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Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

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I love this so, so much. Awesome job anon.

Particular Imperial doesn't matter. Just any Imperial.

In my dirty head it went down like it did here:
http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/1639.html?thread=926311#t926311

Wow a!a. This is very well written and painful and a pretty accurate fleshing out of what's implied in the game, I think. I especially love the first part. But you know what the best/worst/most brilliant thing is? You gave Elenwen one of Ulfric's lines. Every time he shouts "You call yourself a warrior?" my heart is going to shatter now. That's heartbreaking beyond words, that she carved that into him so brutally that he spits it back at people when he's fighting. I can't wait to see what you do with the last part.

Almost done! Just have to finish the ending now.

Anons,

I don't think this prompt is against the meme rules. There will always be prompts that some of us don't like, and there will always be those that test the waters on what is allowed and isn't allowed here.

No we don't tolerate slut-shaming or any other shaming of anyone or their subsequent kinks. This prompt could be skewed in a way that someone could call it slut-shaming, to a degree. But it's easy to do that with anything given the right content.

I won't tolerate anymore issues about the rights of this prompt. It's staying.

On that note though, OP: perhaps it was your first sentence "The Forsworn women wear those skimpy outfits for one reason: they're all sluts." started all this. The word slut can be rather infuriating.

The beauty of the meme is that we have tags and titles that can show you which ones you will like and not like. If anyone really has a problem with a prompt the worst thing they can do is confront the OP and there supporters in the prompts thread. Take the issue to the FAQ where it belongs. Thank you.

Mod

Edited 2013-06-01 15:43 (UTC)

Reading this I could just picture that happening, I think I'll try my hand on writing a fill for this, no promises as it's a completely new genre for me but I like the challenge of trying my hand at it :)

*cries*

You can have ALL my feels, Anon, all of them. This fic gave me so many sads, and a few happys, and just, too many feels to count.

Just because of this I am going to start up a new game to go into character creation and just LOOK AT THE WARPAINT. Which I admit I did way too much of for my earlier games, too. And then I will get back to you.

Okay, so as this is my first ever fill, constructive criticism is welcome.
I apologise for the unimaginative title but I was impatient to get my fill posted so couldn't really be bothered with thinking up a good one. Finally, thanks in advance for reading!

Kathryn looked around. Several destroyed dwarven spiders lay at her feet. The ancient devices proved to be little challenge for the agile Breton, whose arrows tore through the metal as if it were but a sweet roll. In closer combat, she was more than capable with a blade, and found that the mechanical spiders could take no more than two hits each before falling apart at the hinges.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the shining reflection of a metal door down the hall. Her tanned, brown skin had many scars and cuts from the thousands of conflicts she had been engaged in - but this did not detract from her beauty. No, it made her look experienced, like she could take care of herself in a fight. She had a relatively small, dainty body, but with toned, strong muscles. Her long, wavy, dark brown hair fell just past her shoulders. She had full lips, beautiful hazel eyes and pearl white teeth. Many men had fallen for her, and the lucky ones knew that she had full perky breasts and a nice, tight behind.

She was walking through the spider wreckages, kicking the metal pieces around, collecting her arrows when something else caught her eye. Something gleamed among the rocks, the typical golden shine of Dwemer metal. Kathryn, like most Bretons, was an able mage, and she cast magelight in the direction of the source, revealing a polished lever. She momentarily considered leaving, as she had already found the stone of barenziah that was rumoured to have been lost down in the cave, but she knew from experience that powerfully enchanted weapons and armour were often found in the many nooks-and-crannies of Skyrim, hidden from the less perceptive of adventurers. She approached the lever, pulling it with one hand and unsheathing her glass sword in the other. A low grumbling sound started behind her and she span apprehensively, fearing a Dwarver centurion to have been stirred by the mechanics behind the leaver. What she saw however, was something completely different.

The ground in the middle of the room retracted into the walls, and another of the long dead Dwemer's advanced creations was pushed up from bellow. Kathryn readied herself for battle, crouching into a low stance from which she could spring towards whatever threat presented itself. The intricate mass of dwarven metal was seemingly inactive, but the experienced Breton knew better than to let that fool her. Under further inspection she realised that it looked all too much like the dwarven spheres that roamed these ancient Dwemer halls, only bigger, and there was something else that set it apart from the usual dwarven guardians.

Kathryn looked around, picked up a metal strut off the floor and hurled it towards the creation. Nothing. Any other of the old robots would have reacted to the thump on its back, and the loud, echoing clatter that followed. Kathyrn expected something to happen. But nothing did. She slowly approached the large object in the middle of the hall and as she walked around the other side, she burst out laughing! After all this caution, she realised that this was probably little more than a bit of creativity or an old play-thing. Protruding from the front of the 'thing' was a hunk of metal that looked remarkably like a penis. She thought back to the last time she had had sex with anyone - a big muscular nord in a bar about six months ago - and realised how much she craved intercourse. She made a mental note to go out, get drunk, and have sex with someone as soon as she gets back to Whiterun. Kathryn ran her hand over the metal phallus, longingly recalling her last time with the nord. It felt textured, like it had many small pores in the surface. She was sizing it up, thinking about using it as a sexual release right now when it happened..

Two long arms protruded from the body of the construct and grabbed onto Kathryn's arms, causing a high-pitched scream to erupt from her throat. A rod shot out from the front of the device and shoved a ball of leather into her mouth, preventing her from making any more noise, other than a loud moan. Another two limbs attached onto her legs and a further two appeared, staying still for two or three seconds - seemingly scanning her, or sizing her up - before moving towards her. They set to work, efficiently removing her nightingale armour until she was wearing only her underclothes. The arms reached around her back and undid her breast cloth, allowing it to fall to the floor and then pulled down the final piece of clothing. These two arms having accomplished their task, retracted back into the main body of the device. The four arms that had a grasp on her body lifted her into the air and gently placed her on top of the metal phallus, lowering her down onto the penis as it slid inside her. She felt a liquid being excreted, further moistening her already wet flaps - as much as she hated the situation she was in, she couldn't deny that she was aroused. She felt the cold, metal cock entering her body further and further and she managed to spit the gag from her mouth and screamed, although she wasn't sure if it was due to pleasure or the helplessness she felt and the urge to regain control of her body. But there was nothing she could do.

The dwarven penis extended out from the body of the sex machine, going further inside Kathryn until she thought she could bear no more. Then it retracted back. Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards. Each motion rewarded with a small groan from the Breton girl. She felt herself building up to her climax. Forwards. Backwards. The metal phallus slid easily through Kathryn's folds, because although it was bigger than any Nord's she had seen so far, the metal was also smoother. Forwards. Backwards. The old Dwemer machine ploughed on relentlessly. Kathryn wailed helplessly, although she knew she didn't want it to stop. As she erupted in her orgasm, she felt herself tighten around the length of metal. Her moans echoed through the old hall. The ancient dwarven cock stopped moving and she felt another liquid being excreted from the pores in its surface. This time, the substance was warming and she felt a little boost. She guessed the liquid was some kind of potion, either to heal you or make you ready for another round. Either way, she realised the old machine wasn't done quite yet.

The phallus started up again, plunging deep within Kathryn's womanhood then retracting back, almost leaving her. Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards. She decided she may as well enjoy this machine while she can and began bucking her hips in time with the thrusts, allowing the metal to reach more pleasurable places. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as the dwarven cock pushing deep inside her. She knew that sex was unlikely to ever be as satisfying as this and there was suddenly little wonder as to why the Dwemer built this thing in the first place. It was amazing! She was perfectly in synch with the machine, rocking her hips forwards and backwards with the thrusts of the phallus, a small moan escaping her with motion. Sweat had began to appear on her naked body. She felt herself quickly building to another orgasm and threw her head back. She realised that the roof was made of the same shining metal as the doors and from this angle she could watch herself being fucked by the machine. Her perfect, round, perky breasts bounced up and down in time with the thrusts and she had to admit she was looking good. It was easy for her to find herself a partner for the night, though at this rate she doubted that she would be needing one for a long time. She was ready. With a loud moan she climaxed a second time, the Dwemer cock stopped, produced its healing potion again and then repeated its cycle.

After her fifth orgasm in a row Kathryn began to wonder how long this fucking would last. She caught a look at herself in the reflective ceiling. She was shining with sweat, her hair was a mess and she was beginning to feel tired. The feeling was still amazing but her arms and legs were beginning to ache from being suspended in the air for so long.
At her tenth orgasm, she was ready to stop. She was still enjoying herself but beginning to feel exhausted. By her fifteenth she was dreading any more and at her twentieth she was almost sobbing. She was still being fucked mercilessly and there was nothing she could do. The healing lubricant was thousands of years old and had deteriorated over time. Although replenishing, each time she felt the effects a little less. She could be here for hours before anyone came looking for her. She prayed to Talos to be released, but it was after her twenty-third screaming orgasm that her prayers were answered.

Aela was still waiting at the entrance of the ruins. Kathryn told her to keep watch and stop any potential threats coming down after her. That was several hours ago. This was supposed to be a simple job: get in, get the stone, get out. Two or three hours max.

Ten minutes after Kat entered the cave a small bandit party of three men turned up. Aela assumed that they had either had followed them here, or saw the smoke from the camp fire she had lit. Aela heard them coming. They were careless and talking noisily; it gave her time to duck down into the long grass and notch an arrow before they even entered the clearing. She knew that she could deal more damage with her bow if she struck before they detected her so she waited until they had passed her and had their back to her before standing up and letting her first arrow fly. It smashed through the back of the first man's head and she had a second arrow notched as he hit the floor. The second bandit received an arrow in his face as he span around to face her. Instant death. The last of the three wielded two deadly looking war axes and began jogging towards Aela. She dropped her bow to the floor and ran towards her attacker. When she was within two meters of the man, she threw herself to the floor in a roll and tugged on his feet as she passed him. The bandit collapsed to the floor before he realised what had happened. Aela unsheathed a dagger from her belt and was on top of the man before he could react, slitting is throat. Since then, she had made a meal for when Kat returned and read up a bit about Dwemer machinery. Apparently you could shut down almost anything if you shouted 'stop' in the old language. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to say it.

Aela was starting to worry and decided to go in after Kathryn. She had been navigating through the ruins for about thirty minutes when she heard it. The awful high-pitched scream reverberated through the halls.
"Kathryn! Kathryn I'm coming!"
Aela picked up the pace, sprinting towards the source of the noise. There was something weird about her companion's scream. It sounded almost.. Pleasurable? No, it couldn't be. Aela pushed the thought to the back of her mind and raced through the labyrinth.
"Kathryn, where are you?"
She burst around a corner and skidded to a halt, horrified by what she saw. Kathryn's limp body was suspended in the air by four arms, completely naked and with a large metal cock sliding inside her. What in tamriel was going on? Aela had seen Kathryn naked many times while changing, she was her 'follower' after all. They even slept together once to conserve heat in the wastelands near Winterhold, but nothing romantic. Although Aela had to admit, she saw the appeal and understood how she could easily bed the biggest, most handsome of men that other women would have thought out of their league. She was stunning.
"Kathryn?"
The exhausted body raised her head slowly.
"Aela..? Oh Aela! Help me out of here!"
She ran over to her and cut through the four metal arms with her blade. With nothing supporting her Kathryn slid further down the Dwemer phallus, causing another moan to escape her. Aela put her arms around her and lifted her up, off the machine and gently lowered her to the floor.
"Here, drink this. You look exhausted"
Kathryn recognised the green phial of a stamina potion and downed it. Instantly she felt her energy returning. Together, they got Kathryn dressed as she explained what had happened.
"By the nine. You must be traumatised! Promise me you'll never tell me to 'wait here' again."
"Okay, I promise"
"Good, then let's get you home"

I hope you all like my first ever fill!! I have never wrote before but I loved the prompt so much I thought I'd give it a go.
As I said, constructive criticism is welcome.
Please tell me what you did / didn't like for next time.
Thank you all for reading!

Pairing: F!Altmer DB/Madanach
Relationship: het
Kinks/warnings: None this chapter.
Summary: Politics, politics, in the end it always comes down to politics, and taking back the Reach is no exception. Fortunately Madanach's willing to cut a few deals in the pursuit of freedom, although one particular deal is not at all to Liriel's liking...

A/N: This one was a little tricky to write at first but I got over the block and managed it in the end, and the last scene was a lot of fun to write. I hope you like it!

Motierre looked up as the door to his room at the inn opened. Visitors? He wasn't expecting visitors, and Rexus always announced himself. So who on earth...?

He had his answer as an Altmer woman in familiar red and black armour walked in, emotionless golden eyes staring down at him. Behind her, a white-haired Breton dressed in a style of armour Motierre had last seen on a vampire entered, closing the door and taking a seat on his bed. He wasn't a vampire, but the cold blue eyes staring intently back weren't much of an improvement over a vampire's hungry eyes.

The woman had taken the room's other chair and hauled it over, sitting down, her expression all business.

“You're Amaund Motierre,” she said, without preamble.

“Ye-es,” Motierre said, wondering what the problem was. The Dark Brotherhood had mostly set about getting on with the contract without the need to trouble him much. Now here was one of them, unannounced and bringing her... friend.

“I'm afraid there's been a... problem,” the Altmer said calmly. “We're not going to be able to kill the Gourmet – no point. The scheme's been betrayed.”

Motierre felt the blood drain from his face as everything seemed to go still around him.

“Betrayed... who? How? Do they know...?”

“Do they know it was you set it in motion?” the woman asked, grinning. “No, no, it was just the Brotherhood that was betrayed, not you. But it does mean we need to reconsider our options. Now, in light of this betrayal, the Brotherhood's had to undergo a little... internal reconfiguration.”

Oh good, a coup in the Brotherhood. That was all he needed.

“And this means what exactly?” Motierre asked, flicking nervous looks at the dagger at the woman's waist. “Are you going to be able to fulfil the contract still?”

“Oh, of course!” she laughed. “We pride ourselves on getting the job done despite the betrayal of one of our own. Rest assured the traitor was suitably punished. But Maro knows about the Gourmet plot, I'm afraid. That trick is done, and I'm sure they'll move the Emperor, if he was ever in Castle Dour to start with. So, Motierre. Where might he be?”

Frankly, he could be anywhere, but Motierre hadn't heard of the Emperor returning to Cyrodiil just yet, and there was one place the old man always felt at home.

“Probably on his ship, the Katariah. It was moored in Solitude Inlet while he visited. You'll likely find him still there if you hurry.” Yes, please hurry, please get out of this inn and this city and leave him alone...

“The Katariah, Solitude Inlet,” the elf murmured. “I suppose there's no hope for it, I'll have to swim out there.”

The old man on the bed had raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? That sounds dangerous...”

“I can handle a little swimming,” she snapped back at him. “I grew up by the sea!” Ignoring him, she turned back to Motierre.

“Right, the Emperor dies, as promised. However, we're going to have to change our price. We've had to relocate our Sanctuary, incurred certain expenses, had to call in a few favours. I'm sure you understand.”

Great. A renegotiation. How much was this going to cost him, he wondered?

“How much more is this going to cost?” Motierre sighed wearily. To his surprise, the elf actually laughed.

“Oh no. It's not gold we're after. You see, the treachery from one of our own was foiled only due to the selfless actions and masterful planning of my associate here.” She indicated the old man, who was sitting up, watching very keenly and actually smiling, and if he wasn't Dark Brotherhood himself, he was certainly someone who'd done more than his fair share of killing, of that Motierre was sure.

“Well, I'm very grateful, I'm sure, but what has that got to do with me-” Motierre stopped as the elf got to her feet, closing the gap between them and tracing a finger down his cheek, and when that Nord who'd first answered the Sacrament had growled that he'd opened the door to darkness, Motierre hadn't thought this had been what he meant.

“My friend went to a lot of trouble to help us out,” the Altmer purred. “An awful lot of trouble. Why, if it hadn't been for him, our Sanctuary would be burning and most of us might not have survived. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay him. But you... you have something he wants.”

“Wh- what?” Motierre whispered, knowing that even if he called Rexus now, that wouldn't stop this murdering she-daedra running him through without a second thought, and the man might be getting on a bit but was clearly still a capable warrior and probably a magic user too.

“Influence,” the man growled, getting to his feet and approaching leisurely, taking the chair the elf had vacated. She backed away and took her place by the door while the Breton leaned forward, smiling as if this was a pleasant conversation about the weather. “You're on the Elder Council, so I hear.”

“Who are you?” Motierre whispered, backing away. “What do you want?”

“Madanach ap Caradach, at your service,” the Breton warrior said, tilting his head in greeting. “Maybe you've heard of me. I'm sure you've heard of my people.”

“Your people?” Motierre tried to think if he knew an ap Caradach family. Not off the top of his head... but he did recall where the family names tended to be first name ap surname. “You're a Reachman?”

Madanach nodded, actually seeming pleased. “Oh very good. What else do you know about our history?”

“Not a lot,” Motierre confessed. “Only that the Reach has been part of Skyrim forever but didn't it secede during the war? Those dreadful Forsworn and that King in Rags of theirs took it over... oh gods.” The septim dropped as Motierre realised who he was sitting in front of. “Oh gods. It's you. You're the leader of the Forsworn, oh gods, oh gods, don't hurt me please...”

Madanach leaned closer, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Oh don't worry, Motierre. You're worth far more to me alive. Listen, this is how it's going to work. My Dark Brotherhood colleagues are going to kill the Emperor for you, as promised. Then, I imagine there'll be chaos. Panic. Why, I imagine everyone will start looking nervously at the Dominion, and if the Dominion are quick on the uptake, they might just take advantage. I imagine Cyrodiil will be quite happy to leave Skyrim to the Stormcloaks and insist those troops currently fighting Ulfric come back immediately.”

It was an all too plausible scenario, but why the leader of the Forsworn might care about a Stormcloak Skyrim was a little beyond Motierre.

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispered, confused. Madanach's smile broadened.

“Because I don't think General Tullius will react too well to being told that. I think he wants to win this war, despite being undermanned and underequipped. I think if he's told to give up, he'll be willing to consider seeking help from... unorthodox sources.”

“From you, you mean,” Motierre said grimly, beginning to see where this was going. Madanach inclined his head.

“Just so. We could take the Reach in days if we had to. It's just a matter of the Empire recognising us as legitimate rulers. Last time the Emperor and Elder Council deliberately let the matter slip to the bottom of the pile until after the Nords did something about it. This time... this time, Amaund Motierre, the Elder Council are going to be a little more obliging.”

“You want me to help you take over the Reach?” Motierre asked, shaking his head. “Sir, this is insane. General Tullius won't agree to this, Queen Elisif certainly never will, the previous Jarl will want his Hold back, there is absolutely no chance of this working even if the rest of the Council do summon the Legions home, which is not as likely as you think.”

“It will happen,” said Madanach coldly. “It will happen, because within two days of the Emperor dying, you will be in Solitude taking charge of the war effort yourself, pulling rank on Tullius and telling him the war is as good as lost and the Empire's pulling out. As for the others, you leave them to me. I just need them in a room, all believing Cyrodiil's abandoning them, ready for me to swoop in and look like a hero.”

“That will take some doing,” said Motierre before he could stop himself. To his surprise, the elf actually giggled and Madanach didn't appear angry.

“I know, which is why you'll be softening them up for me,” he said, amused. “Make 'em scared, make 'em angry, make 'em lost, and then when I walk in and offer to solve all their problems, shrug your shoulders and tell Tullius you don't care how the war ends, you just want it ended. And when the dust has all settled and Ulfric's lying dead at my feet and the Mournful Throne is mine, you be sure and tell the rest of the Council the Forsworn won't forget their friends.”

“And if I want nothing to do with any of this?” Motierre asked, having a feeling he knew the answer, but asking anyway.

“We don't forget our enemies either,” Madanach growled, eyes narrowing and the elf was reaching for her dagger.

“Screw this up and I will find you, Motierre,” she said softly. Motierre had no doubt she'd manage it too. He nodded quickly, saying nothing. Mad, they were clearly both mad and very dangerous, but it seemed the most dangerous parts were at least things he wouldn't have to deal with. A bit of effort on his part, sure, but at the end of the day, he didn't greatly care who ran Skyrim. If this lunatic Breton savage wanted a piece of it for himself, who was he to argue?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After leaving Motierre, the two of them made their way out of the city, Liriel preparing to ride to Dawnstar, Madanach having elected to take the carriage at least as far as Rorikstead.

“I'm not getting on that daedra steed again and I'm definitely not getting on it with you riding,” Madanach said firmly.

“Not a horseman, are you?” Liriel teased. Madanach just grimaced.

“The Reach isn't exactly riding country, as I'm sure you've noticed, and most of my travel has usually been off-road. Not a lot of call for riding.” He paused, looking up as she mounted Shadowmere. “Will you be all right? You've got a dangerous job ahead of you.”

“It's not the most dangerous thing I've ever done,” Liriel replied, thinking of Alduin. That had been worse. Far worse. This was just sneak on to a ship, deal with the guards, kill an old man. Child's play by comparison.

“Not reassuring.” Madanach had that pleading look in his eyes again, that worried expression that meant he was getting all protective and possessive again. Mara, he needed to stop, she was not only quite capable, she wasn't his problem any more. She'd told him no. It had been hard, heartbreaking, still was, especially after she'd fallen apart in his arms, finally let herself grieve for Lydia, for her home, for her shattered illusion of a tranquil and safe family life. Well, he knew all about shattered illusions, and it had helped having him there, it really had. It had been nice waking up with him there, arms wrapped around her, still asleep but there, still there. Not turning on her in fury. He'd forgiven her, she knew that.

She just wasn't sure she should go back. She was mer, he was human, he'd age and die all too quickly, she should take this opportunity and run, find a mer to love. Plenty of Altmer who didn't live in the Summerset Isles, who had moved on from Alinor's ideas of love, who wouldn't care they weren't her first. Perhaps even a few who'd loved and lost humans. Life didn't end just because one love affair had, Liriel was starting to belatedly realise.

Except it felt so nice with his arms around her, and he'd mobilised an entire army to save both the Brotherhood and her daughters, and when he'd held her in his arms and whispered they'd take back the Reach together... she'd just wanted to kiss him and never stop.

She still wanted to kiss him and never stop. This was the problem. Damn it, she needed to get away from him before she started feeling sorry for him and... that could never lead anywhere good, not in the long-term anyway.

“Haven't you got things to organise?” she said, resolutely sitting upright and not giving in to the temptation to kiss him, no.

“I have indeed,” and the vulnerability had gone, replaced with a wolfish grin that boded trouble for someone. “Liriel, I know you're probably itching to be rid of me, but I do have one favour to ask. Might I borrow young Cicero? I've got a job needs doing and he'd be ideally suited. Are you able to send him to me? I'll pay him for his trouble of course.”

“I... suppose,” said Liriel, wondering why – well, she could probably guess why, it was more a matter of who. She decided she was best off not asking. “Shall I send him to your usual base?”

“No, send him to Dragon Bridge,” said Madanach, clearly already plotting. “Tell him to wait in the inn, my people will meet him there.”

Liriel promised she would, said her last goodbyes and rode off, leaving Madanach to watch her go. She knew he'd be watching her but she didn't look back. She had a job to do. She couldn't afford to get sentimental now.

~~~~~~~~

Elisif raced out of the Blue Palace, heading for Castle Dour, barely reining in her temper, mainly because if she stopped being angry, she'd probably cry. It had just been a week of one thing after another. First the head of the Penitus Oculatus being murdered right on Solitude docks and his outpost in Dragon Bridge being burnt to the ground by perpetrators unknown. Then news of the Emperor's death on his own ship, the crew and guards likewise looking like an angry dragon had torn through the place. Everyone was saying Dark Brotherhood, and Elisif hadn't slept well since. It was a good thing Ulfric preferred to do his own killing really, otherwise she really would be terrified.

Now she'd been woken up with the news that Igmund had been found dead in his bed this morning – no outward signs of violence but Sybille suspected poison. Prime suspect was a short red-haired Imperial man in a tavern maid's outfit who'd been let in to see him the night before and given privacy. Apparently Faleen had known her Jarl's tastes all too well and let him in, figuring the old guy could do with some fun. She'd even searched him for weapons – he'd had a simple steel dagger but nothing else. Morning had come, bringing a dead Jarl and no cross-dressing tavern maid in sight – it was as if he'd just vanished.

And then General Tullius had sent for her and her day had just fallen apart.

“General, this isn't happening!” Elisif cried as she raced into Castle Dour. “The Empire can't be withdrawing, it just can't!”

“Those are my orders,” Tullius snapped, looking as angry as Elisif and that was something. Legate Rikke was standing huddled on the far side of the table, clearly seething.

“Who from?” Elisif shouted. “So the Emperor's dead – are we just going to let his Empire fall apart??”

“Look, I don't like it either, but I don't have a choice!” Tullius growled. “With Titus Mede gone, it's clear the Elder Council are worried about the Dominion and clear they need the troops in Cyrodiil more than Skyrim.”

“Clear??” Elisif shrieked. “It isn't clear at all, if you leave, there's nothing to stop Ulfric taking this country over and declaring independence! General, please, the Empire needs Skyrim! The Legion needs its Nords! We built this Empire! If Cyrodiil ends up between the Aldmeri Dominion and a Skyrim in the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak, you're not going to last long either! They have to see that, surely!”

“And what do you expect me to do?” Tullius cried. “I'm just a soldier. I don't have the power to challenge a member of the Elder Council!” Then Tullius inclined his head, appraising Elisif rather carefully. “But he might listen to you. Come with me.”

This had been a bad idea. This was a terrible idea in fact. Elisif should have just stayed in her palace, let the General handle it. But no, she'd had to get involved personally and now she was being escorted to the Imperial Dining Room to have it out with this Motierre fellow face to face.

He was sitting at the head of the table, going over some papers, an unassuming Breton in his thirties, dressed well but something of a haunted expression. Good. Let the victims of Ulfric's axe-rattling haunt him all they wanted.

“Amaund Motierre,” she began, aware of Tullius on one side, Rikke on the other, guards at her back and trying not to look as terrified as she felt. “Am I to understand you're having the Legion abandon Skyrim to the Stormcloaks?”

Motierre sighed, rubbing his forehead and lowering the paperwork.

“Is that what Tullius told you?” he sighed. “No – Elisif, is it?”

“Jarl Elisif to you,” Elisif snapped. “Well? I want an explanation, Motierre!”

“I'm hardly abandoning Skyrim,” Motierre said wearily. “It's just that this petty little squabble here is tying up troops more usefully employed along the Valenwood and Elsweyr borders. Look, you have Ulfric penned up in his own Hold and that miserable little ice-pit Winterhold. He's not winning this war. All I am suggesting is that rather than waste troops trying to oust a lost cause Jarl, we simply fortify the borders and pull everyone else back to Cyrodiil. He'll lose support eventually.”

“He will not, that's what I'm trying to tell you!” Elisif cried. “He's a very charismatic man! He's dangerous, his cause has popular support and not just in the Stormcloak Holds either! He's got the Reach too, don't forget! All those mines, all that wealth, all that will fund his armies, you know, and it's not like he doesn't have troops there too. Motierre, please, one last push and we could take him down!”

“It will take more than one last push to take something as mountainous and hostile as the Reach,” Motierre said dismissively. “Last I heard, even in peacetime, the Jarl there spent more time quelling dissent than actually ruling. Let Ulfric deal with the savages.”

Elisif shook her head, refusing to believe he could be that heartless. “Motierre, please,” Elisif cried. “If you take all those troops home, Ulfric will find a way past the defences eventually and there'll be no one to stop him! The Jarls backing the Empire don't have the troops to match Ulfric alone – it's just guardsmen under our control, they deal with thieves and bandits, not hostile armies! We need the Legion! We don't have anyone else in Skyrim with an army!”

“Actually,” a woman said softly from the door leading out to the Solitude windmill, “there is someone.”

Elisif looked up and her heart leapt to see Liriel there in her Archmage robes, the hood down but still looking impressive. She smiled at Elisif, and Elisif couldn't help but smile back. Liriel had always been so sweet and understanding, taking Torygg's war horn to a shrine to Talos despite not being a worshipper herself any more than Elisif was, dealing with that whole Potema mess for her, helping out half the Hold from the sounds of it. It was Elisif's fondest hope that Liriel would actually move here – she could do with a Thane in her court that she'd actually appointed, someone loyal to her, not her husband or father-in-law's memory, or their own agenda in Erikur's case.

As it was, having Liriel show up like this couldn't be a bad thing, right?

“Liriel,” Elisif gasped. “Liriel, they're taking half the Legion back to Cyrodiil, Ulfric will take the whole country over if they do, you have to help! You're Dragonborn, they all listen to you!”

“I think you're overestimating my influence, but thank you,” Liriel replied, smiling. “Now, what's all this about the Empire going home?”

“The Empire is not going home!” Motierre sighed. “I don't have the authority to make that decision on my own, but we do need troops in Cyrodiil! We can't sit back and wait for the Dominion to invade – no offence, ma'am.”

“None taken, I'm hardly a Thalmor official,” said Liriel, shrugging. “But you do realise that if you take Legion troops home, Ulfric will take advantage. He's not some bandit leader, he's a very charismatic and intelligent man. If you withdraw, it's a sign of weakness and Nords do not respect weakness. You'd essentially be giving this country to him and losing a very valuable province.”

“I know,” said Motierre through gritted teeth. “But between him and the Dominion, I know who I'd rather take my chances with. Ulfric hates the Dominion, that I do know. Why not have an independent and unified Skyrim under Ulfric and then we can always ally with them if it does come to war?” He ignored Elisif's howl of fury. Liriel took a deep breath and stared him down.

“Because Ulfric Stormcloak is not going to side with you as an equal, he will play you for as long as possible and either ditch you when being your ally becomes inconvenient or take Cyrodiil for his own!” Liriel snapped.

“And do you have a better idea?” Motierre shouted, pounding the table. “Because unless you know someone with their own army who's willing to give us a hand getting the Stormcloaks out of the Reach and taking on Ulfric for us, we don't have any other options!”

Liriel just smiled knowingly, stepping back and indicated the door she'd slipped in by.

“Well now. Funny you should ask. I found just the man.”

Elisif looked up into the doorway at the man who'd just walked in. Same height she was, more or less, shoulder length white-grey hair with warrior braids, probably about sixty maybe? All that was commonplace enough but the outfit – consisting of fur, sabre cat fangs, feathers, skulls for Mara's sake and showing off more than was really healthy was anything but. Not to mention the glass war axe at his belt, and the eyes, Stendarr, the eyes. Silvery-blue, cold, merciless and seeming to stare right into her soul.

Elisif sank into a chair, a little gasp of terror coming from her mouth as she stared up at him. To her surprise, he actually shot her a grin, taking a seat opposite, Liriel taking the seat on his left. Behind him a few more warriors filed in, including a woman who had the same terrifying eyes he did and who took the seat on his right. The other two stood on either side of the door he'd entered by, one a huge Orc in war-paint who grinned at her like she was a piece of meat, and the other a short red-haired man whose face was obscured by the antlered headdress he was wearing but who was fidgeting a lot.

“What is this?” Tullius growled, slamming hands on to the table.

“The Forsworn!?” Rikke shouted, reaching for her sword. “Are you out of your mind, Dragonborn? They're lawless marauders!”

“They have their own laws, but they're not lawless!” Liriel snapped back, unafraid. “They hate the Stormcloaks too, and there's no one better placed to take the Reach over. You wanted an army? I found you one. Are you going to listen?”

Absolutely not, you're a murderer who hates and despises my people!! Elisif kept it to herself though. She'd heard stories of Forsworn tribes that descended without mercy, carving through warriors and defenceless citizens alike, Destruction magic splitting the sky as they bathed the Reach in blood. How frightening then must this man be if they did what he said without question?

Very, was the short answer to that. And yet he didn't look like he hated her, in fact he actually seemed curious about her. As Liriel exchanged strong words with Rikke and Tullius over the wisdom of involving a bunch of criminals like the Forsworn, the Forsworn leader actually leaned forward to get a better look at her.

“So you're the High Queen to be,” he said calmly, and while his voice came out as a low growl, there was no anger there. Elisif just nodded, not sure how to respond.

“You're younger than I thought you'd be,” he mused, frowning. Odd, why would he care about her age?

“I'm twenty three,” Elisif said tersely. “Not that it's any of your business.” That did make him laugh, and slowly Elisif felt her fear start to abate. Whatever he wanted, he clearly wasn't hostile to her out of hand. Maybe she'd been wrong about him.

“No, you're right, it's not, I do apologise,” he laughed. “Never ask a lady her age, it never ends well. Madanach ap Caradach, King of the Forsworn, at your service. I hear you're having a little Stormcloak trouble.”

“A little? He's trying to take over my country, and now the Empire are just going to let him!” Elisif cried. “And I can't do a thing. I don't have an army of my own, just the Haafingar Guard, and I can't challenge him one on one if I don't want to end up like Torygg!”

“Torygg?” Madanach asked, eyes softening at little, and gods damnit, what rock had he been hiding under not to know that??

“My husband,” said Elisif softly, feeling tears in her eyes at the memory. “He was High King, and actually sympathetic to Ulfric's ideas – might have considered peaceful independence himself. He – he worshipped Talos, although I never did. But Ulfric didn't care. He challenged Torygg to a fight, Shouted him to the ground and just... He was twenty five! He never stood a chance...” Elisif looked away, wiping a tear from her eye. Maybe this man before her was a murderer and a traitor, a leader of rebels and killers – but at least he wasn't Ulfric.

“Nor did my daughter. She was fourteen.”

Elisif did look up then, and she never thought that she'd ever be sitting down with the leader of the Forsworn and realising they shared both a grief and an enemy. He was watching, actually looking sympathetic, and she realised then that she wasn't afraid of him any more.

“I take it you want the Reach back in return for your help,” she said, guessing even having a common enemy only went so far. Madanach nodded.

“If my people are going to stage an uprising and take the Reach over, damn right we'd like to keep it.”

“You'll have to swear loyalty to the Empire, you know,” said Elisif, slowly becoming aware the room had gone quiet, Tullius and Rikke both having realised that while they'd been arguing with the Dragonborn, she and Madanach had started the negotiations without them. “And – and no massacring the Reach's Nords! Or anyone else for that matter. Once you've got the throne, you've got to be fair and just to your people – all your people. In fact, I want Imperial observers in the Reach making sure you're not abusing your power.”

“Would I do a thing like -” Madanach stopped as Liriel coughed pointedly. He sighed and conceded the point. “Fine, fine, you can have your observers. For the first five years of my rule. After that, no more Empire bureaucrats than any other ruler's got hanging around, understand?”

“Acceptable,” Elisif confirmed. “So you're going to stage an uprising to take over the Reach – then what? Will you help us take Eastmarch too? We could do with the extra troops.”

“Oh, I'd be happy to,” Madanach grinned. “You need have no troubles on that score, my lady. Of course, we'd need some sort of guarantee of continuing friendship after all the dust settles. My people have a very long history with the Nords, and historically it's not gone well for us. I need some way of persuading them you're not going to invade us a few years along the line.”

Elisif didn't like the way this was going, but if she'd landed him with observers watching his every move, she supposed it was only fair.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, hoping it was something she could actually deliver.

“A marriage alliance,” Madanach purred, and Elisif felt the world seem to go still as she realised what he was suggesting. She was barely aware of Tullius getting to his feet, shouting at Madanach that he had no right to make suggestions like that and Rikke calling him a vile excuse for a human being, and oddest of all, Liriel with her hands over her face, looking like she was about to cry. All Elisif could think was no, no, no, Torygg's not even been dead a year, you're old enough to be my father, no, no, no.

She couldn't do it. Not even as the price of peace.

“I am not marrying you!” she shouted, and thank the gods she felt angry because otherwise she'd have burst into tears and that would have pretty much killed the entire conference.

To her surprise, Madanach turned to look at her, the room silent in the wake of her outburst, smiled and began to laugh.

“Me... and you. Oh, that's good. That's really good. I'm flattered, I really am, and don't get me wrong, you're a beautiful young woman but I'm far too old for you and you are far too innocent to be landed with an old reprobate like me. No, don't worry, I've got children.”

“I'm not into girls!” the woman on his right cried, horrified. Elisif guessed that was one of the children.

“Takes at least five jenever shots to change her mind on that one,” the short red-head giggled, and the woman turned a furious gaze on him. The Orc sniggered and the two of them slapped palms together – or at least they did until Madanach glared at them both and they both subsided.

“Not you, either, daughter. Elisif, allow me to introduce my son. ARGIS!”

A shadow in the doorway, and then a Nord in ebony armour stepped into the room, towering over all present bar the Orc and probably Liriel too, hair dark blonde and braided like his father's, yes they were definitely kin despite one being a Nord and the other Breton.

He'd lost an eye but other than that he looked healthy enough – broad-shouldered, muscular, and unlike his father, wasn't exuding an aura that screamed true-born murderer. Madanach nudged for his daughter to move down one, shifting into her vacated seat while Argis took his. Coincidentally, this also meant Madanach now had a heavily armoured warrior in between him and Liriel, who was gritting her teeth and glaring at Madanach, seething in barely reigned in fury.

“That is my housecarl, Madanach!!” she hissed at him.

“He's my son!” Madanach returned. “And I need him to do his duty to the Reach. I'm sorry, Liriel.”

“If he is here, who is watching my children??” Liriel snarled at him.

“It's all right, I've got Nepos and some of his people taking care of them,” Madanach said calmly, and Elisif could practically feel the elf's magicka rising around her, lightning sparking at her fingertips. Mercifully, Liriel kept her temper, pointedly turning her back on Madanach.

Argis was sitting across from her, looking a bit sheepish.

“Sorry about that,” he said apologetically. “Da and Liriel are always like that with each other. She's normally fairly calm, but he's got a way of getting under her skin. Don't worry, I take after Ma more than him. She was always the quiet, calm type. Easygoing, you know? You won't have any trouble from me, I just do what I'm told.”

Elisif could barely take her eyes off him, and something in her loins was flaring at the idea of this huge, powerful warrior crawling into her bed and letting her do whatever she wanted to him. By the Eight, Argis son of Madanach was one handsome man.

“That's... I... I'm... I didn't know the leader of the Forsworn would have a Nord son,” and she could have kicked herself for poking a sore point like that one must be.

“He wasn't exactly married to Ma,” Argis confessed. “But they stayed friends and he did a good job of looking after me after she died. He doesn't have any other sons, so here I am. Ready to help win back the Reach any way I can. If – if you're willing, of course.” He'd lowered his eyes, whether from nerves or submission, Elisif couldn't tell but it was adorable either way and by Dibella, she'd not had sex in months and she was only just realising how much she'd missed it.

“Now see here!” Tullius was snapping. “You do not just get to walk in here and demand the High Queen's hand in marriage! Elisif, you do not have to go through with this, these negotiations are over-”

“I accept,” said Elisif, not a regret in her mind. “Yes, Madanach, if you avenge my first husband, I'll take your son for my second and swear life-long friendship to the Reach.”

Madanach's daughter actually gasped, looking as if she was about to laugh or cry, maybe both, and Madanach just nodded.

“It shall be done, lady Queen. We shall take back the Reach and once I have my kingdom, we'll assist the Legion with retaking Eastmarch. Assuming this meets with Imperial approval, of course?” He turned to Motierre, clearly guessing who the ranking Imperial representative in the room was.

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