A/N: Dear Constant Reader: Thank you for returning to join me for another adventure through Skyrim. Hecate and Cicero are back and the Brotherhood is stronger than ever. In many ways, I think of this as Lydia's story. We'll be welcoming some familiar faces for the first time and saying goodbye to some old ones. This will not be a Brotherhood centric only story as in the past. We'll see what happened to Lydia while she's on her own after Diana left as well as the return of some old "friends".

Hopefully, in the next week or so, Blackwingedheaven will start his "Age of Assassins". I expect some crossover between our stories, but not so much that it will ruin the enjoyment of anyone who only reads one half.

I hope you enjoy our tales and feedback is always appreciated.

Kill well and often, brothers and sisters.

Morndas 15 Midyear 205 4E 10:00 PM

When death came, it came as laughter on the wind.

It had been three month since Ulfric Stormcloak had been murdered in the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm. The loss of their leader and his right hand man had been a devastating blow to the Stormcloak Army. They would have lost to the Imperial Legion if not for the guidance of Lydia Dragonborn. She now called herself Lydia Stormblade in his memory after the honorary title Ulfric had bestowed her on their last great victory before his death.

It had been demoralizing to have the capital of the Imperial sympathizers, Solitude, so close to being in their grasp before it was taken away. In many ways, Ulfric had been the heart and soul of the rebellion. It was his name that was born by every solider and it was his ideals and words they carried in their hearts to battle.

At sixteen, Saeda was technically too young to join. It didn't matter though. This wasn't Legion where you had to be eighteen to sign up for a minimum of two years. This was the Stormcloaks, and any true son or daughter who wanted to fight and possibly die for their land was welcome.

Saeda had grown up in Windhelm under the influence of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak his whole life. He remembered the man when he happened to walk through the city on his way to some meeting with other jarls or consult with his generals. Ulfric was the model example of what it meant to be a son of Skyrim. He was handsome, dedicated to his people, strong, and a powerful warrior. The man had been personally chosen by the Greybeards, the most elusive faction in all of Skyrim – no, in all of Tamriel – to be one of them and had given that up to fight during the Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion.

The young Stormcloak had been outraged when the Emperor had bent knee to the elves and given in to every single one of their demands, including the outlawing of Talos worship. The very man who had created the empire and become a god had been forsaken by his own successor. If the elves didn't wish to worship Talos, that was their right, but gods damn them all if they thought they could bring that trash into Skyrim. The Nords had always been a proud race who lived by their own sacred traditions; there was no reason to change now.

Saeda had to admit there was some truth in that the Stormcloak army was desperately lacking in numbers. They had always been outnumbered compared to the vast Imperial Legion that not only drew on traitorous Nords for troops, but all of Cyrodiil and High Rock as well. In the end, it was irrelevant. The Stormcloaks had always been terribly outnumbered, but they had the home field advantage.

And they had the Dragonborn.

When Lydia Dragonborn joined the army, things had changed and for the better. Nords who had either stayed neutral or had sided with the Imperial Army now doubted their choice. Some had even defected to the Stormcloak cause. How could they stand against the hero of legend, the one who commanded the mighty thu'um and had destroyed the World-Eater when he had returned to obliterate the world?

In the next three years, the Stormcloaks had found victory across the land, taking hold after hold. Everyone had thought that Ulfric would finally be named High King and Skyrim could find peace again after driving out the elves. Then the worst thing possible had happened: Ulfric had died, murdered in his own home.

It would have been bad enough if it had been some elite Imperial force, but there were bone-chilling rumors that it had been the Dark Brotherhood who had killed Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The assassins only came if someone prayed to their dark god and performed an evil ritual known as the Black Sacrament. Saeda didn't understand how anyone could call themselves loyal to the Empire and call upon assassins after the Brotherhood had murdered Titus Mede II in the very waters outside of Solitude. It made no sense to him.

What was worse was that there was a newer rumor. Some were saying that the Empire had employed the honorless bastards again. Saeda had heard there was a letter with a smiling face and frowning face with the caption "We're coming for you" written on it found in the captain's tent.

A pair of mountain flowers, one red and one black, had been found outside of the captain's tent tonight. The men were whispering that the sightings of jesters near Brotherhood killings were real and that they were on their way to claim the soul of Captain Sifkni so Fort Hraggstad could be returned to Imperial control.

"Black isn't even a natural color for a mountain flower," one soldier scoffed. "It's as meaningless as the Brotherhood itself."

Saeda was on patrol duty with some other men. He had paused at a campfire to get something to drink and hear what the men were saying. Everyone was talking about the rumor, but no one knew who had started it. "Shut your mouth, you fool," another snapped. "If they can kill the Emperor and Ulfric, what hope does Sifkni have?"

"The Emperor was a milk-drinking weakling," the first one retorted. "Jarl Ulfric was ambushed without his honor guard. Sifkni has a whole contingent of men here to protect him."

It was true that the fort was full, but that only accounted for about forty men. The rest of the forces were out on the field fighting to keep the land they had painstakingly worked so hard to claim. So far the forces in Falkreath had managed to hold the all-important Pale Pass so the Legion couldn't flood back into Skyrim, but nothing stopped them from traveling via ship to Solitude. This meant their troops were sent to Fort Hraggstad to oust the Stormcloaks from Haafingar Hold. The Imperials had to be nervous with their enemies on their backyard.

Luckily for the Stormcloaks, the Imperial reinforcements were often below optimal fighting condition. Water travel added months of travel time; fewer men could go out per ship, and there were always the problems of dysentery and seasickness. It was a rallying point for the rebels, but unfortunately the Empire was not ground to a halt on reinforcing their army. Thus, the war continued if at a much slower pace.

"You don't understand," a third, older soldier spoke up. "Nothing stops the Brotherhood. They are death incarnate. If they decide it is time to come for you, then you better make your goodbyes to your loved ones and square your debts with any gods or daedra. Not that it would matter who you're in the red with. Sithis is going to claim you all the same." His eyes were wide enough that Saeda could see the whites. "And then he'll devour your soul when you go screaming to the Void."

"But they'll only kill Captain Sifkni, right?" Saeda asked nervously, joining the conversation. It was on thing to die in battle; but it was another to die in your sleep or home. "The Brotherhood only kills who they are contracted to kill, right?"

"Normally," the older soldier responded. He sat close to the fire despite the fact that it was a warm summer night and rubbed his hands as if cold. "But they will also kill anyone who gets in their way. And they say these two are insane, even by the standards of assassins. They dress as jesters - a clear sign of being allied to the Empire if I ever saw one - and their battle cry is laughter. They leave no one alive."

"How can anyone know anything about them if no one is ever left alive?" the first one asked. "It's just all propaganda by the Brotherhood. Plain and simple."

"People know because the Brotherhood wants them to know," the older soldier said. He frowned at the condescending tone of the arrogant soldier. "You've only lived during a time when the Brotherhood was known as little more than a joke, much like the Thieves' Guild. But I remember when their Black Hand reached over all of Tamriel, just as I can remember a time when you could go into a temple of the Divines and see Talos' shrine standing proud with the rest of the gods."

"I'm not going to be scared of some fucking milk-drinking shadow creeping cowards," the first soldier spat. "You shouldn't either if you're a true son of Skyrim. A true son of Skyrim is fearless."

"No, son," the other soldier shook his head. "A true son of Skyrim is brave and bravery is admitting that you're afraid and still facing impossible odds." He stood, his arms crossed in front of him, still appearing cold. "There is a cold wind coming, my friends. We should be ready for the next storm, whether it is from Kyne or Sithis, or we'll all be lost."

As the older man left to go find his cot, the first soldier shook his head. "Damn, superstitious old man," he muttered. "That sort of thinking is why the Empire was able to rule for so long. We've got to stand strong and proud instead of looking under beds for monsters lurking in the shadows."

"What if he's right?" Saeda whispered. "What will we do?"

"We'll kill any assassins we find and string up their bodies for the crows," the other man snorted.

"What's that?" another soldier spoke up suddenly.

The men all fell silent as they tilted their heads to listen for what the soldier had heard. It was faint, but distinctive. Laughter.

It grew louder and louder. Laughter coming from the darkness. Laughter, jagged and raw, like the sound a man made when he's lost everything and had no idea what to do next. Laughter, almost like a scream.

Then the real screaming started.

"To arms, to arms!" a guard yelled. Stormcloaks jumped up from their seats, grabbing weapons as they flocked to the attack.

Saeda noticed some men were still sleeping in their tents. He had no idea how many were attacking the camp, so he ran to wake them. It wouldn't hurt to have more men fighting. The boy shook a shoulder violently, but there was no response. When Saeda rolled him over, he was horrified to see the man was already dead. The dead warrior's eyes were bulged out and a sickly green froth had gathered around his lips.

They had already been here.

Saeda's legs became weak and he fell to his knees. How could they have snuck into the camp and poisoned people and no one notice? Might as well ask how the roses and notes had made their way into the captain's tent.

The boy turned and saw a large group of soldiers were gathered around a large fire pit. There were about a half dozen Stormcloaks fighting two people wearing black and red clothes. Their outfits were accented with black and gold gloves and boots and pointed flap caps. They looked too small to be Nords as the Stormcloaks loomed over them and it was impossible to tell their genders.

Most horrifying were their faces - or lack thereof. One wore a red porcelain mask of a smiling face, while the other wore a black matching mask that was turned into a scream. Both were grotesque in their features, eye holes and mouths much too big and twisted to ever be real.

They laughed and laughed and laughed.

Saeda could hear it above the clash of metal against metal and the battle cries of his fellow soldiers. It was dizzying to see how fast the assassins moved. Saeda watched as a Stormcloak swung a hammer and the red masked assassin leaned back under the swing. As the hammer reached the end of its arc, the assassin was already up and stabbing the attacker in the chest. He sprung off the dead man's chest as another Stormcloak tried to thrust his great sword into the fiend.

As the assassin jumped into the air, he did a backflip and landed on another Stormcloak's shoulder. One smooth motion later, the man held his throat as his life blood spilled onto the ground. The man gurgled as he spun around once and fell to the earth.

The black masked assassin was not doing badly either. A dual dagger wielding Stormcloak, almost as fast as the jesters, attacked him. The laughing figure dodged, barely using any motion to avoid each strike. Another soldier charged him and he responded by bending down and using the man's momentum to flip him into the knife fighter. As the two tumbled to the ground, the assassin slashed their throats before darting off to the other jester.

The two of them touched hands, apparently taking a moment to stare at each other. Then they held each other's hand as they moved into a dancing position. Dancing! In battle!

Saeda hadn't seen much dancing in his years, so he had no words for the steps they used, but there was no mistake the madmen were dancing as they killed more and more Stormcloaks. They whirled and twirled, mostly avoiding blows as they took down wave after wave of soldiers.

For each cut they received, they returned a lethal kick, punch, or slash of their deadly ebony knives. Soon a ring of dead soldiers circled them. It morbidly reminded Saeda of the mushroom rings that nature spirits were supposed to use to travel to the different realms of the daedra.

"A promotion for any man who kills either one of those bastards!" Captain Sifkni yelled. He had finally arrived to the battle, wearing his steel plated armor. Saeda doubted the man had been wearing it before the attack started.

The jesters' response was only more laughter.

The boy knew he should get up and join the battle, but he couldn't convince his legs to move. He had never actually been in battle before. He had been on patrol and given gate duty. Occasionally, he was sent out to gather items from the dead, whether to reuse for the living or to find mementos to return to the dead's families. But he had never seen battle before and it didn't seem to be fair that his first was during a massacre in his own army's fort.

"For Skyrim!"

A squad of four Stormcloaks charged towards the jesters. The red masked one darted towards them, while the black masked one stayed behind. When the assassin met the soldiers, he became a red blur, moving too fast to follow. Within seconds, they were dead and he was still standing.

The jesters advanced towards the center of camp. They were getting closer to Saeda, who was still sprawled on the ground. He knew that he should either get up and fight or at least retreat, but his whole body felt numb from what he had witnessed.

People he knew by name were dead. People he had shared dinner with or a blanket during a cold night were now nothing more than corpses on the ground. How could this be? Just minutes ago he had been listening to men argue about whether the Dark Brotherhood was dangerous. Saeda picked out the first soldier who had scoffed so confidently. He was lying on his back, his mouth open in horror and his eyes gone. When had that happened?

"Come to your death, Captain Sifkni!" the black masked jester called. Although muffled, Saeda could tell that it was a woman's voice. "If you give yourself to Sithis now, we'll allow the rest of your men to live. Otherwise, their souls will be forfeit to Sithis as well."

"Never!" Captain Sifkni returned. "A Stormcloak never surrenders."

"Don't I know that," she muttered darkly. The woman had walked close enough that Saeda could have reached out and touched her leg, but he didn't dare to draw her attention. "I'll offer a second time, officer. Accept your fate instead of imposing it on your men."

"My answer will always be no!" Sifkni spat. He readied his sword. "Fire!"

Archers drew their bows and started firing towards the assassins, but the two of them easily found cover before the arrows could pierce them. Saeda sighed in relief. With the fire support, the killers were pinned. Captain Sifkni would take his time gathering the remaining men and circle in on them, wounding them easily with their superior range.

"Oh, no! What are we going to do now, oh great and powerful Listener?" the red masked one asked mockingly. Saeda thought at first it was another woman because of the high pitched voice, but the giggling sounded more masculine.

The black masked jester ignored the taunts of the other as she rooted around her area until she found a bow and some arrows. "They would have been better off just coming to us," she commented as she tested the pull. "Then they would have had a chance."

The female jester sat there for a second with her head bowed. Saeda could hear her taking large gulps of breath and slowly letting them out. He wondered if she was praying to her dark god for help.

While the archers were readying their shots, the female assassin suddenly popped out of cover. Calmly, she walked across the field, shooting arrow after arrow into the crowd protecting the captain. Each bolt found its mark perfectly – a throat shot here, a chest wound there, a puncture through an eyeball. There were no glancing blows or wide misses. Each volley was a fatal shot.

Captain Sifkni found himself alone, all of his support dead or dying. He looked around and saw no one else coming to his aid. His men had all been killed or had fled. The captain fell into a defensive stance with his mace held ready. "Come for me if you dare, you bastards!" he cried, still not willing to surrender.

"WULD!"

The female assassin was near Saeda one second and within Sifkni's guard the next. She had gone a hundred feet in a second. It was impossible! Did the Dark Brotherhood possess some forbidden magic too?

Unfortunately for the woman, Captain Sifkni was the best warrior in the camp. It was common to earn promotions in the Stormcloak army based on performance in battle, and the man's skill was legendary. Despite her inhuman speed, he had still managed to swing his huge steel mace. The edge of the weapon caught her in the face and shattered her porcelain mask.

Shards of ceramic flew and a spray of blood into the air as the mace found purchase. Saeda almost cheered when she fell backwards and rolled down the hill. The small figure didn't move once she came to a stop.

"Listener!" the male jester screamed. He ran to his companion and picked her up in his arms. Saeda was confused at the amount of affection the man was showing to the woman. Weren't all assassins cold-hearted, emotionless monsters? "Are you okay?"

"Finish the contract," she replied. The bottom half of her mask was completely destroyed, but the top half still remained. Her voice was more garbled than before. When the woman spat onto the ground, a glob of blood landed.

"As you command," the smiling-faced jester answered. He gave a grand bow before stalking up the hill. "Oh, Captain! I'm coming for you!" he called in a sing-song voice.

"I welcome the challenge!" Sifkni responded. He readied his weapon again, prepared to take down the male the same way he did the female.

However, the male didn't charge the captain directly. He cartwheeled and somersaulted about the commander, dodging Sifkni's blows until he was behind the man. Then the jester jumped backwards so he landed on his hands and used the momentum to thrust his feet forward so they kicked Sifkni in the back.

The larger man wheeled his arms as his greater mass and heavier armor prevented him from keeping his balance. The Nord fell down the hill until he rolled to where the woman was still waiting. He tried to get up, but much like a turtle on its back, he could barely move in his armor.

"I thought I told you to finish the contract?" she asked as the male jester joined her.

"It didn't seem right to do it alone," he said plaintively.

"Aw, a gift," she teased. "My Fool of Hearts is so generous."

"Always," he preened.

"Together then?" When the smiling faced jester nodded, the two of them knelt, held up their daggers and plunged them into the joints of Captain Sifkni's armor. Sifkni gurgled once as he body stiffened and then fell limp.

It was over.

"How's your face?" the male asked.

"No loose teeth, thank Mara," the woman answered as she gingerly touched her mouth. "Some cuts and there'll probably be bruising. I don't think it will scar."

"Not too tender for a kiss?"

"I think I can suffer for that," she chuckled.

Saeda watched in horror as the assassins shared a passionate kiss over the dead captain's body. They stood up and held hands as they wondered off.

Once the assassins were gone, Saeda realized that he had been holding his breath. He couldn't believe that he was still alive when everyone else was dead. He touched his face and chest, making sure he had not imagined the whole thing.

The boy stood up and shakily walked towards his tent. He would grab his few possessions and get out of here. He didn't know where he would go, but if it wasn't here, then he didn't care.

The camp was silent. Too silent.

Saeda passed Captain Sifkni, whose dead gaze looked too accusatory. "I didn't give up," it said. "Why didn't you even try?"

The boy saw the body of the soldier who hadn't believed in the Brotherhood's strength. It looked like he had been one of the ones they had caught unaware. His eyes were open still with incredulity. "The Brotherhood isn't real," those eyes whispered. "They're just a story to scare children."

Saeda whimpered as he walked by. He hoped he didn't see the older soldier, the one who warned them. Maybe the man had gotten away. Maybe Saeda wasn't the only one left.

When Saeda reached his tent, he almost couldn't open it because his hands were shaking so badly. It took several tries to untie the flap before he succeeded. When he finally got inside, he had to sit on his cot for several minutes with his head in his hands.

It was impossible to get the images out of his head.

How the jesters moved like wind spirits. How they looked like demons. How they had laughed and danced. How they had kissed like two lovers going on a moonlit stroll after killing the captain instead of two killers ending a massacre.

When Saeda finally composed himself, he grabbed his backpack and crammed whatever he could grab. Once it was full, he tied it closed and threw it over his shoulder. He reached to open the tent flap when it flew open on its own.

The boy screamed and fell backwards, landing on his ass, as he saw the entrance was filled with the forms of the jesters. They had come back! They had come back to finish the job. "Oh, Mara, Kynareth, Talos, Divines protect me," he wailed.

"That takes me back," the woman murmured. The bottom half of her face was still streaked with blood and the cuts on her lips leaked as she smiled.

Darkness filled the tent as the assassins stepped in and loomed over the sprawled Stormcloak. "Looks like we missed one, Listener," the male chided.

"It does at that, my Keeper," she responded.

"Whatever will we do about that?" the Keeper asked as he fingered his ebony blade. "Maybe we should send his soul to the Void too."

"What do you think, young man?" the Listener asked. She knelt before Saeda. "Are you ready to die for your cause?"

"I don't want to die!" Saeda admitted. He hated himself for it, but it was true. He had thought he was ready to die on the fields of battle while fighting gloriously, but the truth was he wasn't ready for either.

"You're just a child, aren't you?" the Listener asked. It should have sounded condescending or taunting, but Saeda could tell that she was sincere. He nodded, not believing his luck.

"I have a proposal for you then," she continued. "Go back to Windhelm and tell them what you saw today. Everything. If you do that, we won't kill you now. We'll let you live a good long life and then someday when you're old and in your bed, one of ours will come and send you to the Void."

"That doesn't sound every appealing," Saeda whimpered.

"The counteroffer is we kill you now," the Listener frowned. "It will probably be slow. My Keeper is in a playful mood. I wouldn't recommend it."

"Oh gods," Saeda moaned. Die now or die later, but death now knew him personally.

"I want you to tell the leaders of your rebellion, especially Lydia Stormblade, a message for me. Tell them that this is a lesson," the Listener continued, ignoring Saeda's comment. "Tell them that Ulfric couldn't stop us, Titus Mede couldn't stop us, and if the Night Mother commanded it, then we would kill Talos himself. Now, tell me what you'll say so I'll know you'll do it right."

Saeda nodded his agreement, hating himself. "Okay, okay. I'll do it. I'll tell them two jesters in demon masks came and killed everyone except me. They wanted me to give a message."

"No, no, they're not demon masks. They're comedy and tragedy masks. I swear this country has no culture," the Listener huffed.

"I'm sorry," Saeda whimpered. What if they changed their minds? "Two jesters in comedy and tragedy masks came, killed everyone including Captain Sifkni, and wanted Lydia Stormblade to know that nothing will stop them."

"Good," the woman smiled. Saeda was surprised to see that it wasn't cruel. It was almost kind, in fact. "I wish you luck, child."

The assassins stood and left without another word. Saeda knew they had really departed this time because he could hear their laughter fading away into the night.

Saeda started shaking again. He would be labeled a milk-drinker and probably a traitor the rest of his life. He didn't care; he would be alive to hear the taunts. It was better than being dead.

For the first time in years, he wished his mother was nearby so she could hug him and make him feel better. Instead, he cried. Huge, unabashed tears ran down his face as he mourned the loss of his companions. Then he started to scream.

Saeda wasn't sure when, but at some point the screaming became laughter.