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[skyrimkinkmeme]

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

Comments

Re: Fire and Potions - 26/?

[(Anonymous)]

Lorgren opened the door to the Riverwood Trader, Therion following behind him. Camilla looked up from her seat next to the hearth, giving the uniformed Imperial a lingering, appreciative look. The young, blonde smiled shyly at her, earning him a scowl from Camilla’s brother, Lucan, as he looked up from stocking the counter.

“Welcome to the Riverwood Trader- Dragonborn!” Lucan exclaimed as he spotted Therion, his eyes wide.

Camilla gasped, leaping from her chair.

“What- Oh,” Therion said, examining himself for the first time. He had given little thought to his appearance, driven solely by the desire to get supplies and bathe. His chest and tattered clothing were both smeared unpleasantly with dried blood. The other soldier’s ‘death warmed over’ comment suddenly seemed almost generous, as he examined his half-healed cuts and bruises. “Pardon my state of undress. I’m in the market for new clothing, as you can see.”

“Of course…” Lucan said, looking dazed as he nodded and went through his shelves.

Camilla stared openly at Therion’s body in mute abhorrence.

“This is dreadful,” she finally said after recovering from her initial shock. “It was the Thalmor, wasn’t it?”

Therion nodded.

“This is too much!” Camilla shouted, looking enraged. “We left Cyrodiil after they ruined everything, and now they’re determined to do the same to Skyrim!”

Lucan looked at his sister nervously. “Camilla…” he said gently, trying to calm her, knowing her self-preservation instincts went out the window when she became righteously angry. Therion accurately guessed her brother was picturing Camilla grabbing a sword twice her size and running off to the nearest Thalmor embassy.

Therion walked over to Camilla, gently taking her chin in his hand and lifting her eyes to meet his.

“Nothing will ruin Skyrim,” he said softly. “On my honor.”


Camilla looked convinced by his words, her ire subsiding, and a faint blush forming on her cheeks.

Beyond confessing to Farengar that his honor, and his word, were dubious at best, few people were aware that he swore oaths indiscriminately. Also, that he employed allurement and seduction whenever possible to achieve his own ends… although results varied with Nords.

Therion removed his hand and turned to Lucan, who merely looked irritated with the flirtatious Dragonborn. Laying out a set of clothing on the counter, Lucan paused, noticing Therion’s lack of coin purse.

Setting his Nightingale armor on the counter, Therion turned the chest piece inside out and moved his thumb across one of the seams. From a hidden pocket in the lining, invisible to Lucan’s eyes even as he watched the mer reach into it, he produced a sapphire and set it between them.

“I’ll take soap, towels, and any food you can spare. Tasting Orgnar’s Skeever pot pie once was one time too many,” Therion said sincerely. In retrospect, it had been the worst drunken decision of his life, and that included stealing goats with the Daedric Prince of debauchery.

“I have some bread and dried meats,” Lucan said, gathering his order. “Say, any thoughts on the moot? The country is rumbling with excitement over it.”

Therion had completely forgotten about the moot and said as much. Broadly speaking, he had no interest in the convening of Skyrim’s Jarls to select the next High King or High Queen of Skyrim. The meeting would be so much pageantry, followed by the selection of Elisif. Therion knew the only thing that would change in Skyrim from her appointment, was the type of crown she wore on her head. Whatever her short comings, Therion appreciated that she was a known quantity. Whatever the Empire wanted, she would do. The only trick then, was telling the Empire what to tell her.

“Elisif has been traveling Skyrim, garnering support from the Jarls,” Lucan went on, enjoying sharing a tidbit of gossip. “She’s currently in Markarth, discussing ways of bolstering the city’s defenses against the Forsworn with Jarl Igmund.”

Therion suppressed the desire to curl his lip in disgust at the mention of Igmund, feeling his detest for the man. Instead he gave Lucan an intrigued ‘hmm’. Skyrim would never have had a civil war in the first place, if the Jarl of Markarth had possessed a spine.