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A Night to Remember...

Summary:

Drunken mischief...
Despite the title, it's not what you're going to think...but that's the fun part.

Notes:

My daughter suggested I keep writing, and since I can't seem to continue Song of a Lifetime (my partner and I keep missing each other so having issues discussing it and massive writer's block which I blame her for lol) she figured I should write a different one until I can get past the hump... and maybe just use this as therapy as pretty depressed these days.

So, i'm going back to old faithful lol Different DB (with a name this time lol) but basically the same Alduin, in looks anyways, we'll see how he develops this time. I'm using same lore as before, except this time Alduin knows and does transform into an Atmoran (though he's defined as a Nord, he's really Atmoran). I said I would write more Alduin stories, so here it is.

Comments highly appreciated. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

    The flames in the Bannered Mare danced softly to the tunes of Mikael as the words of Ragnar the Red fell from his lips merrily.  Methas sat on the longbench closest to the bar, minding her own business and contemplating her last contract.

    The patrons of the bar pretty much ignored her, except for a fellow named Sam that was trying to start a ridiculous conversation about some drinking contest.  He was dismissed. She was staring hard into the fire, her mind elsewhere when a long shadow fell over her.

    She rolled her amber eye upward without moving in her seat only to find Mikael standing over her, a charming smile on his full lips.  

    “Has anyone ever told you, you have beautiful eyes?” he purred, with a voice like honey, and then corrected himself as he realized she only had one. “I meant eye?”

    Her twisted lips lifted briefly from behind her mask as she slowly reached up and removed her Brotherhood cowl.  Her smile widened as the blood drained from his face. She enjoyed this reaction that was typical Nord behaviour.  He’d just complimented a heavily scarred, one-eyed Bosmer.

    He cleared his throat awkwardly and immediately took his leave.  It never ceased to amuse her at how narrow minded the locals were, though Mikael being one did surprise her mildly.  He was a man whore after all.

    She ate her supper, adjusted her mask back into place and got up to leave.  

    And there.  

    Right there.

    Her eye caught a glimmer of red, from a shadowed corner.  The man that sat alone at the table, seemed as though he was surrounded by black smoke.  A dark hood hid most of his features in darkness except those eyes that glowed red.

    That’s not a Dunmer trait, was the first thing that popped in her head, and the second thing…

    Contract.

    She broke eye contact and she left the Bannered Mare, the strange man from the bar forgotten.  

***********

    It was nightfall by the time she reached the Sanctuary in Falkreath, she’d barely stopped after she’d killed Beitild in Dawnstar.  As she walked through the Black Door, she could hear voices echoing off the damp walls.

    Her lips twitched behind her cowl as she heard a cheerful voice she recognized immediately.  

    Cicero.

    The twitch became a small grin (though no one could see it).

    He’d finally come.

    “Merry met my friend!” she called as she trotted towards her family, “How was your journey?”

    Cicero’s wild eyed stare found hers and a huge smile befitted the fool.

    “Methas!” he squealed, clapping his hands together quickly, “Mother and I have missed you so!  We have! We have! We have!”

    “Any tales to tell?” she asked, ignoring the others as they gawked at her.  

    “Oh yes!” he squawked in a high pitched voice, “Poor Cicero was ignored when that wagon wheel broke!  That dreaded wagon wheel!” he took a deep breath and continued, “Loreius refused poor Cicero aid…” the fool trailed off and then a slow, dark smile spread across his mouth, “That swine will never do that again!” Cicero cackled, “We took his eyes and hands we did!  Oh!!!” he exclaimed suddenly, and then reached into a pocket to pull out a small, bloodied canvas sack, “Here! I kept the eyes for you!” he handed the sack to her.

    She immediately stashed the small bag in her own pack and smiled gratefully at the crazed jester.  He was one of the few that knew her dark past and the secrets she kept to herself. She intended to keep it that way.

    “Spiced wine for eyes?” she queried, an eyebrow arched.

    “Oh yes indeed!” Cicero sang, “You spoil dear Cicero!  You do!”

    She smiled a genuine smile behind her mask and held up one finger, indicating Cicero to wait a moment as she dashed into the dining hall to receive her pay for the last few contracts that Nazir had sent her on.

    By the time she returned, the others had disbanded and she noticed Festus being the one that remained to chit chat with the jester.  Her ears twitched as she heard them discussing the old ways, while Astrid rolled her eyes at them and stalked away.

    She’d cashed in fifteen hundred gold for the 3 contracts she had turned in to Nazir.  The Redguard had congratulated her on jobs well done and had handed her the money without further ado.

    “We’ll take a carriage to Solitude,” Methas spoke up once Festus left them.  

    “Solitude?” the jester squeaked in surprise.

    “Best spiced wine this side of the border,” she winked her eye at him.  He clapped his hands again and danced with glee.

    “Dear Cicero is so excited!  Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

***********

    The Winking Skeever was practically empty when they finally arrived.  The journey had been utterly uneventful and she’d laughed as Cicero divulge the secrets to healthy skin (he ought to know, the Night Mother had never looked better since he’d taken over) was nothing more than a honey/Nightshade mixture.

    He’d kept his jester outfit when she had insisted they hit Radiant Raiment’s.  She’d changed into a blood red dress with white sleeves and removed her mask, she wasn’t self- conscious (battle scars, after all, were a badge of honour in Nordic society), it was her Bosmer heritage that made her feel shunned.

    Her keen senses remarked that Sam (the same one from the Bannered Mare) was already at the counter regaling the bartender as they entered.  Her eyes narrowed with consideration, but she disregarded him as he looked completely wasted.

    She dragged Cicero to the second floor balcony (her favourite place) and as they took their seat, Corpulus came up and brought her usual bottle of San’s spiced wine.  

    “Divines preserve my sanity,” he sighed heavily, engaging in a small bit of gossip with her, “That drunken idiot at my bar hasn’t shut up since he walked in hours ago.”

    She smirked, “Still talking about that staff, is he?”

    Corpulus rolled his eyes. “Oh, has he ever…”

    She chuckled quietly and tossed him ten septims for the wine. “Keep the change,” she grinned at him.

    “Thank you, milady,” the bartender nodded and left her and Cicero alone.  

    She filled two goblets and passed one to a beaming jester.

    He drank his in one gulp and then had a bad coughing fit as the spices came back and kicked his ass.  She shook her head and burst out laughing as Cicero jumped to his feet and made a dash for the pot that was between the two rooms.

    He practically put his head in the hole and she heard him retching.  Another burst of giggles escaped her unintentionally.

    “Oh poor Cicero wasn’t expecting that,” he muttered as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

    “Not a word,” she whispered as he came back to sit at the table, “Drink it slow next time.”

    “It burned my throat!” Cicero exclaimed and then peered at her with suspicious eyes, “This is revenge for Cyrodiil, isn’t it?”

    She chuckled more and shook her head, “No, Cicero, you’ll know when I come for you, for that one…”

    The incident, as it was commonly known back when she had been in Cyrodiil, had happened when Cicero had “accidently” fed her a concoction that had been supposedly for the Night Mother.  Milk, honey, plums being the three main ingredients, combined, it was a super power of a laxative.

    It hit at the worst possible times as well.  She had failed her contract, they smelled her coming...and she had spent the remainder of the night sitting on a bucket of snow (thankfully, it had been winter in Cyrodiil).  Cicero had laughed his merry head off for weeks after the incident, she swore revenge, but the time was not right.

    They laughed most of the night away and since she was treating Cicero to the night out, she was the one to remain sober .  Cicero was three sheets to the winds when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck straightened.  

    Her eyes were drawn immediately towards the entrance of the tavern at the same time that the door swung open.  She stiffened uncontrollably and her eyes widened a margin. Her long ears twitched nervously as the sound of heavy boots reached her above all other noise.