skyrimkinkmeme | Comment!Fic Page 1 - "Oh, a little bit of this...a little bit of that."

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Welcome to the new Comment!Fic Thread. Some of you may know what this is, and others may not - comment!fics are small one - two comment (the LJ word limit for comments) fills based off of one word or one sentence prompts. All ES games are welcome here, as well as the DLC's. Please don't disclose spoilers for Skyrim's DLCs in your prompt, and if you have them in your fill please place warnings.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

After the Stormcloaks win Balgruuf really turns on the Dragonborn. I want her to be sorry that things turned out so badly for him; I always felt sorry that the forst person to try to really help her got screwed over by the nationalistic Stormcloaks. And if there are FEELS then so much the better.

SECONDED SO HARD.

So I took a stab at this, and somehow it turned into a DB with daddy issues... Hope you like, regardless!

He'd looked smaller when they dragged him out of Dragonsreach. Balgruuf the Greater, but he was diminished without a throne to slouch upon and his advisors surrounding him; or maybe it was the blow of betrayal that made him look so defeated.

Mila turned her head away when she first saw him, flinched at his hunched shoulders and dragging heels and his flat, dumbfounded expression. Her respect for him went flaccid, like wax yielding to a flame, even as she accepted the weight of responsibility, of guilt.

Ulfric stood proud and starry-eyed beside her, flushed with the victory of trampling on his own countrymen.

Balgruuf the Greater, who paid for his diplomacy and caution with the blood of his people, tripped and fell to his knees. Only his children came to his aid. She had broken him entirely.

Mila's father died when she was too young to remember him. Her mother, devoted to his ghost, did not marry again, and her children wanted for it. Mila didn't really understand this until the second – no third – boy offered kind words and brave gestures, then left her disheveled and aching in the hay fields outside of their hamlet.

It was so easy to conjure her father's face out of any inviting man's smile. When these men slipped through her fingers like so many grains of sand, she began to push them away instead. Cut them off when they touched her vulnerable little girl's heart, an organ that she never did learn to armor like the rest of her body.

One of her lovers had been a husband and father of three. He had sweated and moaned while he worked his way into her, and spilled his seed onto her dress. She'd shoved the soiled cloth into his wife's hands before fleeing her village.

When Mila shuffled into the shadowed halls of Dragonsreach, favoring her left leg and bleeding from a cut behind her ear, the Jarl had looked at her with curiosity, not disgust. When the monks summoned her at the gates of his city, Balgruuf spoke to her in tones of wonder, not jealousy. When he smiled at her, she saw pride and respect and warmth, and love, oh it filled her heart.

He was a good lover, firm and patient. Demanding, but only of what she would readily give, and he gave everything back and more. They were quiet about it, no one must know, but she'd carried the memories of his passion like a candle within her breast. With him, she was content. Until he became too important to her, and she realized she saw him with soft, gilded edges.

Without him, though, she was troubled. Mila had none of the Jarl's stillness, nor his slow deliberation. He was the pillar standing strong in the buffeting winds, and she was but a leaf tossed about, finding only temporary shelter by his side. That she was a legend incarnate gave her power, made her desirable to other men in power, but it did not give her wisdom. She had passion and sympathy for her people, but she had no solutions, no far-seeing goal to strive for. It was simple for Ulfric to take her up like the weapon she was, and wield her for his cause; even simpler for him to find his way to her bed.

Mila didn't regret her actions until they brought her to Balgruuf's door, and she was able to turn back and look at the bloody swath she had cut through her country. And then it was too late and Balgruuf was staring at her, condemning her, and ultimately dismissing her as he gathered what little pride he had left and let Ulfric's men bind his hands and stow him with the other prisoners of war. She'd lost his love, she knew, and her affection for him was only a shallow imprint on her heart, bitter ash on her tongue.

Still, she sought him out later, after the war. Stowed away in the Castle Dour with all of the other dissenting Jarls, Balgruuf sat like an old piece of furniture, gathering dust and mold. With no command, no people to protect, he lost all purpose and dignity, and became a sour, squabbling man. Mila observed all of this from the shadows without his knowing, while her heart ached for what she had done to the only man who lifted her up, made her more than what she was.

Gathering her courage, she stepped forward to face him.

"You," he hissed, not bothering to stand, just glaring up at her. "Why show your face here, Dragonborn, except to gloat over your conquests?"

"I – " she started, although she had nothing to say. Guttering flames picked out new lines in his face and the gleam of silver within his blonde hair; defeat and idleness had aged him so.

"Are you proud of what you have done to your country, to me? If I were your father I would strike you, and cast you from my house. No true daughter of Skyrim would murder so many of her countrymen."

Then he spat at her feet and turned away, leaving Mila mute and ashamed. Of all the words, all the condemnations he could have thrown at her, how did he know the exact ones that would do the most damage? Burning with humiliation, she knelt in front of him, then bowed prostrate with her forehead pressed to the ground. The others in the room had gone silent; all Mila could hear was her blood rushing in her ears.

"Irileth never trusted you," Balgruuf eventually said. He was quiet, almost muttering to himself, "I should have listened to her words. They killed her, your rebels. I always expected her to die protecting me, but not in a thousand years would I have thought it would be by your hand."

There was the rustling of cloth and then his fingers were warm and dry on her hair, fluttering there like he might give her his blessing. She trembled under his touch, pierced to the core by it. More silence, and then a sigh as he withdrew.

"Leave this place, child. There is nothing here for you. You have made your choices, now you must learn to live with them. Go."

And it was a blessing of sorts, bitter though it may have been. So Mila rose, and left, and did not visit him again.

Tags:
char:F!PC, char:Balgruuf, char:Ulfric_Stormcloak, es:skyrim, race:Nord, relationship:het, prompt:filled, kink:angst

Oh, my goodness A!A! That was wonderfully heartbreaking! Fantastic writing :)

I aim to please! :D

Thank you!

That went right to the feels. So perfectly describes how bad I felt every time I saw Balgruuf in that cellar :(

Comment!Fic Page 1 - "Oh, a little bit of this...a little bit of that."

F!DB/Balgruuf

Re: F!DB/Balgruuf

Re: F!DB/Balgruuf "Sackcloth and Ash" 1/2

Re: F!DB/Balgruuf "Sackcloth and Ash" 2/2

Re: F!DB/Balgruuf "Sackcloth and Ash" 2/2

A!A

Re: F!DB/Balgruuf "Sackcloth and Ash" 2/2