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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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Pairings: F!Altmer DB/Madanach, Cicero/Eola, Argis/Elisif
Relationships: het
Warnings/kinks: magically heightened wedding night sex, much fluffy cuteness
Summary: Eight months after the events at Rebel's Cairn, the Reach is at peace and the Dragonborn's life is utterly untroubled. All she's got to worry about now is her forthcoming wedding...

A/N: And this is it. The last chapter. A cute, fluffy and romantic one to pull it all together. I hope you enjoy it.

Eight months later

“MAMA!”

Liriel opened her eyes as her girls pounced on her. She'd not been asleep. Dear gods, how was she supposed to have gone to sleep. She'd lain awake in her bed at Vlindrel Hall, tossing and turning, wondering if she'd done the right thing. If she should have told her parents. They'd never have come but... too late now.

It's not too late, Liriel. You don't have to do this. Tell him you're sorry and go back to Alinor, marry an Altmer.

“Hello darlings,” Liriel whispered as Sissel bounced on the bed and Lucia curled up next to her. It was far too late and she knew it. She could never leave her girls, and they'd be heartbroken if she told them they didn't have a father any more.

“Mama, Mama, it's today, it's today!” Sissel squealed. “Can we put our dresses on now, can we?”

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Liriel asked, all too familiar with what Sissel's clothes usually looked like after she'd eaten. Both girls nodded.

“Uncle Cicero made us pancakes!” Lucia laughed. “He tossed them in the air and caught them in the pan! Apart from the two he dropped.”

“CICERO DIDN'T DROP ANY!” came the outraged shriek from the kitchen, accompanied by Jordis' laughter. “CICERO NEVER DROPS PANCAKES!”

“I'm sure you didn't,” Liriel laughed, finally deciding to get up. She should at least try and eat something, even though her stomach felt nervous and unsettled and she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep much down. Was it normal to feel quite this terrified? She had no idea, and the little voice in her mind screaming it's too soon, too soon, we need a decade to make sure we won't hate each other would not shut up.

But Madanach didn't have a decade to wait. So here she was, getting married. She wondered how humans managed it.

~~~~~~~~~

“Da? DA!”

Madanach stared into the mirror, fresh from his usual shower in the master bedroom's built-in waterfall, towel around his waist but otherwise not dressed yet. No matter how much he willed it otherwise, he was definitely still an ageing Breton warlord and not a handsome young Altmer wizard. What in the name of all the gods was he thinking??

“DA! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”

And if Eola didn't stop hassling him, he'd... he didn't know what but she wouldn't like it. Even if she was his beloved heir to the throne and he couldn't throttle her until she'd at least produced grandchildren.

“IT IS OPEN!” he shouted back. The door finally opened as Eola swanned in, already clad in a sleeveless low-cut dress possibly more suited to a tavern than her father's wedding and her beloved white-gold wolf's head torc.

“You're up!” she laughed. “But not dressed – Da, you're not dressed! You need to get dressed, do I have to get Nepos in here?”

“NO!” Madanach gasped, really not in the mood for dealing with his steward right now. “Er. No. No, I'm sure he's very busy dealing with the cooks and the guests and everything else. We don't need to bother Nepos.”

“Good, then you'll be fine getting dressed on your own, won't you?” said Eola, grinning. “Or do I need to stand over you and make sure of it?”

“Absolutely not, I am a grown man and do not need your help looking after myself,” Madanach growled. “I just need a little bit of peace in my own bedroom, without my children bothering me.”

“Yeah, about that,” Eola said pointedly. “Ceremony's at noon. It's half ten now and it is going to take an hour to get to the Lover Stone. Bride's allowed to be late. Groom keeps the bride waiting and people think he's jilted her. Have you even eaten yet?”

“Not hungry,” Madanach said, entirely truthfully. “Listen, Eola... oh what now?”

“Da?” Now that was Argis, and the man was in his thirties, did he need to sound quite that plaintive? Then Madanach heard the sound of a baby's wail and all petulance flew out of his head.

“Is that my little granddaughter you have there?” he asked, face lighting up as Argis walked in, the future High Queen of Skyrim nestled in his arms. Said future High Queen was currently fussing in the arms of her haggard father who looked like he'd been up half the night.

“She won't sleep,” Argis said, staring wildly at his father, silently imploring him for aid. “Why won't she sleep? She's fine when Elisif and I hold her but as soon as we put her down... Da, why?”

Quite why Argis expected him to magically know what his granddaughter was thinking, Madanach had no idea, but he'd do his best. He held his arms out and Argis gratefully decanted little Lirela ap Elisif into Madanach's hands.

A whole month it had been since the courier arrived bringing the news that High Queen Elisif had been safely delivered of a healthy little girl, and Madanach had left for Solitude immediately for the naming ceremony, Liriel at his side and their girls with them in the carriage. When he'd got to the Blue Palace and Argis had brought her out, eyes shining as he babbled on about how gorgeous she was and so tiny, Madanach had held her in his arms, staring wordlessly at the tiny child that was somehow his first grandchild. Liriel had stared at her, whispering she didn't know people could be that small. Then the girls had wanted to see and oohed and aahed over her, and then Argis had said he and Elisif wanted to call her Lirela, was that all right, and then Liriel had been lost for words too, just nodding tearfully and that was two of them, a Dragonborn and a King, grinning stupidly at each other with tears in their eyes.

Now Argis and Elisif were both here, looking exhausted and worn out but at the same time constantly cooing over little Lirela, neither seemingly able to get their heads around the idea they'd made a person. It was rather strange when you thought about it. All this time and there'd been no Lirela anywhere and now here she was, alive and well and gurgling up at her grandfather.

“Hello there, little one,” he murmured at her, bright blue eyes gazing up at him as the wailing subsided and she looked solemnly at him. “You recognise me, don't you, cariad? It's your granda, isn't it? Did you miss me? Is that why you were crying, hmm?”

“By the gods,” he heard Eola mutter. “Da, you were meant to be getting dressed?”

“In a second,” said Madanach, refusing to be rushed. When it came to his beautiful granddaughter, the rest of the world could wait. “Yeah, you just wanted a cuddle, didn't you? Didn't want to be left alone, did you? And why should you be, you're too adorable to ignore.” He took a proper look at Argis and tutted. “Son, is that steel armour you're wearing?”

“Yes?” said Argis, looking a bit confused. Bless the boy, you could tell he'd not been around babies much.

“Thought as much. Your inyeen here wants body heat and warmth, she'll get none of it through that. Get changed into something softer and get a sling off the servants, I had some put by for you. Carry her next to you, take it in turns with Elisif, she'll sleep just fine.”

“You think?” Argis asked hopefully.

“Ten forty-five!” Eola hissed, having inherited all her maternal instincts from her own mother. Madanach made a mental note to talk seriously with her about letting him raise any children she had. He loved Eola, he really did, but honestly someone whose immediate reaction to a new niece had been to glance at her, note that she was cute and then head off in search of something more interesting probably wasn't cut out for childrearing. Not to mention when she did hold Lirela, she kept cheerfully talking about all the many ways to cook and eat the child. He was sure it was just her twisted sense of humour but even so, there were limits.

“I think so,” Madanach said, handing her back over. “Honestly, I think she just gets bored lying down, unable to see all the interesting things going on. If she can see what's out there, she'll probably be fine. Eola was exactly the same. Constantly in everything.” And very little had changed since, to be honest. Huffing, Eola got up, taking the point.

“Ten fifty,” she announced tersely. “Now get dressed. We will be late.”

“We will not be late,” Madanach sighed, ushering his children out. “We will be fine. Liriel is wrangling two young children and Cicero with just a housecarl to help. Believe me, she will not get there before us.”

Argis and Eola both left him to it. Madanach let out a sigh of relief as he reached for his razor. Just the ceremony itself now. Just get through the day and then he could finally take Liriel to bed as his wife. His queen. Officially. Properly. He'd already granted her citizenship of the Reach a few days before and she'd been made a citizen of the Empire while they'd been in Solitude. A child of Alinor now part of Talos's Empire and soon one of its queens too.

He was marrying Liriel. Gorgeous, beautiful, amazing, passionate Liriel. She'll change her mind. She won't be there. She'll lose her nerve and run away. She won't be able to face marrying a human, much less an old man, even if he is king. He'd seen it in her eyes, the hesitancy whenever the wedding was mentioned, sadness in her eyes when she didn't think he was looking. A decent man would have let her go months ago, sent her away to find an Altmer to love. But Madanach was not a decent man and he'd spent twenty years in prison unhappy and lonely. He was never giving her up if he could help it. He just wished he didn't feel like he was damning her to misery in the process.

Noon, more or less. The great and good of Skyrim were gathered around the Lover Stone, taking seats on the benches set up to watch the ceremony. There was the High Queen of Skyrim and her husband, cooing over her new baby in its embroidered Forsworn-made sling and showing it off to everyone, wild-eyed and amazed by its every move. There was General Rikke and a few Legionnaires, including Captain Hadvar who'd apparently rescued the Dragonborn from the burning wreck of Helgen. There was the eclectic little group in black and red who claimed to be some sort of mercenary group Liriel worked with. There were a few shady-looking black-clad types – one red-haired Nord, a blonde Imperial with a bad attitude and a shaven-headed Breton who would later be making off with the valuables of certain wealthy guests not part of the Reach royal family. There were the Black-Briars of Riften – Maven, Hemming and Ingun anyway, Sibbi was still in Riften prison after Maven had found out he'd sold one of her prize horses. There was Jarl Balgruuf and his housecarl Irileth, and his steward Proventus and his daughter Adrienne with her husband. There were various mages from the College of Winterhold – their Master Wizard, their Destruction mistress, their Illusion master and three of their apprentices, all busy listening to Forsworn tales of Reach magic in awe. There was a Dunmer priestess of Azura chatting to a Dunmer mercenary from Whiterun and from their body language, it was becoming blatantly obvious that the Shrine of Azura might just remain untended for a while longer. There was Brina Merilis of Dawnstar and her housecarl, and Jarl Idgrod of Hjaalmarch who was busy cackling away with King Madanach's sister and if said sister was fairly dripping with Illusion magic, no one commented. Idgrod had brought her husband and children too, and young Joric was apparently fascinated by Lady Keirine.

“You're really different, aren't you?” he whispered. “You see things too, don't you?”

“I see lots of things, young one,” Keirine replied, looking for all the world like a sweet old lady with silver hair and blue eyes like her brother.

“Did it hurt?” Joric whispered. “Getting the claws and feathers, I mean.”

Keirine raised a finger to her lips. “No, only a little and not for long. But do not speak of such things here, Nordling. This is not for the eyes and ears of ortallanai, outsiders.”

“I get it,” Joric nodded. “Everyone in Morthal thinks I'm weird too. Do you think I could move to the Reach one day? Everyone here seems to get it.”

“One day, Nordling,” Keirine said, grinning. “One day.”

There was half of Markarth here for the party, and a great many Forsworn milling around. There was Reach-Princess Eola cheerfully mingling and herding people into place, there was Erandur the priest getting ready to officiate, and lastly, there was the groom himself, waiting nervously at the front, fretting at his steward.

“She's not coming,” Madanach muttered to Nepos. “She's changed her mind, I know it. Of course she has, why in the name of Magnus would she marry me?”

“Madanach,” Nepos sighed. “She loves you. She got you your kingdom back, found Eola precisely so you could marry for love not heirs, you adopted her children, of course she's marrying you.”

“Then why isn't she here??” Madanach growled, tearing his hair out. “We weren't exactly on time – well you try getting a month-old child and her sleep-deprived parents out the door to any kind of schedule. Where. Is. Liriel?”

“Madanach. She'll be here,” said Nepos, patting his hand. Madanach nodded pensively, trying not to imagine Liriel quietly fleeing back to Alinor in a panic or worse, something having happened on the road here, oh gods should he send guards back to Markarth to look for her?

He needn't have worried. In the distance came the all-too familiar sound of Cicero giggling and singing then being hushed. Madanach got up, hardly daring to look, glancing up at Erandur who smiled and motioned for quiet. Silence, nothing but the breeze and Madanach wanted to look, wanted to see her, touch her, hold her and never let her go.

He didn't look. He stayed still, back to her, waiting, eyes closed until he felt her there, the gentle touch of her hand on his, then letting go again. Finally he dared to open his eyes.

She was standing at his side, smiling nervously, red hair swept back and a circlet on her brow, beautiful flowing blue wedding gown that was clipped with gold sea-shell clips at the shoulder, fell in silken folds around her chest then tied at the waist with a gold belt and hanging loose around her perfect legs. Her torc was round her neck, a small bouquet of flowers in her hands and her flawless skin was gleaming in the sunlight. Madanach couldn't breathe. She was stunning, perfect, beautiful, a goddess in human form and she was marrying him?? What was he next to her? Just an old man who'd spent his life murdering his way to power and who in no way deserved to have a powerful, beautiful woman agreeing to marry him.

Not that he'd ever even consider sending her away. But he'd forgive her eventually if she did change her mind.

“You made it,” he murmured, hoping the relief wasn't too obvious. “I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind.”

“Never,” Liriel said, smiling. All the same, Madanach could sense the lurking anxiety behind it and it did nothing to allay his own fears. Was he doing the right thing? He didn't know and didn't care, all he knew was that he couldn't let her go. Not now. Not ever.

Erandur called them both together and the ceremony began. There was the usual homily to Mara and her blessings which Madanach barely heard, and then the vows. First the Imperial ones that would make it all legal.

“Do you, Madanach ap Caradach, agree to be bound in love to Liriel Dragonborn, now and forever?”

Yes, gods yes, he was already bound, as far as he was concerned this was just making it clear to the rest of the world that Liriel was his.

“I do, now and forever.”

Erandur smiled, seeming pleased with that. Then it was Liriel's turn.

“Do you, Liriel Dragonborn, agree to be bound in love to Madanach ap Caradach, now and forever?”

Silence. Moments ticked by and Madanach risked a glance, suddenly feeling nervous. Liriel was staring at the Lover Stone behind Erandur, breath coming in rapid, shallow bursts and her eyes... she looked terrified. No no Liriel no, not now, please, don't run away, I love you...

She closed her eyes, shook her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“I do, now and forever,” she gasped, cheeks flushing red and then she looked up, seemingly astonished as she met his eyes. She bit her lips, eyes shining and then a tear trickled down one cheek and he realised she was crying.

“Liriel, are you alright?” he whispered, alarmed. She nodded, smiling as she dabbed at her eyes.

“I'm fine,” she whispered back. “I'm just... overwhelmed.”

Madanach squeezed her hand, turning to face her properly. The vow to Mara was done, now the Forsworn vow made to each other. With Mireen, he'd spent most mornings looking at her and wondering what in the Void he'd been thinking. He hoped it'd be different with Liriel. He already felt different. He wanted to make promises to her, wanted to keep them. He hoped she felt the same as she took his hands and Erandur, having been briefed on this bit by Nepos, draped a specially enchanted ribbon around their hands. The ribbon tightened by itself, binding them together while they made their vows. Some said it would burn the hands off anyone who swore a wedding vow falsely but Madanach doubted this. He and Mireen had survived after all.

“I, Madanach ap Caradach, do take you, Liriel Dragonborn, as my wife and partner in the Dance, from now until the Void takes me. I swear to walk with you in the sunlight, shelter with you when the rains come, protect you from your enemies and show hospitality to your friends. When night falls, my bed will be your resting place and when the day breaks, I will be the one to greet it with you. In the name of the old gods, this I do swear.”

Then it was Liriel's turn and the vow was no different for women. Liriel faced him as she spoke, meeting his eyes without fear now, the Thu'um lacing her voice with power that made him shiver – but not because he was afraid.

“I, Liriel Dragonborn, do take you, Madanach ap Caradach, as my husband and partner in the Dance, from now until the Void takes me. I swear to walk with you in the sunlight, shelter with you when the rains come, protect you from your enemies and show hospitality to your friends. When night falls, my bed will be your resting place and when the day breaks, I will be the one to greet it with you. In the name of the old gods, this I do swear.”

The ribbon glowed green then red, Anu and Sithis, and then it disappeared, seeming to sink into their hands but the sense of being connected remained. Then there was the ritual exchange of Mara's wedding rings, but Madanach wasn't so bothered about that. The important part of the ceremony was done. They were married. She was his. He'd always been hers. Hadn't he protected her and her children from Astrid? Shown hospitality to Cicero despite no notice and Cicero being Cicero? He'd even offered his bed as a resting place that very first night they met. He'd always wanted her and now it was official. Liriel was his wife and as the rings settled on their fingers and the assembled crowd cheered and let off Destruction magic in the air, Madanach pulled Liriel into his arms and kissed her. This time around, he had a feeling it was going to work out.

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

The festivities got into full swing after that as the guests gathered round and congratulated the happy couple. Then the young and unmarried gathered round for the traditional throwing of the bouquet, the catcher of which was said to be the next one to get married, an Alinorian custom that Liriel had been delighted to hear the Forsworn shared. So she'd faced away and flung the flowers over her shoulder, a little bouquet of nightshade and juniper, and there'd been the usual scrambling and jostling and then...

“CAUGHT IT!” came the demented howl of delight that could only be one person. “SISTER, SISTER, DID YOU SEE?”

“We all saw,” Eola remarked, rolling her eyes. “Was it strictly necessary to elbow Young Idgrod in the cheek to get to it?”

Liriel turned around to see Idgrod the Younger being tended to by Aranea Ienith who pronounced the girl healed as Cicero apologised to her, the wedding bouquet clutched in his hands. Then, having been assured that the young Nord was going to be fine, Cicero ran back to Eola, suddenly looking a bit hesitant. Then without a word, he dropped to his knees and offered the flowers in one hand, and with the other, fished in his pocket and held up a little ring-box which turned out to contain a gold diamond ring. It was one Liriel had found in a tomb a couple of months back and Cicero had pouted and whined and fawned until she'd given in and said he could have it. Now she realised why.

“Sweetling,” Cicero said nervously but meeting Eola's eyes with not a flinch. “Sweetling, Cicero loves you. It has been six months, more than that, so your father cannot set Cicero on fire for asking now. Please, my lovely? Please marry sweet Cicero?”

Eola stared back, hand to her mouth, clearly not having expected this. Her first reaction was not to answer but to look to her father.

Madanach was watching, arms folded and grim expression as he glared at Cicero, kneeling on the ground and dressed in a High Rock Breton style frock coat, cravat and breeches with boots, hair tied back with a black ribbon and not a piece of motley in sight. Cicero the Man was clearly not quite as dead as everyone had thought. After a long moment, Madanach sighed and nodded.

Eola's face lit up and she turned back to Cicero, tears glistening in her eyes as she nodded assent, reaching out and taking first the flowers then holding her left hand out for the ring. Cicero took it from the box and slid it on to her finger before staggering to his feet and holding out his arms. Eola went into them without hesitation and the two kissed as the crowd erupted in yet more cheers.

“No wedding until the Treasury's recovered from this one!” Madanach said firmly, but Cicero and Eola didn't seem to care. They were too busy holding each other, Eola clinging tearfully on to him and Cicero crooning into her ear about how he'd never let her go hungry again but would feed her and tend to her and make sure her enemies died horribly.

“You're OK with them marrying then?” Liriel whispered in Madanach's ear. He just shrugged, putting an arm around her.

“He's clearly keen, she needs to marry someone and I have a feeling anyone else I found for her would probably end up getting mysteriously stabbed in the night,” said Madanach, leaving them to it and leading them off to where the tables for the wedding feast had been set up. “Come on wife, let's leave the young people to it. We have a party to attend.”

And so they'd sat together at the high table, everyone else taking seats at lower tables for a free meal courtesy of the Reach-King, and Liriel had her children on her left with Jordis on their other side, both wanting to see the ring and then cuddling her and Madanach in turn. Meanwhile Madanach had his children and their spouses on his right, and while Cicero and Eola were mostly wrapped up in each other, Argis stopped by to congratulate them both and then chatted to the girls while Elisif turned up with Lirela and she and Madanach promptly started talking about babies. It was very odd, Liriel hadn't ever thought Elisif and Madanach would have anything in common or even like each other, but it turned out they got on quite well, especially with a baby to coo over. And that was sad, a reminder of what she could never give him.

“We'll never have our own, will we,” she said softly as Elisif carried Lirela off to feed her. “I'm sorry, Madanach.”

He turned round, surprised she'd even think that. “Why? Don't worry about me, I've got one grandchild to fuss over and Elisif's already saying she wants another one, and I imagine Eola will do her duty to the Reach and have one at some point. Which I also have a feeling I will end up raising, so don't you worry, Liriel. I am quite content with the children I have.” His face softened a little as he saw the shadows in her eyes and he took her hand. “Did you want one, cariad? I know we talked about it and agreed not to, but if you really wanted one, I'd do it, you know I would.”

Liriel knew and he'd be a loving and devoted father, she knew that. But it wouldn't be fair on the child to be fated to lose that father so young.

“It's fine,” Liriel whispered. “It's just a bit sad, that's all.” She squeezed his hand and shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “But I've got you and that's the important thing, right?”

Madanach laughed, pulling her into his arms as he rested his head against her forehead.

“You have me,” he promised and Liriel closed her eyes as he kissed her again, feeling her sadness abate. She just married a man she loved in the sacred rite of Mara, of course she'd done the right thing. She could even feel the connection from the Forsworn rite, a knowing deep in her bones of where he was and what he was feeling. Right now, he was feeling pleased and passionate and happy and possessive and more than a little aroused... and grateful. Profoundly, deeply grateful and awed, and when she remembered how he'd come across when she'd first met him, the change couldn't be more stark. So maybe she wouldn't have him forever. To have had him at all was a blessing, and all this besides... it was nothing more than a miracle.

So Liriel held his hand and smiled and drank toasts with everyone else and ate her fill and was presented with wedding gifts as was the custom, and accepted them graciously on behalf of them both, even though she didn't need half this stuff and would probably end up gifting it on to those less fortunate.

And so the afternoon wore on, with no rain or mist in sight, and then the sun set and the older and more distinguished guests took their leave, the banquet tables were taken down and cleared, Jordis took the girls home, and Argis and Elisif took little Lirela back to Markarth. The Forsworn folk band that had been doing gentle background tunes all afternoon started up something a bit more raucous and the traditional bale-fires were lit.

“For the fire dancing,” Madanach explained. “Normally the bride and groom would be the first to leap them for fertility and good fortune but I am opting out of this one on the grounds I already have children. And because I'm too old for this sort of thing. So seeing as my daughter just got engaged, she and her lunatic consort can lead off instead.”

Cicero had already squealed, swept Eola in his arms and sprinted towards the nearest fire, leaping over it in style before landing like a cat and depositing Eola, who'd clung on to him throughout.

“Jenever, get me jenever,” Eola gasped, flagging down a passing Forsworn with a drinks tray. “Sithis, I'm never doing that again.”

“You'll have to at your own wedding!” Borkul called from where he was cuddling two giggling young Reach girls. Eola just knocked back her jenever shot in one and cuddled up to Cicero, shivering. He just giggled, kissing her cheek.

“Don't worry, sweetling, Cicero would never drop you. He never drops anything he cares about.”

Eola nestled closer, relaxing as the drink took hold and the festivities started in earnest. She'd never had anyone see her as she was and want more before. They'd usually run screaming or wanted sex but no more or not been interested in that at all, just the meat. Not Cicero. He'd not only accepted it, he positively loved helping her indulge. She was definitely keeping this one.

While Eola and Cicero snuggled, Liriel had been very surprised to find a large hay pile covered with furs and pillows set up for her and Madanach, surrounded by a structure a bit like a Forsworn tent but open to the sky.

“What...” she began, but it was obvious what it was, especially when Madanach indicated for her to go in.

“Normally bride and groom don't retire to this until late at night, but as I said, I am old and have been socialising all day. Now what I mostly want is to retire to bed with my lovely wife while my daughter takes care of the festivities for me.”

Drunken cheering from outside and Liriel lay back on the bed as Madanach closed the tent flaps behind him and lay down alongside her, torc and circlet placed to one side as Madanach slipped out of his finery and under the furs, reaching for Liriel with a smile on his face as he undid the clasps on her dress. Liriel shivered as the cloth fell away but the furs were soft and her new husband's arms were warm, and soon she was comfortably naked, looking up at the stars.

“You really meant it when you said everything important in a Reachman's life happens under the open sky.”

“Of course,” he murmured, nuzzling at her ear. “And marrying you is one of the most important things I'll ever do, my Dragon-Queen.”

Once again, Liriel could feel it, that magical connection between them communicating the truth of the feelings and she wondered just how deep and how long that magical connection was going to last. So she asked him.

“Last?” Madanach laughed. “It doesn't wear off, macreena. It's the Forsworn Bond of Matrimony, a constant awareness of where your spouse is, or what direction they're in anyway, and what's going on in their mind – not actual thoughts, I might add, just emotions. It's a remnant of the days when a lot of marriages were arranged and it was a way to help spouses who wouldn't have known each other very well work together and take care of each other. We kept the custom on because when two people love each other and have this in place, the result is... mindblowing.”

“The sex is that good?” Liriel asked, grinning. Madanach shot her a sly grin at that.

“Oh absolutely, some of the best sex I ever had was with Mireen in the early days of our marriage. But it's more than that, especially when you're both happy, it's like a spiral of emotions feeding into each other, more potent than any drug. But when things go bad or you have two people who don't care, or one person turns out to be a vicious sociopath... it can be horrific.” He didn't say any more, falling silent, and Liriel didn't need the empathy bond to tell her he was speaking from experience. She shifted closer, nestling against him, hoping he could feel that she loved him, wouldn't hurt him, would take care of him. And to her surprise, she felt an answering surge of emotion from him as he hugged her back, the gratitude again, the thankfulness and the love, so much love and Liriel was crying again, sobbing on Madanach's chest as he held her, tears in his own eyes. She'd never felt so loved and connected to anyone before and as she thought it, she realised he could feel something of that too and that just set her off even more.

“I love you,” she sobbed. “Gods, I love you.”

“I love you too,” she heard him whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the singing and revelry outside but it didn't matter. They didn't need words, not now. Madanach was kissing her and she was lying back, moaning as she felt him touch her, hands passing over her breasts then down her stomach and then Madanach was kissing his way across her cheek before going straight for the ear, teeth nipping at the edges as he nuzzled the point and Liriel could feel it, feel everything. She could feel the love and adoration pouring out of him, and while he'd explained it to her once, that the Reachmen were descended from elves and occasionally elven features like pointed ears and faces would crop up and that these were considered signs of great beauty, so for an actual elf to turn up, that was a prize indeed – Reach natives adored elves. The fascination he had with her ears was all part of it, it was a symbol of everything she represented, magic, elvishness, being Madanach's type and conforming to Forsworn ideals of attractiveness and now she got it, now she could feel it, feel a human wanting her and desiring her precisely because she was an elf and not treating her with suspicion or hostility. She'd never been so aroused in her life and as she opened her legs, she thought to herself Mother, you were wrong, you have never known what it is to be loved until you've had a human staring at you like you're a goddess.

“Madanach?” she whispered. “Madanach, please, can you touch me, please, I really want you inside me...”

Low moan from him that nearly had her coming right there, and he lay on top of her, one hand pinning her shoulder down while the other was between her legs, fingers sliding in and out of her, then he stopped, reaching for her leg and flinging it over his shoulder then driving in to her hard, fucking her deep, eyes never leaving hers as he pinned her upper arms down, half-smile on his face as he moved inside her. Liriel cried out, closing her eyes and just revelling in the feelings she was picking up from him, want and desire and the sense that although he thought she was a beautiful Altmer goddess, he also got off on taking, owning and using said goddess like a common whore and that turned her on even more. Yes, yes, use me, fuck me harder, I'm all yours...

“Madanach,” she cried, “Madanach, yes, please, yes, more!” and that was arousing him even more, the sound of her crying his name out so she did it again, loving this, loving the way she instinctively knew now what he wanted and what he wanted was to see a goddess fall apart because of him. Which was very convenient considering what she liked was seeing a cunning and calculating Reach-King with his emotions unleashed for once, the outer layers dropped and the vulnerability on show, and by the Eight, he was leaning in now, thrusting harder, whispering her name over and over again, a litany of “Liriel, yes, want you, yes, mine, mine, you're mine, have to – need you, gods Liriel, yes...”

Liriel cried out as she came, clenching down around him, knowing she was lost, ruined forever for anyone else – she'd known this for months but now it crystallised into certainty as she realised that after this, after being fucked hard and touched all over by someone whose very emotions were laid bare to her now, as hers were to him, she could never go back to just an ordinary lover, not now. Madanach, Madanach, she wanted Madanach, and as he came too, setting her a-tingle via the empathy bond, she knew she'd made the right choice. Maybe he would die all too soon and leave her lonely, but the Dance didn't end. She'd wait twenty years, nothing to an Altmer – and then she'd start looking for another Forsworn, a young one this time, one who might be Madanach reborn perhaps, and maybe, just maybe, she'd have something like this again. In the mean time, she'd make the most of him while she had him.

He cleaned her up in silence, before pulling the furs over them both and snuggling in with her.

“My wife,” he whispered, sounding enthralled and Liriel realised at least some of what she'd been thinking he must have picked up on. “You're my wife. I married you.”

“You did,” Liriel whispered. “I'm your wife and you're my husband.”

“I know,” Madanach breathed. “I can't even believe... I can't believe you said yes and didn't run away.”

It had actually been a close thing and it had taken all her strength to finally do it, finally say yes and know in her heart her parents would never forgive her if they found out – and she had no doubt the Thalmor would tell them before long. Alinor was closed to her forever, she knew that now and she'd miss it horribly... but the Reach with its Aldmeri heritage felt more like home than anywhere she'd been since she left, and with the added bonus that these days it felt freer, happier than Alinor ever had. Even when Madanach died, she had a feeling this place would always be home.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Liriel said gently, nestling into his arms. “You've got me for good.”

“Until your next big adventure anyway,” Madanach murmured and that admittedly was true. She wouldn't be always in Markarth. But thanks to the empathy bond, she'd still be able to feel his presence no matter where she went.

“Still be yours no matter where I go,” she whispered sleepily and Madanach smiled at that as he held her. Just as he'd always be hers, a little piece of him living on in her mind long after he died.

Madanach drifted off to sleep in her arms, smile on his face as she held him. Liriel lay awake a bit longer, staring up at the stars. Home to the Reachman afterlife, the Void of Sithis, and to her own Aedra ancestors. She had no idea what they were thinking of her right now. Judging her for marrying a human? Or proud of her for following her heart? She didn't know. Maybe both. But what she did know was that it didn't matter any more. She was happy and loved and if her ancestors had a problem with that, her ancestors perhaps weren't as deserving of her love and respect as she'd always believed.

She closed her eyes, preparing to let sleep claim her. Tomorrow she'd go back to Markarth, see her girls again, be Queen of the Reach alongside her new husband. But tonight she was just his wife, just a woman in bed with a man who loved her. And Liriel Dragonborn regretted not a thing.

~~~~~~~

A/N: And that's the end! Thank you to everyone who has read, enjoyed and left comments, I hope the end was a satisfying one. Especially thank you to the OP on SKM who prompted for Forsworn lore and lots of it. I hope this satisfied on that score - ever since writing With A Dragonborn Like This, I wished I could have done a bit more with the Forsworn in that and given Madanach more page time - there was an awful lot of Forsworn intrigue I wanted to include and never could. But now, thanks to this fic, I have been able to do just that! Not to mention that I couldn't have done as good a job on this one had I not first written WADLT.

Writing this story was fuelled by the music of Delain, in particular 'We Are The Others' as a Forsworn anthem, and 'Electricity' as a song for Liriel and Madanach. Highly recommended as tunes.

Pairings/relationship: gen so far, Elisif-centric
Warnings/kinks: none this chapter
Summary: Elisif's back behind Imperial lines and safe for now with Aela at her side, but she's still got the guilt and recriminations to deal with, not to mention finding the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Not an easy task, especially not when mysterious strangers start interfering and Elisif's not even sure she can trust her own side...

A/N: Took a few slight liberties with the game here - as there's been about a month between Helgen and Elisif getting called as Dragonborn, there's been more time for Alduin to raise dragons, so he's got a bit further by this point. Also, what with Elisif being on the guest list of Elenwen's parties and quite well known to the Thalmor, Delphine is going to be changing her strategy somewhat...

The two of them kept moving – there was a heartstopping moment when Stormcloak soldiers tried to stop them on the road, and then one of them recognised Aela and believed her when she told them she was just on her way back from a job in the Rift with her little sister Maia, newly recruited into the Companions and having been given the good weapons to make up for a relative lack of experience. Elisif just smiled sweetly and said nothing, and after a bit of banter between Aela and the soldiers, they let them both past. Then came Helgen, or what was left of it – Aela's arrows dealt with a few bandits that tried to attack them while Elisif Shouted a few off the walls with Unrelenting Force and somehow managed not to be sick afterwards. It was frightening just how used to all this death and blood she was getting.

Finally they got to Riverwood and the comfort of the Sleeping Giant Inn. Elisif had never been here before but apparently Aela was something of a regular.

“Don't worry, this place is safe,” Aela reassured her. “I know Delphine, the innkeeper. She's a friend of mine. Used to me pitching up at odd hours in need of somewhere to rest. She's discreet. You can trust her.”

Sure enough, despite the late hour, Delphine, a blonde Breton who might be late forties, early fifties perhaps, didn't bat an eyelid to see the two of them pitch up, Aela requesting beds for the night, food and a certain loss of memory regarding their presence here.

“Ran into trouble, did you?” Delphine asked, producing two bottles of mead for them and pocketing the gold Aela passed her, rather more than was warranted for two beds and some food.

“You might say that,” said Aela grimly. “This is my little sister, Maia. She's decided to follow in my footsteps and join up at Jorrvaskr. We were out hunting in the Rift when we ran into the biggest camp of Stormcloaks I've ever seen.”

Delphine glanced around the empty inn, devoid of anyone other than Orgnar the bartender who was pointedly not looking in their direction. She slid onto the bench opposite them, looking intrigued.

“Stormcloaks giving Companions of Jorrvaskr trouble?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “Now that does surprise me. Aren't you lot meant to be above politics, respected by all Nords?”

“They didn't realise we were Companions,” said Elisif softly. “They thought we were working for the Empire.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” said Delphine, shaking her head sadly, face shadowed in the inn's dim lighting, the central fire burning down to embers. She looked thoughtfully at Maia, seeming curious. “So you're Aela's sister. She never mentioned one before.”

“She's very protective of me,” said Elisif, hoping Delphine would believe that. Something about the innkeeper told Elisif that this woman noticed everything and was a very good judge of people. Not uncommon traits in someone who ran an inn, but there was more to Delphine than met the eye, Elisif could tell. She seemed smart for one. Not to mention agile. She carried a dagger at her side, as did a lot of tradesmen and women, but Elisif had a feeling it wasn't just for show – that Delphine really knew how to use it.

“I don't doubt it,” said Delphine, but she still looked thoughtful. As if she didn't entirely believe her or suspected there was some mystery yet to be solved. “So, Ulfric's making a move, is he? Hope he's not coming up the Helgen Pass, I'd hate to have the war come here. I just got this inn exactly how I want it, I don't need the Stormcloaks thinking we're all Empire-lovers and burning the place down.”

“No, don't worry, he's not invading,” Aela reassured her. “He was lying in wait at High Hrothgar for the Dragonborn. You've heard about the Dragonborn, I take it.”

Again Delphine's eyes flicked to Elisif and now she was sure Delphine suspected something.

“I heard,” Delphine said, her voice neutral. “Can't say I'm surprised. Ulfric's a determined man, he'd do anything to win a Dragonborn to his cause. Of course he'd lie in wait at Ivarstead, it's the first place a new Dragonborn would go. That new Dragonborn will need to take care, I imagine. Especially if the rumours about her being a person of importance are true. I imagine any number of people would want her for their own.”

“I imagine they would,” said Elisif, meeting Delphine's gaze and now she was sure Delphine had guessed who she was. Nothing they could do about it though, and Aela had said she was trustworthy. She could only hope she was right.

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

The return to Jorrvaskr had been as bad as Elisif had expected. Kodlak had been grieved indeed to hear of Skjor's death, as had everyone else, and Vilkas in particular had taken the news of Ria's capture badly.

“You should have given your life to defend her! As she would have given her life for you!” Vilkas snapped, fist hitting the table. Elisif flinched away, feeling tears in her eyes again. Fortunately Kodlak had intervened before things got out of hand.

“Vilkas, that's enough,” Kodlak growled. “I know you cared about Ria, but she knew the risk when she left. At least she lives. I will think about what we can do, in the mean time stop blaming Maia, it's not her fault.”

Vilkas had got up without a word and stalked out of the mead hall, presumably to go butcher some training dummies. Leaving Elisif sitting at the main table, despondently staring into the fire with tears in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault, lass.” That was Kodlak, taking a seat next to her, patting her shoulder as he did. “I grieve Skjor as do we all, but he died an honourable death.”

“But he shouldn't have had to!” Elisif cried. “He was only there because of me, Jordis was only there because of me, Ulfric was only there because of me! It's all my fault!”

“You did not choose this, lass,” Kodlak said quietly. “This is not a path you would have walked had you had any say, I know. But nevertheless, you cannot turn back now, and it's not a path you can or should walk alone.”

“But it'll get people killed,” Elisif whispered, finally looking up at him. For all Kodlak was an imposing warrior, his eyes held nothing but kindness when they looked at her.

“Aye, that it might. It is a dangerous road you walk. But those who walk it with you know that. Let them choose to risk their lives or not. It's their right as warriors, girl. Let them seek glory in their own way.”

Elisif didn't see anything particularly glorious in any of this, if she was honest, but if it meant Jordis and Skjor were in Sovngarde now – did werewolves go to Sovngarde? She didn't know, but Jordis had died so she could escape, sacrificed herself so she could go on to be Queen and Dragonborn. She owed it to Jordis' memory to at least try.

The day started off badly when Elisif found out Farkas and Vilkas were coming part of the way. They had some job to do in Eastmarch, apparently. Elisif didn't ask what, and neither twin said. Mercifully, while Vilkas was still cool towards Elisif, he at least didn't seem angry any more. Just grim and determined. It was something at least, and when they got out of Whiterun and were attacked by a dragon, she was glad of the help. When they were attacked by a second dragon, just north of Loreius Farm, she was really glad of the help. Not to mention the sabre cat, the wolves, the ice wraith... About the only bright spot of the entire journey was the odd little man in the jester outfit trying to transport his mother's coffin home, and while Aela and Vilkas both shot wary looks at him and kept their distance, Elisif listened sympathetically and, outraged at the farmer's refusal to help poor, stranded Cicero, went to have a word with him. Five minutes of Elisif telling him off for his inhospitality, with Farkas standing at her shoulder with a glare on his face and his arms folded, and Vantus Loreius was soon fixing the cart for him. Cicero cooed with delight, telling Elisif she was such a kind lady, such a sweet lady to help poor Cicero and his dear mother so and presented her with a large purse of gold.

“But I can't take all this!” Elisif protested. “This must be half your coin purse!”

“Oh, Cicero does not need a lot in the way of coin,” Cicero purred. “Cicero has only himself and Mother to look after, and Mother doesn't need feeding. What with being dead and all.”

Elisif sighed and accepted the gold, splitting it with Farkas who had after all helped with the whole persuasion effort. Cicero cooed after them, babbling that if he ever ran into them again, he would surely remember their kindness. Elisif wished him well, Farkas gave the little man a thumbs up, and then the four of them were moving again.

“You and your damn bleeding heart,” Vilkas growled.

“I had to help him!” Elisif protested. “He'd have been there for hours otherwise!”

“Not you,” Vilkas snapped. “I know you're a sucker for a sob story.” He smacked his brother on the arm. “Why did you have to get involved, eh? Don't you have more sense?”

“He was a man in trouble!” said Farkas, shrugging. “Had to help a fellow out, didn't I?”

“Sucker for a pretty face, is what you are,” Vilkas muttered, and that was a bit odd, Cicero wasn't a girl although he wasn't bad looking, Elisif supposed, if you could ignore the hat and that he was clearly a bit simple-minded.

“Hey, that's not why I helped!” Farkas sighed. “Although he is cute. Don't know if he's into men though, and wasn't about to make moves on him here either.”

Oh, so Farkas liked men as well as, or possibly instead of women. Elisif hadn't realised – he didn't seem the type. Vilkas didn't seem to care, and Aela hadn't batted an eyelid, so Elisif guessed it wasn't a secret among the Companions – just not considered anything worth worrying about.

“He's insane,” Vilkas sighed. “Brother, we have had this conversation before. No lunatics. I don't care how pretty they are.”

Farkas pouted but said nothing more, and the four of them pressed on. Farkas and Vilkas said goodbye at the junction, heading east for Windhelm and Eastmarch, while Aela and Elisif went west. Fort Dunstad was a bit of an obstacle, but survival and a need to press on took precedence over honour and as with Helgen, they skirted round rather than fighting the bandits inhabiting it.

After that, the road was quiet, just the odd frostbite spider or wolf to deal with, and finally the snow plains of the Pale gave way to Hjaalmarch's forests, and Morthal came in sight. A night spent at the inn there, and a few questions to the innkeeper revealed that there were no Stormcloak troops around. Something to be thankful for at least.

So it was that Elisif and Aela found Ustengrav the next morning. The place was quiet. Too quiet. There'd clearly been a battle recently though – the bodies of bandits and necromancers and a couple of Stormcloak scouts were lying around. The Stormcloaks didn't even look like they'd been dead long.

“Do you – do you think they all killed each other?” Elisif asked as Aela stripped the bodies of gold and valuables. Aela shook her head.

“No. None of these bled to death, they all died fairly quickly. Whoever won this fight, they either left – or they're inside.”

Not reassuring. Elisif clutched her axe, hoping that whoever had won, they'd got fed up and gone away.

Alas, she was to be disappointed. Inside were more dead bandits, and some live necromancers with undead thralls, both of whom fell quickly to Aela's bow, and then more necromancers engaged in pitched battle with Draugr.

After those were dealt with came the rest of the ruin. It was strangely quiet – sure there were a few Draugr and skeletons wandering around, but also quite a few dead ones. Almost as if someone had been here before. Had one of the necromancers got ahead of them? Elisif hoped not.

There was loot to be had, and another Word Wall, and then a set of gates that Elisif had to Shout to get past, and then fire traps and spiders and finally a big chamber where dragon statues rose from the water to greet them.

“Impressive,” Aela murmured.

“Creepy,” Elisif whispered back, axes in hand, just waiting for the inevitable Draugr to burst out from somewhere. None did.

At the end of the room was a tomb with a hand on top of it. A hand that looked like it should be holding something... but wasn't.

“Is that it?” Aela asked, frowning. “Where's the Horn?”

“It's not here,” Elisif said, heart racing. “But it must be here, it has to be, gods dammit, Aela, where is my bloody Horn??”

Aela didn't answer. She'd looked up, looked over Elisif's shoulder and was staring angrily at the doorway at the back of the room.

“I believe you're looking for this?”

Slowly, Elisif turned around. She knew that voice. Recognised the High Rock accent, not heard often in Skyrim but Elisif knew a fellow Wayrest native when she heard one.

“What in Oblivion are you doing here?” Elisif snapped, turning around to face the Riverwood innkeeper lounging in the doorway. Delphine just smiled, stepped out of the darkness and pulled her hood back, grinning. She was wearing a set of battered but well-crafted leather armour and an unusual looking curved sword at her waist that Elisif hadn't seen before. She also had the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in her hand.

“Delphine, you'd better have a very good explanation for this,” said Aela warily. “How did you even know...?”

“How you'd be here?” Delphine asked, looking almost unbearably smug by this point. “I knew the Greybeards would send you here if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable.”

Elisif felt her heart sink, fear prickling down her spine. Was she really that obvious?

“How did you know?” she whispered, heartbroken. “How...?”

Delphine actually looked sympathetic as she approached.

“Aela's thirty five. You're not more than twenty five if that. Aela's mother died in the Great War, and she left to fight in it when it broke out. She certainly didn't leave a baby behind her. Aela doesn't have a younger sister... but I can think of one young, redhaired Nord who might be travelling High Hrothgar way just lately and who Aela of all people might be willing to lie to protect.” Delphine tilted her head, eyes looking at Elisif in wonder. “The rumours are really true, aren't they? You're Jarl Elisif.”

No sense hiding it now. Elisif looked up, meeting the older woman's gaze.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I'm Jarl Elisif of Solitude. True High Queen of Skyrim... and Dragonborn. I'd know your reason for coming after me. You didn't come all this way for nothing.”

“No, she really didn't,” Aela growled, hand flexing on her dagger hilt. “Who are you, Delphine, really? I knew you had some sort of warrior past, but thought you were just a war veteran who'd retired to run an inn. Now I don't think you're any more an innkeeper than I am!”

“I'm an innkeeper all right, just ask Orgnar,” Delphine laughed. “But I'm not exactly retired – well, not since that dragon flew over Riverwood the day Helgen got hit anyway. I'm part of a group that's been looking for Elisif here – well, someone like her anyway – for a long time.”

Elisif really didn't like the sound of that.

“What sort of group?” she asked, suspicions not allayed in the slightest. “What do you want with me?”

“I want to know if you really are Dragonborn, for a start,” said Delphine. “You'll forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced just yet, even if there's not many other reasons for the Jarl of Solitude of all people to be poking around down here.”

“I took a dragon's soul in the middle of Solitude!” Elisif cried. “I don't think there's a lot of doubt about it by this time! It's not the sort of thing someone could fake!”

“Yes, I know but I can't entirely rule out a Thalmor plot,” said Delphine, sounding quite reasonable for someone Elisif was now convinced was completely insane.

“What have the Thalmor got to do with anything?” Elisif asked, bewildered.

“What aren't they involved in, you mean?” Delphine snorted. “Look, here's the deal. I'm trying to find out why the dragons came back and how to stop them. I don't know who's behind it but my best guess is the Thalmor. I certainly can't rule out them spreading the rumour of a returned Dragonborn to flush me out of hiding.”

“Why would the Thalmor want you?” Elisif asked, narrowing her eyes.

“We're very old enemies,” Delphine replied. “But that's not important. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn.”

“I am Dragonborn!” Elisif snapped, and there it was, the rage coming back as something howled dragon-like within her. How dare they doubt her, how dare they??

“Well then, you won't mind proving it to me, will you?” Delphine said, looking far too cocky for her own good.

“Would Shouting you halfway to Dawnstar prove it?” Elisif growled, taking a step forward, hand to her axe. Delphine did at least back off, hands raised, and Aela placed a hand on Elisif's shoulder.

“Elisif. She's not attacked yet and up until now, I've never had reason to doubt her. At least hear her out.”

While Elisif didn't share Aela's confidence, the other woman did have a point. Elisif let her axe go and folded her arms.

“Start talking then. What do you want from me?” Elisif snapped. Delphine relaxed a little, holding out the Horn to her.

“I'm not your enemy, Elisif. Here, the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, take it. Give it to the Greybeards, let them do what they want. All I ask is that you trust me and come with me.”

“Trust you??” Elisif could barely believe her ears. “I don't even know you! I thought you were just an innkeeper and it turns out you're some sort of fugitive from the law.”

“You weren't even going by your true name when I first met you,” Delphine retorted. “From what I hear, you're over at the Thalmor Embassy every couple of months cosying up to Elenwen. How do I know you're not going to sell me out to them yourself?”

A tempting thought, but Elisif wasn't one to turn someone over to the authorities without at least some proof of actual wrongdoing. Delphine had at least handed the Horn over in the end, and any help trying to stop the dragons was welcome.

“Just tell me what you want,” Elisif sighed. “You said you were trying to stop the dragons and find out where they came from. Did you get anywhere?”

“Not as far as I'd have liked but likely further than anyone else has done,” said Delphine, warming to her subject. “You see, dragons weren't gone somewhere all these years. They were dead, killed off. They're not just coming back, they're coming back to life.”

To life? Dragon necromancy? Who would do that? Who could do that? Elisif recalled what Delphine had said earlier about the Thalmor possibly being involved and while Elisif didn't want to believe it, it would take immense magical ability to bring dragons back from the dead. The ones she'd seen weren't reanimated corpses either, they were fully living creatures. Elisif had no idea where you'd even start with a feat like that, but the Thalmor might. There were powerful wizards on Alinor who might know all sorts of obscure lore – but why here? Why now?

Well, the war might explain that. Hadn't the first attack been at Helgen, right as they were going to execute Ulfric? He'd be dead if not for the dragons. Elisif fought back a wave of revulsion at the memory of her last encounter with the man. Dragons coming back, possible Thalmor involvement due to wanting the war to continue (a bit far-fetched but not impossible), her husband's murderer at large still, her country being ravaged... and her being Dragonborn. She didn't think this was a coincidence.

“Do you know what's causing it?” she asked. Delphine clearly knew something or she wouldn't be here asking for help.

“Not yet. But I think I know how to find out,” Delphine told her, producing something from her pocket, a roll of paper. A map of Skyrim, with several markings all over it, the ones on the right hand side crossed out.

“Dragon burial mounds,” Delphine explained. “From the Dragonstone you found for me – thank you by the way, I was starting to think I'd have to go in there myself. I've been to a few of them, had reports from all the Jarls' stewards on dragon activity. It started in the Rift, it's worst in the east. Someone or something is opening dragon burial mounds and it started in the south east, down near Riften. I've been tracking the mounds that have been opened so far. If the pattern holds, the next one is the one to the west of Dawnstar. It's not more than a few hours from here – if we leave now, we can find out what's going on and maybe even stop it. That's why I came here in person instead of just leaving a note. That and I wasn't sure the Jarl of Solitude wouldn't be here without half the Haafingar Guard and the Legion, with a few Thalmor observers along for the ride. At least with that lot I could see you coming and run. Damned if I'm leaving a note for the Thalmor telling them where I am.”

She really was quite obsessed with the Thalmor. Worrying, if Elisif was honest. The Thalmor weren't popular, no, but they'd always been perfectly respectful to her. Why they'd be interested in a simple innkeeper was beyond Elisif – but by this time, she was also starting to realise Delphine was far more than that. She'd just have to bide her time and wait for Delphine to trust her enough to tell her what this was really about.

Elisif had a feeling she could be waiting a long time.

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

Snow was coming down as they trekked over the marsh, skirting the Stormcloak camp but also avoiding the Imperial camp Elisif knew was out there, much to her dismay. She could do with a good meal, warm bed and hot fire to sit by rather than be out in this. But Delphine didn't think it was a good idea, so off they went in the other direction as the aurora blazed above them in the night sky.

“Are we there yet?” Elisif whispered, hating to sound like a brat, but she'd never before realised just how big Skyrim was. It always seemed to take hours to get anywhere, especially off-road.

“Nearly,” Delphine called back. “Just a bit further, over this hill and...”

The biggest dragon that any of them had ever seen swooped overhead, black scales gleaming in the moonlight as it blotted out the stars, coming to circle over what proved to be the dragon mound.

“Get down!” Aela cried, ducking behind a rock as she took aim with her bow. Elisif and Delphine joined, Delphine staring at the black dragon in amazement.

“Lorkhan's eyes. Look at it, it's huge!”

“Kriiloknah! Ziil Dovah ulse!”

Elisif recognised the word dovah, but didn't understand any of the rest of it. The black dragon's wings sent cold air whipping through her and she was cold and scared and just wanted this to stop now please. She didn't feel like a mighty Dragonborn right now, she wanted to turn and run for Solitude or that Legion camp nearby and not stop until she was safe.

“You do not even understand our tongue, do you?” the dragon growled, sounding almost like it was laughing. “So arrogant, to claim for yourself the name of Dovah.”

It knew. That damn beast knew she was here, knew what she was and sweet Kynareth she was no match for it at all. She was going to die, right here, right now and about the only consolation was that at least she'd see Torygg again...

“No matter,” the dragon growled. “You will not stop this. You are weak, joor. I will leave you to your fate because you are not worth the bother of killing personally. In the mean time... Slen Tiid Vo!”

The dragon mound exploded, stone flying everywhere as a pillar of dark magic soared into the sky. Elisif looked up from the crouch she'd dropped into as another dragon roared in response, and she froze in horror to see a skeletal dragon emerging from the ruined mound.

“Gods above, it's worse than I thought,” she heard Delphine breathe, and Aela wasn't even wasting time on words. She'd already lifted her bow and fired off an arrow, then another.

“Kriiloknah! Krii daar joorre!” the black dragon snarled and wheeled off. Fire was burning all along the skeletal dragon and Elisif realised in horror that its very flesh was reforming.

“Talos take you!” she heard Delphine shout, firing off a few shots herself and Elisif reached for her bow, heart in her mouth. She'd fought a dragon before and not died. How hard could it be?

Harder than she'd imagined, it turned out. Her arrows went wide, even Aela's weren't sinking in that deep, and then the thing took off, howling its rage out. Elisif shrieked as she dodged a jet of fire. Last time she'd had a housecarl, four Companions and the Whiterun guard. This time it was one Companion, one Breton warrior and her. Just her.

Kriiloknah soared round again, dodging all the arrows sent its way, sending a jet of fire in Delphine's direction, and then it landed, staring straight at her. Elisif stared back, feeling the blood drain from her face, knowing she'd get one shot in maximum before it struck and that this was a terrible idea, she should have stayed in Solitude, taken Falk up on his elite dragon squad idea where others killed them and she just took the soul. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

“For the glory of the Empire!” Arrows flew at the dragon and it turned its attention to this new threat. Elisif could have wept to see a whole troop of Legion soldiers rush in from what must be the Pale's Legion camp, firing arrows and surrounding the dragon, trying to get blows in. The dragon was having none of it – it might be bleeding but that didn't stop it picking one man up in its mouth, chewing him up and flinging the corpse away, before turning its fire breath on a small knot of soldiers.

Something in Elisif snapped, some fury at the thing treating innocent human beings like that, innocent human beings who were fighting for her when all was said and done. She reached for her greatsword.

“WULD!” She covered the distance between her and the dragon easily and carved a line deep into its flesh, marvelling at how easily the scales seemed to part for her. I will kill you, dragon, you will hurt no more of my people and if you kill me, so what? I just get to go to Sovngarde and see Torygg again, so you do NOT frighten me! Screaming, she carved into it, not a lot of finesse involved but when you had an enchanted greatsword at your disposal, you didn't really need it. She wasn't really aware of anything else, just blood and noise and the rest of the world fading away and then fire, why was there fire?

Aela had grabbed her shoulders, hauling her back, hauling her away from the thing's burning corpse.

“You did it, you did it, well done, it's dead, you can stop now, you can stop!”

Elisif lowered her weapon, slowly realising it was dead and everyone was staring at her, Aela, Delphine, all those Legionnaires and oh gods, that was Legate Rikke herself at their head, they'd just seen her kill a dragon like it was nothing out of the ordinary, seen her turn into some screaming lunatic before their eyes.

Then the dragon's soul boiled up out of it, sank into her and she felt the draconic part of herself answering, jaws reaching out to swallow it whole.

Elisif slowly looked up to see concern on Aela's face, amazement and pride on Delphine's, and then she saw the Legionnaires. Several had just dropped to their knees in stunned amazement and they all were looking at her like she was some sort of goddess.

“Dragonborn!”

“High Queen!”

“It's true!”

“She took its very soul...”

Slowly, Elisif turned to Rikke, feeling more afraid now than when she'd been facing the dragon. At least the dragon hadn't been treating her like a goddess and its intentions had been perfectly clear. She had no idea what lay behind Rikke's smile.

“Jarl Elisif. There you are, we found you at last. My spies brought word of our camp in the Rift destroyed, Ulfric mobilising troops personally at Ivarstead. I can imagine why. We've been searching all over for you. What are you doing up here?”

“I – just – was looking for something,” said Elisif nervously, not sure what to say. While she'd always liked Rikke, she wasn't entirely sure she trusted her. Rikke was loyal but she wasn't sworn to Elisif, was she? “But I found it, so I'll just be on my way...”

“On your way?” Rikke asked, eyebrow raised. “You're just going to wander Skyrim on your own? I don't think so! I'm not letting our best asset go unprotected like that. Jarl Elisif, since the story started getting around about you being Dragonborn, Legion recruitment's gone through the roof. Undecided Nords, apolitical Nords, Nords who didn't care, some who even were leaning towards Ulfric, they've all heard that you're Dragonborn and they've all come to fight for you, their Dragonborn Queen. Come with me, Elisif. We'll give you guards, take you to visit the camps, rally the troops, get them fired up to kill some Stormcloaks, get a few dragons killed before their eyes. What do you say?”

Absolutely not, was Elisif's reaction. Deep inside, she could feel a dragon's rage building up again, fury at being kept in a gilded cage, a pet to be paraded out when the Empire felt like it, killing dragons who'd likely already been nearly killed anyway. What sort of life was that for a Dovah? No life at all, was what it was. Better dead than chained.

“I am the true High Queen,” Elisif gasped. “I go where I want.” She just had time to take in the stunned look on Rikke's face before sanity and reason kicked in and she realised what she'd just said to the Imperial second-in-command. Without even pausing, she turned and fled across the snow, using Whirlwind Sprint to put it all behind her.

“Legate, should we go after her?” one of the men asked Rikke. She shook her head wearily.

“No, let her go. She's done nothing wrong and you can't force a Nord to accept help she hasn't asked for,” Rikke sighed. “I'll just have the camps on alert in case she passes their way and does need somewhere to stay for a while. It's actually better for morale this way, the troops will take courage from their Dragonborn Queen being out there in the field fighting dragons to keep Skyrim safe. You there!” She pointed at Aela and Delphine. “Are you her friends?”

Both women nodded cautiously. Rikke didn't know the Breton but the Nord looked familiar – one of the Companions, if Rikke remembered correctly. Good, Elisif would have some help at least.

“Then I suggest you get after her. She's headed straight for Stormcloak territory, if they get their hands on her...”

Neither woman needed telling twice. Both Nord and Breton took off after the errant High Queen, leaving Rikke staring at a dead dragon and wondering just what the world was coming to.

Ralof had been in Riverwood and that meant during the entire visit Vilkas was on edge. His wolf hadn’t stopped huffing in annoyance and fighting for freedom. The Nord male seemed nice and more than willing to help Ariella and Vilkas. Vilkas was jealous embarrassingly enough, more his wolf than the man but the man was jealous never the less.

Ariella must have picked up on it because when Ralof suggested they stay the night in his sister’s house she insisted they head up the mountain so they could go through the Barrow sooner rather than later.

Vilkas had been brooding throughout the entire walk up the mountain. He was concerned about his wolf, Ralof, the Barrow…

The only time he snapped out of his thoughts was when there were bandits to deal with. They cleared the bandits that were about halfway up the mountain and soon the sun began to set.

They found an area that was well hidden from any bandits that might be lurking. But with the snow that was coming in Vilkas doubted any bandits would be straying too far from their fires.

Night soon fell and there had been little conversation between the two. Dinner had been quiet, any attempt at conversation had been short lived and eventually conversation stopped.

But it was dark now and the lantern had been blown out. Ariella slipped into the bedroll after Vilkas had already gotten in. Vilkas threw some pelts over them before lying down.

Vilkas had purchased a larger sleeping roll rather awkwardly in Ivarsted. The merchant who sold it was all raised eyebrows and innuendos when Vilkas requested it. It had made him feel a bit uncomfortable but it was a good purchase never the less.
There was more space for movement.

He felt Ariella wrap an arm around him, burying a hand in his hair. She shifted a bit and placed her lips to his. The kiss deepened, Vilkas allowing his hands to roam over the Breton’s curves.

He shifted so he was on top of her, her legs wrapping around him. He continued to kiss her, hands roaming when a quiet moan escaped her lips and her hips started grinding upwards creating delicious friction.

Claim her. Mark her as ours. Make everyone know she is our mate. No man shall take her from us. She belongs to us.

Vilkas physically moved back.

Ariella dropped her legs and allowed him to roll off her.

His wolf had never been so… protective? Possessive? He couldn’t think of a word. Usually in moments like this if the wolf did appear it could easily be pushed back down. Just then, however Vilkas had been finding it hard to fight.

There was a long silence as Vilkas berated himself and cursed his wolf.

“Vilkas?” Her voice showed no real emotion being there so he didn’t know how she felt. “Is everything alright?”

Concerned. He just hoped she wasn’t angry or upset.

“I… uh…” He wanted to say it was nothing but he couldn’t. The words died in his throat, he didn’t know how he could explain. He briefly considered telling her but that would mean betraying the companions… also running the risk of her thinking him a monster and never wanting to see him again.

He fell into a silence, unsure of what to tell her.

“Vilkas…” Her voice was barely a whisper and she brought a hand up to caress his cheek. He looked at her and she simply smiled back. “You know you can tell me anything right?”
“I know.” She looked at him as if waiting for something, for him to say something. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Well when you’re head’s clear I’ll still be here. I’ll wait as long as I have to.” He pulled her close, “I don’t want anyone but you. Just you and you alone.”

The way she said it, with such conviction as if she was trying to get him to understand something but beyond the face value Vilkas missed the meaning in the words.

I just discovered this site and signed up just to tell you I am reading your story. It it pretty awesome and I waiting for next segment with interest. Please continue.

I would also love to see this someone write it please!

Wow. What a chapter! I've been remiss about commenting on this story because there's an overwhelming amount of awesome to comment on, but now that you're drawing to a close:

1. Poor Lurbuk, oh my Divines, I was rolling. Borkul's commentary on bardic tradition, and Keirine's disapproval of the waste of a perfectly good skull.

2. Madanach cast his own mage armour, not really having needed to be told that. When he'd been king the first time, they'd crowned him and Mireen in the old way, and the two of them had enacted a Sacred Marriage, binding them to the land. It had left him able to sense the land's energies, feel its magic, know when it was poisoned or prosperous, happy or weeping. This tomb didn't feel like any of those. It felt like a predatory animal lying in wait.

SO atmospheric. This, THIS is why I've loved this story: all the bits of culture you didn't have to include, but did.

3. "So today we take his legacy and I'll bear his swords and wear his torc in his memory and fly his banners in my city. But don't put your faith in legends of dead heroes. We are the living survivors and we will write our own legends."

Madanach really does give a damn fine speech. And that was indeed an epic send-off.

What a ride. Perfect story. Awesome ending. Thank you!

ahhhhh! jealousy! and the wolf! I do not know what the poor Vilkas manages to hide his secret to Ariella! but I hope it happens soon! him is helping her so much and now could be her to help him! and as always, well written!

I hope you'll come back soon! I just need your sweet!

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