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skyrimkinkmeme) wrote2011-10-29 12:36 pm
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Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-18 09:37 pm (UTC)(link)She noticed a new scar that scraped down in a line on the side of his lower lip, and disappeared into the hair on his chin. She had the absurd desire to taste it, to lick at him as he had done to her, and she was appalled that her lust could still rule her so wantonly.
Anger at herself poured undeserving vitriol into her words. “War will always be on the horizon, for men like you. How many more must die, upon your commanding of it?”
He looked stricken, for but a moment, before his own anger rose in response. “I do not revel in war, as you seem to think, I only strengthen this land to prepare for what is inevitable. Think you I have choice? I fight because I must.”
“So I should join with you to fight against my own people. It is as simple as that, in your mind?”
“My true fight is not with the empire, it is with the Dominion. The Empire died long ago, even before this rebellion, now nothing more than corpse tied with Thalmor ribbon and dancing to elven tune, a sick song that denies us our heritage. You would have us deny our gods? Our very selves? Think you this freedom worth so little? Do we not have the right to determine our own future, a thing you so claim for yourself?”
His words rang of uncomfortable truth, but she could not admit such a thing, and be lost to his will. She lifted her chin and stared in mutinous silence.
He stalked towards her again, was upon her in two strides, though he did not touch her, despite her yearning for it. “Think you there will not be a day when your people will fight at our side, as I once fought with them? But Skyrim will be leading Tamriel, and her people will fight all the better for it with you at her helm. If you find her your home now, you cannot ignore your responsibility, wife.”
She felt trapped by the jaws of yet another fate thrust upon her, yet another task set before her feet, taking away her will and her choice and was she to be allowed nothing of her own?
“Wife of your choosing,” she protested, desperate to find any way out of this impending trap. “You do but force your own ambition.”
“Skyrim did the choosing of you, Dragonborn, and you are daughter and fitting queen of her. How can you not…”
“Alduin lies defeated, my sacrifice for Skyrim complete. Marriage is your will, and this my suffering for it.”
He let out a small snort of disbelief. “Suffering? Name the physical torment I have…”
She snapped then, exasperation and desperation taking away her original thoughts for compromise. “Your presence is torment, and I suffer from it as would a mouse left to rot in the pit of a viper. You yet stand as enemy!”
A flash of pain, and then a mask of nothing.
“Still I am proven fool, and bested by foolish hopes. I said I would not force you, and to this oath I keep. I but ask that you consider my words, away from the torment of my presence, and perhaps we might begin this talk anew when the day is fresh, and ourselves also.”
His voice was as soft as she had ever heard it, and for some reason his words only sent the pain of regret and sorrow and she could not understand why she was left feeling so defeated.
There was right in his words, and honor in his request, but she did not trust herself to speak. She simply nodded, and saw a flash of relief in his eyes, quickly hidden, before he turned from her to ascend the steps leading out of the council room.
He led her up and down a long hall and into a large room of stone and warmth.
“If there is anything else you need, speak to my steward.”
And then he was gone, the door shut behind her, leaving her with nothing but damning thoughts and an exhaustion that seeped into her very marrow. It was more draining to her energy to spend but an hour with that bear of a man than to battle a dragon.
She sank down on the large bed in the center of the room, tried to close her eyes, tried to sleep, tried to shut down her ridiculous mind.
But sleep was not in coming.
Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-18 10:41 pm (UTC)(link)Also the way Ulfric speaks reminds me of the TV show Spartacus. Is that intentional? Because that's awesome. ^^
Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-19 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-18 10:51 pm (UTC)(link)Oh there is so much ANGST in this chapter! SO MANY FEELS!! I love it. There's this huge THING between them, like the elephant in the room except it's a two-headed dragon spitting fire from both heads and neither of them can swallow their venom long enough to find understanding and OH MARA PLEASE LET THEM FIND COMMON GROUND. And babies. ♥
Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-21 05:43 am (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-26 07:27 am (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-04-02 12:40 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-10-28 03:43 am (UTC)(link)Ulfric, and Arria, and jiperosjpgvjadipohvgshdbviulsah<çoeghwdvs
ALL MY HEARTS TO YOU, A!A!!!
Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11c/?
(Anonymous) 2013-11-18 11:46 am (UTC)(link)Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 12a/14
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 04:01 am (UTC)(link)She was in the palace. His palace, tucked in a comfortable bed in the room assigned to her, wearing nothing but her smalls and a thin sleeping shift. She judged it to be the early hours of the morning. She must have finally slept, although it had not come easy.
A foreign sound to her left, like the scraping of paper, indicated that she was not alone.
She took a cautious peek over the edge of the down coverlet and saw Ulfric, lounging in a chair brought close to the fire. She remembered the flames dying down in the course of the night, during her fitful struggle to rest, but a recent stoking had them snapping with warmth, providing the only source of light in the room.
Ulfric himself was bowed low over a book, his strong, stubborn profile lit from behind. Her hungry gaze was drawn to his hands, so large and brutal and more suited to wielding an axe, as they carefully cradled the tome with almost gentle reverence. An image came suddenly to her mind of spending the cold nights of Evening Star sharing this very bed, her flesh warmed by the cover of those roughened palms and the seeking heat of his mouth.
The sweet sting of desire slid down her belly and she inhaled sharply. The sound was no louder than the hiss of the fire, but his head suddenly lifted, and the knowing pierce of his gaze found hers unerringly, despite the dark.
“You are awake.”
It was a simple observation, spoken in three simple words. But the low smoky timbre of his voice caressed her latent craving and left her incapable of the sharp response she might have given.
“I am. And you…you are here,” she finished lamely, sounding more groggy than reproachful.
“I am,” he echoed dryly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, the open book balanced precariously upon his right palm. “When you sleep, wife, you do not go quietly with the night.”
She should have made camp outside, as was her custom. Of all the enemies she had conquered, of all the monsters she had slaughtered, her nightmares yet eluded her.
“That does not give you right to invade my room,” she sniffed accusingly.
“I have a right to keep calm my own echoing walls, Arria.”
Her name on his lips was a sweet torment, and as if even the elements sought to taunt her, the wind kicked up with a howl, sending an eerie whistling throughout the room that went rattling down the narrow hallway. She pulled the cover to her chin and argued, “It could not have been worse than the moaning of this old keep.”
“No,” he agreed with a lazy shrug, “but matters were complicated when you called out my name.”
“I did no such thing!” She sat up with an indelicate snort, clutching the coverlet to her chest as a chill of foreboding slid down her spine.
Had she?
She dreamt of him, on occasion, but to think this weakness might have been vocalized within his hearing was more shame than she could stomach.
He leaned back in the chair again, and the firelight kissed half his face, dancing shadows over the rest. “I was not the only one to hear you call it. Seek you proof? Speak to Galmor when you break your fast. You called my name.”
He gave a satisfied nod at this proclamation, and leisurely stretched his legs out to cross his feet at the ankle. She was distracted by the bunched muscles on his thick thighs and calves, and it was then that she realized he was wearing nothing but a simple, wrapped robe.
She was too distracted to notice the irreverent gleam in his eye, as he added in a low voice, “You also called ‘husband’ on occasion. Galmor was even convinced he heard a plaintive ‘my love’ escape, here and there among the calls.”
Her cheeks heated as she realized finally that the insufferable Nord was teasing. Her fingers clenched in the coverlet, and she wished it was his thick neck she choked with her palms. He was smiling openly now at her distress, not even bothering to hide his amusement. In the flickering of light and shadow he looked positively diabolical.
And achingly desirable.
He was relaxed and self-satisfied and so divines-take-him-to-oblivion smug.
Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 12b/14
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 04:05 am (UTC)(link)She wanted his gruff voice in her ear and those rough palms on her hips and his heat pressed into the wetness that even now gathered between her thighs.
She wanted him so much she feared he would be able to sense it, and so she scowled in the dark and said in as chilling a tone as she could muster, “Are you quite finished having fun at my expense? Surely there are other maids within these halls who can entertain your moods and call you ‘love’ all the night through, if that be your desire.”
The open book in his palm snapped shut so loudly she jumped. Ulfric stood from his chair, tense and no longer amused. He did not offer another word as he made his way to the door, and she was reminded of the last time he had walked out in the exact same manner, not so very long ago.
“Wait, Ulfric…I…”
By the divines what had compelled her to speak? Was it not enough that her mind rebelled against her at every turn, that her body betrayed her with its damning need? Now was her mouth not even under her own control?
It apparently was not, as she groped for something to say that was not an apology, blurting out in a breathless rush, “Wh…What is that book you read?”
He turned to look at her, and even in the shadows she could make out his indecipherable frown.
“Antecedents of Dwemer Law. Shall I leave it? I do not think it will hold the interest of the maids,” he added dryly.
She ignored the quip in her dogged effort to have any sort of conversation with the oaf that did not flare to heated argument.
“Dwemer Law? By no means light reading.”
“Too heavy for a Nord, you mean?”
She stiffened. “No. I didn’t mean.”
The silence that followed her biting retort stretched to the point of discomfort. She resigned herself to swallow her damnable pride and plead apology and be done with it, but he saved her the effort.
“It is heavy on my mind, to be sure.”
And with that ominous statement her impossible husband retreated from the door and came, not back to the chair across the room from her, but to her very bed in the center of it. He sat on the edge next to her, so close she could feel the heat of his body fill the space between them.
So close she could touch him if she but lifted her arm.
He had always fascinated her. Even from the start he had pulled at her, confounded her senses and made her feel so very empty and yet complete and she could do no less than hate him for it.
And want him still.
Her emotions and desire waged war within her heart, but her husband seemed more in the mood for words and contemplation, and paid no attention to her flashing eyes.
“There is so much of the influence of the elves, even here. Even in Skyrim – our laws, the very words we speak…Am I fooling myself to think we can ever be free of their weight?”
She sat in the quiet that followed his gruffly spoken words, listening to the howling wind and the rapid thud of her heart.
“Ulfric, if you think there is nothing good that can come from difference, or if you cannot recognize yourself in the enemy, then what is the point of my remaining here?”
He turned his gaze to her, his brow a harsh furrow. “My enemy place heel on all others, rape our land for their pleasure, and seek to wipe from existence anything deemed inferior. You think me much like them?”
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 12c/14
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 04:09 am (UTC)(link)He shook his head and sighed. “Life here is harsh, wife. Nords are not so easily swayed by pretty words, and Skyrim does not yield to the musings of hopeful ideal.”
Her jaw fell open at his stubborn foolishness. “Do we inhabit the same land, husband? Did Skyrim not put hope in the musings of prophecy in the face of Alduin? Is Skyrim not the land that yielded to the legend of the dragonborn? Skyrim had the choosing of me, as you tell it, and yet here you sit, smugly dismissing ideal when it does not suit your arrogant hatred. Your land is choosing again, aiding herself with her own varied peoples, and yet you spit upon her offering. Why then am I here, husband, if your eyes do not see this?”
Her impassioned speech had left her leaning forward to poke her finger in her husband’s hard, muscled chest. The coverlet pooled around her waist, the paltry shield forgotten, as she continued, “Does Skyrim choose so wrongly? You would prefer another Dragonborn, one not of such lowly Imperial race? Perhaps it is a towering Nord you want, with long honey gold hair and a fat glistening dowry of mammoth cheese?”
His face was inches from her own now, his eyes nothing but a glint reflecting the fire as he studied her intently. Her own gaze fell to his mouth as she realized how close they were, as she heard the soft caress of his deep husky voice. “I am fond of grilled mammoth cheese,” he whispered, “with a drizzle of honey and…”
Before he could finish, she inhaled sharply, made a tight fist of her hand, and punched him in the chest. “Will you not be serious?” she hissed.
There was not much force behind the blow, nor did he even flinch at it, but his gaze bore into her own with an expression full of the serious conviction she had demanded. “In truth, I would prefer no other. I would have you, wife. And well you know this already, though you do fish for the telling of it.”
She felt yet another flush reach her already flaming cheeks at his candid observation, and she moved to pull away from him, but her grabbed her hand to flatten her palm against the warmth of his bare chest, and continued. “But yet I will say the words aloud, as there is need for the saying as much as for the hearing, so listen well, wife. I would have you with me as High Queen, with all rights held to such title. I would have you by my side in the upcoming war, with every hope you inspire.”
His chest was warm under her hand. She could feel the beat of his heart, and its swift cadence seemed in rhythm with her own. His gruff voice deepened, as he continued, “And I would have you in my bed at night, to do with as you will.”
The heat of his words seared her, like a pinch of Giant’s snuff, and drugged her senses just as quick. She had never been so aware of someone’s voice, and his was one that hummed with power and called to her body and her thu-um and the longer she listened to the stroke of his voice the more she yearned for the stroke of his touch.
His hand slid down to her wrist in a gentle stroke, his thumb tracing circles on her palm, sending tendrils of desire to trickle down her belly at his final words: “What would you have of me, Arria? Name it, give voice to desire, and let us see our marriage strengthened, and this land with it.”
She could treat with a dragon without hesitation or misstep, but put this man in her presence, her name on his lips, and she heard herself say, “I should like to renovate the Gray Quarter.”
The implication of that simple statement was not something she was comfortable admitting to him. She had not even admitted it to herself.
She was not staying with him, was she mad?
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 12d/14
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 04:13 am (UTC)(link)He had not even hesitated in his response. It made her wonder how much she could push him, before she found his limit.
His hand continued to trace down her arm, and she knew she could push him no further this night. She was finding it difficult to think at all, and to hide the breathless desire in her voice as she whispered, “Perhaps we should talk more of this in the morning, as we planned.”
He flashed her a devastating smile, and leaned toward her. “The morning then. Will you bid me good tidings, wife?”
A ridiculous request. His hand slid up past her elbow to clasp her upper arm and pull her ever closer. The sweet sting of awareness filled her chest and left her aching to push herself against him.
“Good tidings, my lord, and sleep well,” she whispered.
His smile only deepened. “Fine words, for an uncle. Your husband needs a kiss to send him off to bed.”
“My husband did marry the wrong queen, if sweet endearments be his desire,” she managed in weak protest, as he brought his face inches from her own.
“He married the right one.”
She thought to argue against his self-assured answer, but instead found herself leaning forward. A chaste kiss upon his cheek was her intention, or so she told herself, as her lips pressed tentatively against the corner of his mouth.
He moved his head a mere fraction, to seal his mouth more fully against her own. The taste of him, as always, was intoxicating, and she explored his lips with a chaste fluttering of kisses, her desire unfurling with each dry pass of her lips over his. He made no attempt to deepen the kiss further, but he groaned into her mouth, and this small expression of his own latent desire was her final undoing.
Her hand slid up his chest to wrap around his neck, tugging him closer as she parted her lips for him, and thus did his true onslaught begin. He drank from her, sucking and nipping at her lips, before pushing the velvety rasp of his tongue through the barrier of her teeth to plunder her mouth.
She moaned her approval, welcoming his thrusts between her lips even as her body yearned for a true taking between her legs. As if he knew her thoughts, his arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her onto his lap to straddle his thighs.
She felt the heat of his chest against her own, as his hands roved over her back, fitting her snugly to him. He widened his own thickly muscled thighs, causing his robe to gape open below her. Her own thighs were splayed wide over him, her smalls a thin barrier against his hard cock pressing and demanding entrance to her core.
Wetness pooled there, and she rubbed herself against him, seeking any sort of relief from the relentless itch and heat. His mouth left her lips to trace down her jaw and she tipped her head back in invitation. His hot, seeking mouth nipped and sucked at her neck, from below her ear until he reached a spot just above her collarbone that left her begging his name.
“Ulfric, please.”
He stilled his mouth, though his hands did not stop their slow and firm massage of her lower back, reaching up under the hem of her thin shift. The movement did not serve to relax her, as each passing rub rolled her hips forward and pressed her core against the thick length of him. It was an agony of a tease, and she could not stop herself from angling her hips ever closer.
“What do you desire, wife?”
She bit her lip, but could not stop her reply. “To feel you against me.”
She gasped as he quickly lifted his hands to work her shift over her head, and she lifted her own arms in easy compliance. His deft fingers then moved to work off her smalls, a thin and wet barrier, and soon enough all that stood between them were his demanding, pressing words.
“Is this what you want, dragon?”
She moaned in answer, and rubbed herself against his cock, feeling her wetness slick his shaft, but this was not sufficient for her husband.
“Beg me to enter you, Arria. Beg me to rut you.”
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 12e/14
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 04:19 am (UTC)(link)She felt the thick tip of his cockhead begin to push into her, hot and slick with the combined wetness of their desire.
“Is this forcing you? Is that what you want?”
She gasped as she felt him slide deeper into her, her body already stretching to accommodate the entry of his thick and blunt shaft. His fingers tightened almost painfully against her hips, as he lifted her easily, and then abruptly his cock was gone from her.
“Damn your pride to Oblivion, Ysmir! I will not give you the satisfaction. Why must you always put me in the role of one who forces my way? I know you want this…why do you….”
He bit off his words and shook her then, panting, his eyes hungry and angry and burning into her with the throes of agony that only she could understand. It hit her, hard and sudden, that this was not a shaming.
It was an asking.
Perhaps she had even hurt him in her accusations of force, and she knew that if she did not bend now she would only spite herself, and lose the end to her ache that only this man could fill.
“Ulfric…”
Just his name, in a pleading whisper, but he jerked against her at the sound of it, and she could not stop the tumultuous river of words.
“Husband, please, I am yours. This is what I want.”
The heat of him was at her core, ready for the taking. She rubbed herself against him, in an agony of aching, as she worked the robe off his shoulders and continued, “I want you to join with me. I have dreamt of not much else. You fill me, husband, and nothing else will sate me as the feel of your sex mated with mine.”
She lifted her hands to cup his face between her palms. “And all this you know well enough already, though you do fish for the telling of it.”
His lips lifted in a rueful smile. “I confess it, wife, the telling was worth the waiting.”
A hiss of pleasure then escaped from between his teeth as she positioned herself over him and slid down upon his length. She took him into her, slowly, savoring the way his girth left her feeling seared and stretched and full.
And when she settled herself fully upon him, she looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were intent, full of desire and something softer. His arms tightened around her waist to bring her closer, and the movement caused his shaft to rub and twitch deep within her.
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 12f/14
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 04:25 am (UTC)(link)He was not willing to fuck her at this pace, not when they had both been denied for so long. His hips bucked beneath her, forcing her into a faster, more frenzied rhythm, and she could not stop him. Did not even want to. Her bottom slapped against his thighs as she was now being pounded from below. She could feel him thickening inside of her, and the heated friction was almost unbearable.
His hand slipped between them to press and roll her swollen clit, and this touch was enough to push her over the edge. She came, clenching around him, and still he rutted her, pushed her completion until she screamed his name and only then did she feel him release his seed within her.
His arms wrapped tightly around her waist to bring her close to him with a tenderness that battered and cracked the stiff armor of her heart. He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and then leaned his forehead to rest against hers.
“Axe, or sword perhaps?”
She looked at him in confusion for but a moment, until she caught his meaning, and she rubbed at the scar over her nose in a moment of dismay, until he swatted her hand away to press a kiss upon the evidence of her battle.
“Sword,” she responded. “Of all the monsters I have encountered, can you trust a bandit wounded me so obviously?”
He nodded his assent. “The worst ones always come unexpected. The mark suits you, wife. It is beauty earned.”
She couldn’t even begin to understand why such a ridiculous compliment sent a rush of warm comfort to the shattered pieces of her lonely soul. To distract herself from that uncomfortable notion, she traced the scar on his lip with her finger and whispered against his mouth, “What did this?”
“A dagger. Think you I will be better protected from spies with a dragonborn wife at my side?”
She looked into his eyes, expecting to see some element of derisive humor, but they were warm and sated and glowing with emotion. He traced his palm over another rugged scar upon her shoulder. “And this, little dragon?”
“A not little dragon, husband,” she answered wryly.
He chuckled, and fell back upon the bed, taking her with him. She landed upon his chest with an ungraceful umph of sound as he ran his hands over her shoulders and down her back, pausing here and there to trace and smooth skin puckered and pulled from scars.
And there she lay, sprawled atop her husband, no longer fighting so hard against the walls shutting in around her, this entrapment and snaring and feeling of closure and an odd mix of foolish, idealistic hope.
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 13/14 EPILOGUE part 1
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 08:25 pm (UTC)(link)Or it should have been.
“Papa?”
He sat suddenly upright and looked towards the door, where the small form of his daughter, Mari, stood in bare feet and a nightshift. A mass of honeyed curls hung in disheveled tangles around her shoulders, eyes wide and huge and green and not looking at all sorry for being caught up so late.
“You are to be abed,” he said, in surprise but not unkindly. He took in her dirty feet and the fact that the door she had entered was the door to the main hall, not the door to their personal quarters, and knew that the little imp had been sneaking around the palace and budging her damned curious, precocious nose in every dusty corner.
It was then he noticed the other child. Small, with dark skin and red eyes that looked at him with wariness and unshed tears. He recognized the daughter of the new cook his wife had recently hired. He judged her to be of an age similar to his daughter’s six tender years.
Mari’s dulcet lisp reached his ears despite her attempt at whispering. “See, I told you he was as big as a dragon.”
And then, louder, “Papa, will you tell us a story?”
She ran to his side, without waiting for an answer, and climbed onto his lap, digging her knee in his groin and slamming her head against his chin in her exuberant ascent. He groaned and shifted his position, picking her up and settling her snugly against his chest on one of his legs before she could inflict any further damage.
“Papa this is Lindiri. But we call her Lin. She fell.” Her head was bowed and she sat very still, before saying in such a soft voice he head to lean forward to hear. “It was…it was my fault. I was running in the throne room.”
He thought it brave of his daughter to confess, and he gave her a gentle squeeze before turning to the other child, who still lurked in the shadows of the doorway. He now noticed the smudges of dirt on her face and the scrape of blood on her knee.
“Lin, was it?” He held out his hand in invitation, and watched as the small waif looked to his daughter for confirmation, before slowly making her way to his side.
“What story would you like to hear?” he asked.
“My favorite is the hero of Kvatch. Or Rislav the Righteous, or the Nerevarine, who is from Morrowind like you!” His daughter shouted this last one with a great deal of excitement, gesturing towards her friend with a flourish and jabbing his side with her sharp little elbow in the process.
He grunted, and pulled her arms down. She looked up at him with a soft smile. “Mayhap we should let Lin decide?”
He shifted his attention back towards the little Dunmer girl to find that she had moved so close she was nearly leaning against his thigh, her eyes now sparkling with unguarded excitement. Before he changed his mind, he scooped her up and settled her on his lap across from his daughter. The two girls dropped their heads together under his chin and whispered for a long moment, before coming to some sort of decision.
“We want to hear about the Dragonborn.”
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 14/14 EPILOGUE part 2
(Anonymous) 2014-11-13 08:30 pm (UTC)(link)She swiped a tear from her eye and made her way into the room below.
His head had fallen forward so that his chin rested against his chest in a position that would leave his neck burning if he remained there for too long. Two little girls nestled on his lap like forgotten dolls.
How she loved this man. She should tell him someday, although she had a feeling he knew by now.
How she loved them.
Things had changed so much. Weeks had gone by, and then months and years, in a blur of meetings and decisions and papers to sign: provisions for the keep, stonemasons for renovation, judgments to be made upon those who did not follow law. Recruits were needed for the war, staff and guards to vet and hire, quarrels to settle, diplomats to charm, and campaigns to plot.
Her mother had trained her for the administration of a household, as was befitting her family’s station, and her father and brothers had taught her the arts of war. As Harbinger, she had gained more practical experience in the running of a cohort, though Jorrvaskr was neither keep nor city.
She had not been a particularly able Harbinger, and Vilkas now held that position more admirably than she had.
War was on the horizon.
The threat of the Dominion spread ever wider, and even now undercover imperial agents made their way to Windhelm to discuss an alliance.
She would not have thought it possible. But neither had she ever imagined she would one day have a family of her own. A husband stubborn as oblivion and a daughter as wild and fearless as a dragon.
She was about to shake the group awake when the door to the throne room opened tentatively, and the worried face of Ariyani, her new cook, peered cautiously around the frame. “Arria, I am sorry to disturb you. I seem to have lost my daughter.”
Arria smiled warmly and invited her in with a reassuring wave. “She is here, with Mari and my husband. They were telling tales.”
Lin did not even wake when her mother hastened over to pick her up, but Mari, ever the light sleeper, groggily complained over losing her friend.
“I will put them both to bed together,” offered the cook.
Arria smiled at her graciously as she carried Lin and ushered a sleepy Mari out of the room, then barely repressed a surprised squeal when her slowly waking husband pulled her down unto his freshly vacated lap.
“What a little imp we have,” he observed, nuzzling her neck and punctuating his words with small kisses along her jaw. “I wonder where she gets it?”
She shivered at his touch. “You think me?”
“Mhm,” he murmered against her skin. “She does have your temperament, sadly. But she also has your beautiful eyes. With my fair hair she would be quite the catch. What a match we will make.”
She stiffened with a huff, and pulled back from him to poke her finger into his chest. “Our daughter will not be a pawn for your schemes of power, Ulfric Stormcloak. She will forge her own path.”
He smiled then, a twinkle in his eyes that she had grown very familiar with over the years.
The blood-soaked warrior had been expected, and most familiar in her first meetings with the impossible man. The searing lover had stolen her breath and her will, no small thing. But this laughing companion, his relentless teasing, she had not imagined this to be part of him.
And she had risen to the bait, yet again. He could make her temper dance as easily as he could make her moan in bed.
She rolled her eyes as he gave her a devastating, lazy smile, and she lay her head against his chest.
“Do you remember when we made love in a chair, on our wedding day?”
His hands were already moving to push her shift up her thighs, and she spoke a breathless whisper. “We have made love on chairs since then.”
Her husband’s response was as wicked as his fingers working at the very heat of her.
“Not this one.”
Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 14/14 EPILOGUE part 2
(Anonymous) 2014-11-18 02:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 14/14 EPILOGUE part 2
(Anonymous) 2015-07-20 07:31 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 14/14 EPILOGUE part 2
(Anonymous) 2016-07-11 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)I just. Gah. My feels !