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Where Eyja went, no man can say;

Nor any true answer be found.

Two went up t'the Throat of the World,

But only one came down.

**

In Falkreath, two brothers went hunting. They were twins, though there were many marked differences between them. The oldest brother, Vilkas, was taller and better with words. The youngest, Farkas, was stronger and slower to anger. Both were Companions of the mead-hall, Jorravskr, in Whiterun. They'd heard talk of a legendary white stag, and thought it'd make for a pleasant distraction; and perhaps a good story to tell when they returned.

The first two hours of their hunt went by very slowly and not much was said. The youngest brother, Farkas, was beginning to regret inviting Vilkas to hunt with him. They'd journeyed through Riverwood, turned close by to the ruins of Helgen and stopped in Falkreath hold for a quick drink. For all the time they sat in Dead Man's Drink the eldest brother, Vilkas, had sat stony and silent, pondering the bottom of his cup. It was winding down from Autumn outside, and the farms they'd passed just outside off Whiterun had been full of the last of the crops. Not much was spoken. They drank, paid, and moved on.

The legendary stag seemed to be little more than legend for the two brothers, who decided to set up a camp and roast their less-impressive deer for dinner. Wind whistled through the tall, dark pines and made the fire pop and crackle and the branches creak. Farkas grew sick of his brother's surliness and tried to break the silence.

“You want to talk,” he said to his brother.

“You don't like talking,” Vilkas replied. The smell of meat cooking rose with a plume of smoke and made the birds shift restlessly in the trees. It was true. Farkas was not known for being much of a speaker. Many of his friends and the other Companions had given him the nickname 'Ice-brain'.

Here, the stranger stops to gulp a mouthful of mead. You see the corner of his mouth twitch and watch his lips lick the last drops. He seems fond of the brothers in his story. You have the feeling that he knows them well.

“I like listening,” said Farkas, stoic and stubborn. There was little that could dissuade him when his mind was set on something, and he was set on making his brother talk.

“Even to your brother's foolish complaints?” Vilkas smiled, but the expression lacked any real feeling to it.

Farkas smiled back. “Even to those, brother.”

The camp became silent but for the fire and the ever-present music of the trees. The sun was starting to settle over the trees and turn everything to dim shades of peach and grey.

Until suddenly, Vilkas began to speak. His voice settled into a low monotone, as if he didn't want to be heard. Farkas could just about hear his brother, and only because of the sheer deepness of his voice. He spoke very quietly.

“Eyja told me to wait for her in Ivarstead...” he began, at last. “The dragon wouldn't let anyone else on his back. She didn't mind. She'd always believed that she'd be facing Alduin alone, no matter anyone's promises...”

**

“Eyja? When does Eyja come into the story? Barkeep says you knew her well,” you cut him off without thinking. He'd taken a long time to start the story and already you feel a bit of a buzz from your drink. “Are you in this story, friend?”

“Shut up,” the man growls at you. You've upset him. Drunk's are quick to anger mind, and his eyes are cloudy from his mead. “And don't speak her name like you knew her, whelp.”

It was a slip of the tongue. You've followed the Dragonborn's exploits so closely, it's almost as if you truly did know her. It's funny that, you realise. How both you and this stranger spoke of the Dragonborn in past tense. As if she has passed on. Recently departed.

That sense of foreboding returns.

“I'm sorry friend,” you soothe, and gesture to the barkeep for more drink. He has been watching you both and starts in surprise. He nods. Busies himself. “Please,” you say. “Carry on."

Until suddenly, Vilkas began to speak. His voice settled into a low monotone, as if he didn't want to be heard. Farkas could just about hear his brother, and only because of the sheer deepness of his voice. He spoke very quietly.

Eyja told me to wait for her in Ivarstead...The dragon wouldn't let anyone else on his back. She didn't mind. She'd always believed that she'd be facing Alduin alone, no matter anyone's promises... Likes to go off on her own, even it's just sitting up by the Sky-Forge and swinging her legs over the edge.

Aye, says Farkas. And you'd sit in the shadows and watch her like a moon-struck pup!

Aye. Wondering if I should talk to her, stay where I was, or head on inside. But I'm not talking about the things you've already seen or know, or anything that happens back in Jorravskr. I'm talking about when Eyja came down from the mountain, so listen.

I saluted her when she crossed the bridge. She didn't look up from the ground, but I knew she saw it. She sees everything, that one. Something was off about her. I could see the gold-- yes, gold-- glow of her eyes even though she was staring at her boots. I waited until she crossed the bridge entirely, watching the wind whip through her hair. She looked up.

And her eyes were gold.

Her eyes are blue, Vilkas... I really thought you might have noticed that...

Go back to Jorravskr. See it for yourself.

Eyja looked up. Didn't smile.

“Hope you weren't waiting too long,” her voice was all hoarse and cracked. She smelt like burnt hair and skin, but she looked liked she'd just emerged from the river itself all white and clean. Her lips were chapped, and brown with blood. Dry. If I still had the beast, I would've probably smelled all the blood on her. Could smell it when she got close. Didn't choke. Used to it, of course.

“He's dead. Very few dragons are going to bother Skyrim anymore.”

“You sound sad about that,” I said.

“I am,” she replied, and she looked it. Her shoulders were slumped. She walked a bit crooked, like she wasn't used to her legs or she'd been drinking. She was exhausted.

I didn't want to mention her eyes. Eyja's nearly as tall as you or me. Hard not to think about the gold when her gaze more or less meets mine level. The way she was staring right at me, made me think she either didn't know or didn't want me to mention it either. I mentioned it.

Don't look at me like that, Vilkas growls at his brother. You might think I'm acting a fool, and you might laugh at me, but I know Eyja's eyes. Every speck of them. They were blue when she flew from the balcony at Dragonsreach, and gold when she came down from the mountain.

Sorry, Farkas rearranges his face as solemn as he can make it. It's just weird, is all.

I kept quiet about Alduin and her eyes all the way back to Whiterun. She stayed quiet all the way back, too. In fact, I think it was the longest we ever went without talking. I didn't want to say much anyway. Momentous moments in our lives shouldn't be ruined with a load of sentimental crap. Words don't mean much in moments like those.

I mentioned the eyes before we got back to Jorravskr, though. When we stopped in The Bannered Mare for a drink. Eyja laughed at me. Called me mistaken. Liar.

“Don't worry,” she mocked me. Hid her smile behind a bottle of mead and swung her gold-speckled gaze in the direction of Mikael--

--

“Mikael?”

“A poncy little bard like you. Shut up. Listen.”

--

“Don't worry,” she mocked me. Hid her smile behind a bottle of mead and swung her gold-speckled gaze in the direction of Mikael with a derisive snort. “I don't think I could love a man who waxed lyrical about my eyes anyway.”

I couldn't be sure if she was laughing at me, Mikael, or both of us. Maybe Eyja was laughing at everyone--

“And Vilkas was angry because...?”

“You know for a bard, you make for a shitty audience.”

“I'm sorry. Just curious is all.”

“...Vilkas was angry. Because the love of his life barely spoke a word to him on the long trip back to Whiterun. And because when they got back to Whiterun and he spoke to her, she lied. Lied, and laughed.”

“Of course. I'm sorry.”

“What for?” He barks at you. “It's just a story. Now, do you have any more questions or can I carry on?”

The stranger licks his lips and looks away just as you shake your head. Your talking seems to get on his nerves. So, silently, you open up another bottle of mead and pour it for him. He nods begrudgingly in thanks.

Then, he parts his lips to speak and continues his tale...

**

Hope OP isn't confused. I have too much fun playing with POVs and trying new things >__< Got all this motivation when I realised I was filling TWO of your prompts. Plus whilst I went over the second part of In The Company of Wolves, this was nagging in the back of my head. >__<

Um. Wow?

Is the stranger Vilkas? Is it?

This story is going to play havoc with my feels, isn't it. It is, isn't it!!

o and I like the 'you' bit. :o

OP is also excited for more. And even though I didn't mention it in the prompt, thank you for giving Elisif a brain!

Which is preferred, femmeslash or het?

I feel really curious about your elf already!

fav lines

"Especially that damned mage. In her case, he wasn't entirely sure looks couldn't kill."

" In the midst of emotion, he had nearly forgotten why he had come in the first place. The war had changed him, he realized with a start."

"But everyone, Ulfric included, agreed on one thing. He was an elusive little bastard."

DB and their spouse get into very viscious arguments. At the drop of a hat.

And Im not talking a bit of pushing and scratching before they have beautiful make-up love. Punches have been thrown. Body parts have been stabbed. Plates and furniture obliterated. Dirty laundry is aired very publicly.

Their neighbours/fellow tavern patrons clear the area when shit goes down between them. When DB and spouse get into an argument, get out fast or be caught in the firing line. Loud arguments break out in their home and the gossips crowd round to listen.

I have an image of them sitting side by side at the tavern with matching scoels and bruises. But they love each other. Fiercely. They just cant stand each other at the same time :L

Kink: dominance, dirty talk and roughness

No preferred races, het or slash though I lean towards het.

Was re-watching Game of Thrones. Season 1.

Khal Drogo anons. Asdfghjkl.

I propose a Khal Drogo-esque Forsworn.

After the Forsworn Conspiracy the Dragonborn is very curious about the Forsworn, their beliefs and their way of life. Somehow they persuade a tribe of Forsworn, or somehow end up living with a group of Forsworn.

Maybe their LI (Drogoesque Forsworn) is the leader of the clan, maybe he's their best warrior, or maybe he's simply been assigned as the DB's guide.

Slowly the DB begins to sympathise with the Forsworn. They begin to understand their beliefs and customs. Maybe they even makes friends, or finds that many things they believed of the Forsworn are misguided or slight propaganda.

Maybe they marry a Forsworn. If so, what is the ritual like? Just really fill out some Forsworn lore for this anon!

O, and if you don't know who Khal Drogo is...

https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=Khal+Drogo&hl=en&client=ms-android-h3g-gb&source=android-browser-type&v=210020112&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=ntVbUeL_EY7SPOWpgegN&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=360&bih=567&sei=pdVbUcmMO6ew0QWWvICIDQ#biv=i%7C53%3Bd%7CgN7w-t2gTcvhTM%3A

I'll give you a minute to appreciate that. Maybe ten...

Please anons! Go crazy with made up customs and info on the Forsworn!

My squicks are toilet stuff and non-con.

Any race and any gender.

Oh, OP is floating in the clouds of happiness and beautiful Nord men over my love FOR YOU A!A AND YOUR BEAUTIFUL WRITING.

I love that Eyja is this big, beautiful woman, AND I'm so glad you used the golden eyes bit (I always viewed Alduin's defeat as more of an absorption of who he was, even though he probably wasn't dead completely, thus the physical and emotional changes). I have to admit too that I have always had a wee bit of a crush on Vilkas, but turned my nose up at him in the game purely because of his 'tude towards the DB. I can't help but love him though, you know?

AND I love the style of this! I was thinking, as I was prompting it, that it might be hard to choose a POV to stick with, if not jumping around with it a bit, and I totally dig your direction with this. Exceptional stuff, A!A, your biggest fan the OP is veerryyyy excited!

This OP truly does not care either way :3 Both are awesome

I love this, and recommend 'Kiss with a Fist' and 'Poison Wine' for inspiration to any music lovers who fill it (because those songs are awesome and shall inspire!)

Ill be in my bunk!

Yay! So glad you liked it OP! It was great fun to write and this meme sorely needed something foot related ;)

And thanks to all you other lovely nonnies too :)

Hell yes! Khal Drogo is unf.

Don't watch Game of Thrones, but I *really* like this prompt. LOTS.

And that character in the picture? UNFF. Yeah, I'll be here watching this prompt like a hawk.

Dujon's thoughts raced a mile a minute, as he groped in his mind desperately for some sort of plan. With precise, measured steps Mercer Frey forced him-- knife at his throat-- to walk towards the chest by his bed. Should have kept going south, he told himself, breathing slow through his teeth as if it might help with the pain and the terror. Gone down to the Imperial City. This time, he was ready for the Guild-Master's temper and managed to fling out his and steady himself when Mercer threw him against the chest.

“Open it,” the Guild-Master commanded. He had the sort of voice that always got what it wanted; and expected nothing less. Dujon lowered his gaze to his right hand where a heavy brass ring decorated his middle finger.

The ace up his sleeve. If he could, he would have kissed it. It was a dented, tarnished thing; had cracked a few skulls before now. There, a splash of dried blood. The skulls of bigger men than Mercer Frey, he told himself arrogantly.He curled his hand into a fist, and slowly moved his arms as if to open the chest. Made his shoulders limp, as if he'd gone submissive.

“I'm waiting,” said Mercer. Dujon heard the smugness in the older man's voice. Saw red, and struck.

He whirled around, adrenaline lending him strength and speed. Up Dujon went with a growl, swinging his arm in a wide, practised arch. He aimed his punch, just so, so that the ring collided with the Guild-Master's temple and sent him sprawling backwards with a grunt of surprise. A lethal hit, coupled with a mixture of pleasure, pride and panic. He'd just landed a punch, a good one, on Mercer Frey.

The Mercer Frey. Quite by chance, though he was loathe to admit it.

Seize your chances, where you can Dujon. Without another minute to congratulate himself, the Breton sprang forwards with his left fist ready to drive itself into the other thief's stomach. Fighting was something he excelled in.

Wait!

No. Too late.

Suddenly an iron grip bit down on his wrist and twisted. When Dujon cried out, the cruel hand twisted further. Then, Mercer's other hand gripped the front of his shirt and threw him against the wall.

Far too late.

For the third time, Dujon felt his head crack against something and stumbled over the chest. Spots of black in his vision. Fear clogged up his lungs and made it hard to breath. Cornered again. Stupid, stupid, stupid--

“I can't tell if you're a simpleton or just suicidal,” growled Mercer Frey. Again that beautiful, deadly dagger with its almost invisible point. Dujon tilted his head sluggishly, dimly aware of the bright red blood that oozed down the side of Mercer's face. It was satisfying to see the Guild-Master's hair so rough and ruffled and his face paper-white with rage.

“I'll make things simple, shall I?” Mercer intimated, like he was letting Dujon in on a little secret.

Faster than the younger thief could see, there was a flash of black and a thin, slicing sound. A moment of dull confusion. Then, pain. Blossoming in a sharp little line down the side of his face. Blood ran quick down his cheek. It was a shallow cut, a little stinging sensation if anything. But it was meant to humiliate. The hurt was just a pleasant side-effect.

“A little incentive,” that coarse, dangerous voice. “Every time you disobey me, little thief...”

The knife twirled expertly over its master's fingers. More of that dull fear, coupled with resignation.

“I draw blood. Understand?”

Dujon blinked.

“ Understand?”

“Yes.” he spat. Another cut, and a hiss. "Yes, Guild-Master!"

Dujon closed his eyes so that he didn't have to look at Mercer's disgustingly satisfied expression. Cunt he growled in his head, viciously. Dujon, pretty, too-proud creature that he was, did not take kindly to humiliation. You crazy, jumped-up, cu--

“Good.” He kept his eyes clamped shut. They felt strange, as if he had something in them. With disgust, he realised that the humiliation-- being cut by the blade, and so easily over-powered-- was threatening to bring tears to his eyes. He shut them even tighter and tried to ignore Mercer's rough fingers as they gently stole the brass ring, his pride and joy, from his hand. Mercer stripped it away, and with it went the last of Dujon's resistance.

He was curious, and opened his eyes just a crack once the horrid, teary sensation subsided, and saw the traitorous ring adorning Mercer's right hand. Then, he lifted his gaze and saw the Guild-Master's stormy eyes staring back at him.

“No sin without retribution, so the Gods say,” Mercer drawled. He raised his fist casually.

Dujon felt a weird emotion. It stirred in the pit of his stomach and drifted through his body. Some part of him was glad for the humiliation. Some tiny piece of self-loathing...

Mercer's hand-- the ring--collided with his nose.

Something crunched.

Someone swore.

Blood gushed.

Blackness.

***

A!A swears to every god there is that the next instalment has the sexy-times she's shamelessly kept everyone waiting for.

I. Am. An. Awful. Person. And an even more awful A!A. Sorry, sorry, sorry! :'(

You updated :o

the anticipation A!A. Stop teasing me!

Also, I like the brief mention of Dujon's "self-loathing". I think it'd make for a brilliant bit of angst/dom+sub ;)

He had the sort of voice that always got what it wanted; and expected nothing less.

I love this line! I think it really captures how I see Mercer.

Also, don't apologize A!A. As far as this anon is concerned, all this delicious cat and mouse is part of the sexy-times. =D

I am tempted to write this using Madanach as the Khal Drogo-type - I know he must be in his fifties at least and probably not what the OP was thinking of, but OTOH he *is* their leader and power's sexy, right? Also Stephen Russel's voice.

With the DB as a prim and proper Altmer (or possibly Imperial) lady who should not find this barbarian in any way, shape or form attractive but can't help herself.

If this sounds at all appealing, let me know and I shall think about writing something.

So Farkas has a bar in his room and - as far as I know - nobody knows why, right?

Then it hit me: barmaid kink.

It could be the female DB, a female character or an original female character I'm not choosy...just let me see Farkas getting hot over the idea of being served great flagons of frothy mead by her ~~and then fucking her over the bar.~~

Make it funny, make it serious I don't mind...as long as it's hot ;)

(Bonus if you manage to shoehorn in a joke about how he's banned from a load of inns and taverns all over Skyrim!)

I want to fill this. :P

Any particular race? This prompt inspired me straight away!

you know what? I'm finding a strange appeal to this idea.

It wasn't what I was thinking of... but now it is. :P

Power is probably one of my biggest kinks-- OP is intrigued! Please A!A work your magic!

Seriously, Madanach? You corrupting Anon you!

This meme is corrupting me.

I can't believe I'm genuinely contemplatin' The King in Rags.

I want to throw in a very loud THIRD from the back row. I immediately thought of Madanach when I saw the prompt and I'm tickled to see others are thinking the same thing.

Meme Announcements!

Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [3/?]

Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [4/?]

Re: Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [4b/?]

Re: Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [4b/?]

Re: M!DB/Ulfric: "Unforgettable" 1/?

Re: F!DB/Any; the getting over it part

Re: M!DB/Ulfric: "Unforgettable" 1/?

Violent Couple

Forsworn Sympathies

Re: Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [4b/?]

Re: F!DB/Any; the getting over it part

Re: Violent Couple

A!A here!

Re: Forsworn Sympathies

Re: Forsworn Sympathies

A Lack of Discipline [2/?]

A Lack of Discipline [2b/?]

Re: A Lack of Discipline [2b/?]

Re: A Lack of Discipline [2b/?]

Re: Forsworn Sympathies

Farkas + his inexplicable bar

Re: Farkas + his inexplicable bar

OP: Forsworn Sympathies

Re: Forsworn Sympathies

Re: Forsworn Sympathies