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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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There's nothing about this prompt that isn't awesome.

I never thought I could be happy about the death of the dragonborn, boy was I wrong...

Yesssss, this was perfect! Adelais was wonderfully sassy, and Ondolemar was a perfect sexy bastard. This anon loves you more than words right now.

6. Arrested Developments

The search for the escaped criminal led to another dead end. The Markarth guards were utterly uncommunicative, refusing to divulge any information pertaining to 'on-going investigations.' Biting back a curse I trudged through the narrow gulley by the Shrine of Talos to go see if the boys had had more luck, only to be stopped as someone stepped out in front of me. My hands flew to my sword, breaking the seal of the scabbard but not drawing it. My guard relaxed slightly when I saw the figure was unarmed but I kept my senses alert for trouble.

"You've been looking for that man. The one who spoke to Weylin."
The man was twitchy, constantly looking over his shoulder, "Please, we can't talk here. They're all around us. Follow me." He turned to head into the gloom of the Shrine.

Hmmm. Trap or idiot. Either way I'm screwed.

But it was the only lead I had. And Vilkas would probably grumble if I turned up without checking it out. So I followed the echoing footsteps into the quiet.

He was waiting for me by the wrought iron metal of the shrine to man who had been Tiber Septim, wringing his hands nervously, "I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time."
I frowned, "How is my criminal related to the attack?"
"You want answers? Well so do I. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess."

Great, a babbler. But I knew it. Well, not in the sense of actually knowing it but I knew something was wrong with those guards.

"This has been going on for years. And all I've been able to find is murder and blood. I need help. Please. You find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay you for any information you bring me."
"I still don't see how this concerns the man I'm hunting."
"He was the last person I saw talking to Weylin, up by the highest tower. Weylin looked scared of him...I...I didn't hang around or hear what they were saying but it was definitely the man you were asking about."
"And where would I find him?"
He glanced round and leaned in to whisper, breath hot on my ear, "Nepos the Nose."
I hummed slightly under my breath, the name had been overheard in my snooping but not in the actual conversations I had had with the good citizens of Markarth.

Now do I go tell the boys or check it out myself first? Silly question really.

"I'll be back in a bit. Wait here for me."

Nepos's house was tucked away in a quiet section of the cliff face. For a possible Forsworn mastermind it was ridiculously easy to break into. I quietly padded through the entrance hall heading for the main rooms. I was halfway across the living room when all the doors opened revealing four Bretons, including Morven the criminal and an older man with a bulbous nose that I assumed was Nepos.

They sure take their nicknames literally here in Skyrim and here I was thinking it was a witty nod to his meddling.

He smiled coldly at me, "You've proven to be a real bloodhound. Well, you've sniffed me out." He paused as his servants began to advance, "I've been playing this game for almost twenty years. Sending the young to their deaths, all in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm getting a little tired of it."
"Why?"
Keep him talking. Stall for time whilst you think.
"Because my king told me to. Madanach." The name reverberated through my head, recalling half-forgotten memories. "When the uprising fell at the hands of the Nords they threw him in the mines. He still lives though and I get his messages, and I hand out his orders without question."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Though I already knew the answer.
"My dear girl, what makes you think you're getting out of here alive? And your friends- including the little snitch waiting for you at the Shrine- won't survive either. You aren't the first one to get this far but you will be the last. For my king's plans are almost at fruition."

Training with the Companions had taught me one thing, when outnumbered go on the initiative. Besides I was getting bored of his monologue.

"FUS ROH DAH."

My Shout sent them tumbling back and I dove towards them with my sword, left hand summoning a protective ward. I headed for the closest, the woman, still lying on the ground, slamming my sword into her chest, killing her instantly. The other man had recovered and cut down at me and I barely managed to block the blow, pushing from my legs to make his sword slide down the blade, forcing him off balance. I kneed him in the stomach, a Guild trick, and as he fell forward I whipped my sword down at his exposed neck, almost but not quite decapitating him. Using the momentum of the cut I spun into it, dancing away from the crackling sparks Nepos had aimed at me, my ward catching what I couldn't avoid before it flickered out as my pitiful magicka ran low. That was alright, I had more tricks up my sleeve.

"YOL TOOR SHUL"

The jet of fire caught him perfectly and he screamed an inhuman sound as his flesh burned, filling the air with a sickly sweet smell, staggering round until eventually he collapsed, limbs still twitching. I charged the dying Nepos only to be slammed into the ground as Morven tackled me, sword flying out my hand. His hands found my throat cutting off the next Shout I had been trying to voice. The Guild had taught me how to fight dirty and my thumb shot up into his eye, a howl of pain coming from my assailant, and my other hand pried at his thumbs to no avail. Spots were dancing in front of my vision and I was choking, desperate for air. My free hand clawed at the front of his tunic, brushing against a wrapped leather handle and instinct had me grab the tiny dagger and plunge it into his stomach. He kept on choking me even as his blood poured down onto me so I kept stabbing him as I fought unconsciousness. As the blackness filled my vision his grip weakened and his body collapsed on top of mine. I shoved him to one side, enough for me to climb out from under him, still coughing as I desperately filled my lungs with air.

I knelt on my hands and knees for a long moment, panting, throat raw.

Damn.

I double-checked they were all dead before I looked round. On the bedside table, in plain sight, lay a battered old journal. I flicked it open. It was written in a familiarly illegible script.

Great. Apparently ancient Dwemer is the fashionable career criminal's go-to language. I'll have to bloody learn it when I get a chance.

Fumbling around on Nepos's desk I scribbled 'Calcemo' on a scrap of vellum and tucked it inside his journal, shoving it deep into my pack. I might be screwed but I couldn't afford to lose this journal. If the worst came to the worst Vilkas would know what to do. Now I had to save Eltrys. If I could. What I needed was more time.

"TIID KLO UL"

The Shout was agony on my sore throat but time slowed, turning the world blue. I headed up, no sign of the guards yet, and hid the satchel in the doorway of the empty house at the top of the stairs. Then I ran. The world righted as I slammed open the door to the Shrine and sprinted down the steps, stopping at the foot as I stared at the crumpled body stretched across the shrine like a sacrificial offering.

Too late.

Lifting my eyes from my failure to the shadows at the edge of the room I took in the entire company of guards, weapons drawn, that now surrounded me. The dark primitive part of me was urging me to fight, to slaughter them all, to make them pay but the more rational side was coldly calculating. I'd never win and then Eltrys would never get his justice that he had gave his life for.
Three of them approached, one of them holding manacles, "You are under arrest for the murders of Eltrys and Betrid Silver-Blood and for conspiracy to overthrow Jarl Igmund."

Who's the other one? But they clearly hadn't realised Nepos is dead. That's something.

"You have two choices, murderer. You can fight us and we'll kill you and those two louts you came here with or you can surrender and we'll let them live and you go to jail."

That was a choice?

I let my weapon drop, clanging to the floor harshly in the silent Shrine.
"Smart girl."

There were reinforcements waiting outside as well. Clearly the corrupt guards were taking no chances, which meant that Nepos's plot must be close to fruition.

Why are things always so bloody complicated?

If it had been anyone else sent on this mission I would have bet all my gold that this would have turned out to be a nice easy job, probably with Morven wandering around on a conveniently deserted path in the countryside. The manacles were chafing my wrists already and I couldn't help but recall Helgen.

Though I doubt Alduin will drop by to distract them this time. I shot a quick glance at the sky just in case. Nope. Bloody unreliable dragon..

We were passing by the Keep now, taking me the back route to avoid attention. Two familiar figures were standing by the entrance and my heart sank as I recognised my two companions.

Please don't do anything stupid.

"What's going on?" Vilkas spoke, a hard edge to his voice.
"None of your business. Now move along."
"Where are you taking her?"
"She's under arrest for murder and for being a member of a Forsworn conspiracy plotting to over-throw the Jarl."
"What?! This woman is a Companion-"
I shook my head minutely at him, urging him to back off, "Vilkas, don't worry, I'll be fine."
The guard holding me snorted, "I doubt it lass, you're going to Cidhna Mine. And those men in there haven't seen a woman in a long time."

Both Vilkas' and Torvar's eyes darkened angrily, Torvar trying to push through the wall of guards, "Let her go, you bastards!"
"It's fine." My gaze caught Vilkas's and I flicked my gaze up the stairs to the empty house, "Trust me."

He didn't like abandoning a fellow Companion one bit, I could tell, but he nodded and pulled Torvar back keeping his stare locked on me. I smiled weakly at them both as I was ignobly dragged away, "Sorry."

They escorted me into the mine. Once inside I was made to strip under the watchful gaze of the guards. Naked, two of them held me whilst the lone female guard roughly groped my body, presumably to make sure that I wasn't smuggling anything in. I bore it all with an impassive expression, though my jaw clenched as her fingers probed inside me. As soon as I was dressed in the scratchy sackcloth prison garb I was unceremoniously shoved through a thick metal door which locked behind me.

I was in a large cavern with several convicts staring at me, picks forgotten as they sized me up. I shivered at the expression in their eyes, ignoring them and trying to take stock of my surroundings. At the far end of the cavern was a locked gate, a massive Orc stood outside it, arms folded. A movement to my left caught my eye, the men were creeping closer, staring hungrily at me. There were also more of them.

Fuck.

Quickly I ran through my options; Option One, play meek and try and avoid them. Will never work and they'd probably take my silence as consent. Result, get raped. Option Two, go on the offensive. Will never work and will be overpowered easily. Result, get raped. Option Three…

"I need to speak with Madanach." I spoke loudly, confidently, glaring at them, "I have an important message for him about his plot."
The large monster of an Orc pushed through the growing crowd, he easily rivalled Farkas in size, "What message?"
"That's for Madanach's ears only."
The men were pressing closer now, desperate not to show weakness I kept my gaze locked on the Orc, trying to ignore them and trying to stop my imagination from running to what would happen if my bluff failed.
"Madanach doesn't see just anybody."
"It's about Nepos the Nose."
The Orc seemed to be weighing it in his head but the men surrounding us didn't like that one bit. One of them called out, "Let us fuck her, Borkul."

No!

"Look, if he doesn't like what I have to say, he can throw me back out here and you boys get your fun. But if you rape me first I will never tell and your little rebellion will be doomed. All those years of planning gone and you'd still be stuck in here…." I trailed off suggestively, staring into the tiny dark eyes of the Orsimmer, "Do you really want to take the chance?"
He glared at me, snatching my arm and shoving me through the crowd of men. He unlocked the gate and pushed me through before relocking it behind me.

I didn't wait around, hearing the jeers and grumbling of the prisoners behind me. Feet stumbling on the uneven floor I made it round the first bend before the shaking of my body overwhelmed me and I sank to the floor, biting on my hand to muffle the racking sobs, trying to fight to push it all back down. I was so close to breaking, all my bravado fled. I was the Dragonborn, I was meant to be able to handle myself but really I just felt like a lost little girl. I didn't know how long I knelt there but when I looked up there was a man stood over me. I froze for a second before scrambling to my feet, eyes wide with surprise.

He was a small man, a similar height to me, but powerfully built with dirt encrusted, dark skin and silver braided hair. His calm grey eyes were appraising and sympathetic but behind them a fire burned.

Madanach. The King in Rags.

Pairing: FDB/Madanach, side pairings of Argis/Elisif and a Cicero/Kaie/Eola love triangle developing
Relationship: het
Summary: The Battle of Windhelm is under way and all is set for a great victory for the Imperial side. But sometimes victory comes at too high a cost...
Warnings/kinks: Smut-free, but there is drama, angst and death.
A/N: Apologies for the delay, I had some major blockage on this one. Partly it was writing another battle so soon... but partly the ending for this one was a bit emotional. Tissues at the ready, you will cry at this.

Notes on the Dovah used:

Hofkahsejun = palace
Zeymah vomindoraan = indescribable brother
Vohahdrimmaar = mindless one, ie. idiot lunatic
Ziizahro = literally spirit-finite-balance, translates as unbalanced mind. Cicero's name in Dovah.
Maar-Dinok = literally terror-death, translates as bringer of terrifying death. Madanach's name in Dovah.
Ahmul = husband

Day broke over the Aalto, light bathing the camp as the Forsworn hauled themselves out of their beds (or indeed other people's beds in many many cases), all seeking curative potions or casting Restoration spells. It was not like the highly disciplined Legion camps Liriel was used to, that was for certain. All the same, morale was high, even if the mood was a lot tenser than the previous night had been.

In the distance, the sound of the Empire's siege engines had started up with the dawn, a reminder that not far away was a city under siege, and tonight they'd be assaulting it.

“So what is the plan?” Liriel asked, poring over a plan of the city in Madanach's command tent. They'd spent most of last night in each other's arms, constantly touching, kissing, fucking and finally falling asleep in an exhausted heap in his bed. Now, while they were both up and dressed, Madanach had hardly left her side and even when he wasn't looking directly at her, he'd be touching her in some way, having her on his lap or an arm around her or hand resting lightly on hers. As if he was afraid if he let her go, she'd be gone again.

“The plan is to muster the troops at Windhelm's gates tonight,” said Madanach, squeezing her hand. “The Empire's been softening them up for the last week, cutting off supplies, bombarding their city. We're nearly ready, we just need to get their gates down and get in there, but the Nords are being stubborn and those walls are solid. So we need a way to persuade the city to let us in.”

Liriel glanced at Madanach, and at Argis and Kaie on the other side of the table, all smirking and she guessed that this was already planned for.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, keen to know what he was thinking. Madanach's grin broadened as he contemplated what he'd set in motion.

“Turns out Ulfric's city is home to more than just Nords. Turns out there's a sizeable population of Dunmer refugees and Argonian dockworkers there, all appallingly treated and all hating Ulfric. Turns out a few of them have been acting as Imperial informants for some time. We just took advantage of that and persuaded them to help. They don't want to take the risk themselves, but they're quite willing to store supplies for us and play host to a number of my agents, not to mention a few Dunmer and Argonian legionnaires the General managed to find for me. Tonight, when I give the signal, those hidden agents are going to be breaking out, killing the guards, making for the gates and letting the rest of us in.”

“Just like in Markarth,” Liriel breathed, feeling her heart sing at the prospect. They'd be taking Windhelm, the Stormcloak city falling before them, Ulfric dead like the traitor he was, the Forsworn taking their revenge.

“Just so,” Madanach confirmed. “Never neglect the lower strata of any society, Liriel – if you need to take a city, finding allies on the inside is key. If even the worst off support its leaders, you will need to bring everything you have. But if they're desperate for a change... the place is already yours.”

“We're going to win this one, aren't we?” Liriel whispered, not wanting to start celebrating yet, but at the same time, barely able to contain her excitement.

“We're going to take that city and slaughter Ulfric before the Nords' very eyes!” Kaie laughed, fingering her axes, and Argis was grinning, eyes dancing with delight. He caught her eye and nodded. He had a sister and mother to avenge, and his wife-to-be's husband too. He was up for this, more than up for this. Liriel glanced at Cicero, sitting quietly in the corner but buzzing with energy, grin splitting his face. Yes, there'd be blood tonight... blood and a victory they'd sing of through the ages. And it was about to get even better. Madanach had called her Queen of Dragons since they'd first met, with varying degrees of respect. Time to prove that title.

“I should tell you something else too,” said Liriel, fingers gripping the table so she didn't do anything as embarrassing as waving her hands around or squealing. “I've got another trick up my sleeve. Want to see it?”

Everyone did. Excellent. This was going to be fun.

Telling them all to come with her, she led them out of the camp to the open plain. Time to summon the secret weapon.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cariad, this had better be worth seeing,” Madanach said, surveying the Aalto plain, clearly wondering why they'd all been hauled out here to see a plain that looked identical to how it had done before Liriel got here. “What is it, and where have you hidden it? Unless it's about to rise out of one of the hot pools, I can't see where it might be.”

“Maybe it's invisible,” Argis suggested. “Maybe that's the secret.” This was met with a snigger from Kaie and Cicero bouncing on the spot and squealing that yes, all the best ways to kill things happened when the victim couldn't see them coming.

“Afraid not,” said Liriel, still unable to stop smiling. “You'll see him when he gets here sure enough. OD-AH-VIING!”

Cicero's eyes widened as he recognised the Shout.

“Listener!” he wailed, drawing his bow. “Listener, we do not have a trap this time, what if he eats us? Cicero doesn't want to be eaten!”

“Trap?” Argis breathed, remembering where Cicero and Liriel had had to trap something. “Liriel, no, you didn't...”

A dark shape emerged on the horizon, followed by a gust of wind that nearly swept them off their feet, and all over the camp, the sound of mage armour casting could be heard as the Forsworn raced for their weapons.

“Hold fire!!” Liriel cried, trying to be heard over the din. “He's on our side!”

The camp might not have heard, but Madanach did.

“HOLD FIRE!!!” he roared, and most of the nearer warriors did. Odahviing came in to land in front of them, dust flying everywhere and the ground shaking.

Cicero had lowered his bow, still looking nervous. Kaie still had fire in her hands, but had lowered them. Argis had put his bow away but his eyes never left the dragon, and Madanach was staring at Odahviing in disbelief.

“Davrha-Brenhina,” he whispered, stunned. “You really can summon dragons.”

Liriel nodded, hoping she didn't look too smug. “Not all dragons. Just this one. His name's Odahviing and he was so impressed by me killing Alduin, he offered to help me in future. Odahviing! This is my family – most of it. The non-Elven half of it.”

“Drem Yol Lok,” Odahviing murmured, eyes sweeping curiously over them. “It is most pleasant to look upon the kin of Liriel Thur. I remember your zeymah vomindoraan from the hofkahsejun in Whiterun.”

Cicero squeaked and put his bow away, bouncing up to Odahviing and beaming. “Hello!” he gasped. “Humble Cicero at your service, dear Odahviing. Are you going to help us kill lots of people in Windhelm?”

Odahviing's lip curled back, revealing those deadly teeth in all their glory. “If Liriel wishes it, I should be honoured. But I do not know these others. Liriel, who are they?”

“That's Argis, and that's his sister Kaie – two very dear friends of mine,” Liriel told him. “They're both very fierce warriors, and Kaie knows magic too.”

“Hello,” said Kaie faintly. “You're a dragon. A real live dragon! We're talking to a dragon!”

“She misses nothing, this one,” Odahviing growled, watching Kaie and Cicero squealing at each other. “Another vohahdrimmaar like Ziizahro. Still, he can fight, there is no reason she cannot. I can see she has power. Her zeymah now, he does not... but he reminds me of the Nords of old. I have killed many like you, but they all fought bravely. Were you not kin to the Dovahkiin, it would be an honour to face you in mortal combat.”

“I... thanks,” said Argis, having sufficient wit to work out that was probably a compliment. “You'd be a challenge. But that's alright, I like challenges.”

“Brave,” Odahviing laughed. “I like brave. So much easier to kill the brave.” Ignoring Cicero as he began to squeal see, see, hadn't he been saying that for years, Odahviing turned to look at Madanach, who'd not stopped staring at the dragon since he landed. Mortal eye met dragon eye, and for a moment, neither moved. Liriel moved closer to Madanach, growing uneasy. Odahviing was after all a very big dragon and Madanach was exactly the type to do something to provoke him. All Madanach was doing at the moment was staring the dragon in the eye, but for all Liriel knew, dragons saw that as provocation.

“Odahviing,” Liriel began, linking her arm with Madanach's. “Odahviing, this is Madanach, he's...”

“Strong,” Odahviing growled. “The heart of a Dovah, this one – power of one too. Take care, Liriel, he might be able to defeat you in a fight.”

“I don't plan on fighting him,” Liriel said, rubbing Madanach's arm. “Odahviing, Madanach's my...” She hesitated, and Madanach tore his eyes away from the dragon to look at her, curious as to how exactly she planned to describe their relationship. Liriel wasn't sure either, but in the end she decided to just bite down and go with it.

“Husband,” she finally admitted out loud, feeling the tension finally drop out of her as Madanach's fingers tightened around her own. “He's my husband, or he will be as soon as we can organise a wedding.”

She was vaguely aware of Kaie cheering behind her and Cicero squealing and offering to form part of the bridal party, but her attention was focused on Odahviing. The dragon had visibly relaxed on hearing her words.

“That is well, Dovahkiin. He is a worthy consort for you. There is no honour in marrying a weakling. Maar-Dinok Ahmul-se-Dovahkiin need fear no harm from me. As long as he does not... ill-treat Liriel Thuri.”

It had been a very long time indeed since Madanach had had to deal with in-laws making intimidating promises as to what would happen if he hurt their daughter, but he'd coped then and had not forgotten how in the interim.

“I will treat her like the mighty queen she is,” Madanach promised, sliding his arms around her. “Only a fool would invite a dragon into his bed and then treat her with anything less than respect.”

“No Dovah worthy of the name would take a fool as mate in the first place,” Odahviing grunted, but he looked satisfied. “Very well, Liriel, your ahmul is safe. Now, did you call me merely to introduce your new kin, or did you have another purpose in mind? Ziizahro mentioned slaughtering a city of the joor...”

“He did indeed,” said Liriel, eyes shining. “Odahviing, tonight we're attacking Windhelm – it's the big city just over the hill. Will you be able to help? Our warriors will be in the fur armour, the Empire will be in red – they're on our side – and the enemy are the ones in blue, the Stormcloaks.”

Odahviing's grin widened. “Thuri, it shall be a pleasure. I shall roost nearby – when you are ready to attack, call me. I shall come and aid you.”

Liriel thanked him and waved as Odahviing took off, heading for the nearby mountains to wait for nightfall.

“See, the Stormcloaks don't stand a – mmph!” Madanach had kissed her, arms around her neck, fingers in her hair, and when he broke off, he looked delighted.

“Davrha-Brenhina in truth,” he murmured, stroking her face. “And you agreed to marry me. Liriel, do you have any idea how proud I'm feeling right now? You've got a dragon!”

Liriel could tell, she could see it in his eyes. Husband, he was going to be her husband, and even her dragon thought she'd done the right thing.

“Of course I'm marrying you,” she whispered. “My dragon approves, I have to now.”

“Yes, you do!” Kaie interrupted, hugging Liriel from behind. “My da's been lonely and unhappy for years and then you came along and actually made him smile again, damn right you're marrying him!”

Kaie let go and then it was Argis' turn. He just pulled Liriel into a bear hug, crushing her to him and kissing her cheek.

“Welcome aboard, stepma,” he said, laughing. “Da's a lucky man.”

“Thank you,” Liriel gasped, breathless as the reality sank in that she was really marrying Madanach, really going to be his queen... and she wasn't afraid or worried or anything, just happy. Really, really happy, and were those tears in her eyes, she wasn't crying, surely not, where was Madanach, she needed a cuddle right now.

As it turned out, he was being hugged to death by a demented jester.

“Madanach, sweet Madanach, Listener-husband, Cicero is happy for you, very happy for you indeed! That makes you one of us! Officially! Cicero is allowed, no, required, to stab anyone who wants a contract on you! Cicero could not be more pleased!”

It was a mark of Madanach's good mood that he'd not cast a cloak spell to get rid of Cicero and almost appeared to be hugging him back (although he would later deny he'd done any such thing). All the same, Liriel felt it was probably wise to intervene. She managed to coax Cicero away from Madanach, submitted to the inevitable cuddling herself, and agreed that yes, it was very good news, yes she was happy, yes of course Cicero could come to the wedding. He seemed satisfied with that, bouncing off with Kaie and Argis, asking lots of questions about Forsworn weddings. Questions that Liriel would probably have to ask herself at some point, but not yet. Right now, they had a battle to win.

“I should have mentioned the dragon sooner, shouldn't I?” Liriel said sheepishly. Madanach nodded, but was still smiling.

“I'm not complaining,” he told her. “I'm just wondering how you found him. How did you get a dragon to work for you?”

Liriel took him by the hand and led him back to camp, realising they'd hardly had the chance to talk about it all, what with one thing and another. So she told him the story of how she'd trapped Odahviing and defeated Alduin, and if Madanach had not already wanted her as his queen before hearing it, he would have proposed on the spot afterwards.

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

Night fell, the moons rose and the aurora blazed over Windhelm, the siege engines finally silent, but the tension in the air was not peace, far from it.

“This operation of yours had better work, Madanach,” Tullius growled, impatient. He'd have been all for attacking hours ago, but Madanach had persuaded him night was better for this sort of thing, and Rikke had agreed it would be better if there were fewer civilians around. Now he had Madanach and his eclectic inner circle grouped around his command tent, Madanach in a new version of Forsworn gear with more layers and fur covering all skin below his neck, and his daughter wearing the same, Madanach's son dressed from top to toe in ebony, and then there was the Dragonborn herself in red and black and that ridiculous jester of hers in the same. An odder group you wouldn't find anywhere, but they all looked calm and they all looked focused.

“It'll work,” Madanach said calmly. “My people know what they're doing.”

Tullius hoped so, for all their sakes. He'd reluctantly given the names of the Imperial operatives in Windhelm and written a letter of introduction for them on Madanach's behalf and let him get on with it, guessing that if anyone knew anything about exploiting racial tensions for politics it was the King in Rags.

Now they were all waiting to see if this had paid off, all watching from the hill while the massed ranks of Imperial soldiers on one side and a chaotic gathering of Forsworn on the other all stood ready to attack. They just needed the signal.

Madanach took a deep breath, squeezed his son's hand, then his daughter's, even gave the idiot jester a pat on the shoulder before turning to the Dragonborn and taking her face in his hands, kissing her full on the lips in a frankly obscene display before a cough from Rikke distracted them both. Great, a good Legate gone – she'd never be able to stay in the Legion once she'd married a lawful ruler. Liriel just kissed him on the cheek and told him softly to get out there and take that city, and he kissed her hand, whispered “we'll take it together, Queen of Dragons” and stepped out of the tent, hands raised, magic blazing at his fingers. Crouch down, swirling his hands to summon power, then head back and hands raised, green light blazing at this point... and then down, the magic sweeping out across the camp and even Tullius could feel this, life, energy, a call to fight, a rush of power calling on all those who wanted to see the Stormcloak fall. Judging from the rustle presently going through both Legion and Forsworn, that was an awful lot of people.

Next thing Tullius knew, there was magic firing on the docks as the Argonian Assemblage flung its doors open, and a small group of Forsworn and Argonian undercover Legionnaires swept out, slaughtering the guards and rushing up the stairs to the city's side entrance. Meanwhile, inside Windhelm itself, there was more magic and the screaming had started, as more Forsworn and Dunmer emerged from the Grey Quarter, answering the call. The side doors were flung open to let the dock attackers in, then the battle inside was on. The minutes ticked by as the troops below began to get restless, chafing for it to be their turn. Then it happened. The great gates swung open as the Forsworn slaughtered the gate guards and opened the way for their brethren on the outside.

“Now, Dragon-Queen,” Madanach whispered, and Liriel stepped forward, raising her voice in a Thu'um.

“OD-AH-VIING!”

Wingbeats, and then a dragon swept over their heads. Tullius could have cursed his luck, but neither Liriel nor Madanach looked anything other than pleased as the beast descended on the city, ignoring the Forsworn and Legionnaires completely but raining Oblivion itself down on the Stormcloaks.

“Did you just summon a dragon to help?” Rikke said, her voice faint. Liriel nodded, gleeful. Rikke stared at her then actually bowed her head.

“Dragonborn,” she whispered. “By the gods.”

Down below, the Forsworn had cast their mage armour as one and were pouring over the bridge into the city, a horde of screaming fanatics eager for revenge against a Jarl who'd once stormed Markarth and put half the city to the sword. Madanach had assured him his troops were only after revenge on Ulfric, not civilians, but looking at that mob, Tullius wasn't nearly so sure they'd remember that in the heat of battle.

“Dear gods,” Tullius whispered to himself as the carnage began. “What have we done?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoke. Fire. Screaming. Chaos. Liriel coughed as she pushed her way through Windhelm's streets, the ReachGuard's magic arcing through the air and slamming into Stormcloaks while Legionnaires and ReachGuard melee fighters were going hand to hand in the streets. While homes and businesses were for the most part being left alone, some of the buildings did have flaming roofs and Liriel had already seen Rolff Stone-Fist lying face down outside the Candlehearth in a pool of blood – part of Madanach's deal with the Dunmer was that Rolff was the first to die, and so it had been.

Now she and Madanach were forcing their way through the melee, troops on their side seeing Reach gear and the Brotherhood's red and black and falling back to let them through. Tullius and Rikke were up ahead carving a way through the Stormcloaks still fighting, and Madanach and Liriel were both sending Destruction magic over their heads to ease their passage. Behind them, Argis brought up the rear, ensuring no one got too close and keeping an eye out behind for sneak attacks. Cicero and Kaie were out there too, off in another direction wreaking havoc. No doubt they'd catch up later. Right now, all Liriel cared about was reaching their ultimate goal – the Palace of the Kings.

Another corner turned, another blast of fire from her and Madanach combined to help clear the way for Tullius and Rikke, and then they were out into the courtyard in front of Ulfric's palace.

Odahviing was hovering overhead, breathing fire all over a hapless group of Stormcloak soldiers. So distracted were the ground troops by the dragon that they didn't notice the enemy leaders all emerging on the ground until it was too late. Liriel slit the throat of one from behind before casting Chain Lightning on the rest. Madanach joined her, and the combined swords of Tullius, Rikke and Argis did the rest. Just the palace's doors to get down now. No Hall of the Dead with a side entrance this time, but this time, they had a dragon.

“Odahviing!” Liriel cried. “ODAHVIING!”

The dragon turned his head, before taking off, turning around and coming to land next to Liriel.

“Thuri?” he asked, surprised and a little disappointed to be interrupted in the middle of battle. “Did you need something else?”

“Could you get those doors open for us?” Liriel asked. “The enemy leader's hiding in there, coward that he is. We need to get in and deal with him.”

Odahviing grunted, cruel smile on his face. “Leave it to me, Thuri. Those doors will not stand up to one of the Dov. FUS RO DAAAAHHHH!”

When shouted by a dragon, it was amazing just how much more power that Shout had. The doors went flying, and Madanach, who'd heard the same Shout used to lay waste to his troops and kill his daughter, actually made the Reach sign against ill luck to see what it had done to that palace. Still, he'd been a soldier too long to get sentimental and Reachmen weren't superstitious by nature, despite appearances to the contrary – they believed in magic because it worked, and no native of the Reach was going to get too worked up about displays of magical prowess when it was wielded against their enemies. Seconds later and he'd pulled himself together, racing into the palace after Liriel.

A few Stormcloaks raced to fight them, easily dealt with – Liriel blasted one off his feet with fire and Rikke did for another, while Argis took two out in quick succession. Madanach's lightning picked off the stragglers, and then it was just Ulfric Stormcloak sitting on his throne, Galmar Stone-Fist standing before him with battle-axe in hand.

“Give it up, Ulfric!” Tullius shouted, sword drawn. “Your city's on fire, the rest of the country's in Imperial hands. Stand down, it's over. Your treason's at an end.”

Ulfric didn't even look bothered, just surveying them calmly, the faintest hint of a smirk as his eyes fell on Madanach.

“The Empire's found some strange bedfellows, it seems,” Ulfric laughed. “I'd heard stories of Forsworn attacking Kastav and Amol. Tell me, Madanach, what did they offer you? I want to know what it took to get you to throw away your principles and get in bed with them.”

Madanach's fingers flexed, lightning crackling between them, but he kept his head.

“I know the value of compromise, Ulfric, and unlike you, I had a vision of a land without war to hope for. Peace, Ulfric. A life spent doing something other than looking for a fight to end it so you can get to Sovngarde.”

That did get to Ulfric. “Do not speak to me of Sovngarde, witchman. What would you know of our sacred traditions?” he snapped, glaring at Madanach. It was not the Reach-King who answered him but Rikke, who knew the traditions all too well.

“He may not be a Nord, but I am,” Rikke shouted. “Ulfric, murdering the High King, defying an Empire you swore loyalty to – this is not our way! You swore an oath, Ulfric! When you joined the Legion, when you became Jarl, when you were at the Moot and Torygg became King – you swore oaths of loyalty! And you broke them all!”

“An oath made to one who cannot keep faith in turn is no oath at all, you know that, Rikke!” Ulfric snarled. “To see you still drinking the Empire's milk – you're not the woman I thought you were.”

“No, and I am glad of it,” said Rikke, face stern and only the faintest flicker in her eyes betraying any regret or sadness at how things had come to this. That was Legate Rikke, a soldier and professional to the end. Liriel had always liked her for that very reason. “General, over to you.”

“Thank you, Legate.” Tullius stepped forward and raised his voice. “Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, you are guilty of murder, treason and insurrection. Stand down to face the Emperor's justice. Stone-Fist, if you surrender now, I'm prepared to accept you were just following orders and commute your execution to imprisonment.”

“Oh gods, don't tell him that,” Madanach muttered, clearly recalling what had happened when he'd been given that choice. Fortunately, Galmar Stone-Fist was no Reachman, with only an afterlife in the Void and then a return to a new life to look forward to on death. He was a Nord to the last.

“True Nords never back down!” Galmar shouted and he raised his axe, heading straight for Madanach, who already had frost magic going, but it only slowed Galmar a little.

A vision flashed before Liriel of Arnbjorn's beast form leaping on Madanach, tearing him apart, blood everywhere, of it taking all her skill in Restoration to fix the damage and he still had the scars. They'd been separated at the time, but she'd still not been able to bear seeing him hurt. Now he was hers again, her husband to be? Never again will they lay a finger.

“FUS RO DAH!”

Galmar was flung back into the wall, and Liriel leapt after him, Dawnbreaker drawn. She shoved the golden blade into his chest and finished him off with fire.

“You have no honour, witch-elf,” was all Ulfric said as he watched Galmar die, which was a bit rich considering he'd served a similar fate on others many times himself. “Are your ancestors proud of you now?”

“My ancestors are gods,” Liriel laughed. “Come face me, Stormcloak. Come, coward, come face a dragon!”

“Five on one are no honourable odds,” Ulfric growled, reaching for his sword. “But I can even them, Dragonborn. FUS RO DAH!” The Shout sent Tullius and Rikke flying back, and even Argis lost his footing. But Liriel only staggered and Madanach's training with Liriel and long discussions over how the Thu'um worked hadn't gone to waste. He'd got a ward up at the first syllable and the Shout didn't affect him. As Ulfric got up, sword in hand, Madanach cast armour and reached for his axe.

“That it?” Madanach laughed. “You Nords can't even get magic right.”

“I don't need it, Witch-King,” Ulfric snarled, advancing on him, sword raised. “I fought you before and won.”

“I surrendered, Stormcloak. It's not the same,” Madanach purred, although it was breaking his heart to remember Eithne's broken form. But she was gone, and he'd see her again one day – maybe she'd already come back, who knew. But he could feel her spirit, whispering in his ear, whispering for the father she'd adored to finally avenge her.

“Surrender, yes,” Ulfric laughed. “I remember. You gave up. Not so powerful after all, were you? At least you knew when you were beaten. Pity you forgot that lesson.”

“I had children, Ulfric,” Madanach snarled, backing away, lightning in his free hand ready to go. “I had a people who needed me. But most of all, I had one thing you don't.”

“And what would that be?” Ulfric asked as he advanced, that patronising smirk never leaving his face. Well, it wouldn't be there much longer, Sithis willing.

Madanach just smiled. “I know how to play the long game, Nord. I understand strategy. Sadly for you, I don't think you do.”

“What are you talking about- ack!” Dawnbreaker emerged through his ribcage as Liriel shoved her blade through his chest. Shrouded Boots had made no sound on the floor and Liriel had been silent as she'd crept up behind him, taking advantage of Ulfric being distracted by Madanach. Ulfric lived just long enough to look up and see Liriel smiling sweetly down at him before the Blade of Woe slit his throat and the Bear of Windhelm's Voice was forever silenced.

Liriel retrieved Dawnbreaker, wiping her blades off on Ulfric's clothes before sheathing them and looking up at Madanach. She looked like she was about to say something but no words came. She'd done it. They'd done it. Eithne avenged, Markarth avenged, Ulfric Stormcloak lying dead on the floor and it was over, all over at last. Madanach tore his eyes away from Ulfric's body to look up at her. Dragonborn, assassin, mage... and going to be his queen.

Silver eyes met gold and then he was in her arms and they were kissing, hands all over each other, fingers in each other's hair, backing up until they hit the table and then Madanach was perching on it, holding Liriel to him, kissing her for all he was worth and honestly if they'd been alone, just the two of them, they'd have been hard at it on Ulfric Stormcloak's table while his body cooled behind them.

Sadly for them both, Tullius had picked himself up by this point, with a little help from Rikke, and coughed rather pointedly.

“Excuse me, Dragonborn, but we do have a city to set to rights – are you and the Reach-King quite done?”

Liriel let Madanach go, blushing and hastily patting her hair back into shape. Madanach pushed himself off the table, amused at her embarrassment. Altmer, always so unwilling for anyone to see them actually demonstrate that they had animal instincts like the rest of the world. Not that he exactly wanted to show Liriel off to the world in that way but all the same, it still amused him.

Argis was also back on his feet, helmet off and looking so proud of the pair of them, and that was a sight to warm Madanach's heart, seeing his son smile again. My boy is happy again, I have a son again. Liriel stepped back to talk to General Tullius and Legate Rikke, leaving Argis to speak with Madanach. His eyes were glistening as he wiped at the corners.

“You did it,” he gasped, smiling despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. “You did it!”

“We really did,” Madanach replied, closing his eyes and finally feeling his daughter's ghost laid to rest, a caress of his hand and a kiss on the cheek and a whispered thank you and knowing she was at peace in the Void now. His daughter avenged and his son able to be his son again – while his family could never be what it had once been, it was healed at last. Argis stepped forward and then the two men were embracing, tears rolling down both their cheeks as two warriors who rarely gave in to their more vulnerable emotions finally let them go.

“Love you, Da,” Argis whispered in his ear. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“What, for treating you like you weren't mine for twenty years?” Madanach said, voice muffled as he rested his head against Argis' shoulder, and how in the name of Anu had the boy got so damn tall??

“It's alright,” Argis gasped. “It's OK. You did what you had to. You were protecting me the only way you could. But it's OK now, your first wife's dead, you're king, and you did it, you killed Ulfric, you avenged Eithne, you...” Argis had to stop there, choking on the tears as he held his father close. Madanach patted him on the back, knowing that of all of them, Argis was the only one who understood, the only other survivor of the day things had fallen apart. Now, by the grace of the old gods and his Queen of Dragons, he'd finally been able to put his family back together.

“Liriel did it,” Madanach said, letting Argis go, and turning to look at Liriel, who'd been watching them, tears in her own eyes but happy smile all over her face. “Thank her, I'd never have done any of this without her.”

Argis let his father go and the next thing Liriel knew, Argis had pulled her into a bear hug.

“You don't owe me anything,” Liriel whispered, hugging him back. “You're my friend and you always will be. You just go be happy with Elisif and you give her a hug from me and tell her we sorted Ulfric out.”

“I will,” Argis said softly, letting Liriel go with a kiss on the cheek. “She'll be pleased to hear that. Listen, I'm heading back to the camp, never was one for victory speeches. I'll see you two back there?”

Liriel and Madanach both promised they would, and let him go. Outside the city was quiet – frost magic was being cast, but to put fires out, not kill, and Liriel could see kneeling Stormcloak soldiers being watched by unsmiling Legionnaires. They'd taken Windhelm for the Legion. Rikke was kneeling by Ulfric's corpse, saying a last goodbye, while Tullius was already ordering his soldiers in to deal with the bodies and get the place cleaned up.

“I should probably stick around for the victory speech, Tullius will want to give one. So should you,” Liriel said, squeezing Madanach's hand.

“Stick around or give a speech?” Madanach asked. “I haven't actually written anything, I hope you weren't expecting bardic oratory.”

Liriel laughed and kissed him. She'd never loved him more than she had today. Killing a man together apparently had that effect, who knew?

“You could come up with a speech off the cuff and it would still be an inspiration to us all,” Liriel teased. “I saw you in Markarth after the battle, you were amazing!”

“Yes and it took me weeks to write,” Madanach growled, pulling her closer. “I was still obsessing over it that morning.” He stopped, smile softening his features. “So you were there in the audience, were you? Was it you who shouted 'we love you, Reach-King'?”

“Afraid not,” said Liriel, not sure how to tell him the one responsible was a deserter from his army who apparently still carried a torch for the cause. “Hoping it was me?”

Madanach hesitated then lowered his head. “Part of me hoped you were there,” he admitted. “I missed you, Dragon-Queen. I wished you'd been with me. I will never forget it as long as I live, but I would have loved having you there to share it.”

Liriel placed her forehead against his, holding him tight. “I wish I'd been there too. I wish I'd been with you on that balcony. I was just watching you and... and I fell in love all over again. I was just so proud of you. Still am.”

Madanach didn't answer, just looked up and kissed her again.

“Come on,” he said gruffly, taking her hand and leading her out. “Back to the camp. If you're going to insist on showering me with compliments, we're going to do it in private.”

Liriel smiled, squeezing his hand. That was her Madanach all right – capable of dealing with anger, fear and fury but pay him a compliment and he had no idea how to react. That was all right though. There'd be plenty of time to celebrate. They'd won a great victory tonight. Nothing could touch them now.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The camp was quiet when they finally reached it, just as the sun was coming up. Outside, the dead of the Reach were being laid out on pelts, weapons and possessions arrayed around them while their friends and kin gathered around to say goodbye. In the distance, a slow, heavy drumbeat was thudding out across the plain and aside from the sobbing from those mourning loved ones, all was quiet. No singing, dancing, celebrating, nothing. It all seemed a bit unlike what Liriel had come to know about the Reachmen, whose usual way, according to Madanach, was to celebrate that they weren't dead yet.

“Is everything alright?” Liriel whispered. “Only... we won, right? Shouldn't there be a party in progress right now?”

“Yes, and there isn't,” Madanach said, frowning. “Respect for the dead is all very well but they're outside the camp, and the camp's quiet... I don't like this, Liriel.”

Liriel looked around, starting to quietly panic. Something was wrong, had they been betrayed or... no, the camp was peaceful, not burning, ReachGuard were just wandering around, seeing to the dead or comforting each other or getting on with what needed doing. But Liriel did notice something – that hushed conversations would fall silent as soon as they saw her or Madanach, and then there would be momentary looks of horror-sadness-guilt-pity and then they'd look away. Madanach had noticed it too, and he was neither unobservant nor a fool.

“What in the Void is going on?” he whispered, hand reaching to his axe. Everyone in range looked away, slinking off or trying to look busy, no one wanting to meet his eyes.

“Madanach...” Liriel began, and she reached for his shoulder, but Madanach had broken away, striding, almost running forward to where he'd seen a little trinity of Uraccen, Duach and Odvan all waiting for him.

“Uraccen, what happened, what's going on?” Madanach's eyes fell on the black armband around his arm. “Oh no, not Uaile, I'm so sorry...”

“She's fine,” said Uraccen, and there it was again, that pity in his eyes when he looked at Madanach. “It's... you'd better come with us.” He held out a hand and started to lead Madanach out into where the dead were laid out. Madanach didn't follow, eyes looking at all three of his blood-brothers.

“You're all wearing them,” he whispered, looking frantically around the camp. “Every single one of you, you can't all have lost people, you can't...” Madanach's voice broke as he realised the significance of an entire people in mourning. Mourning a leader – or a member of the leader's family.

“No,” he breathed, and Liriel felt her heart stop as she realised it too. But Argis was fine, he was with us, the battle was over when he left... oh. Oh no.

“No, she isn't, she can't be,” Madanach gasped, voice harsh and ragged, hands to his temples. “Not again, not again, where is she?? Where is my daughter??”

Uraccen looked out over the morgue, and sure enough, out on the edge, on a raised escarpment overlooking the rest, four ReachGuard warriors were standing guard over one body separated out from everyone else, a body with an ebony-clad warrior kneeling next to it, clinging on to a red-haired Forsworn in a jester hat.

“Kaie,” Madanach breathed, face crumpling as it sank in. “KAIE!” Without even looking at Liriel or anyone else, he was racing towards them, everyone in his path moving without even needing to be told why. Liriel followed after, heart in her mouth, her own heart breaking as her mind started to process just what this all might mean for her... but mostly her heart was breaking for Madanach.

He'd reached them by now, taking in Argis kneeling there with tears rolling down his face and Cicero nestled in his arms, sobbing helplessly on Argis' shoulder... and before them Kaie, laid out on a bearskin, eyes closed and arms folded, peaceful in death aside from the gaping wounds in her chest and abdomen that had killed her and the gashes on her arms and legs.

Madanach dropped to his knees, wordless.

“Kaie,” he whispered, fingers trailing over her face, feeling the skin cold and unmoving, forever unmoving now. “Kaie, daughter, no...” Then his voice broke completely, and the feared King of the Reach, commander of the Forsworn, was bent low over his daughter's remains, cradling her body in his arms, sobbing his heart out and not caring who saw him.

Liriel knelt alongside him, rubbing his back, tears on her own cheeks because she'd liked Kaie too, cared for her a great deal, she missed her too. But mostly it was because the man she loved, strong, all-powerful, buzzing with magicka Madanach, was currently howling his grief out for the world to hear, utterly broken. Slowly, gently, she prised him away from Kaie and held him, soothing him as best she could.

“Madanach,” Liriel whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Madanach, I'm here, I've got you, it's...” Not all right, it'll never be all right again, but I love you, I'm not leaving you again, never...

Argis let Cicero go, moving to sit on Madanach's other side, arms around them both, and then Cicero was snuggling in against Liriel, whimpering that he was sorry, so sorry, he couldn't save her but he'd seen her killers dead, he'd murdered them all and brought Kaie back to camp. Of course he had, sweet, loyal, brutal Cicero, he must have visited the Wrath of Sithis on them all. Madanach didn't answer, but he did ruffle Cicero's hair which probably meant he approved.

“What now?” Liriel finally asked as Madanach's tears subsided. “We'll... we'll have to have a funeral, won't we?”

“Tonight,” Madanach whispered. “All these things... best done at night. Someone... her kin need to keep vigil until then, I'll need to stay out here...”

“Like the Void you will,” Argis cut in, and Liriel had never heard him talk like that before, never heard him sound anything like that authoritative. “I'll do it. You get to bed. Liriel, take him to his tent.”

“I'm her king and her father, I will do it!” Madanach snapped, looking up and now that was more like it, a glimmer of his old self coming back.

“You're nearly sixty, you've not slept, you're exhausted, go to bed,” Argis shot back. “I am her brother and Crown-Prince until you can produce a legitimate heir, I will do the damn vigil with Cicero here.”

Cicero squeaked quietly but didn't make a single ribald remark. Argis was still staring down Madanach, neither really willing to give in over this but someone had to and in the end it was Madanach.

“Fine, mabion. Watch over her. Do what I couldn't.” He choked on the last words as his eyes fell on Kaie and then he was getting up, looking away, face screwed up in pain.

“Madanach, wait, I'm coming with you,” Liriel gasped, and Madanach did at least stop and wait while she got to her feet, leaning in to her as she held him.

“Liriel. Don't leave me,” he gasped.

“I won't,” Liriel whispered. “Not ever.” Madanach let out a sob as he clung on to her, holding her for a moment, before loosening his grip, arms round her waist and head resting on her shoulder, usual aura of command utterly gone, just a man craving comfort. Comfort best provided in private without an entire camp watching from the corner of their eyes, feeling their king's pain but at the same time glad it was not them.

“Come on,” she told him. “Let's get you to bed. Argis was right, you need sleep.”

“No sleep will ever mend this,” Madanach whispered, but he acquiesced as Liriel led him away.

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

A/N: I'm so sorry. I really am. Poor Kaie. Poor Madanach. Poor Cicero and Argis and everyone. See, this is why I didn't want to write it. But it is done and Kaie rests safely in the Void.

Next chapter, a Forsworn funeral and everyone deals with the aftermath.

That was brilliantly written.

This can't have been fun to write, but it was a joy to read - what a ride! I laughed, I cried, I held my breath. Poor Kaie. Poor Madanach. Poor everyone.

I loved Odahviing. I've always loved him - he's such a snarky, unapologetically self-serving bastard, and you wrote him PERFECTLY. I especially enjoyed his exchange with Argis. You did justice to Ulfric's death scene too, and too the complicated tangle of the civil war - Ulfric may not be a nice man, but he's got a point about oaths made to oathbreakers. Liriel is such a badass ("My ancestors are gods!"). And then the HEARTBREAK. Seeing a strong man cry is about the saddest thing in the world, and reading about it's not much better. Snuggle him better, Liriel. :(

EEEEE!!!!!

I am unbelievably excited about where this is going! And such a cliffhanger too.

All I ask is please don't go the gang-rape in Cidhna Mine route - you can fill the prompt just as well with Vilkas on the outside just *imagining* that that's what's happening while DB is busy cutting a deal with Madanach, right? *hopeful*

“No. Absolutely not.” Vilkas exclaimed as he stood abruptly.

“Vilkas, it’s time-”

“No. No way.” Vilkas’ eyes flicked from one member of the circle to another.

“Vilkas-” Aela growled out.

“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Brother-”

“No.”

“Vilkas.” Skjor spoke firmly and Vilkas couldn’t help but listen. Kodlak may have been Harbinger but Skjor was Alpha and that made even Vilkas’ stubborn wolf comply.

“I just don’t think she’s ready.”

“She’ll be taking her testing with or without your consent.” The decision was final and Vilkas knew there was no point in protesting it further. “What you can help make a decision on is who goes with her.”

From the faces Vilkas saw around the room he had this feeling everything had already been decided.

---

“No. Absolutely not.” Ariella said, standing and taking a step back.

“The others say it’s time.” She shook her head.

“No.”

“Ariella-”

“I don’t think I’m exactly warrior material, Vilkas. I didn’t even think I would ever have to do a testing.”

“Every companion has to go through testing at some point.”

“Honestly?” She sat down on the bench beside him. “I never thought I’d be here long enough for that, let alone have the skills.”

“Well it should be relatively simple, we’ve just got to get another fragment of Wuuthrad.”
“Then come home to another celebration.”

“Bigger.”

“Joy.” She rested her head on the bench then picked it up again. “Wait you said we.”

“Yes, I’m going with you.” Vilkas noted the small smile that kept pulling at her lips, she eventually hid her face from him.

---

Vilkas’s patience was being worn thin by Ria, again. He had hoped Ariella would sit next to him so they could discuss, or at least pretend to discuss, plans for her testing tomorrow.

The Breton had chosen instead to sit at the end of the table, despite the empty seat beside him when she sat down.

At the start of the night Ariella seemed quiet, more quiet than usual. Typically she would have a book and if not she would actively listen to what was happening around her, happy to observe the situation around her. Yet she had just sort of stared at her food, food that she hardly ate.

Vilkas was trying to wait until Ariella had finished eating, but a man could only take so much.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Vilkas said, interrupting Ria. Vilkas stood and walked around to where Ariella was sititng.

“I’m going downstairs, fell free to join me if you want.” He told her quietly.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, ok.” She gave him a small yet forced smile and returned her attention to the food in front of her. Vilkas wanted to ask her if everything was alright yet the looks he was getting from Aela, Farkas and even Kodlak told him now was not the time.

Oh gods, I CRIED writing the ending! Madanach's normally such a ruthless badass, and to have to write him slowly realising he'd just lost his daughter and completely falling apart... yeah, it was fairly horrible, especially with the preceding scenes where everything's going so well and all five of them are turning into a little family.

While I don't think I'll ever be a Stormcloak, I do have a lot of respect for Ulfric as a worthy foe. Good to know the death scene worked!

I liked the 'my ancestors are gods!' line too - another reason she had to be Altmer, they firmly believe they're descended from the Aedra.

Thank you for the comment!

The night was cool yet not uncomfortably so for the Breton. Ariella lay on the ground in the courtyard of Jorrvaskr. She gazed up at the stars in thought, something she did a lot as a child and still quite often now.

Whenever she was anxious she would gaze at the stars. The thing she liked about stars was how constant they were. No matter where she was in Tamriel if she laid down and looked up she would see the same sky.

It helped when she was feeling home sick, as she gazed up she could at least pretend she was back in High Rock.

As she gazed up she wanted to pretend she was back on her roof in High Rock yet something kept pulling her back to Skyrim. She blamed the slight chill, something that was rare to feel back home.

The young Breton sighed in a vain attempt to stop the unease in her stomach. That sense of uncertainty, uncomfortableness, fear had been there since she entered Skyrim. In the recent weeks it hadn’t bothered her at all yet now…

Ariella couldn’t relax she was far too anxious; the idea of her testing was plaguing her far too much.

She didn’t think she could do it at all, not think but knew. She had this feeling if she went on that testing something awful was going to happen.

Then there was Vilkas. At first she thought having him there was a blessing, yet upon further thought she realised how much of a curse in disguise it was. Ariella could try all she wanted to deny it but she knew she had grown quite a large attachment to Vilkas. Everything about him intrigued her and challenged her.

Yet he was a man of strength, honour and battle prowess, the three things Ariella lacked in herself. She was feeble, a novice to battle and would rather pay people like the companions than be one. A large part of the fear she was feeling was because of Vilkas. She was terrified of making a fool of herself in front of him or having him see how weak she really was.

She wished she was back at home again. Everything was simple in High Rock; mundane, boring, safe yet there she was most happy.

She heard the doors of Jorrvaskr open and close quite quietly. She didn’t make a move and she was fairly sure she knew who it was already.

Everyone else had long since retired for the night, even Tilma had urged Ariella to go to bed so the woman could sleep herself.

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