The journey from Whiterun to Windhelm wasn't as far as most in Skyrim, but that didn't mean it was any less perilous. While Aerelin had never personally made the journey, but the stories were many. Bandits had always been a problem, as well as the wild beasts that roam the land, but now with the return of dragons, almost no one wanted to travel unless they had to. The Greybeards must have had great faith in her to send her all this way for an old horn. A loud voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked ahead to see a man with a damaged wagon. A wheel lay off to one side, and the man was jumping around lamenting his misfortune. To her surprise, he appeared to be an Imperial jester; the first of his kind she'd seen since her arrival here.

"Excuse me, ser, do you require assistance?" Aerelin would never just let someone stay out here on a cold Skyrim night, no matter how strange. The man spun towards her, a grin lighting his face as he began to bounce up and down. Through his rapid speech, she managed to catch that his name was Cicero and he was moving his mother's body. A glance at the wagon seemed to confirm his story; the crate inside was quite large, and there was only one, so he wasn't some sort of merchant. He begged her to convince a nearby farmer to assist him, since the man had been turned down already, and she agreed. It would add a bit of time to her journey, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

"No." Loreius crossed his arms in front of his chest, and Aerelin blinked in shock. Most people were more than eager to give and receive help around Whiterun; this man seemed to think he was above it. Then she saw it, the crack in his armor; he was scared, though she wasn't quite sure of what.

"What do you mean, no? You can't just strand him out there." She argued, careful to keep her voice calm.

"Don't get me wrong, I normally would. There's just something…not right about that man. Something dark." Nords and their superstitions. "Besides, I don't believe that's really his mother in there. Could be illegal weapons or Skooma. I'm not gonna chance it." She arched a brow, feigning polite disinterest.

"In that case, perhaps I could leave him here. I'm sure you won't mind if he stays there for awhile. After all, I do have to get to Windhelm, and couldn't possibly return to Whiterun until I was done there." The man seemed to go a bit pale, and she held back a smile that she'd had him. "Have a nice night."

"Wait, wait!" She looked up at the farmer and he sighed. "Fine. Tell Cicero I'll be down in a moment while I get my tools." She gave a small smile and a nod before heading back out.

"Well? Will Loreius help poor Cicero?" The jester was giving her such a hopeful look and Aerelin couldn't help but feel a bit accomplished.

"Yes, he's just getting his tools now." Without warning, Cicero had gathered Aerelin into his arms and was spinning them around in some bizarre jig, singing a song she didn't recognize. She gave a laugh despite herself, briefly remembering why she enjoyed jesters and bards so much. When he finally released her, he pushed a small sack into her hand. Judging by its weight and sound, it was gold.

"Here. Clinky, shiny gold for the kind stranger." Giving her thanks, she made to leave. "Wait! Can Cicero have the name of the kind woman who saved him and his mother?" She glanced back in surprise.

"Aerelin." With that, she made her way to Windhelm, thoughts of the jester Cicero leaving her thoughts the closer she came to the horn she'd been sent to retrieve.