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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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“You can’t just bring a dragon’s skull to this mead hall without a tale to tell.” Athis said, he put a hand on Ria’s shoulder stopping her from leaning into Vilkas.

Vilkas sought out Ariella and then his eyes lock with her and gave him a nod. She wondered how much he would tell but she supposed it didn’t really matter. They would all find out eventually.

She knew that but she still felt anxious at the prospect of everyone knowing. She didn’t like attention as it was and being Dragonborn would certainly bring attention.

“Well we had just spent the night in a cave and were on our way back to Whiterun.” Ariella listened, not to the words but to Vilkas’ voice. She hoped his voice would sooth her as it seemed to have a habit of doing. She relaxed significantly as Vilkas described the walk.

However when he introduced the dragon the same anxiety came back. She tried to sit there though. However Vilkas’ description of the dragon was too real yet at the same time didn’t capture how terrifying it was.

Just as he was describing how the dragon seemed to speak Ariella put her tankard down and silently went outside.

---
Only a short update today sorry, I have some stuff in irl that really needs to be done.

your story is growing well, and I like the relationship that the two have already! do not make us wait too long! you soon! :)

argh! we want the rest! and we want vilkas face a decisive step! eeeheheeh! you're writing a good story! and I like to see ariella twist to the story about the dragon! :)

Ahahaha, Nepos that conniving little marvel. I think I love him. Now that Eola's feeling more herself she and Madanach are a lot of fun to read about, too. And Cicero and Eola ARE sweet, bizarrely enough. Great chapter!

It was quite as the two trudged along the snow laden road and Argis voiced as much, but Nikolai gave no response. They could easily see the walls of Windhelm across the river but the wilderness beside them was silent. “It doesn’t sit well with me,” Argis grumbled.

Nikolai glanced over his shoulder and motioned towards the city, “It’s probably because we’re so close to Windhelm. Do you honestly hear the sounds of wildlife just outside the walls of Markarth?”

“No,” Argis frowned, “but that’s because the Forsworn are slinking just out of sight. The animals know to steer clear.”

“Could it possibly be the fact that it’s snowing and they found shelter of their own?”

“I suppose.”

The younger man rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the road ahead. “Another few minutes and we’ll within the city. We’ll have a hot meal and a warm bed, so no more complaining.”

Pursing his lips together Argis said nothing more. They were both in sour moods thanks to the current weather. Neither had been prepared for snow. Argis thanked the Divines that it happened so close to the city. There was no telling how things would have progressed if they were another day out.

Argis never heard the animal before it hit him; never saw it’s shadow or the flash of fur out of the corner of his eye. The roar of the sabercat cut through the silence like a knife and was echoed by Argis’ cry of surprise as he was wrenched back. The claw that was undoubtedly supposed to slice into his back had instead lodged itself into his pack. Now he lay on the ground, heart racing as he heard the creature snarl.

The sound of Nikolai’s screaming his name was lost to Argis. All he heard was the rush of blood in his ears and his own mind trying to get him to move. He tried to scramble to his feet, hands frantically reaching for his weapon but the cat deftly knocked his legs out from beneath him. Argis rolled onto his back and stared wide eyed into the face of the animal as it stood over him.

“Fus Ro Dah!”

With what sounded like a crash of thunder the sabercat was knocked off of Argis. He could feel the force of it wrack his own body and for a moment he feared that he too would be thrown be the sound. Yet there was nothing, save for the hard beating of his heart.

“By the gods,” Nikolai cried suddenly coming into Argis’ view, his face pale. “Argis, are you okay?”

Argis gave a slight nod, “I think I’m fine.” He let Nikolai help him to his feet and waited as the man looked him over.

“Nearly tore your pack in two. We can buy you a new one. The damned thing doesn’t look like it’s coming back.”

“That sound. What was it?”

Nikolai gave a nervous chuckle, “That was me, actually.”

“You? That sounded like-“

“The dragons, yes?”

Argis gave a slow nod as he gave Nikolai an uneasy look. “We’ve always steered clear of them but could hear their battles. How is it that you can sound like them so easily?”

“I guess it’s because I’m Dovahkiin.”

There was nothing Argis could say in response to such a revelation. He knew he wore a shocked expression thanks to the nervous response Nikolai seemed to have. All it did was illustrate how little Argis knew about his companion. When Nikolai had arrived in Markarth he was no-one of note, just a man wishing to aid the city in some way. Argis listened to those in the Jarl’s employ about this newcomer and before he knew it this he was serving this newcomer. Neither spoke about their lives before working together. Argis didn’t even know where Nikolai hailed from.

“W-we should get moving, Argis.” Nikolai stammered. “I think we both deserve a drink after that.”

Oh never, ever stop writing please!
This is... Argh... SAADSJETGHVNASJF *coherent thinking stopped altogether by the fluffiness and sexiness of this story*

Candlehearth Hall was the first thing the Argis saw when the two entered Windhelm. It was a welcoming sight against the dreary sky and equally dreary city. He couldn’t figure if it was the weather that seemed to cast a gloom over everything or if something else hung over Windhelm. All it did was make him long for Markarth.

Nikolai led the way without a word and Argis followed in kind. Neither had said a word since the revelation of the young man’s mythic identity. In truth Argis didn’t know how to respond. Why hadn’t he said something before? How long had Nikolai known what he was? So many questions rolled around in Argis’ mind but he knew of no tactful was to broach the subject.

“Go and find a place by the fire,” Nikolai said as they entered the inn. “I’ll see to getting us a room and some food.”

The sound of singing drifted from the upper floor of the inn as Argis ascended the stairs. The room above opened before him, the hearth being the focal point of it all. Few people milled about, most drinking and having hushed conversations. Argis shook off the remaining snow and the cold as he settled close to the hearth.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Argis glanced up and paused, staring a moment too long at the young barmaid. “Yes, two pints of mead for now.”

The woman smiled, “Two?”

“Yes. My companion is getting a room.”

“Alright,” the woman chuckled, “two pints coming up.”

Argis watched the barmaid disappear down the steps and cursed softly the moment she was out of sight. This was the last thing he needed. Thinking about it Argis didn’t know if Nikolai was the jealous type let alone if he knew how difficult it would be for Argis to try and curb what was only natural. ‘Either way,’ Argis thought, turning the ring he wore about his finger, ‘I just need to watch myself.’

“Hope you don’t mind soup.”

Argis turned his eyes to Nikolai as he took his seat. “Sounds fine. You manage to get a room?”

“Yes,” Nikolai nodded. “Had only a few rooms left but managed to get something relatively nice.”

“What is your business here anyway?”

“I’m trying to get an audience with Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Argis’ eyes widened, “Ulfric? Do you know how hard it is to see that man these days? Do you truly believe that you can just walk in to the Palace of Kings?”

“I’ve had a run in with Ulfric once before,” Nikolai grinned. “Jogging his memory should be more than enough to help get an audience.”

“A run in?”

“Yes.”

“And what are you planning?”

“I was going to inquire about his cause in this war.” Nikolai lowered his voice, “Maybe even seeing what the Imperials have to offer. Just a little information gathering on my part.”

Argis began to respond but cut himself off as tankard was placed before him. He looked up at the barmaid who gave a smile and a wink. “Here you boys go; some mead and soup to warm yourselves with. Enjoy and let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” Argis replied with a slight smile.

Nikolai watched the woman leave with a smile of his own. “She is a pretty one.”

Argis felt himself flush with embarrassment, “I suppose she is.”

“Come,” Nikolai sighed, raising his tankard. “To our health.”

“To our health,” Argis replied raising his own glass.

They ate their meal in relative silence before the mead began to do its job in relaxing the two men. Gone were their worries of the events earlier that day, as well as Argis’ own embarrassment. They chatted about the war over the coming hours, something they hadn’t touched on during their times together. Their hushed whispers went unnoticed by the amount of growing patrons as well as the barmaid who kept their tankards ever full.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The slurred voice brought the conversation to a halt as the duo glanced up. A robed Breton stood at their table, a smile on his face and a tankard in hand. “I was wondering if either of you were interested in a game.”

Argis eyed the man and felt something tugging at his mind. “Have we met before?”

The Breton turned his gaze to Argis and raised a brow as he studied him. “I don’t know. I bump into a lot of people. This your first time here?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he said with a wink. “I just happen to have one of those faces, I guess.”

Argis frowned slightly, “I suppose.”

“What kind of game?” Nikolai chimed in with a smile and a rosy hue in his cheeks.

The Breton grinned, “That’s more like it! A drinking game. You Nords seem to be able to hold your drink and I’ve wanted to see how I stack up against the lot of you.”

Nikolai gave a cheerful laugh, obviously interested in the man’s suggestion. He looked at Argis, “What do you say?”

Argis shook his head, “I’ve told you what happened the last time, Nikolai. I don’t plan on letting something like that happen again.”

“This time’ll be different. I’m here with you.”

“Sorry but I’ll pass, and you should too; you’ve already had a few as it is.”

The Breton laughed, “Then it’s an even playing field.” He grabbed an unoccupied chair and pulled it over to the table, sitting too close to Nikolai for Argis’ peace of mind. “What do you say? Offer still stands,” he said.

“No,” Argis replied, his mind sobering rather quickly. “I’ll be in our room, Nikolai. Find me when this is over.”

Without another word Argis left the table. He paused at the stairs when he heard the Breton shout for the barmaid, and glanced back at the two. A pang of anger and jealousy suddenly sprang forth as he watched the Breton slip an arm around Nikolai. It was made all the worse when Nikolai didn’t remove the man’s arm. With a frown he disappeared down the stairs, deciding he needed some fresh air and that his room could wait. At that moment he could care less about what happened to Nikolai.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Argis snarled.

The Nord woman shrugged, “He and that Breton left at some point last night and I never saw them come back.”

“This Breton, did he have a room here?”

“No. The man shows up from time to time for a drink but that’s it.”

Argis didn’t know how to feel. Angry? Betrayed? He didn’t want to admit to anything else as they crept through his mind. The woman behind the counter watched him without a word. “Did my companion pay for the room yesterday?”

“He did.”

“Okay. If he shows up looking for me,” Argis frowned, “tell the bastard I left for Markarth.”

Argis left Windhelm by way of a carriage. He didn’t care about seeing what the country had to offer and knew that those few days alone would only cause his emotions and thoughts to stew. The driver and other passengers provided distractions for the most part through idle conversations.

By the end of his travel Argis found he was no longer angry but worried about Nikolai. No word had been sent and there was no sign that he had returned to Vlindrel Hall. Nikolai could move through the city unnoticed by most others so Argis found little point in questioning people. All he could do was wait for something. Anything.

‘I shouldn’t have left him alone,’ Argis thought as he slipped out of Vlindrel Hall. It had been nearly a week since he had seen Nikolai. He found himself worrying about the man and missing his presence. The more he thought about it the more had realized that these days had been unlike the days before their strange marriage. Yes, he had worried about Nikolai’s safety and health when he wasn’t with him, but now those worries were tinged with other emotions and ones that shocked him.

“Argis.” The sound of his name brought Argis out of his thoughts. Ascending the stairs was a Breton woman dressed in robes. He recognized her as one of the priestesses of Dibella, a woman by the name of Senna if he remembered correctly. He also recognized the fact that the woman was beyond angry.

“What’s wrong, Senna? I don’t see you wandering the city often.”

Senna stopped a few steps below Argis and stared up at the man with anger in her eyes. “I want you to keep that Thane of ours in check and out of our temple if at all possible.”

Argis’ heart jumped, “Nikolai? You’ve seen him?”

“Seen him? I found him in our temple! Drunk and making-”

“When?”

Senna’s eyes widened, shocked at suddenly being interrupted, before a frown settled over her lips. “Days ago. He left me with the lovely job of cleaning his mess.”

“Do you remember where he went? Was anyone with him?”

“He was alone and left for Rorikstead but, like I said that was days ago. Who knows where he is now. Argis, is everything alright?”

Argis nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you and I apologize for my Thane’s actions. Is there anything I can do as compensation for any harm that he caused?”

Senna sighed, the anger obviously no longer present. “A donation would be more than acceptable.”

“Consider it done,” Argis replied. “I’ll have the donation to you within a day or two.

The priestess muttered a thank you before descending the stairs. Argis felt his shoulders slump as he turned and entered Vlindrel Hall once more. He wasn’t fond of the silence anymore, letting his thoughts cry out louder than he’d like, and the account Nikolai’s actions only caused him more worry. The man could be anywhere in Skyrim and there was no way Argis could track him.

Argis settled into a chair beside the hearth and stared at the dying embers. There was nothing else he could do but wait. Wait and worry.

The sound of clattering woke Argis from a fitful sleep. For a moment he wondered if it was nothing but his imagination but the sound came again. Slipping out of bed he blindly grabbed his sword and moved silently into the hall’s main room. There was silence now and darkness pervaded everything. He stood at his door unmoving and waiting for his eyes to adjust.

It would be the first time in Argis’ recollection that someone had broke into Vlindrel Hall and it was something that he was going to remedy. Another clatter echoed from the entry, followed by a muttering voice. Argis smiled to himself. ‘This will be too easy.’ Tightening his grip on the hilt he crept towards the sound.

A figure knelt before the hall’s door, their leather armor dirty and torn, intent on rifling through a bag on the ground. Behind them sat a lantern, its flame low and tossing shadows over the figure and across the walls and floor.

“Hands out of the bag and I promise I won’t hurt you,” Argis growled.

The person’s head snapped up, “Argis?” There was no doubt in Argis’ mind on whose voice that was.

Nikolai stood and took an uneasy towards the housecarl. The sword in Argis’ hand clattered to the ground as he suddenly seized the young man. He held him close and whispered his name. Nikolai tensed for only a moment before returning the embrace.

“If I had known this be your reaction I would have disappeared sooner,” Nikolai said with a soft laugh. He quickly regretted speaking his mind as he felt Argis loosen his hold and quickly shove him back. Nikolai slumped against the door and watched the warrior disappear in the darkness of the main room, not bothering to grab his weapon. Mentally kicking himself Nikolai picked up his pack and lantern and followed slowly. The room gained soft light as Argis started a small fire in the hearth before turning to head to his room.

“I’m sorry.”

Argis paused, “What are you apologizing for?”

Nikolai sighed, dropping his bag on an empty chair. “Sorry that I made you worry. I was gone for some time.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Argis turned around and gave Nikolai a hard stare. “Why did you run off? You ended up back here, a damn drunk defacing a temple, only run off again? Why didn’t stay here or leave a note?”

“The priestess found you?” Nikolai asked with a wince.

“I hope Oblivion takes you,” Argis snapped.

“Look, it was that damned Breton, okay? After a couple drinks I blacked out! When I woke up I was on the other side of Skyrim and I had a priestess screaming at me. All I could do was retrace my steps after that, and all I found was problem after problem.”

Argis frowned, “I knew that he looked familiar.”

“The Breton?”

“He was the same damned lunatic that got me drunk years ago.”

The color in Nikolai’s face drained as he stared at Argis. “That was the same man? Are you sure?”

“I said as much that night but he didn’t remember either. Took us both for fools,” Argis replied. “Did you make your back to him?” Nikolai quickly shook his head as he turned his attention back to his pack. Argis gave a heavy sigh and turned once more to his room, “Get some rest. It looks like you need it.”

Nikolai pushed the chair aside and took a frantic few steps as he reach for his companion. “Argis, wait!” He paused as the man turned around and studied him. Nikolai could see both the anger and the worry on Argis’ face, and knew that he was only seeing a portion of what was going on in the man’s mind. He was tired, upset, yet happy that Nikolai had returned. “I’m sorry if I caused you any distress. It was not my intentions, I swear.”

A hint of a tired smile passed over Argis as he slowly approached Nikolai. The young man rarely had a chance to fully take in the man’s appearance and against his better judgment he did at that moment. He was a man built for battle. Tall and broad, muscles trained through hours of practice and sweat. He housed few scars, the most noticeable being the one that took the sight of one eye.

Argis came to rest before Nikolai, clasping a hand behind the man’s neck. He rested his forehead against Nikolai’s with a sigh. “I was angry with you,” he explained. “No idea where you wandered to and why it seemed you left with that Breton. Truth be told I worried for your safety and found myself jealous that you may have found interest in that man.”

“You were jealous,” Nikolai smiled.

“As strange as it is,” Argis chuckled, “yes. I am happy you’ve returned safe.”

“I’m happy to find you here. A part of me was convinced you would have left me altogether.”

“We pledged an oath and I am not one to break such things.”

Argis kissed the young Nord, slipping an arm around his waist to bring his body close. He was surprised when he realized that he missed Nikolai’s touch and this was the culmination of that need. He nipped at the man’s lower lip before pulling away. It was torture doing that. Argis felt like he needed more than just a simple kiss, more than a touch, but it was late and Nikolai had a rough journey.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were trying to retreat to your old room,” Nikolai said as he met Argis’ gaze. “I do hope you realize that we share the same bed now.”

“Am I to assume you are requesting my presence?”

“It’s more than a request at this point,” Nikolai replied, draping his arms over Argis’ shoulders.

Wonderful, AA. Just, wonderful.

6

"No."

"Mercer-"

"Did you really think I'd approve a job breaking into Skyrim's most secure prison when we don't have the skills or the intel necessary to pull it off? Especially when I know it's just an excuse to break your little protégé out of jail? Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?"

Brynjolf's blood burned with every word out of the Guildmaster's mouth. "Refusing to rescue the best investment this guild has made in twenty years?" he shot back. "Pretty fucking stupid."

Brynjolf wasn't sure it was possible for Mercer to look any colder, but somehow the older thief managed it as his face drained of color and his eyes narrowed to steely slits.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he ground out, voice barely above a whisper. "Now go take a walk before you say something I'll let you regret."

"She'll die, Mercer," Brynjolf protested.

Mercer shrugged. "Then she dies."

Brynjolf opened his mouth, but Sapphire's hand on his arm stayed the words that would have come tumbling out. He wanted nothing more than to punch the emotionless expression off the man's face, but enough of his mind could recognize what a terrible idea it would be, so he turned on his heel and stalked into the training room.

Niruin leveled a bow at a target while Rune practiced his knifework, both of them chatting amiably between strikes.

"Get out," Brynjolf snarled, heading straight for a greatsword propped up against a barrel in the far corner. Members didn't practice with it often - everyone in the guild preferred lighter, more graceful weapons - but it was not a typical night.

"Bryn-?"

"Get out!"

Brynjolf's roar sent both men to the doorway, whispering in puzzled tones as they left the redheaded Nord to his fury.

He hefted the blade up with both hands and, before he had even adjusted to its awkward balance, he brought it down on the barrel that had previously supported it, wood splinters bursting out in every direction as salt spilled across the floor.

The guild was everything he had, he lamented as he wielded the iron in his fists, hacking at the barrel until it was little more than a pile of kindling. He had voted for Mercer to lead them. Ruthless and unforgiving as he was, Mercer was their only reasonable choice. And no matter how much he wanted to, Brynjolf couldn't bring himself to disobey the man he had spoken for. You could not follow your leader only when it was convenient to do so. If you found his decisions disagreeable, you must try sway him, and cope with it if you couldn't. Otherwise you had chosen the wrong leader.

And so Brynjolf was coping, after a fashion. As the greatsword scraped the stone floor beneath the barrel, he directed his anger at one of the nearby cupboards, splitting a shelf in two.

He could not get the lass out of his mind. Was his wrath useless now? Was she already dead? Would the King in Rags leave her whole, or would he use her bones to decorate his cell?

Brynjolf thought of her body, a body he constantly dreamed of, marked with scars she never talked about (or maybe she did - just not with him). Would Madanach flay her and fashion armor for himself from her skin? Would he wait until she was dead, or would she feel every stroke of the knife?

The thought that he might never again watch her eyes glitter in the Flagon's torchlight, pale blue like an Eastmarch blizzard, or listen to her unbridled laughter echo in every corner of the Cistern filled Brynjolf with a strength he didn't know he had as he battered the cupboard, the sword as light as a dagger in his hands.

He didn't know how long he spent ripping apart the training room, his arms heavy but unrelenting until the sound of his name broke his almost meditative assault and he found himself staring down the blade at Sapphire's throat.

The young woman leaned on her shoulder in the doorway, her arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

"Delvin has a job for you," she said simply, unfazed by the sword leveled at her. "He wants to see you at the stables."

Brynjolf scowled and tossed the blade aside, the metal clanking against the stone floor as it skittered away from him.

"One bloody thing after another, isn't it?" he fumed. "You bastards can't do anything without my help, but the second I ask for some assistance-"

"Don't you talk like that to me," Sapphire growled, poking a finger at his chest. "Who went to Markarth when you couldn't? Who found out what happened to her in the first place? Who tried to convince Mercer to let us stage a rescue mission? Get your head out of your ass, Brynjolf - you're not the only one who's worried about her." She closed her eyes a took a deep breath to compose herself. "Now, take a minute. Then go meet Delvin."

As she turned to leave, Brynjolf finally found his voice.

"I'm sorry, lass. You're right. I should have thanked you."

"Yes," she said without glancing back at him. "You should have."

Without another word, she left him, ashamed and helpless, the wreckage of the training room scattered around his feet.

I am sad! :( ! Still waiting! Appearance news :)

Hey! Sorry lovely OP and Anons but I've not been very well the past fortnight and as such am now terribly behind on my chapters and general KinkMemeing :(

But I am back and working feverishly to get the next chapter done...it just might be a bit longer...Sorry!

OTL

But thank you all for your lovely comments- they cheered me up tremendously when I got back from the hospital today :)

This fic is just mdahuhfalkjfla. :)

In game, I really didn't like all the Forsworn characters/Markarth in general; but you've managed to take all the characters and make them loveable and give them depth whilst still retaining the more psychopathic qualities that they have...looking forward to the next chapter!

Gah, come on, don't leave us hanging! What happens now?! Tell me Delvin has an idea!

I didn't know that the previous fic was going to have a sequel this soon! A!A you're spoiling us and because of that I thank you so much.

not! oh I'm so sorry! I hope you can recover at best, and not just your story but for all! I'm rooting for you! take the time you need. just know that we are waiting for you, perhaps with more than one chapter! heheh! we are here! see you soon and take back completely! olè eee

Good to hear!

Loving this story. Please continue. :)

Argis smiled as he kissed Nikolai once more. “I’ll meet you there. I should not have left my sword on the ground.

Nikolai flashed a smile, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Watching Nikolai disappear into his darkened room Argis couldn’t help but let the smile linger. The man had returned safely and, after a tense moment, both were in relatively high spirits. Argis moved slowly through the hall and retrieved his sword, hefting the item absentmindedly as his thoughts wandered. What was going to happen now? They were both happy to see each other, more so than Argis had anticipated.

‘Let’s just say you owe me one.’ Nikolai’s voice echoed in Argis’ mind even after a week of uttering those words. The one eyed warrior wet his lips as he strode back towards the main room. He had no clue what Nikolai had in mind but he found himself willing to do much to appease him.
Argis replaced the sword in his hand for the young man’s forgotten lamp as he moved towards the bedroom. For a moment he paused, feeling as if stepping across the threshold cemented everything. Shaking his head he stepped into the room. There was little point in over thinking.

The sound of soft snoring caused Argis laugh softly. He raised the lantern, tossing faint shadows across the walls as he looked at Nikolai. The young man lay across his bed, one boot off, and sound asleep.

“Poor fool,” Argis murmured. He placed the lantern on a bedside table before turning to his sleeping companion. Slowly he moved Nikolai, removing his remaining boot as he repositioned him. Argis ran his hand across the chest of the leather armor and trailed over the tears with light fingers. There was no sign of wounds to Nikolai himself but it must have been close. “What did you go through?” The armor was alien to him, a suit that Argis had never seen the young man wear. Leathers dyed black and red dotted with metal studs, all of it close fitting.

Argis pushed the thoughts from his mind as he brushed his fingers along Nikolai’s jaw. Nothing else mattered. Not what Nikolai did during his absence nor any worries that threatened to creep in his thoughts. He moved to the opposite side of the bed and slid close to Nikolai. Argis was thankful that the man had fallen asleep, saving him from the embarrassment of shaking hands as he pulled Nikolai close and hugged him. He smelt of the wilds and the dying embers of a fire.

“I missed you,” Argis whispered. “Gods know that I missed you every night.”

I love this story oh I can not wait for them to meet and the reaction of Brynjolf, he is already suffering for her!

is becoming an addiction! I look forward to! :)

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