skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

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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“Happen? Oh it already happened, we just need to deal with it,” Madanach laughed bitterly. “My daughter died, and we laid her to rest in the old way, and the pyre will have burned down by now and someone who isn't me will be gathering Kaie's ashes into an urn so we can take them back to the Reach for burial at her birthplace, and a little scattered in the nearest water. Then I get on with a life that doesn't have my Kaie in it...” He stopped, head in hands and still not facing her, shuddering as he composed himself. Liriel said nothing, just reaching out to rub his back and he seemed to take some comfort in that.

“I lost my daughter,” he finally said, still not looking at Liriel. “I'm a father mourning a child. But it's more than that, Liriel. I'm also a king... and with Kaie gone, I don't have an heir.”

Liriel couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She recalled what Argis had said – he was Crown-Prince until a legitimate heir turned up. An heir ready to succeed Madanach in twenty years and all she could give him were Altmer babies who wouldn't even be adults for another fifty and no one in their right mind gave anyone under a hundred any real responsibility.

“But it's all right, I've been thinking about it,” Madanach continued, getting up and joining her on the bed, talking fast, all nervous energy and more than a hint of desperation. “We'll need to get married, soon, and get to working on an heir right away – well, we don't need to wait for the wedding for that. Get you pregnant, get the child born, raise it as best we can – Altmer come of age at fifty, don't they?”

“You're not going to live another fifty years!” Liriel whispered, heart breaking. Madanach had an arm around her, squeezing her hand.

“I know,” he said softly. “But Imperial law allows a wife to inherit her husband's title and land if there's no heir – Elisif did it. You'll rule after me, and you can step down in favour of our child when you feel they're ready. The only other option is Argis and his line, but he's a Nord marrying a Nord and I'm not handing my country back to them in one generation, I'm just not.”

“Madanach...” Liriel began, feeling her pulse race and her blood pound and her head spin. “Madanach, I – I can't...”

“I know it's quicker than you might have wanted but it's the only way, Liriel, please – Liriel?” He'd finally stopped and was looking up at her, going very still as he realised she was shaking all over, tears on her cheeks. “Liriel? What's wrong? I thought you wanted children...”

“You can't have a kingdom of humans ruled by Altmer,” Liriel whispered. “The Thalmor would be all over the place and even if they weren't, everyone else would think they were running the show. It'd be a hundred years before any child of ours was remotely ready to take over, maybe longer. And then they'd live for centuries! I thought the idea was that Reachmen ruled the Reach??”

“Well the Nords saw an end to that, didn't they!” Madanach shouted. “I had four beautiful little girls and I lost them all, one way or another. So I need a legitimate heir and if they can't be full Reach-blooded, I'll settle for half – we're descended from Altmer, it's better than Nord blood.”

“You would give your people a god-king,” Liriel breathed, because she knew that was what would happen, they revered her enough already, give them several generations of the same unageing, undying, golden-skinned ruler? It'd be the Tribunal of Morrowind all over again. Madanach didn't seem to care.

“I don't mind fathering a god,” he said, faint hint of a smirk on his face, and that was so very typical of him, to laugh when he'd not be the one living with it. And it wasn't just the Reach who'd suffer either.

“I mind!” Liriel cried. “If I have a child with you, I can never go home again!”

She stared at him as it hit home – if she had his child, she might as well mourn her parents now. They'd forgive her coming home in forty or fifty years having married a human who'd died – a youthful fling with a human would be ignored, swept under the rug, acted as if it had never happened, everyone made mistakes while young. But a child... a child couldn't be ignored, and she knew exactly what her staunch Thalmor mother would say to a half-blood grandchild.

Madanach's entire face had closed up and he just turned away, shoulders hunching.

“So that's it, is it. I'm not good enough for you, am I? Humans are all right for a little fun, but no true Altmer breeds with one, is that it?”

Oh Kynareth, no, she'd not meant it like that, not at all, she'd do it if it meant that much to him but oh gods, her family... It was a big ask.

“It's not like that, Madanach,” she whispered. “I love you, I'd have a child with you, but... Alinor is home and I'd miss it. Like you'd miss the Reach. My parents can turn a blind eye to a marriage that'll be ended in thirty years, but they'll have to disown me if there's a child.”

Madanach was still looking away, hands shaking and he looked deathly pale. “Don't say it, Liriel. Please don't. Because if you won't do it, I don't have a choice. I need to marry a Reachwoman, and not even one my own age, she'll have to be young and fertile. And while we all know it won't be a love match, you'll have to leave because no queen of the Reach deserves a man who's constantly hankering after his Altmer mistress.”

Liriel's heart cracked in two as reality hit home, the awful truth she'd been repressing since learning of Kaie's death, the reason the pitying looks hadn't just been aimed at Madanach. She couldn't give him an heir, not really, and if not her, someone else would need to. She'd just lost him for good.

Dissolving into tears, she began to cry, heartfelt sobbing, howling her grief out that after everything it had come to this, that she'd been so happy, loved him so much and she could never have him, they could never give each other what they needed.

“Don't,” he was saying, sounding as miserable as she did, taking her in his arms and cradling her against him, raining kisses all over her hair. “Don't cry, cariad, I love you, we can do this, please, please have my child, please, don't make me send you away, I can't do it, I can't, oh gods, Liriel, why...” He held her to him, crying himself, just the two of them weeping in each other's arms until finally neither had the energy to continue.

“What did I do,” Madanach whispered. “Who did I offend, what god did I upset, did I displease Sithis, is that why he took my girls? I had four of them, Liriel, four and they were so perfect and beautiful from the day they left their mother's womb. And they're all gone, I lost them all. Eithne, killed by that Stormcloak bastard. Amaleen, killed protecting her littlest sister. She'd wandered off from the camp, I think she might have been trying to get to Markarth to visit me in prison, but she was only eight, she barely knew what direction the city was in. Amaleen found her, but some Nord mercenaries found them too. Carved Amaleen into pieces while her sister watched. She'd hidden herself, the Nords never found her. But she was never the same again. She was out there for hours, cold, hungry, frightened – they say she got so hungry she ended up taking bites out of her sister's body. I don't know whether to believe that or not, but my poor girl, my little Eola...”

Everything in Liriel's brain came screaming to a halt as the pieces slotted into place. Eola. His youngest daughter was called Eola. Eola who Argis had looked very intrigued by and actually said she reminded him of someone, in fact he'd even recognised the name. They even looked similar. Of course, it was possible there were quite a few Eolas in the Forsworn... but Liriel had heard the story of Amaleen's death before and not from Madanach. From Eola, who despite having lost faith in the Forsworn, had never lost her faith in the King in Rags, had stared up at him in Markarth with the same adoration Liriel had felt. Eola who'd had issues with both her mother and the Matriarch of Karthspire, and now Liriel realised the two were one and the same. Eola who'd spent her childhood feeling overshadowed by Kaie – easily explained if the two were sisters. Eola who said her father was the only one who'd ever loved her unconditionally and while Liriel had thought he'd been killed, Eola had never used that word. She'd said the Nords took him, that he was gone. The Nords had killed her sisters, but only taken her father. To Cidhna Mine.

By Sithis, Anu and Kyne. Liriel would wring Eola's neck were it not for the fact the Reach needed its last remaining princess back. As it was, things weren't done between her and Madanach. He didn't need to go fathering another heir. He still had one.

“Tell me about her,” Liriel whispered. “Tell me about Eola. You never did say what happened, you didn't even tell me her name until now.”

“Why'd you want to know now?” Madanach asked, sounding more than a little baffled.

“Just tell me,” Liriel said softly, nestling in his arms. “If – if we have to part... I want to know the last piece of the story before I go.”

She felt Madanach's arms tighten and a kiss on her head.

“Well, why not, it's not like it can hurt any worse than the rest of all this,” he sighed. “All right. You know how she saw Amaleen die. Well, it changed her. She'd always been closer to me than her mother and I know Mireen resented that. Mireen was not a good woman – she blamed me for not saving Eithne, and I think she blamed Eola for not saving Amaleen, or at least being the reason she died. Either way, she took it out on Eola, and managed to combine overprotectiveness with constant belittling. The way Kaie told it, Eola always seemed to be the naughty one, the stubborn one, the one who talked back, the one who invited trouble. Well of course she was, she was my girl through and through. I never knew when to shut up either.” Laughter at this, every word shot through with pride and really Liriel had to wonder how she'd not seen the relationship before. “Anyway, that's how it was and things got worse as she got older. She threw herself into her training, did really well by all accounts, was shaping up to be one of our best nightblades. Gifted, they called her. Never seen anything like it, so I heard. Better than her sister in a lot of ways. She had my gift for Destruction, her mother's Conjuration talents, could sneak like a Dark Sister, handled a blade like veterans twice her age. I was so proud, couldn't wait for her to turn sixteen, get initiated and then come do the jail runs with her sister so I could finally see my girl again. But it never happened.”

“She died?” Liriel asked, all the while knowing that no, she never died, she ran away. Deserted, according to Eola. A common deserter, so Liriel had thought, but no, she was the long-lost Reach-Princess. In danger of a brutal and fatal punishment, so Liriel had been led to believe. Punishment?? From the sound of it, Eola was no more likely to die a long, slow lingering death at Madanach's hands than Liriel was ever likely to. All the same, Liriel needed to make sure that Madanach would actually take her back with open arms.

“Worse,” said Madanach softly. “She ran away. Mireen's fault. She stopped Eola's initiations, confined her to camp, refused to let her make the sacrifice for her initiation of Sithis, and banned anyone in the camp from going near her to consummate Anu's. Said she wasn't getting recognised as an adult until she'd learned to act like one, and that meant getting married to continue the line. She'd already starting making arrangements with eligible men at other camps. Apparently Mireen doubted Eola's commitment to the cause and thought it would be best to get Eola married and pregnant as soon as possible to tie her down. Married by force and at sixteen! She was a child, Liriel, my child!” Madanach was shaking as he spoke, voice harsh and furious and Liriel began to realise why he'd not mourned Mireen's death. She'd have found it hard to forgive a husband who'd try to sell one of her girls in marriage.

“So she escaped,” Liriel whispered, her respect for Eola shooting up. “Good for her.”

“She escaped,” Madanach confirmed, and that wasn't anger or resentment in his voice, that was all a father's affection and pride and Liriel knew right then that Eola's father still did love his youngest no matter what. “No one keeps one of my blood penned up. She improvised a shiv out of one of the sabre cat teeth we use for Forsworn armour, stabbed her guards in the night, stole a set of armour and weapons and fled. No one ever saw her again. I don't even know if she's alive or dead, but my heart tells me she survived. She just doesn't want to come home and after the way we treated her, I don't blame her. I'm not going to see her again, I know that. But I hope she's happy, wherever she is.”

“You don't see her as a deserter or murderer then,” Liriel said, hope flaring. Madanach looked at her, surprised she'd ever think that.

“No, why would I? She was a child, Liriel! Uninitiated. Never taken a life, never been with anyone, not started the Dance as a full adult. I'm not going to hold her to account for what she did as a child. She was alone and afraid and didn't know any better or have any other options. Because I wasn't there to look after her and stop it.”

Guilty, bitter, blaming himself – but not angry. Not vengeful. Eola would be safe – more than safe. Loved.

“What would you say if you saw her again?” Liriel whispered. Madanach didn't reply, and Liriel looked up to see tears in his eyes. “Madanach? Oh gods, Madanach, you don't have to answer that...”

“She was my girl,” Madanach whispered, not looking at Liriel as he clung on to her. “My little princess. All the others were born at Karthspire but not her. She was born in Markarth, in the master bedroom at Understone Keep, while I was King the first time. When she was born, I took her out to the waiting city and told her she would have everything I could ever give her, she'd want for nothing, she'd have the life I never did. A promise I could never keep. I failed her, Liriel. I loved her so much and I let her down. She needed me and I wasn't there...” He clutched Liriel to him, face buried in her hair, silent tears on his cheeks.

“I'm not sure I even want to see her again,” Madanach murmured. “Don't know what I'd say. How in the world I'd ever make it up to her, I don't know. I don't suppose she wants to see me again – she must have heard about me taking the Reach by now, if she cared, she'd have come back. But she hasn't so I guess she's done with us.”

Liriel wasn't sure whether to be impressed by his stoicism or outraged at him just giving up. She let go of him, sitting upright.

“Madanach, she's your daughter!” Liriel cried. “More than that, with Kaie gone she's your heir! You can't just give up on her! You have to find her. I'm not having any child of mine at constant risk of disinheritance, and nor will any Reachwoman you might marry.”

That did get to him, the familiar spark firing up with anger in his eyes.

“And where do you suggest I look, hmm? She could be anywhere! Morrowind, High Rock, Cyrodiil, who knows where she went? For all I know she went off to study magic with your lot in Alinor.”

“They'd never teach a human magic,” Liriel laughed. “Goes against everything the Thalmor believe.” She leaned over and kissed him, her lips meeting his as she held his face and tasted him one last time.

“Don't do anything,” she whispered. “Don't make any hasty decisions. Just keep yourself safe and take care of the Reach. Get your son married. Don't think about heirs or finding a bride or anything. Just leave it to me.”

“You're not seriously going looking for her?” Madanach demanded, not even sure how to react so defaulting to annoyance and disbelief. Liriel just nodded, smiling.

“I am Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Archmage of Winterhold and Dragonborn,” Liriel replied, brimming with confidence at last. “I've got friends all over the place. I can find her, Madanach. I can get you your daughter back.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” Madanach warned her, but that was hope in his eyes, faint hope but hope nonetheless. He watched as she got up, reaching for her things.

“I can give you a year,” he finally said. “That's all, Liriel. I'm getting old, I can't wait forever.”

“I know,” Liriel said softly, shouldering her pack. It wouldn't take a year, it wouldn't even take a month if her intuition was correct. She just needed to hear the truth from Eola and persuade her to go back to her father.

Pausing to kiss Madanach goodbye, she left the tent, in search of Argis. Time to get her ex-housecarl's opinion, reclaim Cicero and then... then it was time to go find a princess.

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

A/N: The Forsworn funeral owes a lot to the Fremen funeral service in Dune, with a few Dothraki elements from Game of Thrones and Forsworn/Elder Scrolls lore mixed in to give it that canon feel. I hope you liked it.

Eola must be the least likely princess ever, but I have a feeling she'd go well as kin to Madanach. She's not going to tell him about the cannibalism and Namira worship though. Even Madanach has limits.

OP happily munches away on this fine meal! So many wonderful flavours! Moarrr Please! More internets is more chapters you say? Then take them, I happily give them to you!

I like all the stories in this series, but as most of them are more serious, I didn't know you could also write humour. This is hilarious, especially Ulfric & Balgruuf's bromance and "Nord Bear Man"! (That's how I think of Galmar, especially since I didn't realise for ages that his bear outfit wasn't unique to him).

Marriage. Argis had thought long and hard on the subject for many years. He pictured having a happy family, children happy to be with him, begging for stories about dragons and battles. A place to call his own and live in relative peace. More importantly, though, he pictured a wife at his side.

Argis felt his stomach knot when his thane had proposed. All he could do was stare at the man with a dumbfounded expression. He knew that Nikolai had taken a shine to him and probably had the moment he was placed in his employment. The two spent days upon days together doing nearly everything without leaving the other’s side. Argis became a trainer and a mentor, seeing Nikolai’s growing infatuation with him as nothing out of the ordinary. When he had been training he waited on his mentor like a puppy.

Much to his embarrassment, though, Argis hadn’t realized that his thane preferred men until much later. What he had thought was nothing more than the two of them bonding over battle stories and life had been much more to his thane. It was when the two were visiting a tavern that Argis had noticed his thane’s wandering eye. He watched as he sidled up to a man and sweet talked him between drinks. The man had been more than happy with the attention because it didn’t take long before they slipped off to the man’s room

“You’re starting to make me nervous.”

Nikolai’s voice cut through Argis’ thoughts and caused him to blink away his shocked look. His mouth was dry and heart was racing. He met the younger man’s gaze and watched as those hazel eyes seemed to light up. ‘By the eight, he isn’t joking.’ Argis took in a deep breath; there was no way he could deny Nikolai. Yet the idea of wedding a man caused the knot in his stomach to twist.

“If it would please you-”

A wide smile flashed across Nikolai’s face, one mixed with pure joy and relief. “Nothing would please me more,” he replied.

Argis blinked, “But why me?”

“I like you, Argis. I thought it was obvious by this point,” Nikolai chuckled. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “There is more to it, though. You and I seem to see the world similarly and we’ve been through so much together. As strange as it might sound, you make me feel safe. Not only am I sure that nothing could harm me, but I can be myself around you. There isn’t anyone else I could think of that I want to take this step with.”

Those words coming from a woman would have warmed Argis’ heart and he knew that it should be no different with his thane. Yet something was screaming at him as he looked at Nikolai. This felt strange. He knew of no man pledging himself to another man. While it had become obvious that there were men similar to Nikolai in Tamriel, they just didn’t seem to make themselves known.

“I told you once before that I would do most anything to please you because not only are you my thane but you are my friend,” Argis breathed, pausing for the briefest moment. He could see a flicker of disappointment rise in Nikolai’s eyes in that moment and it hurt him more than the knot in his stomach. “If agreeing to this will bring you joy, then so be it.”

“That settles it! Give me a lead of one day and I shall see you in Riften.”

Argis began to reply but his words were cut off as Nikolai placed a kiss on his forehead. His thoughts raced in every direction as Nikolai disappeared into his room to pack. There was no way he could back out of this.

Um, author!anon here. Since I suck at descriptions I wanted to provide a link to what Nikolai is supposed to look like. :I So yes, picture.

http://djarfskald.tumblr.com/image/24579472015

The image is old and he no longer has the dreads and his eyes aren't such a stark blue(gotta love that face sculptor).

Argis had never seen Nikolai so fidgety. He focused on that during the ceremony in Riften and while it didn’t quell the dread in his mind, it reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. His thane had decided to forgo wearing war paint and it was the first time Argis saw him as such. Finally having a good look at him Argis realized Nikolai had to be no less than ten years his junior and with all the paint and dirt removed, he was rather pleasant to look at. If he wanted, any woman would have been happy to have him.

“Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”

Those words barely registered as being towards Argis. It was the expectant look on Nikolai’s face that brought him out of his own thoughts. Argis cleared his throat, “I do. Now and forever.” The smile on his thane’s face was one filled with jubilance and in that moment Argis could feel nothing but shame; shame for leading Nikolai on and shame for marrying a man. Yet, it was too late.

“Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed! I present the two you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara’s divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together.”

Argis watched as Nikolai held out his hand and two gold rings were placed in his palm. The young Nord turned to him and took his hand without question. Argis swallowed hard; the ring seemed to solidify the events. The band shone in the candle light and was already haunting. Women in his life, while they had been few and far between, were no longer fleeting thoughts but barred forever more.

“Married. It doesn’t feel like I thought it would,” Argis said with a nervous chuckle that Nikolai echoed, “but I’m happy.”

Nikolai nodded as he looked at the rings they both wore, “I-I know what you mean. Come, I have a room waiting for us at the tavern. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Those words resonated in Argis’ thoughts, so much so that he barely registered that Nikolai took him by the hand. He let himself be led through Riften in silence and watched the nameless faces around him. There were no shocked surprises, no stares nor whispers. Neither man nor woman spent a second glance on them. It would have eased Argis’ troubled thoughts if it hadn’t confused him even more.

“My thane. . .”

“Argis,” Nikolai smiled, “I think it would be wise to drop the title. I’d rather you call me at least by name from now on.”

“I understand but that may take some time.” Argis stopped and his hand slipped out of Nikolai’s grasp. The young Nord came to a slow stop before turning to him. “You do know that I’ve never, um, done this before.”

The smile on Nikolai’s face softened, “I know and things will only progress as far as you are comfortable.”

Argis frowned slightly as Nikolai turned and continued to lead the way. “Why then, if you knew this was something I’d be uncomfortable with?”

“Uncomfortable?” Nikolai laughed. “You love me as much I as I love you, albeit in differing ways.”

“Love?” Argis seized Nikolai by the shoulder and forced the young Nord to face him. “I love no man and-”

Nikolai cocked an eyebrow, “Really? You had no love for your father or any other man in your family?”

“What? That’s different.”

“Is it? Love has many different forms, Argis; the love of battle, the love for your friends, the love of the world around you. All if it stems from the same thing.” Nikolai placed his hand over Argis’ and felt those muscles tense. He gave his companion a weary smile, “You do care for me, don’t you?”

Argis let his eyes drop, “Yes but like you said in different way.”

“No matter,” Nikolai sighed. “I meant what I said; things will only progress as far as you are comfortable. We have drinks waiting for us at the tavern. Let us enjoy this day of respite.”

Great fill, thanks A!A
:)

I could totally see Sendaoul and Lydia getting together. Just saying.

oh my gosh ouo I love this pairing with everything I have and you filled my prompt and oh gosh oh gosh I love this, this pairing, you, and precious little Barengar.

So much love.

Now where is my insulin...

Summary: The dragon crisis has ended, but Asta knows the only way to achieve true peace in Skyrim is to ensure an end to the civil war.

(wow, that summary is bad)

Tags: char:F!DB, char:Ulfric, pairing:het, race:Nord, Quest line:civil war, (I'm a terrible tagger; will add as I go along).

Lydia was upstairs, leaving Asta in the living room, alone to her thoughts as she sat in front of the fire. Eyes drifting, they eventually landed on her bookshelf. Wrapped up in her own mind, the Nord wasn't certain exactly the train of thoughts that led her to remembering a certain dossier laid in her possession.

Her infiltration of the Embassy and subsequent interactions with the Thalmor had told Asta all she needed to know. They did love their paperwork, and the Nord lady had a love for sticking her nose where it didn't belong. This civil war was an absolute waste of time. She needed to get the Thalmor out. That much was obvious. Yet while the Empire and the Stormcloaks were wasting time butting heads like rams in rut, they seemed completely oblivious to the sabre cat hiding in the bushes.

Her life never had been able to be cut and dry. Everything was shades of grey when black and white would be so much easier. While Tullius wasn't... hopeless... well, she wasn't impressed. As the leader of the Imperial army (at least in Skyrim), the fact that he seemed completely uninterested in learning about the country's people and customs was disheartening. He didn't care. Getting the rebellion under control was just another set of orders.

But Ulfric was not the clear winner either.

Debating whether she wanted to move from the warmth of the fire to her alchemy room, Asta picked at the chicken breast sitting on a plate in her lap. Seeming more interested in obliterating it than she did actually eating, a few chunks accidentally landed on the floor, only to be gobbled up by the mongrel stray she'd found some time ago.

He probably should have been given a name by now. Perhaps she was simply putting too much thought into it, but nothing really seemed to fit him. He was simply Mongrel to her, though it was an affectionate term.

The Thalmor needed to be kicked out, and Asta needed to decide what she was going to do about it. Skyrim's peace was delicate and fragile; Alduin had been defeated, but Asta had yet to give any inclination she would tolerate a continuation of the fighting. Apparently her message had been well received.

Life was simpler when the choice was obvious. This was not as simple as deciding what was for dinner. No one seemed aware of this, but Asta had her own agenda to take into consideration. Trapped in a game of politics she couldn't quite play, this was likely her only chance to ensure her personal goals were met.

But ejection of an entire faction that consisted solely of one race was no easy task; especially when Asta had no desire for the Altmer minding their own business to be caught in the crossfire.

The Imperials would be a pain in the ass to get into gear. They seemed to think that blindly kneeling to the Thalmor would lessen the pressure, when the elves were just backing them into a corner.

Ulfric would be more than willing to help her; but at what cost? Asta was not so chained by her hatred of the Thalmor that she couldn't see past the obvious- All Thalmor were Altmer, but not all Altmer were Thalmor.

She was half tempted to wage a one woman war and say to hell with all of them.

Well... One woman and many, many dragons.

Not even bothering to preface with 'accidentally' dropping the food on the floor, Asta stripped the meat off the bone and tossed the pieces to Mongrel, who snapped them up happily. They'd just gotten him to stop begging, but the Nord didn't feel like eating and the stray needed all the extra calories he could get into his mouth. No longer the walking, fuzzy skeleton she'd found on the road outside Riverwood, he was still too ribby for her taste.

Standing, she left her plate in the chair; Lydia would come for it later, or in the morning.

Eventually.

It didn't matter to the Nord.

Despite the fact she enjoyed placing her books on display (the top of the bookcase had become an extra shelf, with the help of some Soul Gems-turned-paper-weights.), there were some things that didn't need to be seen.

Anything she wanted hidden away was kept in her Alchemy room. Now, yes, she could just tell Lydia to stay out of a certain drawer, or out of a room, but the Housecarl naturally found herself wanting nothing to do with the Alchemy room. Keeping her private things here ensured there was no chance of either Lydia's curiosity getting the better of her, or accidentally stumbling across them while looking for something else.

Mongrel watched with a curious expression on his face, ears perked as he lazily rose to his feet and padded over to her (likely hoping she'd drop more food for him), curling up near her chair in front of her lab.

Briefly debating with herself, the woman chose to shut the doors before turning back to her little sanctuary. Eyes didn't trail to the larger bookshelf- no, this time they were focused more on her chest.

To understand the cause, she had to understand the man behind it. The Stormcloaks were nothing without their leader; if his head had met the executioner's axe, surely the rebellion would have quelled in weeks without his passionate speeches.

Or maybe another bird would arise from his predecessor’s ashes.

Stepping towards the chest, Asta lifted the lid and reach her hand in, rifling through spare potions and scrolls until her hands brushed across smooth leather. Withdrawing, she flipped the cover open.

Ulfric Stormcloak

She had the dossiers.

Delphine. Esbern. Ulfric.

The Blades would likely lose their minds if they knew she had these books. Not that she cared much for them any more. If forced with a choice, Asta was always tempted to go with the opposing side solely because they hadn't tried to force her hand. Asta had already decided on the matter. The dragons who accepted that Alduin's views were unacceptable, and chose to either follow her, like Odahviing, or retreat to quiet seclusion like Paarthurnax would be left to their own devices.

Those who went around burning villages would find themselves on the wrong end of her wrath.

Naturally, she hadn't responded well to Delphine essentially telling her 'kill Paarthurnax or I'm not talking to you ever again'. The look on her face when Asta had walked out of the temple!

She was not some fresh young girl who was an empty sponge, absorbing whatever information she came across. At thirty five, Asta was well old enough to be expected to make her own decisions.

Decisions, decisions...

Red, or blue?

Sitting down, Asta flopped the book open. She knew Delphine and Esbern's opinions on them knowing she had their dossiers. What of the Jarl?

Of course, she came to the conclusion, flipping through the pages while Mongrel acted as a foot warmer, that she couldn't know everything she needed to about Ulfric through the book.

No, the pages would not do; just as she had with the Imperials, she needed to meet the man.

... YES.

I'm going to check back every day to see if this has been updated. 8D

*Squeal only dogs can hear*

I'm so glad this is being filled, and it's already awesome.

I also feel less weird for keeping the dossiers and every other document pertaining to the Thalmor, including all their assassination orders on me, in a locked safe. :)

This made me laugh a lot. Though my favourite part is the lore-friendly swearing :)

Hi OP here :D thank you thank you thank you. This is wonderful, I can't wait for more. I totally sympathize with Mira's mindset on being Dragonborn, haha.

(Okay, here's the second part. I took a while on this one because I ended up re-writing a section with a rather out of character joke on Cecily's part, about adding insult to injury.)

He sat on the edge of the bed while Cecily poked the fire. A few moments later it came back to life and lit the room with a dull, warm glow. Cecily went into the other room and he could hear her moving things around on the shelves. She returned with a towel and bowl of water, set them on the nightstand, pulled up a chair, and sat before him.

"Alright. Let's get you shirt off."

For all his cynical attitude, Revyn was a little shy. As soon as she leaned forward to help him, he moved back. "I don't need help with this. I'm not dying you know," he said sharply, blushing. Somehow, the Bosmer woman's presence had made the clasp of his belt as complicated as one of the dwemer puzzle cubes adventurers sometimes brought into his shop.

Cecily watched, faintly amused. "See, this is why I wear robes. No clasps to bother with."

Revyn ignored her, finally managed to rid himself of the belt and removed the black and gold vest he wore over his tunic. Removing the shirt would prove to be a little more difficult. He didn't think his ribs were broken, but they were protesting every time he tried to stretch his arms too much. Having denied help before had now put him in a bit of a bind--it would be foolish, in his mind, to ask now. Luckily, Cecily seemed to have guessed his thoughts, and spared him the embarrassment of taking back his words aloud. Without waiting for him to ask, she helped him ease off the tunic and set it aside.

"What did they do?" Her eyes widened as she looked over the bruises, a jarring black on his bluish skin.

"Mostly just kicked me and insulted me a lot. That was once I'd fallen to the floor." Revyn kept his eyes on his hands as he spoke. It felt wrong somehow, like corrupting innocence, to tell her of this, even though he knew well what strange and gruesome things she'd come across on her travels.

Cecily seemed at a loss for words. At last she murmured,"That's...that's so cruel. You've never been so awful to them. You don't deserve that." She covered his hands, still and cold from the weather outside, with her own. The rigors of travel and weaponry had roughened them in places, but they were warm, and the dark elf looked up and met her eyes. She must have seen some uncertainty there. "You're a good person. At least, I think so."

Revyn didn't want her to see him blushing again, so he watched as Cecily dipped the hand towel in the bowl and carefully cleaned the cuts on his hands.

"Look at me, please," she murmured, and he looked up in surprise, then felt a little foolish as she began to dab at the scrapes on the side of his face. She frowned and pressed the cold towel against them. "I hope this doesn't scar," she said. "You'll have to be careful with it...let's see. I'll make you a potion of regeneration."

Cecily went to the pot in the corner. There was already some water warming in it--Revyn had been intending to make Canis Root tea when he got back from his walk. She added a few large mushrooms, what looked like a small pile of ashes, and a wad of moss. Poking the fire, she put the top on and let it simmer a while.

"We'd better see to your ribs."

"I think they're fine," Revyn said, evasively, moving back a bit. He really didn't want them touched.

"I just need to make sure they're not broken."

Revyn was pretty quick witted, but couldn't think up a convincing argument on such short notice. What he had--'it will hurt if you touch my ribs and I don't want to look like a weak child'--didn't sound like it would work. He lay on the bed, and Cecily moved so she was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"It doesn't hurt when you breathe, does it?," she asked.

"Not really," Revyn lied.

Cecily put her hands on his chest, gently moving her hands over his ribs. The Dunmer was thin and wiry, but she still had to bear down on his bruised flesh to feel whether the bones beneath were aligned and unbroken. Revyn grit his teeth and hissed in pain.

"Shh, it's alright," she murmured. "I don't think they're broken, but they might be cracked. Particularly if it hurts you to breathe. I think I've got a healing spell that might work. It's not very powerful, but it will be better than nothing."

The golden glow of healing magic lit the dim corner. It sunk into his skin and replaced the pain with a tingling warmth that was unusual but far from unpleasant. That's her energy, Revyn thought. It was such an intimate act, to use a part of one's self to heal another, that he blinked shyly under the gaze of the big amber eyes staring down at him. The spell was complete, but her hands still rested on his chest, and she was studying him intently.

"That will do, I suppose." She brushed a hand over his cheek. "I've been thinking about when I found you. And I realized, I only found you on my way back. So you must've been there, when I went by, and I just didn't see you."

"I don't know where you're going with this," Revyn muttered, but Cecily either hadn't heard, or was pretending she hadn't, because she went on speaking.

"You can ask me for help, you know. I want to be there for you, when you need me." There was a silence while the words sunk in. "I care about you."

"Me? But I---you, really?"

"Yes," Cecily said, gravely, and then started stammering. "But--you have to know that if we--if we try out caring for each other, you know, I don't know how it's done, I've never tried out caring for someone before. I mean, I've been with someone, in bed, but not cared about them. So..." She trailed off.

"That's alright." Revyn half sat up, propped up on his elbows, and their faces were only inches apart. "I've not been in love a lot either."

"So we can learn together, then?" Cecily said, and the hope in her voice brought him to the edge of tears again. He had never been brought to tears by hapiness before.

"Yes," he answered, whispering so that his voice wouldn't crack.

She hugged him, and the Dunmer, caught by surprise, fell back to the bed, and Cecily laughed a little. "Sorry." He kissed her smiling lips, though they were dry and a little chapped. Things would have gone further, but the pot in the corner began to shriek.

"Oh, the potion's ready," Cecily said, glaring at the pot in the corner as if that would silence the whistle of the steam. "Well--we'll have to get back to this tomorrow. I'm not kissing you for a while after you drink this."

"What do you mean? What's in it?"

"Oh...best not to ask. But it's good for you."

"You are literally the only person I would hear that answer from, and still drink what they gave me."

"Err, don't commit to that. It tastes pretty awful."

She was right--it did. But Revyn wasn't really in the mood to complain. For the first time in while, life felt like it had promise again. There would be troubles, surely, and there would be days spent worrying over Cecily while she was out on some adventure. (Not that he hadn't worried, in the back of his mind. At least now he could be honest with himself about it.) But to love and be loved, would make it all worthwhile.

Alright first a!anon back, finished my other prompt today, so I can start off on this! I've got an idea that he ends up with a kind of mean Dunmer. Probably. Another conversation mentions he makes a lot of risky deals that go bad. He needs to pay someone back or they get the brotherhood on him.

I'm starting a job tomorrow though, so I'm going to be busy. I'm thinking I'll post in a few days or in a week.

Thank you so much for such a lovely comment!

Normally *all* I write is crack/humour, which is why As Bad As Any Elf and Old Fashioned Way are taking forever to gel for me, and I'm trying to bring more humour into my ficbits because the two big fics are much more serious.

When I first played and saw Galmar for the first time my immediate response was WERE!BEAR EXCELLENT! And then I realised it was armour. :P

I'm so glad you enjoyed this!

I loved the prompt so much (this is actually the second fill I did for it ;)) so I'm glad you enjoyed this. I have so much fun with those two, I'm glad you do, too :D

You're welcome A!Anon! This OP right here has literally stalled the main quest as long as possible just NOT to kill Alduin...but then I killed him. Q.Q

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