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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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From: (Anonymous)

Elisif bit her lip, looking at him with inexpressibly sad eyes before cuddling him, and that was nice, that was very nice, even if her armour was hard and cold. But the incredibly beautiful Dragonborn was cuddling him and that was never to be turned down. He slid arms around her waist and nestled up against her as she helped him up.

“You're nice too,” he murmured, breathing into her ear. “You remin' me of her a bit. Same caring nature. 'Xcept you're stronger somehow. More outgoing. She'd back down to avoid a fight. Don't think you would.”

“I can breathe fire, you know.” Note of warning there, and Madanach chuckled, taking the hint and shutting up, focusing on keeping his balance instead. A job made much easier with an Elisif to hold on to, and by Sithis, this was nice, staggering back through camp with a beautiful woman who was going to save him and his kingdom and the world at his side. Not in love with him, how could she be? But she was here and Madanach would make the most of it while he had her.

“Where are we going?” Elisif whispered, and Madanach pointed up ahead to a big tent with some dead animal bones mounted on top of it.

“That one.”

Elisif squinted at it then glared at him.

“That's your tent. Not mine!”

“I know. Yoursh is over there.” Madanach waved vaguely at the one with the dragon skull silhouetted in the aurora. “But mine has healin' potions. So we go there, we drink potionsh an' then unless you've changed your mind about me, you can go back to your own bed and leave me to my lonely mishery.”

Elisif tutted but did steer him back to his tent. Bigger than most Forsworn tents but not too big, enough room for a straw pile and furs and a chair and desk, and a storage chest. Mostly Madanach's mind was focused on the bedding and the chance to finally close his eyes and get some sleep.

Elisif let him go and he staggered to the bed, collapsing on it, about ready to sleep. But first, ensuring the hangover didn't kill him tomorrow.

“In that chest,” Madanach said, waving vaguely at it. “Couple of red potions, one pale, one dark. Anna green one – not that one, yeah, that's it. Give them to me.”

Madanach dosed himself up on the frankly vile concoctions his sister and her friends liked to knock up, but he did have to admit they worked. Done, he lay back on the straw, feeling the effects kicking in.

“Needed that,” he murmured, feeling the drunken haze start to abate. “Thanks, Elisif – Elisif?”

She was kneeling by the bed, staring into space, tears rolling down her cheeks. Madanach felt cold terror prickling down his spine. He hated it when people cried in front of him, he could cope with it in children, but in his adult loved ones it always worried him. Particularly when he didn't know what had caused it.

“Elisif?” he said nervously, propping himself up and reaching out to her. “Elisif, why are you crying? Don't cry, they'll all think I did it.”

“I'm a bad person!” Elisif sobbed. “I'm a terrible terrible person who doesn't deserve to be queen or happy or anything!”

Ah yes. The self-loathing stage of drunkenness. He held out a hand to her and she went to him, curling up in his arms and not resisting as he lay back down and held her to his chest.

“Why are you a bad person?” he asked, secretly rather liking the way she was cuddling up to him like this. A bit too trusting of her and he could wish she was smiling rather than crying, but it was still probably the closest he'd ever get.

“I killed someone!” she sobbed.

“I... see,” Madanach said, rubbing her back and hoping she could feel it through the armour. “But Elisif, cariad, you've killed lots of people since you became Dragonborn, hmm? You've fought Stormcloaks and necromancery types, you sent Cicero after the Dark Brotherhood and I don't think he was going back for tea and cake and a friendly little chat with Astrid. You certainly had no problem authorising Thonar's death.”

“They were strangers,” Elisif whispered. “Or they deserved it. Markarth's a better place without Thonar, the world's a better place without Malkoran and those other cultists and necromancers, the Dark Brotherhood were hunting me, and the Stormcloaks started it. I had no choice.”

From: (Anonymous)

“You chose to kill someone,” Madanach said, surprised. Now that was a change, Elisif had never struck him as the type to enjoy killing for its own sake. It was a duty she was always reluctant to carry out. He wondered what had changed. “Who was it?”

“Erikur,” Elisif said softly. “He was one of my Thanes. Well, it was Istlod who first Thaned him, I just inherited him. And I killed him in my own palace.”

“I see,” Madanach murmured, still stroking her hair. “What did he do? I can't see you randomly walking up to a man and stabbing him, still less them just letting you walk away after, even if you are Jarl.”

“It was him who took the contract out on me,” Elisif whispered. “His name was in the Brotherhood's ledger, Brynjolf and Karliah delivered it to Falk. They'd just arrested him when I got there. When I saw his name in the ledger, I just... I just lost it, Madanach. I shouted at him, not with the Thu'um, and just shoved Dawnbreaker through his chest. I killed him, Madanach! He was my Thane... and I killed him.”

She was crying quietly again and while Madanach did at least know why now, he still wasn't sure he understood.

“Of course you did,” he murmured into her hair. “If someone had tried to have me killed, I'd have done the same. You didn't do anything wrong!”

“Not the point!” Elisif sobbed. “Maybe he was guilty, probably we'd have executed him anyway, but it didn't need to be me! I could have signed the warrant and let the guards handle it! But I didn't...”

“No,” Madanach whispered to her, pulling her closer. “No, you didn't. You took care of it personally. Always the best way.”

“You would say that, you've killed loads of people,” Elisif whispered. Disapproving and yet here she was, nestled on top of him, apparently quite comfortable and not looking to move any time soon.

“Then why are you confessing to me,” Madanach murmured back, toying with a strand of her hair. “Talk to Erandur, he can do the absolution and forgiving thing. Me, I'm an old warlord who'd do exactly the same and barely think about it later. Why me?”

“Because I'm turning into a monster,” Elisif whispered, shivering all over and clinging to him. “I'm scared I'll go too far. If I go too far... only you can stop me.”

“What are you talking about?” Madanach sighed, baffled. “You're not turning into a monster and I'm sure others could stop you if you were.”

“Not like you,” Elisif whispered, finally looking up and she looked terrified. “You're the one with the army, you're the one who knows how to unseat corrupt Nord rulers, you're not blinded by the whole Dragonborn legend. You've got Cicero as a son-in-law. You can do it, I think you're the only one. And if even you think I've gone too far...”

“Even me?” Madanach said, feeling slightly offended but not enough to really care about. “I'm hurt.”

“You know what I mean,” Elisif whispered. “Well, will you? Stop me?”

“Stop you? Elisif, I don't think it's ever going to be necessary in my lifetime,” Madanach laughed... and then he realised she was serious. Which begged the question, could he do it? Stop her if her dragon blood took over and she started doing more harm than good.

He didn't think he could kill her. Not Elisif, soft and warm and pretty and gentle and presently clinging on to him. But he might be able to make other arrangements... if he had to.

“If I need to, I'll do it,” he promised. “You just go out there and do your thing. In the mean time, I've got your back.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek, and Madanach couldn't stop himself gasping and by Sithis, she had to stop doing that. Especially as she was right there, nose barely touching his, eyes fluttering closed and whispering his name... and he definitely wanted to, no doubt about that. But he could also smell the mead on her breath, and maybe she was drunk and emotional and lonely but she wasn't using him to get her fix.

“You need to leave,” Madanach growled, rolling over on to his side and neatly lowering her to the ground. Elisif sat up, looking a bit dazed but nodding.

From: (Anonymous)

“And drink these,” he said, softening his voice a little. “They'll help with your head.”

Elisif nodded and drank the potions he gave her, staggering unsteadily to her feet.

“I should go,” she said, sounding very uncertain.

“Yes, you should,” Madanach said, relieved to hear it because if Elisif ever did end up in his bed, he'd like for her to be sober when it happened. “Go on, go get some sleep. Your tent's the one on the left when you leave, with the dragon skull on it.”

“Right,” Elisif said, still looking a bit vacant. “Right, I'll do that. Goodnight, Mad'nach.”

“Goodnight,” Madanach said quietly, watching her go and mentally kicking himself for the conscience he seemed to be developing lately. She'd been right there for the taking, even starting to initiate things... and he'd sent her away.

Never mind. It was something. And wasn't he quite capable of playing the long game?

She wouldn't grieve forever. She'd win this coming battle and be stronger because of it, and when she finally realised that the one she'd asked to rein her in was best placed to do that from beside her... he'd be there.

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

Late night in Windhelm and Ulfric Stormcloak was sitting in one of the upper rooms in the Palace of the Kings, mead in hand, staring out of the window, into the night, at Windhelm's streets and beyond the walls, the darkness that was the Aalto plain. The night sky blazed with aurora light and starlight and moonlight, but the ground was all darkness. There was a metaphor in that, he was sure.

“Not going to bed yet, Ulfric?”

Galmar. Fussing over him like a mother hen. As always. As it had been since he went off to fight in the Great War. After escaping the Thalmor. During the conquest of Markarth, his attempt to prove he was a mighty warrior despite the humiliation of being captured, his attempt to prove he was better than those witch-elves. Throughout his Jarldom. Galmar had been there throughout, the older brother Ulfric had never had.

“Not yet,” Ulfric said quietly. “I'm watching the Aalto.”

“There's nothing out there, Ulfric,” Galmar sighed. “It's pitch black out there. Go to bed, you'll strain your eyes.”

“In a moment,” Ulfric said, still frowning. “Galmar. The report from those scouts. That the dragons predating on travellers have gone.”

“Aye,” Galmar said quietly. “The one at Kynesgrove stayed dead for over a week, and that other one that was roosting near the Dwemer ruins was seen lying dead near Mistwatch for the same amount of time. No sign of that one near Bonestrewn Crest either.”

A good sign, that the dragons had stopped rising from the dead. But that they'd died in the first place... his men hadn't killed them. Not that he'd heard of, and killing a dragon was the sort of thing that men (and women) bragged of in barrack rooms and taverns for days after.

“Yes, but this latest report, Galmar. That the corpses have vanished entirely, but the dragons aren't flying anywhere. What do you make of it?”

Galmar just shrugged. “What of it, Ulfric. They're gone and they're not slaughtering our people and burning our Hold. We've got Imperials to fight, who cares about a few missing dragon corpses.”

“Dragons don't just vanish,” Ulfric said, brooding. No one was moving one of those creatures in a hurry, nor could anyone carve it to pieces easily. It was a puzzle, and Ulfric had never been fond of those.

He wondered if Elisif would know the answer. A Dragonborn could take a dragon's soul. Why not move the body too? Even if it did sound perilously close to necromancy.

From: (Anonymous)

She was out there somewhere, he was sure of it. Probably nearer to Windhelm than he was happy with. He didn't think it was coincidence the dragons had vanished all at once like this. And there were other reports too. A stray goat turning up at Hollyfrost Farm, clearly tame but not belonging to anyone nearby. Then the following night it had vanished again, and the snow melted in a neat path leading south along the road until the snowline was the only thing to mark its passing. Scouts and patrols were disappearing, and while Ulfric knew there was an Imperial presence somewhere in the Velothi foothills, the disappearances were increasing of late. He'd had hardly any news out of Riften recently, and nothing from Darkwater Crossing. For all he knew there could be an army camped out on the Aalto – not that he could see anything on the plain, but the Imperials were cunning.

And then there was the Great Soul Gem Shortage. A small thing, a seeming curiosity, of more concern to wizards and mages than true Nords, but Wuunferth had been furious at his entire supply going missing, and his Stone of Barenziah too, and enquiries had revealed everyone else who owned any had had theirs stolen too. Valuable items left largely untouched for the most part, but the soul gems? Gone. Didn't matter what size or if they were filled or not, they all vanished regardless.

Ulfric was damn near positive this was Elisif's doing somehow, but damned if he could work out why. Wuunferth had been no help whatsoever, merely saying that perhaps someone wanted to enchant an entire army's weapons, either that or set up soul gem traps to guard somewhere. Apparently mages liked to prime the things so they'd automatically cast Destruction spells at intruders, which was a possibility, but who would want so many? And guarding what?

He'd send runners to the College of Winterhold to ask their opinion, but as with the scouts to the south, they'd disappeared. He'd sent couriers on board ship, but the East Empire's ships all seemed to fall victim to the Blood Horkers whenever one of his men travelled with them, and when he'd tried one of Shatter-Shield's, the courier had sheepishly come back having had the letters stolen from him.

Someone was sabotaging his communications. Someone had stolen every soul gem in the city for magical purposes as yet unknown. Someone had dealt with the dragons.

Just as someone had got to his crown first despite Galmar swearing no one else could have known it was there, and someone had escaped from both Cidhna Mine, which Thonar had always said was an unbreakable fortress that no one got out of, and then from the Forsworn who couldn't possibly have let the beautiful young Queen of the Nords go voluntarily.

She'd even wiped out the Dark Brotherhood, and that story had had tankards raised in her name in his own city. Quietly, but they'd been raised.

Ulfric was beginning to wonder if he was going mad.

“Galmar,” he said quietly. “Do you think we're doing the right thing? By Skyrim, I mean. With the war.”

“What are you talking about?” Galmar scoffed, then he realised his Jarl was serious. “By the Nine, Ulfric, of course we're doing the right thing. Those witch-elves would have us grovelling at their feet and thanking them for the pleasure if we let them! We need to prove true Nords won't stand to be pushed around! The Empire's weak, Ulfric. We'll bring the whole rotten edifice crashing down and then we'll take the fight to the Dominion. Of course we're doing the right thing.”

Ulfric thought of the dreams, of Elenwen, of Markarth, of the wildman they called Madanach, eyes hollow and broken when they'd finally hauled the usurping, Jarl-killing bastard out of that filthy redoubt and off to prison. Of Torygg dying as Ulfric's sword skewered him, looking confused and personally betrayed as the light died out of his eyes, and Elisif screaming like some wild animal, all sanity and reason gone. Of Elisif the Dragonborn calling him a murderer and backing away like he was some sort of monster.

From: (Anonymous)

Of Ralof confessing Elisif had turned up where she couldn't possibly have known they'd be and taken the Jagged Crown, contemptuously telling Ralof to tell Ulfric she'd be coming for him, and Ulfric hadn't slept properly since. Ralof had been shaking from terror, whispering that he hadn't known she'd been that skilled. Or that queenly, he'd clearly been thinking but not dared to say, and for the first time since Ulfric had met Ralof, he'd seen something other than adoration in the man's eyes. He'd seen doubt.

And ever since then, he'd felt it himself. Doubt. Worry. Fear. That maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

“Do you think she'd be a good queen?” Ulfric asked quietly. Now Galmar was looking at him as if he really had gone insane.

“Are you joking, she's not even twenty four years old. The girl knows nothing about leadership, nothing. So she's killed a few dragons with help. So she's got Kodlak Whitemane wrapped round her finger. So she got lucky and got away from the Forsworn. Her luck will run out, Ulfric.”

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. But as Ulfric finally left the window and retired to bed, he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom closing in on him and the horrible sense that maybe his already had.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And that's the setup. Next update will involve the Battle of Windhelm as the Dragonborn moves in for the kill. Dragons do not like rivals.