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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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Sooo excited to see more of this! With Ulfric POV, too, and the plot getting thicker by the minute. As soon as you mentioned that Audric was going to Solitude on a dangerous mission I wondered if he was going to go into the Embassy and encounter that dossier.

oh yeah this story is fantastic, and vilkas .. oh how that man is hot! continue and make sure that between the two there is pure and wild passion!do not make us wait so long :)

I may add to this later, but for now I think the only tags are char: tullius and angst, I think.

Mattias Tiberius Tullius was born in the Market District of the Imperial City, the second son of a baker, neither rich nor poor - but very smart. As a young man he joined the Legion to see the world, and because he was sick of brushing flour dust off of his arms. And he did travel. But he never went to war; instead, he came home to it.

Many Imperial citizens wept with horror to learn that the Dominion had taken the capital. But for Tullius, it was different. It was his home the Dominion sacked, his gleaming fountains and plazas discolored by smoke, little alleys that were the play-haunts of his childhood reduced to rubble. And it was his city that he helped lay siege to, in the end. Long before the signing of the Concordat, from the moment he gave the order to bombard the walls that sheltered him as a boy, Tullius knew that regardless of its outcome, this battle could never be called a victory.

He wants to scream, when the Nords of Skyrim speak of the treaty and call it cowardice. Yes, the legions were brimming with Nords, and they fought as bravely and died as futilely as all the other soldiers. But it was not their towns being burned, their fields being salted, their children lying dead in the streets because some Thalmor officer gave no more thought to cutting down a human child in his path than he would a stray dog. If it were, Tullius does not think they would have been so eager to go on fighting.

Or maybe they would. He doesn't pretend to understand them; there's a lot of talk about how the provinces would descend into barbarism without the Empire, but Tullius never gave much thought to it until he came to Skyrim, where a man can apparently murder his king so long as he follows the proper ritual. Regardless, they are not the true enemy. Ulfric Stormcloak's little rebellion is nothing but a distraction, and it infuriates him that he must spend lives and resources on it while the Dominion crouches in the shadows, waiting. Mocking. Once, while he is poring over reports, he gets an invitation to one of the Emissary Elenwen’s lavish little receptions. His reply is curt. The Empire sent me here to win a war, not attend parties. (Tacked on for civility's sake: Deepest regrets.) He's glad of such an ironclad excuse. He hates that sort of function anyway, but every time he sees that woman he can feel her silently laughing at him.

Tullius hates being laughed at. He hates turning prisoners over to the Dominion anytime they claim jurisdiction, on some trumped-up but unprovable accusation of Talos worship. He hates pretending not to hate them. And most of all he hates the memory of firing catapults on his home in order to save it, like driving a knife into one’s arm to lance a wound: of scorched stone and crumbling towers; of the green earth around Lake Rumare violated beyond recognition, churned into a muddy waste by wheels and marching feet; of hungry civilians cowering in their houses before the flaming missiles of their own invading army. One day, he thinks. For now his job is to put a stop to this Nord nonsense with Ulfric Stormcloak’s head on a spike, and to be as civil with the Thalmor as he can stand - and Tullius excels at doing his job. But one day, there is going to be a reckoning.

He’s looking forward to it.

“Shit.” The Nord cursed as he spilled himself, bucking against Nora one last time, holding her in place by her jaw. Even though it was futile and she was simply wasting energy she could be saving to shift into a werewolf, the urge to fight back wasn't completely squished.

That would show them.

The wolf snapped her teeth savagely, pacing. She wanted out, wanted to fight, refused to allow herself to be dominated like this.

“That's a good girl, sweetheart.” Nora refrained from mimicking the wolf in her, mindful to keep her teeth to herself as he patted her hair. This situation was bad enough without them slitting her throat.

Sick bastards are probably into that. The grimy girl in the cage was little more than skin and bones, no better than a Draugr.

Still held down by the Orc and the Redguard, her head and neck were now free to look around the room, not that it helped her any. Another table, pressed against the wall, had an assortment of potions, and Nora paled visibly when he picked up a green one, realization dawning on her. Here she'd assumed they'd each get one out and have done with her.

Then again, that was what she got for assuming.

“'s matter, sweetheart?”

This situation couldn't possibly get an- actually, never mind.

The Nord grabbed a few of the green potions, setting them on a small stand near by for ease of access. Nora might not know a destruction spell from a restoration one, but she damn well knew potions- it had never occurred to her that it could be used for... well, sexual stamina as well.

“Oh, you'll be lucky if w're done by mornin'”

Far too soon he was back at the table, the Redguard moving out of the way so the Nord could stand between her legs, rubbing himself against her with a cruel smile. The Orc decided to roughly twisted her nipples, and as Nora jolted from the sudden pain the Nord unceremoniously plunged into her, eliciting a pained screech from the girl.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, you're tight as a virgin.” He groaned as his body pounded into hers relentless, blatantly ignoring her pleas. Tight. It felt like she was being ripped in half- Nora could count the number of times she'd slept with a man on one hand, and didn't even need all five fingers. They certainly hadn't been this large, and even when she had begun having sex regularly, it was with Aela. Pair that with the fact that even her being forced to service him wasn't making this any easier, and Nora's mind was threatening to just... wander off. Maybe a minute, maybe five, maybe a second later, the Redguard's pried her mouth open and forced his way in. Not as thick, but deeper, Nora was aware of an aching pain where her jaw hinged; half from the fucking she was being forced to endure, and the other from the vice grip they were keeping to ensure she didn't bite.

“Tha's a good girl- take it all. Take it.”

Her skin was crawling, the wolf wanting out. Between the shock of the after change, current events, the blaze of the fire in front of her, and the bodies surrounding her, the air felt stifled, and she was finding it difficult to breath (though that might have mostly had to do with the girth being stuffed down her throat; the Redguard didn't seem as willing to give her a split second chance to catch her breath as the Nord had been). A warm wetness dripped down her sides, arousing a fresh wave of panic when she couldn't see. She hadn't seen a blade near any of them, nor had she felt it bite her (of course, now she only had to worry about silver weapons, but right now that didn't bring much comfort). Jolting, Nora was immediately stilled by hands on her hips and skull, but the brief change in angle allowed her to see that is wasn't red dripping down her sides, but rather white. The knowledge that the Orc had jerked himself off to her being brutalized by his friends enraged her, earning a screech (which sadly was muffled by the Redguard).

Apparently the Redguard wasn't amused, thrusting into her throat in a particularly viscous manner and holding her there as she choked.

Not having any real choice in the matter, Nora forced herself to try and regulate her breathing, to keep from passing out; though she had to wonder if that wouldn't be preferred to being conscious.

Glad you're liking it, nonny;I feel terrible writing this, butttt....

Oh God, the things I do for plots.

Eeek! So glad you like! :D

Authornon says: Me too, poor Etienne D: Thanks for reading and for taking time to comment :)

Authornon says: So happy you like it OP :) Thanks for the lovely comment

A!A: Not perfect, just some fun.

From the shadows she raised her ebony bow. The bandit leader didn't see her and soon he wouldn't know what hit him.
An arrow flew out and hit the large Orc directly in his green face. With a sharp intake of breath she looked to her hands, where her still drawn bow remained with her arrow. Some one else was taking out these bandits? Feeling a flame ignite inside her she wanted to seek out the bastard that stole her kill, better yet stole her bounty!
She crept as carefully as she could, walking down towards the bleeding body of the bandit leader who'd died undignified in murky pool of cave water. A deep black ebony arrow had struck him right through the head in the small space where his helmet showed his green face.

“Lucia?”

Eyes wide she turned to the voice behind her. How did this person know her name? Was it...? It sounded like... but no it couldn't be. She studied the shadows vaguely making out the silhouette of some one. She quickly withdrew her steel dagger, ready to fight her way out if need be.

“Who are...?” Slowly the shape emerged from the shadows. Her frown softened as she saw the familiar deep golden eyes staring back at her. In that one glance all her anger seemed to melt away.
With a wide smile she grinned. “Father! What are you doing here?”

Scales still that pale green colour, his long feathers atop his head a faint shade between yellow and white. She'd always been amazed at how well he could sneak with such vibrant colours accenting his native Black Marsh looks. How she remembered those days when she'd go off hunting with him, how they'd sneak through ruins, and how she'd watch her Father take on countless bandits like it was nothing.
He was still built strong, but maybe a little leaner in his older age. It had been some time since she'd seen him, and it seemed that now he'd even gained a deep scar across his left eye. She'd left home a few years ago now and set off on her own adventures.

He chuckled in that same throaty way that she always remembered. A small smile crept up his mouth showing her his sharp teeth. “I could say the same for you, but I suppose you got word about the bandits in this cave?”

“Ysolda at The Bannered Mare said there was a bounty.”

“I got mine from the Jarl.”

The daughter grinned at her Father. “What is it with this mine anyway? It seems every other day there's a new bandit leader here.”

Another throaty chuckle left her Father as he placed his arm around his daughters shoulders, “I know what you mean.” Glancing down at his blond Nord daughter he recognised the steel blade in her hand. “Is that the same one?”
“The one you gave me when I was ten,” She grinned back at him peeking through her messy blond hair. She was still his little girl even if she had matured into a beautiful young woman.
Carefully the Argonian reached onto his pack and retrieved his long daedric sword. “I was going to wait until your next birthday, but well...” He passed her the jagged black blade with glowing red details to Lucia.
Face lit with happiness Lucia took the blade and gave it a few playful swings. How it reminded him of those days when he'd let her play with his weapons back at their old home near Falkreath.
“Do you like it? I made it especially for you.”
“I love it! Thank you Father!” She smiled before reaching up and planting a kiss on his scaled cheek.
“You know I have some more bounties...”
“Lets go kill things.”
“That's my girl.”

tags: char: M!Argonian!DB, char: Lucia, Skyrim, Parents

Ah, such great background to Tullius!

"the green earth around Lake Rumare violated beyond recognition, churned into a muddy waste by wheels and marching feet"

As someone who played Oblivion, thank you, so painful and such great detail, amazing.

OP Here!

It can go as far as you want anon. As long as there is some cuddly fluff there. And some dragon language. I love me some of that dragon language. :D

Oh Tullius. All the hugs from my inner Imperial.

And I agree with the above poster that this is just painful if you've played Oblivion.

If you do decide to add to this, I would be delighted. It's a story worth telling, I think.

OP! totally loves this! So glad you continued, this story is exactly what I had hoped for.

Thank you! I'm glad the backstory rings true; it always feels risky to make up things that might jar with other people's perceptions, and Tullius is such a blank slate in the game. Personally I always pictured him as the sort who came from a long line of career soldiers - until I tried to write him, and he insisted on being a stolidly middle-class nobody who rose up the ranks through sheer bulldogged determination. Thanks again for a lovely comment.

Confession: I've only played Morrowind and Skyrim, so I'm glad that line rings true, too.

Thank you so much!

Another muffled grunt.

"What?", Derek grumbles, his voice husky from sleep. "It's just wolves.” She can see his silhouette of his body on the floor. He occupies most of the space between her bed and the wall, stretched out on the bedroll, one arm thrown over his face shielding his eyes.

Right. Just wolves.

Ysolda lies back down and tugs awkwardly at her crumpled-up nightdress. Maybe she should take it off… no, she just needs to close her eyes and lie still until she will finally fall asleep.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen. As tired as her body is, her mind is wide awake, now even more so than before. The silver light of the two moons throws dancing shadows on her walls, and in the darkness of the night, every sound is a thousand times louder and clearer - voices of wild animals, the chirping crickets, the creaking timber beams of her house, and Derek’s deep and steady breathing, somewhere beside her and yet so far away.

Her small bed still feels vast and empty.

“What are you doing?”

Derek peeks lazily at her beneath his arm, eyes bleary from sleep or lack of such, watching her as she climbs out of bed and slides down to him to the floor. The wood is hard under the thin bedroll but it’s cooler than the mattress and furs on her bed. And even though the space between the furniture and the wall of her house isn’t wide, they still have more room here than on the bed.

“I don’t want to sleep alone”, she whispers back, embarrassed because she knows, of course, how childish and silly her behavior is. “I know it’s stupid –“

“It is.” To her surprise, his lips twitch in amusement, then he laughs, amused but not unkind, in that low chuckle she loves so much, and reaches over to push a strand of her short hair behind her ear. “That’s what I love about you.”

“So you married me because I’m stupid?”, she pouts and he chuckles again. She adores him even more when he laughs, the fine lines around his eyes, the way his usually grim face lights up.

“Aye”, he mumbles. His finger trails down over her temple, her cheek, traces her lips which immediately curl up in a smile. “Guess it’s true what they say, that like will to like.”

“Then we’ll just be stupid together”, she giggles and scoots closer to him, not quite to his side, because she’s still too warm but close enough so he can caress her hair more easily. For a while, they lie there in silence, enjoying each others’ company, until she notices the smile had vanished from his face and while he still gently strokes her hair, the movement is distracted and he gazes absent-mindedly into the darkness.

She doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to hear that something is wrong. She wants everything to be good and peaceful. But what kind of wife would she be were she to ignore his sorrows?

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only shakes his head slightly, a crease between his dark brows. She knows the look on his face well, it’s the same look he had when he first learned about the Shout he would need to defeat Alduin. When he told her he would go to the Throat of the World soon. When he promised her he would come back and all she could think was he shouldn't make a promise he might not be able to keep.

“What did you dream about?”, she whispers when he still says silent. It doesn’t feel right to pressure him like this but it’s probably best if he talked about it, right? She wants to help him, somehow, if only by listening to him.

5. Home

In my nightmare I was back in Markarth, in that shallow tomb buried beneath the earth with the other vermin that I had called home. Home. My mother was tugging me over to a pile of rubble, feverishly burying me beneath it. I strained and fought her, trying to catch a glimpse of her face, but all I could see was long tangled auburn curls. Screams and the clash of steel echoed in the distance. Tears sprang to my eyes as Mother piled stones and bits of wood on top of me, drowning out the light and dream-me let out a sob.
"Shhh, be quiet, there's a good girl." She stroked her face, "Stay there, no matter what."
The noises were getting closer. Mother threw a pile of cloth over the top and I was left in darkness listening to my panting breath echoing in the narrow space.

A loud crash made me jump and I pressed the palm of her hand against my mouth to stifle my cry. I couldn't hear all the words in the chamber but I could hear Mother pleading and crying and men cruelly laughing. A thud of a body hitting the floor and a cheer from the men, I thrashed, trying desperately to wake up.
No! I don't want to remember…

The rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh filled the chamber and I bit my hand to muffle my sobs. I didn't want to remember. A scrape above me and light flooded into my hiding place, as Ulfric Stormcloak pulled away the block covering me. That's not right. A giant hand descended on my shoulder…

And I woke up with a jolt. There was a hand shaking me and I instinctively thrashed, fighting it, still caught in the nightmare. The shadowy figure pulled back and I began to focus. I was in the carriage heading to Markarth, Torvar snoring in one corner, Vilkas opposite me wide awake, face shadowed in the dawn light.
"You were dreaming."
I nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"We'll be at Markarth in a couple of hours. Not worth you trying to go back to sleep now."
I nodded again and he passed his water gourd. I swigged at the brackish water, grimacing slightly at the salty taste and passed it back, "Thanks."
He inclined his head and turned slightly to gaze out at the passing countryside and the lightening sky.

His Adam’s apple moves when he swallows. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds strained and – her heart skips a beat in cold fear when she realizes this – frightened. “Sovngarde”, he mumbles curtly. It only contributes to her confusion.

“Is… that not a good thing?”

He has told her about the beauty of the afterlife and while she has never cared much for race and the like before, for once she was incredibly happy that they were both Nords and would spent the next life together as they would have spent this. But now, he doesn’t sound relaxed and at peace at all.

“Sure”, he clears his throat, still not looking at her. His hand has gone still, callous fingers lingering on her soft shoulder. “Just…”

He pauses, swallows again, and she can see on his face that he is at a loss – this man who saved the world and so many lives, who has always listened to her worries, who kept her safe and caught her when she fell, even literally sometimes – for once entirely lost. “Tell me”, she whispers and sees him tremble slightly when she puts a hand over his. She has to show him she can be strong for him, be there for him, too.

*

We arrived in Markarth at late afternoon. The sight of the grey gates melding into the ravine and spilling into the green plateau of the Rift looked distinctly alien and unwelcoming. I was no student of history but I had always supposed that the Dwemer were isolationist in nature, purely from their citadels. I bet Vilkas would know for sure, but there was no way in Oblivion that I would ask him and reveal my ignorance. I reached for my sword from where it lay under the seat then leaned over to elbow Torvar hard, interrupting him mid-snore, "Wake up, we're here."
The Companion groaned and muttered, hopping out the carriage first to stretch his legs. I quickly followed suit, relishing the ache in my body as I could finally move freely. Vilkas headed straight to their bags, pulling them free from the webbing on the side of the cart and hoisting them effortlessly onto his shoulder.
Show off.
"Come along, whelps. We've a job to do."

Last time I'd been here had been a flying visit with Karliah. I'd waited at the stables whilst Karliah had snuck in to speak with the Court mage, Calcemo. I hadn't had to set foot across the gates and that had been bad enough. Torvar and I trailed behind Vilkas, up the steps and through the bronze plated gates. Butterflies were twisting my stomach.
I've got the proverbial bad feeling about this…
The market inside was teeming this early in the morning but beneath the bustle something felt rotten, an undercurrent of malice and fear rippling through the city like the streams of churning water that cascaded down from the mountain.
From the tense shoulders of Vilkas, I could see that he sensed it too, "No fighting or getting into trouble. Either of you. This place is as corrupt as fuck."
I nodded darkly, lost in the past; I knew exactly how corrupt this place could be. And it didn't look as though things had changed.

We began to head across to the Silver-Blood Inn when I got sent sprawling to the floor as a small man pushed past me screaming, "For the Forsworn." There was a press of people as the crowd tried to get away from the commotion and I was terrified that I would be trampled as I fought to get up. Feet kicked me, knocking the Slow Time Shout from my lungs, and I felt a crunch as someone stepped on my left hand. A booted foot planted on my stomach and I cried out involuntarily. Then the weight was gone and I was being unceremoniously hoisted to my feet, Vilkas a steadfast island in the flow of the crowd. He pulled me in close to his body, wrapping an arm round me and using his bulk to force a way to the side. As we made their way to where Torvar was pressed against the wall, I glanced behind as the clamour behind us died down, guards surrounding two corpses, blood pooling from both to run in rivulets down the cobblestones.
"What the fuck was that about?" Torvar cursed, glancing over as the guards began dragging both bodies away. I frowned, clutching my throbbing hand, "I'm not entirely sure, I think he said he was Forsworn but the Reachmen were always fairly peaceful."
I felt Vilkas scoff against me, "It's been a while since you've been here, hasn't it? The Reachmen are still rebelling, against the Empire, against the Nords and against the Stormcloaks. And they've gotten worse since Ulfric Stormcloak began his 'Skyrim is for the Nord's' campaign." He glanced down at me and seemed to realise that he was still holding me, releasing me quickly, "You should heal yourself."

I nodded gathering my magicka, before pausing. There was something wrong with what I had just witnessed and it niggled at me, trying to get my attention.
"Igne. Heal yourself."
Whatever it was vanished and I shook my head, trying to clear out the echoes from my past, focusing on my swelling hand and aching stomach. When I was healed we headed back towards the Inn, casting a dark glance at the blood congealing on the cobbles.

D'aw. This is cute.

We took separate rooms in the same corridor of the Inn and once I had freshened up from the bowl of clear and cool water and smoothed out the rat's nest that was my hair, I headed out to the tavern's main room. I paid for a ale and took a seat in a shadowed corner, whilst I waited for the others, casting a surreptitious eye over the other patrons. Most seemed to be miners or ruffian's from the Warrens, though there were one or two more affluent men around, probably lowly skilled silver-smiths. The mood was sombre and brooding, like the ominous calm before a storm. The thief part of me was screaming at me to get away from this wretched hive but the part of me that I had been trying to make more of an effort to listen to was saying that something was desperately wrong here and that I needed to do something about it.

Fuck.

A dark shadow crossed my vision and I started, stupidly I hadn't been paying attention to my sur-roundings any more. An aging Nord, eyes and nose red with drink, skin caked with dust and stinking of sweat and beer had plonked himself down next to me on the tiny bench.
"Hey there, sweet thing."

Oh Divines, his breath stunk.

I discretely tried to ease away but the idiot followed me, invading my personal space, "Up for a little fun?"
My fists clenched but he didn't notice. Mindful of Vilkas' earlier warning, I bit back my urge to shove him away and managed a grimacing smile, "I'm flattered, really but I'm not here to have fun, I'm here on business."
The man chuckled, "Oh aye, business is it? I get ya'. You know what, sweetie, I once fucked another whore with a face like yours. Down in the warrens." The drunken wretch was leering over me. My hand clenched round my tankard and I took another sip, trying to quell my rising temper. "Must'a been twen'y years ago." His hand came up to caress a strand of my hair but before I could take a swing at him, he was being hauled out of his seat by a very angry Vilkas who snarled in his face, "Get lost, rat."
The man fled, hitting the door jamb in his haste to escape. Deprived of my original target my anger found a new substitute.
"What in the name of Oblivion do you think you're playing at?"
Vilkas glared right back at me, "Saving you from Cidhna Mine?"
"I had it under control," I growled, standing.
"Is that what you think?" He raised a eyebrow at me.
Playing the supercilious bastard as usual.
Not waiting for a reply he continued with his lecture, "You'd have swung a punch, started a brawl and got thrown in jail for 'disturbing the peace' or the guards might even have recognised you from one of your actual crimes."
I deliberately stepped into his body space, refusing to back down, glaring up at him, "I can handle myself. I've been managing for my entire life- certainly since before you came along and I really don't need or want your protection!"
Our faces were now inches apart, flushed with rage. Torvar was shifting uneasily in the background, juggling three metal tankards spilling flat ale onto the floor,
"Maybe you two should calm down, eh? You're attracting a lot of attention."

We were. The whole wretched tavern was eyeing us, half just looking for entertainment and the other half with a slightly more sinister intent, hands dropped to concealed weapons.

This place really is a tinderbox. All that's needed is a spark…

So I backed down, meekly dropping my eyes and nodding, though the clench to my jaw remained.
"Thank you, Vilkas." My voice was perfectly level. "I'm just going to get some fresh air. I'll rejoin you both in a minute." I inclined my head in what I hoped was a graceful manner and headed for the door to calm down, still inwardly fuming.

Outside the sky had faded to the colour of a bruise as night approached and the traders were pack-ing up their wares in the tiny marketplace. Ignoring the bustle I headed down towards the ravine dangling my legs over the edge as I watched the churning torrents of water escape the city and flow into the Reach. The rumble of the water and the cooling spray from the white water helped me calm down as I stared at the endless cascade. Soft footsteps approached but I didn't need to look. I knew who it was. Vilkas sat down beside me, silent, turning his attention to the water and whilst it wasn't an uncomfortable silence I still felt the urge to break it.

"I'm sorry." I shot him a quick glance, wondering if he was angry at me for running out of the tavern or for snapping at him.Or both. He didn't seem to be but I felt the urge to try and explain, "It's just, this place, being here. It sets my teeth on edge."
"You don't like Markarth?" He sounded curious. I had suspected that a large part of his dislike for me came from my reluctance to share anything about my past.
"You could say that." I weighed the decision in my mind.

Sometimes you need to take a leap of faith.

"I'm from here. Originally. We lived in the Warrens, my mother was a whore and I never knew who my father was. Maybe he was a Reachman. It would explain a few things." I shrugged. "Anyway, when Ulfric took the city his soldiers killed everyone who 'associated' with the Reachmen. My mother included. When the soldiers came she hid me under a pile of rubble, I was about four, maybe younger. Afterwards an old lady took me in, I scavenged food for us, she gave me somewhere safe to stay."
"A hard life."
"But hardly unique. This place was full of kids like me back then, and we were the lucky ones who managed to avoid Ulfric's troops. Anyway Silda, the old woman, died from a disease when I was eleven so I decided to head to my mother's family in Bruma. They didn't really want an extra mouth to feed so I ended up pretty much neglected, stealing what I could. I had a few lucky escapes and eventually found the Thieves Guild. They took me in, gave me a home of sorts and protected me. Taught me how to survive."
I risked a glance at the man, unsure about his response to my disclosure about my rather sketchy past, but I couldn't see his expression in the dusk so I carried on, "Anyway I felt like it was time to come home. I missed Skyrim, so I hopped on a cart crossing the border and got caught up in that Stormcloak ambush." I let out a bitter laugh, "You should have seen my face when I woke up and realised I was sharing a prison cart with that bastard. And when they went to execute me first…" I shook my head as I trailed off, aware that I was babbling and I scrambled for anything to deflect his attention, "How about you? What's your story?"

He gave a small laugh, staring down at the eddies of the river and the flickering lights of the dancing torchbugs, "To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us at Jorrvaskr as happy pups, running around biting knees. I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit. We were brought there by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back. So he's not my problem any more. We've been at Jorrvaskr as long as either of us can remember, though."

I glanced at him, a small sympathetic smile twisting my lips. I'd never actually had a proper conversation with Vilkas, only squabbles and arguments, had never bothered to try to understand the man. This felt like a tiny tentative step bridging the distance between us, but it was a step and one in the right direction.
His eyes met mine in the darkness, then he stood, rolling powerful shoulders and offering me a hand, "Come on. We shouldn't leave Torvar alone in there the way our luck's going."

I grinned as I took his hand, allowing him to help pull me to my feet, "At least we haven't been attacked by a dragon."
"I'd enjoy that."
I rolled her eyes though I kept my tone light, "I bet you would, you crazy bastard."
"Hmph, some fearsome Dragonborn you are." He pushed open the door, letting me pass through first.
"Feel free to swap any time, oh brave Companion."

Not entirely joking there.

THIS. I'm an incurable Stormcloak, but this part makes me feel so ashamed of myself every single time.

Torvar was sat at the table we had vacated, hand straying to his sword as he cast a shifty glance around the tavern. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Divines save me, he looks like such an easy mark. I slid back onto the bench, leaning back on the cool stone wall and grabbing one of the beers in passing. I was somewhat surprised when Vilkas slid along the bench to sit next to me, in-stead of by Torvar.
"All friends now?" Torvar's eyes flicked between the two of us. I nodded, "It won't happen again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
I shot Vilkas a wounded glare for his comment, though it lacked my usual heat, "Anyway, what’s the plan?"
"We look for this criminal."
Would punching him count as breaking my promise?

After a drink and a meal consisting of grilled fish and leeks, much to Torvar's disgust, we retired to Vilkas's room with bottles of mead to discuss the plans for tomorrow. Torvar took a seat at the tiny desk, so I climbed onto the stone bed, that was still uncomfortable even when piled high with furs.
Damn, I really hate this city.

Vilkas leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, "The man we're looking for is called Morven; Breton, dirty blond hair, brown eyes and two distinctive tattoos on each cheek. Wanted for the murder of three Nord women over the last year, possibly more. Each time he vanishes without a trace and the local guards are unable to find him." I glanced up and looking at Vilkas I could see his thoughts were running along the same lines as mine.

Corrupt as fuck, indeed.

"So what's the plan? We poke around, ask a few questions?" Torvar grinned at me, "Or how about we get the little girl here to dress up all innocent and get her to wander around and see what trou-ble see can attract?"
I rolled my eyes, "You do realise the trouble I normally attract consists of dragons, don't you?"
"I've always wanted to kill a dragon-"
Men! I threw Vilkas's pillow at Torvar's face and he promptly caught it and threw it back.
"Enough!" Vilkas was growling, a sure sign his temper was on the boil.
"Sorry," Torvar muttered. "So, where do the scum in Markarth go?"
"There's a place called the Warrens," I could feel Vilkas's gaze rest briefly on me as he spoke, "but I don’t think we'll find him there. This guy is smart; the client's been looking for him for months to no avail. If he's here he's hiding somewhere no one would think to look."
I sighed, this was looking to be a more complicated task than I had originally thought, "There are plenty of abandoned houses here, not to mention the Dwemer ruins underneath the Keep. And we shouldn't discount the Warrens, people here look after their own. They could be hiding him."
Vilkas nodded, "I'll go check out the ruins tomorrow, Torvar you can do the Warrens and Igne you can ask around the city and check out some of those houses."
I pursed my lips. No fair. I've got the easy job here. Vilkas saw my scowl and rolling his eyes added, "We can't pick locks. You can."
Stupid logic.
"Fine."
Torvar nodded as well and we both stood up to make their way to their rooms to get what sleep they could. It would be a busy day tomorrow.

Is it too late to say I'm getting a bad feeling about this?

Farkas and Lydia are one of my OTP's in game, though they are very much a side romance in this story.

As for my DB- yeah she sucks at most things. And unfortunately for her I don't think Alduin's going to wait patiently in my story until she reaches level 50 and is super-awesome at everything...so she'd better hurry up. ;)

Glad you're enjoying the cooking- if you have any flavours you'd like adding to your meal let me know and I can work them in :D

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