"Who's Cicero?" Jordis asked.

"He's…" She paused, gritting her teeth hard enough that I could hear her jaw creak. "…my husband." I smiled a little; it always pleased me to see Hecate have to call Cicero her husband to other people, since she inevitably acted like being married to him was the worst thing she could imagine. It gave me hope for the future.

"Okay," Jordis smiled. "Will you be having an orgy before you leave, my thane?" I almost choked on my own tongue at the question.

"What?" Hecate managed to spit out.

"An orgy, my thane," she said formally, her eyes crossing slightly in deep thought. "I hear that Imperials have them all the time."

"Jordis," Hecate said carefully, "do you know what an orgy is?"

"I've never been to one," she responded slowly and thoughtfully, "but it would be an honor to be invited."

"No orgies," Hecate said. Her face had turned as red as a tomato, and I was having trouble breathing from holding in the laughter. "Do you mind if I talk to Aventus alone for a bit?"

"No, my thane," she said, sounding disappointed. The housecarl meandered away to supervise the movers, who were coming and going through a door on the far end of the house.

"I don't think she knows what an orgy is," I whispered once Jordis was out of earshot, struggling to stifle my giggles.

"Me neither," Hecate responded, "and I have no plans to correct her." She cleared her throat and continued on more evenly. "I'm staying at the manor overnight and leaving out in the morning. Do you have everything you'll need?" she asked.

"I'll be fine," I smiled.

"Well, just in case," Hecate continued, "let's go to the market and pick up any necessities that you might not have been able to pack. I know that you'll need a writing set and paper for classes…"

The three of us—Jordis insisted on coming along for our protection—spent the rest of the morning and part of the early afternoon in the market. Afterward, Hecate had sent Jordis home and escorted me to the Bards College.

I hoped that she would be able to visit during holidays, or that I would see her when she came to town, but I had hardened myself to the possibility that I wouldn't see Hecate for the next two years. Life was busy for an assassin—even more so when you were the voice of the Dark Brotherhood's god, responsible for the lives and deaths of dozens of people.

"I love you, Aventus," she said before she left. I knew that she meant it as a brotherly love.

"I love you too," I responded, knowing that she didn't realize I meant it a different way.

And then she was gone.

"You missed out on dinner," Ataf said as he walked in the door.

"Wasn't really hungry," I replied. I was laying on my bed, uncomfortable not because the bed was too hard or too soft, but just from its unfamiliarity. I had pulled my mandolin out of its padded case to practice, only to find out that I didn't really feel like it. Ataf wandered over to where the instrument lay on my desk and looked at it. I was gratified to notice that he didn't touch it without asking permission—I hated when people did that.

"I've never seen a lute like this," he commented.

"It's not a lute," I corrected. "It's a mandolin. They're Cyrodiilic. They have four double courses of strings, instead of the eight single courses lutes have."

"But they have the same number of strings?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, "but a different tonal range. Here, let me show you."

I sat up and took the mandolin while Ataf grabbed his lute for comparison. We stayed up together for a few more hours, exchanging stories about our musical experiences. I learned a bit about the classmates and teachers I would be meeting tomorrow, and Ataf was thrilled to learn that I actually owned books about musical theory.

If this was what being normal was like, then maybe I could get used to it after all.

…to be continued…