#after a

Those two, the Khajiit and the jester, I have seen them again with my own two eyes. Not only this, but I have spoken with them! My dear, I dined with them last night at the very sanctuary I have sought refuge! I know you were ever so worried for my wellbeing at this pit of ungodliness, but how generously have I been rewarded for my bravery!

What a terrific fright they gave me when they arrived yesterday. I was sure I was dreaming, and of course you can assume, sweet Velyra, that it would not be the first time they visited my dreams. However, this time they truly were there in the flesh. I dropped the basketfull of nightshade I had just gathered, and I felt the pair’s watchful eyes on me when I picked them back up. They did not recognize me thankfully, so for most of the night I had the advantage of blending into the background. That is, at least, whenever I wasn't knocking something over in my anxious state.

The Khajiit was just as I remembered: quiet, brooding, and soft-spoken, with the most dangerously intelligent eyes. The jester, however, seemed as if he were abstaining from speaking altogether so as to not unleash a dreadful secret. He had not looked so serious when I saw him last! Nazir spoke to the Khajiit about the letter and I realized with no small measure of shock that he was the Dragonborn we had been speaking of for the past few days. Yes, truly. I am sure by now you believe yourself wiser than these tales I have for you, but I pray one day to show you these two men in person, and say that I have been truthful and correct this entire time. 

We dined in relative silence after the commotion of their arrival, feasting on a nutritious meal of rabbit haunch, grilled leek, and baked potatoes. The leek and potatoes were my addition, but Nazir did truly craft a wonderful haunch over the fireplace. He made a point to instruct me on the process, and I let him. Although I am afraid he may be “barking up the wrong tree” as it is said, he is a gentleman, and not too terrible of company. However he gave no information on the mysterious pair besides their titles, and seemed confused when I suggested they were an item.

I asked the child vampire, and she seemed a bit more receptive. “I wouldn't be surprised, they're weird around each other,” she said before adding, “but they're weird by themselves too.” I asked if they could be in love and she laughed. “I don't think either of them knows what love is.” Despite her horrific affliction, I do believe her to possess a wisdom far beyond her physical years. However, I still insist that the tenderness I have witnessed between them is much more than just an opportunistic romp.

Despite their solemn countenance, the Khajiit and jester exchanged many glances over dinner that I felt were surely quite meaningful, and I am almost entirely sure I saw them holding hands later in the evening. Everyone had parted for the night, and I heard them whispering to each other in one of the side rooms. I passed through under the guise of organizing, and they both jumped at the sight of me. Their hands, which bridged the gap between them, were suddenly torn away and hidden in pockets or behind their back. The Khajiit gave me such a stern glare that I nearly swooned.

They slept in separate bedrooms, which I'm sure was equally unfortunate for all three of us. Then in the morning they readied two horses and left again. Unfortunately, that is all I know at this time, but if they are fellow members of this death cult, I will certainly see them again. Sweet Velyra, how I wish you were here with me. I believe this sanctuary gives us far better chances at survival than being on the road and roving with bandits. I know you said you found refuge with that farmer boy in the Reach, but I doubt he can protect you the way I could, and it makes me rather jealous to think he gets you all to himself. Perhaps you could bring him along, if he is as skillful as you claim. I can vet him easily.

With a bushel of the ripest, most choice morsels of my undying adoration, 

M

(Rijaan-Djo's journal, untitled entry) 

The horn is gone. This one hates thieves. They make everything more complicated than it should be. None of this is worth the diversion of Rijaan-Djo's attention. Not when there are other things to be focused on. He is exhausted. He is done.

This one should have never gone beyond the contract the Night Mother had given him. He is Listener, not Dragonborn. Sithis is his teacher, not some man hidden away on a mountain, who won't even show his face. He has allowed enough of this, and now he is through. There is nothing this one wants more than to have a moment to breathe. A moment alone. With Cicero.

We are camping now and will return home tomorrow. Rijaan-Djo is too upset to speak with his family tonight. To explain to them that he is giving up the whole “Dragonborn” thing entirely. It is times like these that remind this one how necessary Cicero’s care is. Cicero is able to say much from very little, but it is also nice when he uses many words to say nothing at all. Nothing except “We are safe.”

(Rijaan-Djo's enchanted journal untitled entry)

This one had a nightmare. 

Safe. In the tent. With Cicero in my arms. Rijaan-Djo woke up in the night sky. Nothing but wind under Rijaan-Djo's feet, and the stars winking at this one like they knew a secret. Rijaan-Djo was still holding Cicero. He was sleeping soundly. Sweetly. He did not feel as heavy as he should, but this one held him tight just in case. His hair kept getting caught by the wind. This one brushed it out of his face. 

Then Rijaan-Djo saw her. 

A figure in the stars, cloaked and darker than night. She came to us with her arms spread wide. This one did not recognize her until she spoke. 

“My child,” she said. “My sweet child.”

It was her. The Night Mother. Alive. Young. Smiling. She looked at Cicero and Rijaan-Djo drew him nearer. Kept him away.

“The sons of the final sons.”

She removed the cloak from her shoulders and wrapped it around us. It glittered and winked like it was full of stars, and the lining shone like the moon. She brought her arms around us both and whispered in this one's ear. 

“Do not be afraid. You will be a family again.” 

And she was gone. We were alone again in the sky. Rijaan-Djo watched Cicero’s face, wishing to understand. His beautiful ruby hair crept into the cloak like mycelium. Turned to blood. Soaked the tapestried fabric. Made it heavy and thick.

“Wake up,” this one said.

Cicero opened his eyes and smiled sleepily.

“What is happening?” Rijaan-Djo asked. The blood soaked shawl grew thicker, heavier. It became a new material. Leather. It unfurled and spread out, catching the light from the moon. Catching the wind. They were dragon wings.

Cicero whispered, “Happy Birthday.”