Chapter Text
Yes, she did, on occasion, wear an Amulet of Mara. And yes, there was a tradition in Skyrim – a tradition she could respect because it was based on logic she could accept – that, when one was looking to marry, to start a family, they declared their eligibility by wearing said amulet. Weddings were short, simple affairs, and rings were only provided by the Temple in special circumstances. Most could not afford silver bands, let alone gold. Iron and steel were far cheaper, and Mara’s blessings ensured that the metal would last longer than they ever would.
But she was a certified healer, an Adept Restorationist – of course she would wear an Amulet of Mara – not that anyone cared. She was an elf, with the height, ears, and eyes to match, and Nords were not the only ones so deeply mistrustful of her kind, or so notoriously suspicious of magic.
Oh, yes, she claimed to be helping, but everyone knew what she was really doing: mining the miserable for money, which she would, undoubtedly, spend on fine food, finer furs, and the finest wine because she, of course, never cooked, never hunted, never did anything but sit on her arse and issue insults, complain about the cold climate, even colder company, and praised the Thalmor with every spare breath.
Why would she ask anyone to marry her when everyone would refuse?
Beyond a few barbed compliments – the overwhelmingly unimaginative standard Skyrim seemed to impose upon wooing women – which she took in stride, Jadis had received neither the assessment of affection nor the promise of a proposal.
“You’re beautiful!”
Uh-huh. One day, they would spin something new.
“You’re like a goodness in human form!”
Yeah… That one hurt.
“The aspect of Dibella incarnate…!”
Flattery would get them absolutely nowhere.
“If I could rearrange the runes, I’d put ūruz and īsaz together.”
Such sickening originality.
People would give her that look if she ever wore her amulet in their company. They would say, without words, what they thought. She would ignore them, for the most part, but it was worse in town, and downright ridiculous in the city. On the outside, Jadis remained unfazed, unconcerned that their eyes followed her every move, waiting for her to make a fatal mistake. She could not always hear them gossip, but their laughter was unmistakable. No one wanted half-elven spawn, but they pitied her because, in their mind, she was still searching. Husband Hunting, they called it.
Sometimes, a foolish soul would ask the obvious, but once she told them that, yes, she was, in fact, wearing an Amulet of Mara, like every other disciple that took their vows, they would leave her be. The idea of an elf, and an Altmer at that, worshipping a human god was, apparently, too much for them to contemplate.
She had also made solemn vows to Dibella, Zenithar, Arkay, Akatosh, and – and –
And how was she supposed to convince them that she believed in the Nine Divines?
What would they say if they saw her praying to Talos?
‘Stop defiling that Shrine’, most likely.
Scandalous.
What would they do if she claimed her God-given… what? Birth-right? Destiny? Would anyone even believe that she was the prophesied Last Dragonborn?
No. No, she was not of a mind, or a disposition, to envision the bloodshed. Instead, she drained her tankard, wishing it held something stronger than water.
“I’ll die before I marry again.”
“Again?”
Her eye twitched, her lips thinned, but she said nothing.
“Jadis?”
But she had not always been Jadis, had not always aspired to be the White Witch, Queen of Skyrim, Empress of Alinor. Once, she had been plain old Amethyst, and it was Amethyst who found love in the most unlikely of places, and Jadis would never find another soul like him. Even if they, somehow, managed to strip away her armour, her robes, her flesh and bone, they would never melt her frozen heart.
“Yes?” Jadis asked, perfectly composed.
Silver eyes, dark, like molten steel, crinkled in concern. His gaze alone wove questions, questions the silence weaved between them, but he did not speak, and Jadis did not wait for an answer. She rose fluidly to refill their tankards – Honningbrew Mead for him and lukewarm water, boiled by mage fire, for her – as the pounding feet of an invisible mammoth dodged her every step.
“Hey!”
The hand that grasped her supple, slender wrist – corded muscles connecting thick, callous fingers – was gentle, his inhumanly warm skin a balm against the goosebumps that broke out across her frozen flesh.
“Talk to me.”
For a moment, she actually considered it.
“…Not tonight, Farkas.”
He nodded once, neither reluctant nor reassured. “Okay.”
His fingers lingered, unafraid, and the moment stretched on for far too long. Jadis knew Farkas did not want her, not like that, but he had staked a claim. She was their Shield-Sister, but he was the first to shed blood with her. If anyone ever did want Jadis, they would have to get through her baby brother first. Life had been… interesting, to say the least, since their misadventure in Dustman Cairn. She offered him – her friend, her brother – a tentative smile, small, shy, insecure, and so unlike her bittersweet sharp smirk that, suddenly, he was by her side, drawing her closer. Step by step, breath by breath. Her head came to rest atop his shoulder, and he simply held her, let her quiver quietly, silently, safe from the vultures that circled her still living corpse. His large hands ran smoothing circles over her back, his heat burned through her robes, and something bubbled up from beneath, a memory that, somehow, slipped through cracks in the ice, poking a hole in her once perfect dam.
Pressed between her chest and his solid steel breastplate, Jadis’ Amulet of Mara had nowhere to go, no escape. She would have bruises tomorrow… but they would fade. Her heart, however, would remain frozen.