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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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I had this idea and I thought that it may give someone plot bunnies ;)

What would happen if the Dragonbron was mute? As in being mute since birth or having his/her throat torn in a battle, before or after knowing he/she is the Dragonborn, I don't care.

I don't really mind race or kinks ^^

OP is a happy OP :D

Pairing: F!DB Altmer/Madanach
Relationship: het
Summary: Madanach unveils the first part of his plans to take back the Reach to Liriel, and while she does believe him, it's always wise to get outside verification of these things. That's if she can actually trust the outside verification, of course.
A/N: Part continuation of the last chapter... and part lead in to the action. :)

Druadach Redoubt turned out to be a huge cavern built into the mountain, holes in the roof letting the light in, moonlight pouring in and pooling on to the ground. The ground itself rose up towards the back of the cavern, with three levels, each one with Forsworn tents pitched and stockades at the base of each tier, even trees growing there, and a small pool of water at the foot of the cave. There was even a small crop farm and grain mill, and a goat running up to her, butting against her and bleating.

“She likes you,” Madanach laughed as Liriel scritched it behind the ears.

“She's lovely!” Liriel smiled. “I never had you lot down as the pet owner types.”

“We're not, she's a working goat and valuable member of the camp,” said Madanach, rubbing the goat's back briefly before moving on. “Blame my daughter for the ridiculously sentimental name.”

Liriel rubbed the animal's back, idly wondering which daughter. Kaie? Or Eithne while she'd lived here? She didn't think the same goat would have survived two decades, but she was beginning to realise the King in Rags had a very long memory.

She followed him up towards the back of the cave, nodding in acknowledgement to the Forsworn she knew, those that were still up, and exchanging nervous glances with the ones she didn't. Still, no one reached for a weapon – it seemed Madanach's approval was sufficient to get her a free pass.

Madanach's tent was of course on the top tier, also home to a forge, a huge cage and the campfire and kitchen. Two tents, one big one with what looked like an elk's skull and ribcage mounted on top, presumably Madanach's, and a smaller one, but one still bigger than the others she'd seen around the place. Kaie was sitting inside it, presumably preparing for bed. She glanced knowingly up at Liriel and grinned.

“Sleeping up here tonight, are we? Thought you might. Just keep the noise down, OK? Some of us are trying to sleep over here.”

“I'll... try,” said Liriel, feeling a little uncertain as to just what Kaie meant by that, but if she wanted to sleep, Liriel could certainly make sure she wasn't disturbed.

Madanach growled in his daughter's direction. “Don't you have any work to be getting on with?”

“It's midnight, nearly,” Kaie shot back. “You know, the time normal people are meant to go to bed?”

“I don't care, something important's come up,” said Madanach, casting a magelight over a nearby table with a map on it and indicating for Liriel to take the sole chair. “And no it can't wait until morning,” he added, retrieving another from his tent and bringing it up to the table.

Kaie just rolled her eyes and reached for the flaps on her tent. “And he complains about his sleep cycles,” she muttered, tersely closing the entrance and retreating to bed.

“I hadn't realised it was that late,” said Liriel guiltily. “Are you sure this can't wait until morning? I don't want to keep you up.”

“Sithis, don't you start, I have enough to put up with what with Kaie nagging me. I swear she's turning into her mother more and more every day.” Madanach indicated the map in front of her, a map of what was clearly the Reach, and several locations dotted around it.

“Rather you didn't share this with anyone else,” said Madanach gruffly. “This is all our camps in the Reach. They operate mostly independently under their camp commander's control, and aside from this one and a few of the smaller ones nearby, they're all under the command of a Matriarch or a Briar Heart controlled by one.”

Hagravens and Briar Hearts. Liriel knew what Hagravens were – once a female mage reached a certain level of power, a bargain could be struck, a sacrifice made, and although a significant portion of your soul and your humanity would be gone, you'd be immensely powerful magically. She'd not read up on the details of how this worked and didn't plan to. The idea held very little appeal. As for Briar Hearts, she'd fought a few. Men with their hearts removed and a mysterious Briar Heart placed there instead, the gaping chest wound still visible. Reanimated corpses by any other name? Or something else? Liriel didn't know.

“Is that... important?” she asked. Well of course it was or he wouldn't be telling her, but what she didn't know was why.

“Ever read the Legend of Red Eagle?” said Madanach, not looking at her. “It tells of our greatest ever leader, a fierce warrior who fought off the Empire, Faolan the Red Eagle, first Lord of the Reach, the first to unite us. Before that, we were always fighting amongst ourselves, easy prey. He was a great leader, a mighty warrior but he made one mistake. He made a deal with the Hagravens, took great power, but at a terrible cost. He let them take his heart and replace it with one of Briar, and from that day until the day he died, he was never his own man again. He was the first, but many have made that same deal since, or had their bodies resurrected with Briar Hearts. They are fierce warriors, very powerful mages, but they answer to the Matriarch that made them. We respect the Hags' power, of course we do. But to surrender entirely to one? No. I will never be making that particular bargain, and so you have Druadach Redoubt as one of the few places not led by either a Matriarch or her servant. That in a nutshell is my problem.”

Liriel recalled his words of earlier and realised that perhaps the King in Rags wasn't anything like as powerful as his title suggested.

“The Hags won't listen to you?” Liriel asked, beginning to realise why he could only guarantee her safety at his own camp.

“The Hags serve the old gods, they're not going to pay attention to a mere mortal,” said Madanach, looking at her shrewdly, beginning to smile. “But the Shrouded Lady, the Hag of Hags, they'd have to pay attention to her. More precisely, to her followers.”

“You want me to negotiate with the Hagravens. But Madanach, they'd kill me on sight!” Liriel cried.

“Not negotiate,” said Madanach, face shadowed in the magelight. “I want my people back, Liriel, and for that, someone is going to have to die.”

A contract then. Liriel went very still, the sound of her heart thudding in her chest almost impossibly loud in the silence.

“All of them?” she whispered. Madanach just laughed.

“No, just one or two will be enough. Just enough to set an example to the others, I imagine the rest will fall into line after that. Here, let me talk you through the various camps and factions, it'll help you understand. There's four factions, other than me. There's the North faction, headed by Matriarch Keirine, based up at Deepwood Redoubt. The fort itself is run by Keirine's Briar Heart, but Keirine has a coven at Hag's End, deep within the fortress, where she does magical research and trains the next generation of mages and Matriarchs. She also oversaw the smaller camps at Bruca's Leap and Dragon Bridge Overlook, and this place until I got here, but never used Briar Hearts to run them.”

“Keirine,” Liriel whispered, remembering the name. “She's the one who told you to break out now or you never would, that the stars were right.”

“She did,” Madanach replied, nodding in approval. “She must have known the Night Mother had called a new Listener, and foreseen that Listener ending up in Cidhna Mine. She's a smart one, Keirine.”

“She's not who you want me to kill, is she?” Liriel asked nervously. Madanach looked up at that, appalled at the very idea.

“No! Anu, no, don't you dare, she's on my side, about the only Hag I trust. She was my twin sister once. Anything you ever want from Hag's End, you come talk to me first, I'll get you what you need. That place is of great strategic importance to all of us. And like I said, she used to control this place, Bruca's Leap and Dragon Bridge Overlook, but once I broke out, she ceded them to me. She's a Hag of the old school, believes the war and the politics are the business of the Reach-King or Queen, not the Hags. She leads Deepwood because someone has to, but she always preferred her research to politics.”

So not Keirine then. Noted. Liriel looked at the map, beginning to understand some of the lines and symbols now. A wavy line separated the northern camps from the others, running from Dragon Bridge Overlook down the Karth then striking west and running just south of Markarth. By Druadach Redoubt was a crudely drawn crown. Home of the Reach-King that was and will be again.

“All this is territory nominally loyal to you,” she breathed, beginning to get it. Madanach nodded.

“Correct. There's Kolskeggr Mine here, biggest gold mine in the Reach. Was the Silver-Bloods', now it's mine. We've got to fund all this somehow, and now skimming silver ore from Cidhna Mine and smuggling it out is no longer an option, we needed an alternative. So Nepos and I decided to overrun Kolskeggr before the breakout happened.”

“Nepos the Nose,” Liriel said, remembering that note she'd found on Weylin. She'd been meaning to call on him after her ill-fated visit to Thonar Silver-Blood, but after finding out from Thonar that Madanach was behind all the murders, she'd run straight back to the Shrine of Talos to tell Eltrys – and run straight into the guards standing over his body. “He's your man in Markarth.”

“Yes, he and I go way back,” said Madanach fondly. “We've got agents all over the city and luckily for us, Briar Hearts and Matriarchs tend to attract the wrong sort of attention there. So Nepos runs the show in Markarth, and effectively that city is mine. With a bit of time to put the arrangements in place, I could depose the Jarl and take it over whenever I liked.”

“So why haven't you?” Liriel countered.

“Because I'd never get to keep it,” Madanach sighed. “Learnt that the first time around. We could have held that city against all comers, but the Empire was determined, the Jarl was determined, and the Silver-Bloods betrayed us as soon as the Great War ended. We still might have held – if the Hags of the south hadn't decided it was a lost cause and ordered their camps to stay put.”

“You mean half the Forsworn didn't even fight?” Liriel gasped, horrified. Madanach inclined his head in confirmation.

“Correct. It's almost as if the Hags don't want us to have a kingdom of our own, isn't it? But I'm sure that can't be right, and I'm very sure that actually having to be answerable to the law as citizens instead of doing whatever they feel like in their own little fiefdoms is a price they'd be happy to pay. Of course.”

“Of course,” Liriel echoed, beginning to see why the comparison with Astrid had been such an apt one. “Never mind the Nords, you've got to deal with your own people first.”

“You see what I mean about it taking years to organise the Forsworn into a united faction again,” Madanach sighed. “Took long enough the first time. I don't have those years, Liriel, I've got a decade left in me and maybe a few years more, but no longer than that.” He looked up at her, beginning to smile again, a crafty, devious smile that unnerved Liriel as much as it delighted her. “At least, I didn't until you turned up, Queen of Dragons.”

Liriel wasn't sure she liked the sound of that.

“I hope to Sithis you're going to pay me for all this,” said Liriel tersely. “And while I'm willing to off Hagravens for you, there's an awful lot of Forsworn around them willing to die to protect them. That's my problem, Madanach! I'd like to help, but do you really want me cutting a bloody hole into your own people just to eliminate your enemies?”

“No, but someone else will be on guard duty all night. I'll take their bed,” said Madanach with a shrug. “Anything to keep Kaie from nagging me.”

Now this was safer. Step back from that intensity of before and retreat into banal chit-chat about his family.

“She just wants you to be healthy and happy,” Liriel told him. “She's worried about you.”

Madanach just grunted, scowling. He waved towards the big tent with the elk mounted on it. “Go on, get to bed. And before you ask why the elk skeleton, it's a tribute to worthy prey. Killed it myself many many years ago. Didn't even use magic. Part of my initiation into adulthood – could have just made an animal sacrifice like everyone else, but why take the easy route, hmm?”

Liriel could quite believe that Madanach had been the sort of young man to despise something on principle precisely because everyone else was doing it. She crawled into the tent and was surprised to just see a pile of straw there with fur pelts flung over it. She'd expected a proper bed at least.

“That's what you sleep on?” she asked, surprised. She couldn't see Madanach from inside the tent but could almost sense him rolling his eyes.

“I'm very sorry if the Queen of Dragons doesn't find my accommodations entirely to her liking and would prefer a solid gold bed lined with hawk feathers and Khajiit fur instead, but believe it or not, I do have a war to fight and rather more pressing concerns?” he growled.

“It's not that!” Liriel cried. “It's just you had a nicer bed than this in Cidhna Mine...”

Silence. For a second, Liriel wondered if she should have mentioned Cidhna Mine at all. Maybe it had brought back memories he'd rather forget. Then he finally spoke.

“It's just somewhere to rest my head, Liriel, it's not like I'm entertaining a different woman every night.”

Liriel stretched out on the straw pile, feeling sorry for him. All this responsibility couldn't be easy for him, and though he seemed a lot happier than he had in prison, he still seemed lonely. His wife dead from the sounds of it, celibate all that time in prison (she presumed), and not exactly in any position to have a new lover here. There were some young women in the camp, but all around Kaie's age or younger and Liriel guessed even Madanach wasn't going to start ordering women that young to his bed. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she should go and comfort him, but then she remembered him touching her face and leaning closer with that hungry smile, and that brought up all sorts of fears she'd rather not deal with.

“Maybe if you got a decent bed, that might change,” she called out, deliberately keeping her tone light and easy. That did get a laugh from him.

“I think the effort might kill me,” Madanach laughed. “I don't need a harem, Liriel, just one would do.”

“Bet she'd still appreciate a decent bed,” Liriel called, snuggling in amongst the furs. Truth be told it was already quite comfy. Not luxurious, but comfy. It would however only really sleep one. If Madanach ever did find a lover, he'd not be able to sleep next to her in this. It occurred to Liriel maybe he'd never expected or intended to find one ever again, and for some reason that saddened her. Everyone should have a shot at happiness, and Madanach didn't have the hundreds of years that she did to find it.

Lady Mara, if he can't have his kingdom, at least find him someone to love. If he has to live in exile, at least find him someone to share it with.

No response but there never was. She'd leave it in Mara's hands. She didn't know if the Forsworn believed in Mara, but even they fell in love.

“I will think about it,” Madanach called back. “Now Dragon-Queen, if you are quite done complaining and prying into my personal life, are you going to go to sleep?”

Liriel closed her eyes, pulling furs over her head. “Goodnight, Madanach,” she said, feeling sleep overcome her. She'd dozed off in seconds, never hearing the reply.

“Goodnight, Queen of Dragons,” Madanach murmured, closing his eyes, bittersweet smile on his face. He was tired, actually, a lot more tired than he'd let on and it had been adrenaline keeping him going, the sheer excitement of Sithis' conduit still being open and Night's Children still being able to honour the Auld Alliance. Granted, it was just one assassin. But when that assassin was the Voice of the Night Mother, and the Voice of Dragons, and a very talented mage, and a beautiful woman on top of all that? Sithis had answered his prayers all right, and tomorrow would see the sun rise on a new era for the Forsworn.

“Hail Sithis,” he whispered, getting up and going in search of a bed. Soon, soon, the Forsworn would be his again. And if in the process he found himself also in possession of a beautiful Altmer in his bed and not expecting him to sleep anywhere but by her side, that would be a very happy bonus.

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

It was mid-afternoon by the time Liriel left the Redoubt the next day, declining Madanach's offer of another night there. It was clear to all he'd not slept well the night before, and Liriel had had to have a quiet word with Kaie as to if there was any reason they couldn't find a proper bed for him. Kaie had agreed he needed one, it was just getting the stubborn old fool to admit it. Well, at least he'd said he'd think about it. Liriel was coming to realise that was the nearest she was going to get to an admission she might be right.

Then had come the instruction on how to enter a Forsworn camp without the entire population descending on her, which had proven as simple as clenching one's fists and holding them to her shoulders. Something which when she realised most Forsworn associated an open palm with the casting of Destruction magic made perfect sense. There was also a ritual invocation but Madanach had also said that the words could be tweaked if necessary, so not critical to memorise it all.

Finally, once he was convinced she had it down, he let her go, walking her to the outside and seeing her off. To her surprise, he actually hugged her, before dropping arms to his sides and standing back, waiting while she mounted her horse.

“Fight well,” he called to her.

“If you taught me well, I'm hoping I won't have to,” she shouted back. He'd smiled at that.

“Kill well, then. Come back here when you're done, I'll have some coin for your trouble.”

He didn't need to pay her, she'd have helped him anyway. But the coin was nice and maybe it was for the best they kept this somewhat professional. Besides, she wasn't sure yet if this was going to work. True, Madanach had given her details of a small camp called Blind Cliff Cave, independent from any of the main Forsworn factions and run by two feuding Hagraven sisters called Melka and Petra, supposedly easy to escape from if it all went south. A little test run as it were. All the same, before she walked into a Forsworn camp and announced her arrival, Liriel wanted some outside confirmation that all was as Madanach had told her. Not that she didn't trust him, but she'd be a fool not to look into things first. So she needed assistance. Specifically, she needed a young Reach native with clear skills in both magic and the blade, one not linked to Madanach but who might well have got her training with the Forsworn. She knew the perfect person.

The Shrine of Namira wasn't any less dank and gloomy, but at least they'd cleared up the blood since her last visit. Eola was there, sitting at the head of the table, looking like a queen on her throne despite being a full five inches shorter than Liriel. Mercifully she wasn't eating, just reading and drinking some sort of red liquid from a wineglass. Liriel hoped it was only wine, although with Eola one could never tell.

Despite Liriel's boots not making a sound on the stone floor, Eola looked up, smiling as she saw Liriel there.

“Why hello there, Keeper of the Ring. It's been a while, how've you been?” She took one look at the Shrouded Armour Liriel was wearing and raised an eyebrow. “You're in the Dark Brotherhood now? My my, you are going up in the world! How... delicious.”

Liriel shivered a little as she took a seat next to Namira's priestess. Cannibalism was in no way a respectable pastime for a well-bred Altmer lady, but there was a seductive, predatory charm to Eola and next thing Liriel knew, she'd been luring a priest of Arkay back here, killing him and eating his still-warm corpse. She'd carved off a slice and cooked it with a Flames spell first of course, she wasn't a savage or anything. All the same, after that little escapade, joining the Dark Brotherhood hadn't really presented many ethical challenges.

“I wasn't when we last met,” said Liriel, focusing on a bloodstain on the table. “Don't get too excited about it, I'm not exactly high-ranked.” But you should be, Listener, a little voice whispered in the back of her head. You should be giving orders to them all.

“Even so, that you took the Shrouds at all...” Eola breathed. “All the blood, all the death! Why, I tried to join myself a few years ago, you know. Did the Sacrament and everything, waited for someone to show... and waited... and waited. No one ever turned up. Of course, perhaps the fact I nibbled on the man's liver beforehand had something to do with it. What do you think, Liriel?”

“Honestly, I think they missed out,” said Liriel, having to admit that Eola was as fierce and predatory as they came. “You'd have made an excellent assassin.”

Eola grinned, looking very pleased with herself. She put her book, a copy of the Book of Daedra, to one side and turned to Liriel.

“So, Champion of Namira. What brings you here? Did you want another taste? You are looking a little pale, I can tell it's been a while since you last had a decent meal.”

“I'm fine,” said Liriel, hastily shutting that line of conversation right down. “It was actually information I wanted.”

“Information, eh?” Eola purred. “Well, I have to confess, I'm not one to keep up with all the gossip. But if you tell me what you want to know, I'll see if I can help.”

Liriel nodded and clenched her fists, raising them to her shoulders in the Forsworn gesture of non-hostility.

“What does this gesture mean to you?” she asked. Eola's eyes widened and Liriel knew right then she'd guessed correctly about Eola's background.

“I'd say it means you've been running with the Forsworn,” said Eola, fascinated, her curiosity caught. “Now that's interesting, that they taught an outsider that. Oh, but I don't suppose you're really an outsider, are you? Not now you joined up with the other Sithis worshipping murdering fanatics.”

“I knew it,” Liriel breathed. “You're a Forsworn! Or, well, you used to be.”

“Once,” Eola agreed. “A long time ago. I grew up near here on Karthspire Camp. That'd be the one you and your friends tore through the other week. Oh don't worry,” she said, laughing at Liriel's guilty expression. “I picked through the bodies afterwards – only person I might have cried over wasn't there. The Forsworn mortality rate is quite high, I think most of the people I knew died some time ago. I just have one question. Was it you who killed their Matriarch?”

Liriel sighed and confessed. If Eola wanted revenge, she'd likely have taken it by now.

“Yes. It was me. Fireball duel then I finished her off with a lightning bolt.”

Of all the reactions she'd thought she might get, she'd not expected Eola to clap her hands, squeal in delight, get up and run round the table to give Liriel a hug.

“Oh you marvellous, brutal, murdering fiend, you!” Eola laughed. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for killing the controlling bitch. She's the reason I left. Hit my sixteenth birthday, decided I'd had enough of the lectures on how I was insufficiently committed to the cause, and ran away. Got myself initiated into adulthood on my own terms and never looked back.”

Eola perched herself on the bench next to Liriel, looking very pleased with herself. Liriel began to wonder if she'd been the best choice for assistance, but at least Eola wasn't likely to tell anyone else. Eola, by her own admission and for blatantly obvious reasons, preferred to keep a low profile and pass through life unremembered later.

“And what was your commitment to the cause like, Eola?” Liriel asked. “Do you actually want an independent Reach or do you just not care any more?”

Sadness crept into Eola's eyes, sadness and a fair hint of bitterness, and that was most unlike her. Eola very rarely had regrets about anything.

“My oldest sister died when I was five – the Nords killed her,” said Eola quietly. “They got my Da at the same time, my strong, proud, brave warrior of a father. I don't remember a lot about him, but I know he loved me dearly. Then he was gone. A few years after that, my next oldest sister died – I'd wandered off and got lost, she'd come out to find me and that's when the mercenaries attacked. She told me to run and fought them off, and she was good, but she was outnumbered and only fifteen. They hacked her to death and I couldn't do a damn thing. I was there for hours, clutching her body, cold, alone, afraid, hungry, crying my eyes out. In the end, I was so hungry I took a bite.”

So Eola's seduction speech had been at least partly autobiographical. Liriel suspected as much.

“They found me eventually, and I told them it had been a fox taking bites out of her, but I'm not sure Ma believed me. She was never the same again. When I approached sixteen, Ma was very clear that I had a choice – either join the fight like my third sister, or get married to continue the line. Needless to say, I said no to both and left. Liriel, don't get me wrong,” Eola sighed. “It's not that I don't agree and it's not even that I don't care. I'd love an independent Reach again. But it's never going to happen in my lifetime and I'm not throwing my life away in a pointless struggle that's never really stopped since Tiber Septim's day.”

“It's not pointless,” said Liriel, fighting the anger that was rising at Eola's dismissive words. “It's only pointless if we give up. I refuse to believe the Forsworn cause is doomed.”

“We?” said Eola, staring right into her eyes. “It's 'we', is it now? Sweet Namira, Liriel, what in Oblivion have you got yourself mixed up in now? I know you're Brotherhood but the Auld Alliance hasn't functioned in over a hundred years. And even when it did, please don't think it was more than a mutually beneficial trade and training agreement. The Dark Brotherhood were never ideologically committed to freedom for the Reach, any more than the Forsworn were prepared to kill just anyone unless it fitted with their own plans. Look, if you've been seconded out to the Forsworn, or even if they've just hired you for a contract, don't make it more than it is. Just do the job, get paid, get out, that's my advice.”

“You cynical bitch,” Liriel said softly, thinking of Madanach's delight as she'd told him she was Listener, and the barely concealed glee in his eyes ever since. Something about seeing him so happy had made her happy too, and for Eola to just dismiss everything Madanach believed in, just like that, felt like a slap in the face.

“Guilty as charged,” said Eola cheerfully. “What? Don't look at me like that, you know what I'm like by now. All I care about is my next meal.”

“There's more to life than the hunt!” Liriel cried, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Is there?” Eola asked, eyebrow raised. Liriel fought back the urge to slap her.

“Look, do you want in on this job or not?” she hissed. Eola grinned at that, crossing her legs and settling in to listen.

“So there is a job then. Let me guess, the Forsworn have hired you to kill someone they can't get to themselves. Who is it?”

“Let's just say there are a few internal dissensions within the Forsworn with regards to policy,” Liriel said delicately. “And that a certain high-ranking member of the Forsworn is rapidly losing patience with this state of affairs and has retained me to deal with some of said dissenters, namely other high-ranking members of the Forsworn. Apparently if my client does it directly, all Oblivion will break loose, but if the Brotherhood do it, with no link back to said client, my client can then move in and clean up the mess, take their camps over and with any luck the rest will fall into line.”

“Cunning,” said Eola thoughtfully. “Well, I may be able to help. Perhaps. I don't suppose you're prepared to tell me who your client is, are you?”

“No,” said Liriel pointedly. “Honestly Eola, I'm a professional.”

“Pity,” said Eola, shrugging. “I'm just wondering who is high-ranked enough to want to do all this, but not high-ranked enough to take on a Hag and survive politically. Can't be a Briar Heart, they don't have the imagination.” She smiled sweetly, resting an elbow on the table and propping her head up. “Never mind. I'm sure you'll tell me in good time. I'm allowed to know the target at least, hmm?”

“A Hagraven called Petra at Blind Cliff Cave,” Liriel told her. “She's imprisoned her sister Melka, and M- my client thinks that if we pay Melka a visit and offer to deal with her sister, she might be persuaded to back our client in return.”

“Hags. I knew it,” said Eola, grinning. “Count me in on this one, Liriel. I just have one question. You said this might not be the only job, and honestly, if I was in charge of a number of Forsworn camps and was looking to consolidate my hold on the rest, Blind Cliff Cave would barely figure in my plans.”

“That's not a question,” said Liriel, wondering what on earth was going on in the girl's head.

“No, it's not. My question is – these targets. Would the King in Rags be among them? Madanach?”

Liriel's breath caught in her throat, heart pounding, world going into slow motion at the mere thought of Madanach dying. Never, no never, he's my friend, he's one of us, I'd take my own life before I'd take his.

“No,” Liriel rasped, her throat going dry. “No, we're not going after him.”

Eola closed her eyes, smiling as if at some secret only she knew. Opening them, she sat up, shook herself down and got to her feet.

“Then I'm in.” She held out a hand to Liriel, smiling at her. “Shall we?”

Liriel nodded mutely, not at all sure what had just happened there, but something had shifted in the wind and she had the uncanny feeling Eola had guessed who the client was.

“Let's get going,” Liriel said hastily. “We've got some Hagravens to sort out.”

The open sky bit is exactly what I was going for! :D Big Forsworn rituals happen out in the open because that's where all the space is, and it's become a tradition.

The other Dothraki tradition going straight in there is a relative lack of privacy in a Forsworn camp and rather permissive attitudes towards sex, but that can all come later...

Anon is looking forward to laaaater~

“...where was I?”

“Vilkas and Farkas... Vilkas was telling his brother about Ey... the Dragonborn..”

“Right...”

**

That coy, laughing expression made my blood run hot. I was angry. I remember a time when something made me lose control like that, I could just creep off to the Underforge and let my emotions run their course. But with the blood gone, it's been hard to find another outlet.

Can you understand why I was angry, Farkas? All along the road to Whiterun we barely spoke a word. Eyja just kept putting one foot in front of the other, only looking up if we heard something out of the ordinary, or another traveler passed. All that silence, only broken with the odd phrase to set up camp, or to move on that morning. I, her closest companion, waited all that journey just for her to say something. Anything. Just waiting for the staggering realisation to fall over her, that Eyja had done it. Killed the World-Eater; and to some extent defied fate, which prophesied that Alduin was meant to destroy us. Defied fate.

Something was wrong. Eyja had fulfilled the very reason she existed on this earth. She had traveled to the realm of the dead, and had seen things believed forbidden for living eyes to look upon. I was burning to know, whether or not, Kodlak was at rest in Sovngarde. Almost as much as I wanted to know, how Alduin had died. How Eyja had done it, what she felt, and what she thought. Why her blue eyes were suddenly gods-damned gold.

Didn't she want to speak about it? Eyja treated the trip like we were returning from a simple job. Like we were just on our way home for the reward. It was strange, to me. Novel. No one yet knew, but for us, that Alduin was gone. The Greybeards knew, I expected. And the dragons, because when I waited for her in Ivarstead the strangest sounds drifted down from the mountain peak.

That feeling returned to me, as we sat quietly amongst the drunkenness of the Bannered Mare. I watched Mikael pluck the strings of his lute, and Hulda wiping a mug, and thought how weird it was: that this was how people had acted whilst Alduin lived, and would continue to act now he was gone. I thought it strange that no one else picked up on Eyja's changes; to the point that I had the niggling doubt that Eyja was always this way. Did people not see her? How her face, even now, so pale and tired, how all her skin almost seemed to glow?

I looked back at Eyja, unable to keep from frowning. Her eyes were intent on mine. There was something less human, and more animal, about the way she cocked her head to the side and leaned forwards slightly. She was trying, in a strange, silent way, to threaten me.

“Do you think I'm stupid?” I asked her quietly. That foreign gaze faltered. “Eyja?”

“What?” she snapped. Aye, it's unlike her to snap. She's always been the calmest of the Companions; that was half of Kodlak's reasoning to make her Harbinger, wasn't it? Bearing of a Jarl, as if everything's entitled to her. Always calm, always dignified.

“Don't you want to talk about it?” I could feel it welling up inside me, all the anger. And embarrassment. It hurt my pride, the fact that she might lie so bare-faced to me; with neither hesitation nor a flicker of regret in her eyes but with a smile. “What happened with Alduin? Your eyes? What it could mean?”

“All it means, is that the strongest won,” she replied, and slammed her drink down on the table. Her voice came out like a low hiss, and she narrowed her eyes into little slits. “That balance is restored, that the wheel of fate always turns. That Alduin is dead, and I am not. And that is all it will ever mean.”

She stood up. So I stood up. We stared at each other. We were barely aware of the chatter of those in the tavern. They were blind to the intensity of that one moment passed between us.
“I'm not getting into an argument,” she gestured at me every few words, letting her own anger come through. “Over a matter, as trivial...” she paused. “As the colour of my eyes...”

Her voice was very low, but very strong. I felt the power of the thu'um ripple over my head like a breath of wind, yet not.

“So you admit, you were lying.” I replied. She had nothing to say to that.

You probably already know what happened next, brother. It was all anyone would talk of for a week.

Mikael, poor lad, chose that moment to begin a round of Ragnar the Red. Irritating song, that. Eyja thought so too. She turned, and took three strides towards him. I watched as she snatched the lute from his hands, and how the wood splintered in her grip. Someone swore—it might even have been me-- as she swung the thing over her head, like it was a sword, and brought it crashing down against a table. It shattered into a mess of strings and wooden shards. The room fell silent.

Someone sniggered into their cup.

Eyja advanced on Mikael and grabbed the front of his shirt, so tight that I could see the whites of her knuckles. There was a shout as Eyja barrelled him into the wall, and brought her face inches from his. I saw her full lips curl into a sneer. She all but bared her teeth at him.

“Eyja,” I said, taking a few steps towards her. No one else was willing to do it.

“Can’t a woman drink in peace, without you squallingin the background?” Eyja snarled at Mikael, shaking him. His eyes were wide in panic; I think he might have whimpered, gazing down into that fierce gold stare. It was, to me, as if a stranger had met me at the foot of the mountain wearing Eyja’s shape; never before had I seen her so angry. Not when Alduin escaped her at the Throat of the World, or when she gathered the peace meeting at the monastery. Not even, at the news of Kodlak’s death.

So angry, and at a silly little bard.

“Pathetic,” Eyja scoffed and let him go. Mikael sank, almost gratefully, to the ground. I noticed how his hands shook as he reached out to gather the pieces of his broken lute. One of the tavern girls crept over to help him. Eyja noticed, and the girl froze the way prey does in the eyes of its predator.

And then Eyja began to speak. Shout, even. She shouted herself hoarse, but I didn’t understand a word what was said. I watched her turn away from Mikael and the girl and fling her arms out, gesturing wildly to the patrons. I imagine I had the same bewildered expression on my face as any other, as the foreign words spilled from Eyja’s lips, vile and furious. The air was suddenly very hard to breathe, as the thu’um—it must have been—echoed from the walls and filled the corners of the room. This strange feeling, fear, started bubbling in my stomach. I was suddenly scared of what Eyja might do. How does someone react when the Dragonborn throws a tantrum? Hide, and hope she calms down?

“Eyja,” I began again. She whirled around to face me. Her eyes softened. The angry words stopped abruptly, and almost as sudden came the sensation that I could breathe again. I watched a faint blush began to creep over her cheeks, as she started to stumble backwards towards the door. Mikael staggered to the left in the wake of her anger, the tavern girl with him. He turned to me as I hurried after her.

“Best remember everything else,” I heard him quip in a breathless voice. He rubbed his neck with his left hand, and clutched a piece of his lute with the other. Damned bard has an answer for everything “I dread to think what might happen if you forgot her birthday.”

Another time I might have turned back and taught the little milk-drinker not to eavesdrop on private conversations, but the door was already closing behind Eyja. I caught it before it could shut. Followed Eyja into the cold.

**

Here, you notice how reluctantly the stranger speaks. He turns away from you, and clears his throat. Embarrassed? Why? It takes him a while to continue...

She looked like a ghost in the moonlight. It sapped the colour right out of her, till her hair was the colour of bone and her skin paper white. Even the new, foreign, golden eyes seemed dimmer. Suddenly, Eyja was very sad... soft and quiet now, with her eyes cast down.

“Eyja,” I went to her, holding my arms out. With the privacy that the night lends, she let herself fold into my embrace. I felt a whisper of her lips against my cheek, and her eyelashes tickle my ear.

“I didn’t realise,” she spoke to me in quiet tones. Let me wrap my arms around her and pull her as close as we could get. I'll spare you the details Farkas; no need to worry.

“Didn’t realise what?” I asked. She pulled away from me and turned her face to the stars. The two moons were full but the sky swirled with dark fat clouds. It was a habit of Eyja to watch the skies. She was always wondering if a dragon soared above the clouds where she couldn't look.

She replied in more of those foreign words. Deliberately this time, I think, for her voice was smoother, and far more controlled. I didn’t like them. Those words were for shouts, not for a private conversation between she and I. Words best saved for battling dragons. So I reached out for her again. Tucked that one little curl that always falls over her eyes behind her ear. I kissed her, to stop those strange words.

I was pushed back. Eyja started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To the Shrine of Arkay,” she replied.

“Why?”

“To pray for the dead, why else?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me why you lied?” She wasn’t.

She said, “stop pestering me, Vilkas. Let Aela know we’ve returned. Or go back to the tavern, I don’t care.” I don't care. Go back to drinking.

I couldn’t handle the mood swings. One moment screaming, then sad, then nothing. “Fine,” I growled back at her. Eyja sneered.

“What was that about?” Hulda asked me, when I returned. The room was slowly gaining its previous volume, with Mikael telling an account of what had just happened, despite it just happening, in the corner. Aye, the subject on everyone’s lips was Eyja: what she had just down, and why she did it.

“Never seen her act like that before.” I heard someone say.

And someone else. “It was Mikael combined with Ragnar the Red. I don’t blame her.”

“Do you think she might be pregnant? That turns all women into dragons.”

I’d had enough or the night. Left again... Thought about finding Eyja anyway, but I didn’t. It felt too risky with her sudden rage still ringing in my ears…

**

…Vilkas became less and less interested in the story he was telling as the embers began to dim and their food began to grow cold. Farkas watched his brother with a solemn, but confused expression. He knew there was much more that Vilkas wanted to say, but he could be equally reticent when it came to speaking about such matters.

“Do you think she could be?” he said.

“What?”

“Pregnant--”

**

“The Dragonborn and this Vilkas were really lovers?” Once again you can’t seem to stop yourself from commenting. But it was hard to concentrate on this stretch of the man’s tale. As he progressed he had become less and less coherent in his speech; and you’re quite sure he left some details out, though you couldn’t think why.

“Aye,” he replies, with none of his usual irritation for your interruptions. He seems to have exhausted his desire for speech.

Are you excited or disappointed by this information? You aren’t sure. On the one hand, a lover can add a romantic, even tragic, element to a piece. On the other… well... You had been of the idea to buy the Dragonborn drinks, and hear the story from her lips. Everywhere you went you’d get the same account. Tall, strong woman. Blond hair, coy smile but with the strength of eight men, so tales went.

You saw her in your minds eye, so flattered at being the subject of your masterpiece, your magnum opus as it were. Women like to be the subject of such things, in your experience. You know many a bard who wooed in that way.

"...pregnant?"

"...no."

“In all my journey, I never heard of a Vilkas,” you tell the man.

He glares at you, blearily through the sheen of his drunken stupor. “They were a very private couple,” he says, and remains close-lipped on the matter. The two of you finish your drinks in silence; the stranger (can you call him stranger now?) seems lost in thought.

What did she say?” you eventually ask. Many of the locals have retired to their beds. Indeed, it is just you and he now. Only you two have rooms for the night, and only the two of you remain. This would have been the perfect time to hear his tale, if only the stranger were more capable of telling it.

“What?” The man looks up at you in confusion. You see how he struggles to maintain a grip on his bottle. You fear you might have to let him sleep and figure out another way to hear the rest of his tale.

“Eyja to Vilkas,” you try to talk slowly, and remain unpatronising at the same time. “The part he couldn't understand. The dragon tongue. Thu’um?”

“I don't know.”

Disappointing. “…Did Vilkas ever find out what she said?” you ask. You want to know, and wonder how long it took for Eyja to learn it. If you could learn it and put a little in your song. No, poem. Judging from this tale, Eyja didn’t much like songs…

The stranger looks at you for a very long time. It is the weirdest sensation, to be pinned beneath those sad, bloodshot eyes that regard you with dislike, and yet at the same time seem grateful. For what? For the company? For the free drinks, you expect. His tale burned a hole in your pocket. You hope it is worth it. But, how does this stranger know Vilkas and Eyja, from the story? And can you trust his words?

He talks very awkwardly. Not a natural story-teller, but then you are a bard. You know how a story is meant to be told, and how to retell it.

“No,” the man replies after a while. He stands up. He sways. For a moment you think that the weight of that lethal greatsword on his back might topple him over. But he steadies himself and clambers off the bench-seat.

“What's your name friend?” You surprise yourself in asking.

“None of your business.” He strides away from you, a little crooked. You see Barkeep give him one of his worn smiles and nod. The man disappears into his room.

The story is over, for now. Perhaps you will hear the end in the morning.

**

Whilst no one in the story finds out what Eyja said (Vilkas being able to recite dragon speak to the bard seemed stupid) it’s something along the lines of: Alduin had a far easier job than I, taking over this pathetic country e.t.c How unfair it is, that I suffer, and great creatures die, so that weaklings can carry on with their drinking, and their warring, and their songs. It’s just a very angry rant in (Draconic??) basically... :p

Oh and then there’s her sad little confession to Vilkas near the end… but I quite like nobody but Eyja ever knowing what was said in that moment. So forever wonder... :p

I would wait a long time to read about the Dovahkiin's wild ~~sex~~ adventures with Argis. :)

Awesome. :)

Just so you know, I've suddenly found myself without a lot of free time, so while I know exactly what's going to happen, getting it on paper (figuratively, anyway) is going to take a little longer than I'd like. Hopefully I'll have it for you by Friday; after that is my school's Spring Break, so I'll have plenty of time to put this together then.

Next time I come back, it should be with a fill. Au revoir, OP!

I know...I stumbled upon this quite by the happiest of accidents...and now I check it every day! I needs me some moar!

Well this will have to tide you over until I get a story going. Its one of Argis I wrote a while back.

http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=4243078&#t4243078

Shamelessly mixing sci-fi with fantasy here. The Dragonborn discovers time-travel. I don't know how, that's your job anons! Maybe the Dwemer have another Elder Scroll locked away, or a strange device secreted in another of their ruins. Maybe Hermaeus Mora is feeling generous. Maybe they just woke up one day and found they could rewind time and decapitate the same bandit over and over in numerous ways.

Anyway, what do they do with it? Let Alduin take over, just to see what happens, and then rewind? Join the Stormcloaks, rewind, then join the Imperials? Burn whole villages down, then rewind so no one remembers a thing? Rewind far back to pre-Helgen and decide to stay the hell out of Skyrim? Rewind to Helgen and have a showdown with Alduin then and there? Something more serious perhaps: to save a dead lover, or right a wrong? Maybe they have several LI and marry each of them to see what it's like.

or maybe they rewind far back in time, to OH I don't know, a time Lucien Lachance still roamed the land. “Hello assassin. Yeah, I sort of fell in love with your future ghosty-spectrey self and figured to come back and get with you in the flesh. OH, and it’s Mathieu. Shh, what?

My anonymous mind boggles at the possibilities. Or anonymous you could put limitations on it: The DB can only rewind a certain amount of time/one day they break the device/can no longer use the spell/ whatever.

(Yes. I've been watching Doctor Who, shh what???!) Make it cracky, angsty, kinky, go with it! Any kinks, any races, any relationship. Go, go, go!

Yeah, i agree. This is one wonderful DB.

I would love to see the DB rewinding back to Miraak's time omg
Seconded!

Title: A Shadow in Solitude
Summary: Tullius finds help, and possibly solace, in the form of an agent he used to employ in the Imperial City.
Tags: char:Tullius char:F!PC race:Redguard

I hope OP is okay with angst... The fill sort of went that way. Also, I took some liberties with Castle Dour and made it bigger. Just run with it!

**

Solitude was settling down for the night, at least outside of the tavern's walls. It was that sleepy hour, where the sun has almost set and night begins to take over. It was also the hour that the guards changed, and the perfect time for a slim and shadowed figure to creep past two grumbling soldiers, and slip into Castle Dour unseen. The figure had spent two days stalking Solitude's outer wall and watching the city's schedule, so as to know how to remain undetected. They are positive that they will stay that way.

The figure found themselves in a small dark passage that led to an entry chamber. They take a moment to slip a thin vial from a pocket, one of many, and unstop it, tilting their head back to down the contents quickly. A bitter taste. Suddenly the figure became even less substantial, no longer a shadow but thin air. It was time to move quickly. Some traders lie about the length of their invisibility potions so they can raise the price, and one can never be sure.

Through to the entry chamber. On the west side, the figure took stock of an Enchanter, and a small Alchemy Lab. Another doorway led to a map room, the figure darted inside, but there wasn't time to stop and take a look at Imperial plans. They had memorised their missive to the letter before burning it. ...the south staircase leads to a bedchamber. We meet there. The figure moved on, up the staircase. Despite being invisible, the infiltrator flattened themselves against the stairwell to listen. No measured footsteps, the tell-tale sign of patrolling guards, can be heard.

The invisibility potion wore off. Stood behind the doorway, flattening their thin body against the shadows, the figure was obviously a woman. A hint of a curved waist and a modest chest, visible for only a moment, in the form of a feminine silhouette. Then, nothing. But, if one had known that figure was present, they might have been aware of a soft exhale of breath. That was all there was to the moment, before the woman peeled herself from the wall and darted into the bedroom. She was sure that no one had seen her outside Castle Dour, and that was good. General Tullius wasn't expecting her today, and that was even better. The figure had always been fond of surprises, especially where her old employer was concerned.

Her steps were light, and seem playful. They aren't playful, anything but, it was just easier to sneak if one remained light and dance-like. The woman felt a thrill as she laid her dark-skinned hand against the aged wood of the door. The door that led to General Tullius' chamber. She already had a witty line planned out: General Tullius. What will the city think, young women sneaking into your rooms like this!, sure to make the old man falter, she hoped. The door was unlocked and opened easily.

But, the tables were turned. It was the figure who was surprised.

General Tullius was already in his chambers, and though his back was to her, there was no denying her presence. His back stiffened at the sound of the door, damned thing, creaking. The woman scowled at those hands clasped behind his back, and the severe, militant haircut at odds with his rich armour. It was nice armour, and she could admit that there was a certain appeal to the scarlet red and brilliant gold, but she didn't like what it stood for. All the pomp of the Empire. A General. Authority.

“Adara,” General Tullius turned his head. One eye regarded her stoically, and betrayed no emotion. As gloomy as ever, she saw, and stepped towards him. “You're late.”

Adara left the shadow of the doorway, as General Tullius turned to face her properly. The two looked almost the same as they remembered each other; the General in his armour and Adara in her black boiled leather and silver clasps. General Tullius saw that the woman even wore her hair the same, in that heavy black plait down her back. Her dark eyes watched him expectantly, a little irritated he expected. She had obviously intended to surprise him.

Adara was annoyed. There was no chance to slip in her smart little line now. She left the anonymity of her shadowed self, revealing a small, strong body and clever black eyes. The two of them tilted their chins slightly, in greeting perhaps, but also in challenge.

“I don't go by Adara anymore,” she told him, coming to stand at his side. She had a slow, husky voice, thick with a true Hammerfell accent and only slightly blunted by a new life in the Imperial City.

They shook hands very briefly, before stepping away from each other. Tullius preferred to keep things distant, and it was a rule of hers to defer to preferences of the one with the gold. They made a sight, the General and the little shadow that knew gold and secrets and little else.

Adara was annoyed. There was no chance to slip in her smart little line now. She left the anonymity of her shadowed self, revealing a small, strong body and clever black eyes. The two of them tilted their chins slightly, in greeting perhaps, but also in challenge.

“I don't go by Adara anymore,” she told him, coming to stand at his side. She had a slow, husky voice and thick with a true Hammerfell accent, only slightly blunted by a new life in the Imperial City.

They shook hands very briefly, before stepping away from each other. Tullius preferred to keep things business-like, and it was a rule of hers to defer to preferences of the one with the gold. They made a sight, the General and the little shadow that knew gold and secrets and little else.

“What do you go by?” Tullius asked. “Safie? Rona?” He was a little older than she remembered, come to think of it. He looked sleepless, and worn around the edges, but the same stubborn pride remained. All soldiers were the same with their pride, but she admitted that Tullius was smarter than most, if a little impatient.

“Shae,” she said. It was true. Another rule of hers, Adara or Shae, to change her name with her location. “I'm late by a week. How did you know to wait?”

“I had soldiers posted, looking for you. You might even know a few of them. There's a doorway down by the archway in the marketplace. I want you to use that entrance from now on.”

“I don't make a habit of befriending Imperial soldiers. Oh, and I stopped in Windhelm,” Shae, yes she was Shae now, couldn't help but tease the man. Could anyone keep themselves from teasing a man so serious? She watched in amusement as General Tullius' eyes shot to hers, and how he subtly laid an old, calloused hand against the hilt of his sword. Dwarven make. It seemed the General was moving up in the world. “My reason for lateness. Thought I'd scout out the competitor. See if the Bear of Markarth had a better deal to make.”

“This is not the time to make jokes, Shae.” Shae, he said. Adara was a name he had never heard of now.

“Don't worry yourself, General,” she smiled. “The city is crumbling and I heard this True High King spends all of his gold on the war effort. There was nothing for me there. I presume this war, is what you contacted me about. Is the General getting tired of fighting fair?”

“What news of the Imperial City?” He ignored her taunts with ease. Irritating, and Shae was not irritated easily. But, the General had always possessed the uncanny ability to get under her skin with his complete disregard. It was as if, he bypassed her sex, and saw her only as another soldier to be moved and ordered as he saw fit, only this one he paid. He had none of the coyness, the flattery, of many of her other clients, only distance. It was both liberating, and stifling in a way, to Shae to be seen only for her affinity with shadows and secrets. A frown unfolded itself across Tullius' face. He paced as he spoke, his hands clasped behind his back once more.

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