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*nods in agreement*
*goes back to devouring fic*

Another passerby!anon does the same, except with tea.

I love Rikke and I love Dunmer. Yes.

I'm breaking my trend and spliting these two bit up, because they're very different.

This chapter (and I know it's not a chapter, but I need something to call it) is about faith being proven and promises being kept. It took me two readings to get it, but now it's clear.

Ulfric's first act is to declare a peace. Hadvar is safe. No one is being persecuted for fighting on either side. In time, I believe people will keep talking about the war, but they'll stop talking about which side they were on, because that will become unimportant. What will matter is what they did, how they suffered, and how they survived.

Dyce has kept his promises. He won the battle for Ulfric, he found Hadvar for Ralof. And the promises made to him have been kept, so he's free to go. And so he does. Already the stories are being told, which is what happens. Events are being shaped in memory, some things being brought forward and others being cast into shade. The story of the Dragons is both true and false; There were no winged beast, but there was Dyce.

Okay, enough here, let's move on.

A Khajiit in the sun, an Argonian in the sun, or a Dragon in the sun. Dyce is a man, but you never let us forget that he's a Dov too.

Dyce retreats. It's interesting, in that Dyce is such a social person, but now, he needs to be away from it all. But not too far, you're careful to let us know that Dyce could have been 'halfway to Hammerfell by now,' but he's not.

Instead, he's musing. Revisiting his childhood, drawing rude pictures and letting everything wash over him. Dyce really pushed himself against his nature fighting in the battles and supporting Ulfric, so now he needs to let his nature recover a bit.

He thinks he's free. That no one needs him anymore, but he's wrong. I love that Ulfric admits right off the bat that he had other people looking for him. Dyce's honesty is rubbing off on him. But it's enough that Ulfric had men looking for him, and came when he was found.

Even more, Ulfric offers a rare emotional display. For Ulfric, who's control over his features is second nature, for him show anything is a big deal. It's also a big deal that Ulfric's simply there, because, hello, there's a whole kingdom that needs attention.

But Dyce get's the message crystal clear. Some sweet kisses and reassurances follow. They worked very hard for the trust they've built between them, so now it's time to enjoy it. It's a lovely emotional arc.

Let's see where this trust takes them, shall we?

OP here, wondering why my prompt isn't making it to the archives. Anyone know why it's being ignored by delicious? I followed the instructions and it was skipped over, do I need to ignore the instructions and post it again for it to work right?!

It certainly never ignored my posts when I filled prompts. :| So what am I doing wrong?

Delightful A!A, love these two!

Awesome just awesome. Vilkas keeps himself in such a deep, dark place all the time he seems to be in a lot of pain and he's too stubborn to admit it. I really think he needs someone more like him that can match his own intellect like this Bosmer. This is shaping up to be a very good read and you write very well. I wish I could put together thoughts and ideas the way you do and weave them into a story people enjoy. Keep going I want to read more of the story.. please

*_* Every bit of this, I love it.

Perfect and hot, as always, A!A <3
You're definitely one of my favourite authors on the meme

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Or the first version of part 27 up there. I do apologise; this one is better.

~~~
He could just leap on a horse and go. The stables were unguarded. He didn’t. He walked past them and down to the harbour instead. There were a few Solitude guards standing around rather self-consciously guarding the Empire’s shipping. None of them bothered him.

There was a large board sheltered from the rain upon which the shipping was written in chalk. Dyce read the names and looked out over the harbour, matching the ships to their information.

The Lazy Watchman taking furs to Hammerfell.

Glorialis with mead and weapons for Cyrodil.

The Far Star with ironwear and cloth for Elsweyr.

Bronzemaiden II horker hunting out to sea.

The clouds broke further, the sun glittered off the harbour, and the sea eagles returned to fill the air with their cries. Dyce watched them circle and then plummet down to the sea to snatch fish.

Like he had as a boy, he scrounged the docks for food and ate with his feet dangling over the water, his arms on the guide rope. He dropped his apple cores and bread crusts in the water and watched the fish swim up out of the murky depths to nibble at them. He listened to the ships’ bells ringing as they rose and fell on the tide. He had to get away from it all; from kings and battles and heroes. He hummed to himself and stole chalk and drew rude pictures on the wooden planking.

He stretched out on a rock like a lizard in the sun with his hands behind his head, feeling like he did when he snuck out on lessons at the temple; pleased with himself and yet slightly guilty - what if they were teaching something that wasn’t boring? What if Ulfric needed him?

He wouldn’t. This was politics. Ulfric could do it in his sleep, Dyce was sure. He’d be king, and Dyce could be a lazy thief again. It was a comforting thought that settled around him like his fur cloak, and he huddled down into it and closed his eyes.

“Waiting for your ship to come in?”

Dyce didn’t have to open his eyes; that voice was unmistakable. He smiled instead. “Maybe. What are you doing here, Jarl Ulfric?”

“Looking for you. Well, others looked.” A shadow blocked the afternoon sun on Dyce’s face and he opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness. He’d half expected Ulfric to be wearing the crown, but he looked as he always did; he’d washed off the blood.

Halfway up the steps to the stables, a handful of Stormcloak soldiers waited politely.

“Personal guard?” Dyce asked glancing at them and then back at Ulfric.

He nodded. “It’s not a city to take chances in. Such as lying around on an exposed rock sleeping like a Khajiit in the sun.”

“What do you know about Khajiit?” Dyce said, sitting up and yawning. He stood up and leaped back onto the wooden dock, narrowing his eyes against the afternoon sun.

“You can’t just disappear like that,” Ulfric said.

Dyce raised his eyebrows. “Can’t I?”

“Well you shouldn’t have. I didn’t give you permission; you didn’t even ask for it.”

Dyce got the impression that Ulfric was relieved to have found him. “I didn’t really go far. I just needed to go for a while.”

“Yes, I know you, Dyce.” Ulfric said. “But we are not yet done. People died, and they must be honoured.”

Dyce stared at him. “I...oh. Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

Ulfric held up his hand. “You didn’t go far,” he muttered and turned away.

“The Legate-”

“Later, Dyce.” He let him see his eyes, and Dyce quailed before the self-control that he displayed. It was all that was holding him together. “Please.”

“Yes, my Jarl.”

Dyce followed him back up the slope to the city, joining his personal guard without a word. When they returned to the city, the streets were full. Ulfric’s guard were wary, and Dyce realised he had probably overridden a lot of advice to go down to the docks and seek him out.

Ulfric was impassive now, regarding the citizens celebrating and the citizens weeping with equal detachment. Dyce could feel a party brewing; the kind of party only Nords could throw, the kind that only happened after a great many people died.

His time at the docks had given him a measure of calm, and he felt apart from it all.

“Where are we going?” Dyce asked.

“The Hall of the Dead.”

“How many did we lose?” Dyce asked.

“Their casualties were worse than ours, but so far seventy-eight Stormcloaks will see Sovngarde tonight. There are others wounded that the healers may not be able to save. They will all be sent home to their families.” He was silent for a while and they walked on. “Rikke was from Dragons Bridge, but she had no family. None that-” He lifted his head and walked on, barely breaking stride.

They’d laid her out in the Hall of the Dead, her sword and shield on her breast.

Dyce and the other guards waited by the entrance, the priest bowing before Ulfric as he stepped away from them.

The guards looked away, leaving their king-to-be with his grief, but Dyce couldn’t. Seventy-eight. Ulfric had gone to look for him before coming here.

His boots made no sound on the floor. The guards wouldn’t notice he’d gone. The priest, his eyes closed and head bowed in prayer, saw nothing. Ulfric turned his head slightly when Dyce touched his hand. It must have been the right thing to do, because Ulfric didn’t pull away. Not for some time.

Dyce couldn’t hear much of what he said; Ulfric barely spoke over a whisper. He tried not to hear as he knew it wasn’t for his ears. One phrase was repeated many times; I’m sorry. Dyce thought it oddly impolite to cry over someone he barely knew so he did his best not to.

Dyce heard footsteps first, and he was gone, back at his post, by the time Galmar found Ulfric. They were expected at the palace.

~~~
Elisif was polite and brittle. People kept asking Dyce questions he had no idea how to answer. Eventually Dyce was obliged to clear a space for himself by snapping and snarling and being rude, and he waited for Ulfric to join him in it, arms folded, watching the city below through one of the windows, hearing bits of songs before the wind whistling past snatched them away from his ears.

When Ulfric joined him they stood in silence. Moment to moment, the silence suited them both well enough, but it could not sustain them and the weight of all they shared. It was time enough, however, to work out what to say.

“You need to ask for things more directly,” Dyce said finally. He gave a helpless shrug, “You hide so much; I can’t read your mind. I can’t tell what you want from me.”

When he didn’t get a response after a few moments he looked at Ulfric. He’d never seen him look so lost before, his hands at his sides, his head slightly turned away.

“Please don’t go,” Ulfric said. “I don’t want to lose you as well.”

“Jarl Ulfric.” Dyce for once wasn’t sure what to say. He stepped closer, Ulfric raising his head again to meet his gaze. He looked brave, and Dyce supposed he was; for him to ask for something was for him to admit he lacked something. Dyce wanted him to know he was safe, that he could trust him. “You won’t lose me.” He smiled, “I have a hard time staying away from people who want me around.”

“I’d noticed,” Ulfric said, probably more harshly than he intended.

Dyce shrugged, “That’s the way I am.” He looked up at him, unapologetic.

“What about the way I am? What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see you,” Dyce said softly.

“A king?”

“Sometimes.“ He reached up and put a hand on Ulfric’s shoulder. “It’s fine. All of it. I swear.”

It really was, of this Dyce was convinced, as Ulfric ducked his head an inch or two lower and kissed him.

He smelled of war. Of smoke and sweat and blood. Dyce wrapped his arms around him and curled his fingers in the fur on Ulfric’s armour, feeling every belt buckle and steel plate pressed against his body as Ulfric did the same, but harder. Dyce could feel the warrior’s strength in his arms as he pulled pulled him close. It was a pointless gesture; Dyce was where he wanted to be, and if he wanted to be elsewhere, he’d be there.

Dyce had been chewed by almost every kind of wild animal in Skyrim, and he could withstand the bruising embrace of her king-to-be easily. It was enough to be able to breathe.

Ulfric’s braid brushed against Dyce’s cheek, and his beard rasped on Dyce’s stubble. He kissed his lips first, refusing to be distracted by the way Dyce licked and worried at his mouth. At your own pace then, Dyce thought. But Ulfric was not slow; he was thorough, like someone banking a fire to last the entire night.

Hgggnnn... This anon wants.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY FILTHY! HAVE A GOLD STAR!

More seriously, Elrindir is one of the hottest NPCs in the whole of Skyrim in my book, yet there is precious little smut about him. I don't know why, he's completely gorgeous! This is going to sound really sad, but I always try to save my game somewhere so that I know exactly where I am when I come back to it, and right in front of Elrindir's counter is one of my favourite places :D

Also, I am jealous of your characters. Four different sexual acts in one night with two orgasms apiece? Wish I had the stamina for that!

Well, you already know what I think about this, so I shall simply issue you your reward. Five gold stars :)

Going very well Dyce!Anon. Fantastic pacing and great characterization, looking forward to more.

I like this idea! Say, what do you think of Vilkas? I know everyone love him but are you ok with it? I think they will be cute especially because his personality changed once he got married xD

So, dragon priests... They're powerful, terrifying, dangerous... and then there's Nahkriin. Poor Nahkriin, who has his back turned on you when you first see him, has already managed to lose half his health before you even got there (how?!), and has a particular tendency to fall off high ledges and glitch himself into non-action during your fight... that is, if he even manages to grab his staff at all - on my first playthrough I just sprinted past him, then stood between him and his staff and repeatedly bashed him in the face with a shield while he tried to get to it. It was sad, really.

I would love to read anything regarding this particular priest's misadventures. Any dovahkiin or character is welcome, as well as any genre and kink, or none at all. Just give me Nahkriin incompetence.

This! This right here!

I have had similar ideas that Enthir was involved with one or both of them. Look at his unquestioning loyalty to Karliah and the way he talks about Gallus is so heartfelt that I've always thought it goes beyond "dear friend".

I'm also a masssive sucker for any back story where we see a cynical, hard-bitten bastard in their better days (even though I doubt Enthir's disposition was ever rainbows and kittens)

So, I'm going to give this a go. You might have to wait a bit because I want to do this prompt justice but this is just to let you know that there's at least one other warp[ed black heart out there this Valentine's Day.

Yeah, yeah, I know I commented on the first draft, and I gave some feedback on the second, but- there's some new stuff here that I want to recognize.

While Dyce says Ulfric needs to be more direct in what he wants, he's certainly sending some very clear messages. Stopping everything to grab Dyce, before the city has been contained is a message, One which Dyce gets.

Then the scene with Rikke, where Ulfric allows Dyce to comfort him, is another clear message. But then we got to my favorite part- the snogging!

Unnngffffff! Ulfric is a great, big bear of a man and that suits me just fine. What did Ulfric say about learning the Thu'um? Talent and Determination? Well, he's demonstating that now. That last paragraph just melts me. So good!

And you are so good, my Dyce!anon! This just continues to blow me away in every section. It's just keeps getting better. And if it's time for smut? I'm ready for a cruise on the good ship Stormcock!

Oh my goodness, yay! Like, I literally just flailed my hands and said, "Yay!" I thought this prompt was so specific that nobody would pick it up. Glad I was wrong. And yes, totally, to everything you said, we're on the same page there.

And take all the time you need. I know it takes me a while to write fills because (1) grad school, and (2) I get picky with myself and revise, revise, revise...anyway, awesome and thank you!

Reposting the end of the last chapter. Damned character limits...*grumbles*...Thanks for the comments; I feel loved. Which means more smut!

A huge hand clamped on her wrist and another fastened itself around her neck. Arielle had the strangest feeling that he might have been deciding to kill her or fuck her then. “I’ll submit, I swear. Anything… just... please,” she whispered, holding his suspicious gaze.

For a moment, the tension between them sizzled. Then she was tossed on her back again, blinking as he loomed over her on all fours. “Alright, Arielle,” he hissed. “Anything it is.”

And before her startled and somewhat horrified eyes, he began to change, his shape flowing as bones moved, shrank, lengthened and shortened, fur retreating back into skin that shed its grey pallor for a Nord’s pale hue. The beautiful blond hair she so admired adorned his head once more, the muzzle shrinking back into a face so familiar and dear that her eyes filled with tears to see it. But the amber of those eyes remained, hard and harsh as a predator’s, watching her every move even as his body shuddered with the transformation.

This time, when he came to her, she made no protest, allowing him to slide the entirety of his naked body against hers, felt the coarse matting of crisp hairs rubbing her soft breasts, realised subconsciously that the hard body which blanketed her was distinctly human yet wider and broader than Sinding’s natural shape. The eyes were still slanted, the teeth clearly sharper and longer than what was natural, the soft beard on his face bore traces of silver and the lightest hint of grey. But she ignored her fears and sought comfort in the familiarity of the face that gazed down at her as he pressed her down into the bedroll, roughly spread her legs apart, grabbing her right leg and bending it close to her chest. As he pressed the swollen head of his manhood against her, she could have sobbed with relief. Although she could not help shuddering or trying to instinctively squirm back, at least now it seemed possible that it would fit…

“Oh gods!” But her oath was muffled by the hard male lips that seized hers a scant second after he surged forward and pushed himself ruthlessly into her, wedging his hips tightly between her thighs. Arielle cried out as she felt her flesh forced open for him, her tight walls clenching around his invading cock as he relentlessly forged a heated path deep inside her. He fit, but barely, just barely. In spite of her promise, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, pushing against him with all her might as she tore her mouth from his and flung her head back, eyes rounded with shock. “W-wait,” she begged, her voice cracking on a particularly hard jerk of his hips that curved her back like a bow in spite of his weight on her.

“Anything I wanted, sweetling,” he growled, his mouth stealing over hers and Arielle groaned as he continued to fill her, trembled at the foreign sensation of his hard, heavy length as it throbbed inside the deepest part of her being, stretching her with his demanding heat even when he finally came to rest in a place that her former lover had never opened inside of her. Her breath caught as she tried to swallow a sob; she felt horribly vulnerable, held down between the solid earth and the unforgiving wolf-man who now possessed her. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, but it did nothing to diminish the sensation of being impaled; in fact it heightened it every time he shifted above her because she felt each movement down to the core of her being. It made her clench her aching walls around him, a reflex she couldn’t help.

“Don’t move,” he growled, his face buried in her neck, his heart beating so hard and fast that he thought it would put a hole in his ribs. Instinct screamed at him to move, to throw her legs over his shoulders so that he could plunge wildly, plough the mage without mercy, wrap his hands around that dishevelled braid and pull back so that he could bite at the skin of her neck and make her his as he climaxed inside her. But the smell of her tears stopped him, made him lift his head to see the moist trails that stained her cheeks, her lashes spiky and dark as she shivered beneath him, her eyes tightly closed. A part of him, the human part that raged just beneath the surface was cursing him for even being inside her, for causing her pain. It was too late to do anything about the former; there was no power on earth that was going to move him from her body now, not before months of pent up desire had been satisfied. However, he could rectify the latter. After all, he had given the girl his word and the remembrance that he cared for her, deeply, was doing a great deal to rein him in.

Shifting himself so that he leaned up on one arm, he bit down a curse as he felt her body close in around him. “Oh gods, you’re fucking tight…” he whispered, sucking in a breath that he hoped would calm the sudden spike in his heartbeat as he kissed her neck gently, letting the tip of his tongue ghost over her pale skin, inhaling her smell that was now woven with his, stroking her as he dropped another kiss at the base of her throat, and at her collarbone. Although she kept her eyes closed, she was not able to hide her sudden soft intake of breath. “Soft and so hot and wet around me. Better than anything I had imagined, sweetling.”

“M-my leg… It’s starting to hurt,” she murmured, so softly that he almost missed it even with his acute hearing. Gently, he eased back on the pressure, slowly bringing her right leg down and draping it over his back. For a minute or two, she remained perfectly still and he sensed her uncertainty before she slowly moved it, hissed softly at the sensation of her small foot grazing the curve of his buttocks.

She went completely still again and he resumed kissing her neck, planting an unbroken line from the hollow of her shoulder to her ear. “I liked that; it felt good, having you touch me.” He nibbled her earlobe delicately.

Brown eyes fluttered open. Now that was something new. The discomfort of being penetrated and having a man inside was something she had survived before, although it felt as though Sinding filled her so thoroughly that she might burst at the seams. Arielle distinctly recalled trying to touch her first lover and keep pace with him, only to be told that she really ought to lie still and let him do the work. Eventually, she worked out that it was his pleasure he was actually being so industrious about, and not hers. It had bruised her ego to be told that he did not want her caresses and although she had blithely chalked it up to his being a selfish bastard, a part of her had always been uncertain about her adequacy as a lover. To her Sinding—and the wolf that was him—tell her that he liked her accidental touch was surprising. And comforting.

Quietly, she moved her foot, cautiously and slowly at first, letting it slide lightly over his… behind which felt as gloriously firm as she had fantasised it would be, especially when he started wearing those snug, form-fitting breeches she had bought him from Radiant Raiment. Endarie and Taarie might be evil bit—witches but there was a lot to be said for their skill with a needle, especially where men’s pants were concerned.

She heard the slight hitch in his breath, the tightening of his muscles at what she supposed could pass for a caress and then he kissed her ear gently but with more fervour this time, and pressed his lips against her temple before moving his mouth to her cheek. “Don’t stop,” he muttered, ordered as he hooked her other leg around his waist as well.

Holy crap, you can't leave us hanging like that A!A...it's just mean!
Totally hot, love this!

Wow, I love how hot this is. I also am enjoying her constant internal self-censorship! Poor thing.

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Nahkriin crack?

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Heat 8/?

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