skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

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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The town Guards return with buckets full of water and start to put out the burning roofs and hedges. It seems a thankless task because the dragon circles back, spraying the village with flame once more. The priest Shouts again, two words this time, covering the beast with frost even as his hands form shards of ice. Between his spells and his friends' arrows, the dragon slows, obviously wounded. If you were the creature, you think you'd give up now, and head home to recover. Perhaps try another settlement that wasn't so well guarded. But you once heard one of the Stormcloak generals explaining how dragons are driven by the need to dominate. You can see that in this dragon's battle with the priest. It's fighting everyone who's fighting back, but its real battle is with the Dragonborn.

The priest's magical attacks are relentless. He reminds you of a dragon himself, the anger in his eyes visible in flashes of light from his magical attacks. Though he must be exhausted from so much running and Shouting, he's still upright somehow, driving the dragon away from the village and towards the lake. His friends are supporting him with swords and arrows; while the Hold Guards are fully involved in fire-fighting, realising that their job is to protect the village while these travellers slay the beast. It's now flying erratically, unable to use its left wing properly, trying to beat twice as hard with its right. Too tired to breathe fire continuously, it's emitting flames in little puffs. When it manages to set the Legionary aflame, he simply dives into the lake.

Eventually the dragon crashes to the ground. The huge brothers leap onto its back, with sword and greatsword. One of them drives his sword through the beast's skull while the other holds it down. Its great eyes close, and you can tell when its life ebbs away. You never thought you'd get to witness the slaying of a creature out of legend, and you feel strangely sad. You'd like to rush outside with a torch, to look at the beast's scaly skin and the ridges on its back, perhaps even touch the membrane of its damaged wings.

But the priest staggers over, falling to his hands and knees in front of the mighty corpse, and something unimaginably weird happens. What you can only describe as “magical fire” rushes out of the dead dragon and into the Dragonborn. It's not the same colour as real fire, Talos knows you've seen enough of that tonight, and it shouldn't be damaging anything. Yet the flesh of the creature disappears to leave nothing but a clean skeleton – even as the Imperial collapses in a dead faint.

You open the door of your inn, ready to greet the travellers with mead or ale, anything they desire for saving your village. However the Legionary, dripping wet, waves you back. “Don't get any closer! He's not safe!”

You have no idea what he means, but then the priest seems to wake. His eyes open, he raises his head – and Shouts, spitting fire at his companions. He props himself up on his elbows, legs still trailing on the ground - and gasps for breath, the oddest expression on his face. The Legionary leans down to speak to him, and is rewarded by another Shout which sends him flying across the road into your neighbour's hedge.

Lydia, shaking her head, dives back into the inn. She returns with a large square of cloth, which she is folding even as she runs. The priest is scratching at his allies with hands held like claws as they try to restrain him, and a Shout makes a fireball burst from his lips. You wonder how he hasn't burnt himself.

The Legionary's back on his feet, looking slightly sick, yet continuing to distract his friend with feinted attacks. When he falls again, the Companion brothers throw themselves on top of the Dragonborn, just as they did with the real dragon - and you get a sudden flash of insight about what might be wrong with him. As the two muscular Nords hold the priest down, Lydia forces the cloth into his mouth and ties it tightly behind his head, effectively gagging him. They've done this before, you realise.

As the talkative brother helps the injured Legionary up, the quiet one lifts the priest easily. The big man carries him gently, almost reverentially. He is twitching in his friend's arms, still afflicted by the powerful magic that streamed into him when the dragon died. The Legionary limps alongside, an expression of deep concern upon his face despite his injuries, saying the man's name over and over again. “Martin. Martin, look at me. For gods' sakes, Martin!”

When they enter your inn, the talkative brother catches your eye and shakes his head. You might have liked to take advantage of the commotion by selling drinks to awakened villagers, but the black-haired Nord turns the key in the lock behind him. The priest looks pale, his head thrown back; and as the group passes, you catch sight of his eyes. No longer blue – and no longer human, they've turned golden like those of the dragon he killed. Even the pupil in the centre has changed shape. You spit a curse, terrified, as the four men go into their room.

“Don't hate him,” whispers Lydia, low-pitched. “It's not his fault.”

“I could never hate him,” you gasp, still in shock. “He saved our village. But... What in Oblivion happened?”

“When a dragon dies near him, he absorbs its soul. Sends it on its way to Akatosh. But sometimes he... he forgets who he is for a while. Forgets that he's supposed to be human. Takes on the characteristics of the one he killed.”

“And then he thinks that you're his enemies?” You wince in sympathy. The priest seemed so peaceful when you'd met him earlier that afternoon. Tired, yes, but serene.

Your eyes flick unbidden to the open door of their room. The scene inside is anything but serene. The Legionary is sitting in a chair drinking a health potion and holding the priest's hand, while he shivers and writhes on the bed. Muffled noises suggest he's trying to Shout even through the gag. The brothers are frantically stroking his back and rubbing his limbs, trying to get him to calm down; but they look terrified somehow in a way they never did while fighting the other dragon. Drained of his humanity, moving in an entirely unnatural way, you can see the beast under the man's skin.

“It used to only be if the dragon was too strong, but lately it's happening more and more,” says Lydia. “One day... he might not come back at all.” She sniffs, obviously upset.

“I always thought being Dragonborn was some sort of honour,” you mumble, unsure how to reply. “But that looks more like a curse.” Reaching a decision, you gather up several bottles of mead and thrust them at the housecarl. “Take these, with my compliments. It looks like it's going to be a long night, and you... you need them. Take as many as you need.”

As you flee downstairs, you hear an agonising howl as someone removes the gag from the priest's mouth, followed by loud sobs.

The next morning, there is no response from the travellers' room, which surprises you not at all. They were up late fighting first the dragon, then the Dragonborn... You're fairly sure that they haven't all been burnt to death or eaten because you heard crying rather than combat, but you're worried about them. Especially that priest of Akatosh, such a gentle man when in control of himself.

It's lunchtime before anyone emerges. The Imperial Legionary limps out, looking rather pale. There's pain in his grey eyes, and you're not sure it's entirely due to his injuries. You ask, “Can I help you?” - the usual statement of an innkeeper, which he can interpret however he likes.

The Nord hefts himself onto a barstool. “Could we get some breakfast? Whatever you have.”

As you busy yourself cutting fresh bread and cheese, he leans heavily on the bar counter. “You know, some nights when I close my eyes, I see the battle stretched out before me, like I'm still there...” He sounds exhausted, emotionally if not physically.

You feel you should respond, but you have no idea what to say. In the end, you mutter, “Is it easier killing dragons than men?”

“Ha!” The Legionary laughs, but you know he isn't amused. “The men I've killed haunt me. Dragons, not so much. Except, Martin...”

“Will he be all right?” you ask.

“I don't know!” His eyes blaze with anger, or fear. “He spends so long praying. He does so much good for people. But it isn't enough. Each time we fight another dragon, he loses himself.” He sighs. “But what can we do? We've got a job to do. He's the only one who can do it.”

There's nothing you can do except to slide a bottle of mead towards him, and then offer him the platter with bread, cheese, and salted meat. He looks at it and says, a note of desperation in his voice, “Do you have any apples? Martin loves them.”

You fetch apples from a barrel and watch the brown-haired man carry the platter back to their bedroom.

It's mid-afternoon before they leave. Armoured and armed, but clean this time, with mostly-dry laundry stuffed into bags. The Dragonborn – Martin - is wearing a fresh robe, yet otherwise looks no different than he had the day before. If you didn't know better, you could still mistake him for a simple priest. But you do know better, and you can see the power rolling under his skin, the dragon which lurks inside the man.

He takes both your hands in a very human gesture. “Thank you for everything. Akatosh be with you.” His blessing seems entirely natural. Yet you can't forget seeing his blue eyes changed to gold, the way his body twisted as he fought his friends.

You smile. “It was no problem. Come back any time.” You don't mean it. Part of you hopes to never have to deal with this terrifying Imperial ever again.

You wave, and a man – a creature – out of legend walks out of your life forever.

char:martin, char:vilkas, char:farkas, char:lydia, char:hadvar
race:Imperial, race:Nord
es:Skyrim
kink:angst, kink:friendship, kink:loyalty

Oops, and I forgot. Been too long since I've posted to the meme! Here's the summary:

The Dragonborn and his friends walk into your inn. After saving your village from a dragon, they have to save the Dragonborn from its soul.

That actually gave me shivers. Fantastic writing.

Thanks! That's what I was aiming for :)

What seems like an ordinary event for Martin and company, you turn into an epic tale of bravery and sorrow. Everyone is so in character, and Martin, oh, Martin. I want to snuggle him (although I suspect Hadvar has that privilege).

Beautiful writing, Martin!Anon, just beautiful.

Thank you. It took a while for this story to appear on Delicious after I posted it, and I was starting to wonder if I was going to get any comments at all! (There are none on the Archive of Our Own version, which makes me sad).

Hadvar and Martin are taking care of each other for now. They're not each other's One True Love, and they both know that. Since I'm not writing the Dovahkiin Martin stories in any kind of chronological order, either the next story or the one after that will give you epic spoilers about who everyone ends up with long-term. Ah well.

Aw, that's a shame. *runs to AO3 to drop some kudos*

I don't think I've ever written (or read) any of my series in chronological order, so I'm perfectly happy to enjoy whatever parts your Muses are inclined to share, in whichever order they like :)

And I'm just glad to know there's more on the way (I'm a selfish Nonny^^)

AWESOME!!! I want more of this group - I loved how they all worked together and the POV of the innkeeper was fabulous.

Thanks so much for the comment. More stories of this group will indeed exist, as soon as I've written them :) I've always thought it rather unrealistic that the Dragonborn is supposed to bring down dragons single-handedly, or with only one follower to help. Within a game, it has to be your hero who does most things since it's boring to watch someone else do them, but there's no need to keep that restriction in fiction. So my heroes gather as many helpers as seems reasonable.

Going through old kinkmeme bookmarks I didn't have time to read last year. Love, love, LOVE this, A!A! It's beautiful. Also rather chilling.

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