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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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She nodded. “I-Is that all?” her voice broke a bit and her Jarl said nothing for a moment, his hand taking his fiancée’s.

“No. You’re dismissed.”

She bowed deep again and got up, not looking to them as she left. She felt the court’s eyes on her, Nenya watching as she opened the door but she brushed it off, knowing this was for the better. Her jealousy over the situation was pathetic and she could no longer continue.

She rushed out of the small town, puffing as she went up the strong incline and she made her way back home, hiking up her robes as she did. Rayya was patrolling the territory and she gave her a look as she came back, still not used to seeing her during the day. She didn’t say anything, going into the manor and she went to fetch some items, grabbing a knapsack to fill.

It made her stop. How much should she pack? How long was she going to be gone? Was she ever going to come back? She frowned, holding the knapsack tight before she ignored her thoughts, moving around her house to put potions, ingredients and scrolls into the small sack, the pouches bulging when she was done.

She left from the deck facing the lake, not wanting to explain herself to her housecarl. She did care for her but she had a feeling the look she would get would be the same as the court’s. Pity with a mixture of disappointment. She just needed to go.

She left, jumping down from the small jutted rocks underneath her manor, coming out to the road and she quickly jogged to get a start, following the road blindly as she did. She didn’t have a destination, only a drive in her to leave and she travelled along until she came to a crossroad. One way went to Helgen, to the destroyed town she had escaped from while the other went to Riverwood and from there, Whiterun. She knew Falkreath well, that if she went to Helgen she could go up and to the Rift but somehow she wasn’t compelled to go that way.

She barely knew about Whiterun other than there was a large city that lay in the plains, the Jarl who ruled over it occupying a place called Dragonsreach and she shouldered her pack, deciding to go to Riverwood first. From there she would determine her plan of action and was quiet as she thought. She would cross out of Falkreath along the way and she bit her lip.

She recalled long ago she thirsted for adventure but now with the prospect of exploring, of leaving her adopted home was now daunting. She was frightened.

She stood on the road looking to the mountains. It was selfish of her but she closed her eyes, clasping her hands together to make a prayer; she asked for things to be back to the way they were. Her comfort and place in Falkreath and her life. She opened her eyes, finding herself still on the road and she quietly chastised herself for her childish thinking. She knew this was going to happen one day as no Jarl or province in Skyrim would ever allow a race that wasn’t a Nord to rule.

She pulled her hair back and tugged up her hood, beginning her journey. She was a selfish girl.

--

Along the way, she met something peculiar. She had spent a night outside of Riverwood, selling a few items from her knapsack to garner some coin but it wasn’t much. After she set off in the morning, allowed to take a cabbage from the cart, she found herself following the road to near the brewery, another split making her choose to go towards Windhelm. She wasn’t an Imperial so she guessed she should be fine with her choice but along the way she met a strange pair.

A Thalmor Agent with sharp eyes and a cruel grin who was walking alongside a young Nord with rosy cheeks. She recognized the Nord, giving her a bow as she was the dragonborn – a legend even to Cyrodiil – and the girl grinned at her, her blade shining with blood.

Hours later she found the source. A ruined tower was covered in bodies, blood spilled on every surface around them to signify the carnage and she stared, a bit horrified. She wanted to doubt it was all done by a single girl but she wasn’t stupid. The dragonborn was powerful and it made her wonder more on why there was a Thalmor Agent with them.

She knew it was wrong but she checked the corpse’s pockets for gold only to find them picked over. She left, the sun high in the sky and she was now looking for a place to sleep during the night, her stomach rumbling in hunger. She ate a piece of bread as she searched, the sulfur marshes to the east of her uninviting as strange noises called out from their depths.

She ended up going back to the tower filled with bodies, finding a bed on the other side that was untouched. She slept, though paranoid, and the cold crept over her skin for the first time in years making her recall her days with her mother in their decrepit home. How she had gotten too accustomed to straw beds and fine woven blankets.

She thought of Brynhilda sharing Siddgeir’s bed and she soured, tugging the furs over her. It wasn’t fair. She had loved him first, she had been loyal to him for over a year, let him bed her, let him control her and now she was sleeping alone on the outskirts of Whiterun while a noblewoman he had known less than a week was marrying him.

She buried her face into the pillow, letting out a noise of frustration. She would get a ring for them but only one and inscribed to her Jarl. His fiancée could buy her own. She wasn’t going to indulge her selfish wish.

--

--

The College of Winterhold was beyond magnificent. Her eyes locked on the beautiful faraway structure, the lights that came from it making her eyes sparkle and she wrung her hands on her dress, nervous. If there was ever a place in the world that looked like she could belong, this was it. She had seen the mages at the inn buying drinks and their robes were intricate and clean, the books they carried making her envious and the spells they cast beautiful.

She wished desperately to join them.

Magelights danced in the air after them and when two patrons broke out in a fight in the Inn, a casting of the spell of calm made them stop, both apologizing to each other while the mages grinned at each other and tapped their tankards together.

She was envious of their closeness, of their power and she followed them out. The small group headed up the ramp at the edge of the town, disappearing for a moment under an arch but slowly they came back into view, walking in a single line as they went back to the campus which welcomed them. She wanted to follow further but there was a harsh Altmer standing at the entrance, her red hair vibrant and her features almost Bosmer making her stop.

Kjersti stared, curious as a Khajiit cub but she didn’t go forth. Her nerves prevented her and she returned to the inn, paying for a room for her to hide in, her dreams that night about the life she would have if she joined. She was still bound to her Jarl so the prospect was far-fetched but she still wondered in earnest. Their robes were so pretty while hers were so plain.

--

She sat on a rock at the edge of the Pale, her cloak pulled around her tight as she tried to eat her meagre piece of bread and cheese, her fingers hurting from the cold. She was absolutely miserable, her body freezing, her food hard and her mind went to thinking of Falkreath.

Slowly a tear slid down her cheek and she angrily wiped it away, reminding herself it was her fault in the first place. If she didn’t fall for such a jerk, she would never have been forced to leave.

“Stupid jerk,” she said to the air, more tears falling down her face, stinging her cheeks and she rubbed her eyes with her forearm. “He doesn’t even deserve my thoughts!” she cried out childishly.

She chewed her bread hastily, pushing the cheese into her mouth as well and she angrily ate as the tears kept falling from her eyes. She was an Altmer, by all rights. She was, as she heard, above all men and other mer, her blood superior and her breed flawless.

Yet she could stop crying over a single man. She pushed her palms against her eyes, willing them to stop but a sob caught in her throat. She missed her home. She missed him. She shook her head violently, her head becoming light as she cried and she wiped at her nose, her vision blinded now by her tears. She loved him so much it hurt. The thought of him being so happy with another woman made her choke and she finally relented, breaking into uncontrollable sobs.

She knew it was her fault for falling for him. She was going to outlive him anyways. She should have other goals, a life separate from him but her heart ached and her soul burned. Despite all it, she wanted to be with him while he still lived. She wanted to father his children, to wake up in bed next to him, to wear his ring.

“Mage.” Calmerion twiddled his fingers for emphasis.

“Eh, should have guessed that. Still, you’re not dressed for the trip, elf. You should go home.” The hunter continued down the hill. Go home. If only it was that simple.

“Did you hear the Greybeards call ‘Dovahkiin’?” Calmerion said.

“Yeah. Strange.”

“That was me they were calling.”

The man stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “You? The Greybeards were calling you?” He sounded shocked, but not wholly unpleasant, Calmerion was relieved to note. He was shocked, too. Still shocked, though he should have adjusted by now.

Would he ever adjust? Or was trying to make sense of life an exercise in futility? After all that had happened recently, he was inclined to believe the latter.

“Yes. I’m… Dovahkiin.” It sounded so pathetic when he said it. Maybe the word didn’t have the same gravitas in a Summerset accent, or maybe it was just him.

“Huh.” The hunter seemed to hesitate. Then he tossed a rolled-up cloak at him. “You’re still going to freeze. Take this. Watch out for animals.”

“Thank you,” Calmerion said, but the man was already walking away.

He kept going.

There was a stream running alongside the path as he continued up higher, further away from Ivarstead and the people going about their daily tasks in the mountain’s shadow. He paused for a moment to drink some water and splash a little into his face. It was ice-cold, just like the air as he kept climbing upward, and he was grateful for the cloak. His legs, already sore from riding, burned steadily as the number of stairs mounted. He was sure they’d already passed seven thousand. No trolls yet, but he kept a spell ready in his right hand just in case.

As much as he was loath to admit it, the view was… quite something. The clear, cool mountain air made it all sharper. It was almost intimately familiar, even though he’d spent most of his life in heat and humidity, surrounded by lush greenery and flowers without number. Looking out at Skyrim, at its crags and frosted woods and the sky that never seemed to end, for the first time, he really saw its beauty.

At least, he saw its beauty until he crossed another traveler.
Her eyes narrowed when he approached. “What’s your business here, elf?”

“Climbing the mountain, obviously,” he replied in the same attitude.

“These are the Seven Thousand Steps. You probably don’t know what that means. Show respect while you’re walking them.”

He felt a sneer tugging at the corner of his nose, but forced his face back into a neutral expression. “You didn’t hear the Greybeards call ‘Dovahkiin,’ did you?”

“Of course I did. Everyone heard it.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s me. They were calling me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, they were.” Not that Calmerion cared what she thought about him, or what she believed he was doing. “But I know what the steps are, and what High Hrothgar is. I’m going to see the Greybeards.”

She looked him up and down. “You look more like you’re trying to find your way home from the whorehouse,” she said. Calmerion didn’t have time to protest her assumption before she waved her hand and kept walking down the path. “Well, Talos guide you, whoever you are.”

His first response was “your false human god can’t guide anything,” but he swallowed it and just nodded stiffly before drawing his cloak around himself and walking away.

She cried until her fingers froze, her heart and body becoming heavy as the snow storm rolled in. She had to go find a place for the night but out near the glaciers, the chances of finding shelter were thin. She contemplated just throwing herself into the Sea of Ghosts, to freeze with the ice flows but she knew that was stupid. Her emotions were making her irrational. She packed up her things, shaking as she walked and she sought refuge from the storm. A small cave provided some coverage and she pulled out her bedroll, sliding into it fully clothed, shaking under the furs.

She didn’t sleep during the night, her mind too weary of heartache and the air too cold to let her be comfortable. She got up at dawn, struggling to roll her bed up and she staggered out to catch sight of the morning. The sky was lit with orange, purple, and pink and she stopped, in awe of the colors.

She had to move on. No. She had to move forward. He had and she had to as well.

--

It came out of nowhere and she was taken off guard. That’s how it slashed her face, her chest being caught as well and she shrieked, tumbling back. Blood spilled from the wounds, the sabre cat not relenting and she called upon every spell she knew, fire consuming the beast as it made another turn, its body crumpling and falling into a heap before her. She shook, adrenaline filling her and she realized how badly she was bleeding when blood started filling her mouth and staining the front of her robes.

She grabbed her pack, her bloody hands frantic as she searched for a potion but she couldn’t find any making her panic. She struggled to call on a healing spell, her mind in over drive as she did and the soothing healing winds only closed the wounds. They didn’t seal them properly and she was left with ugly scars on her face and chest.

She sat on the plains, quiet, constantly touching where her skin now dipped, the scratch so close to her eye she was surprised she wasn’t blind.

She found a potion and drank but the scars remained and she sat in shock. She realized she had to accept it; her fault, her complacence did this. She wondered if her Jarl would react if he saw her. Would he rush to her side or care? Her fingers stroked the marks on her chest and she bit her lip.

It didn’t matter. She was already homely enough. Maybe, if she was lucky, the scars would enhance her features. Make her look more rugged or menacing.

She got a look of fright when she met a traveller on the road and it made her pull her hood around her face, self-conscious. She didn’t consider that option.

--

Silverdrift Lair. She had been drawn to it by rumors in the city, tales of a great weapon being hid there, one that would no doubt stuff the Falkreath coffers and she set out in the night to retrieve it before anyone else, her spirits high until she came across it.

It was her first real tomb, one filled with dragur and freshly slaughtered men which fuelled her fear. She didn’t understand Nordic puzzles but she was grateful for the nooks the tomb had. She used them immediately to stay hidden while the dead ran looking for her, their sinewy skin pulled tight as they made foreign noises, mocking her she assumed. She was a frightened Altmer in an enclosed tomb made for the Nords. Of course she was worth insulting, even to the dead.

But she pushed on, her shaking hands and knees not deterring her thirst to gain something for the treasury and along the way, she began to learn. Fire seemed to bring them down the best and certain things on the ground should not be stepped on otherwise a trap would be unleashed. She learned from the markings by watching the dragur accidentally step on them in their mad dash to get her, their mistake costing them their ability to still be alive and she thanked the gods for it.

Slowly she made her way through the tomb, more dead bandits appearing as she travelled and she began to pick up items along the way. There was no sense in leaving some things such as iron maces which could fill the armory or books which could be sold. Chests provided the most help as they sometimes contained a few meagre coins but she was grateful for it all.

Her end came in the form of two iron doors and she opened them, hoping to find a reward but what greeted her was worse. It was unlike any dragur she had come across as this one was powerful and had the voice of a dragon. It knocked her to her feet, its axe shining in its hands and she screamed as she fought for her life. She used up all her magic hitting it, the demon still coming at her and she resorted to running and ducking into a nook, ripping into her bag for potions. It hurt, drinking them down so fast but she couldn’t afford to be slow as her time was limited.

She emerged, hitting it again, using both hands after a time and the demon let out a shout which knocked her back. She collapsed on the bloody steps before a strange wall, her breath coming out ragged as the thing advanced when a wall of fire hit it making it screech.

It crumpled and she was left alone, the tomb quiet save for the fire cascading from jets under the floor. A Nordic trap saved her. She almost began to cry, her fingers shaking as she moved to leave, never wanting to set foot in a tomb again. She staggered past the iron doors on the opposite side, her hands on the wall as she walked like a lame cow and the chest that was illuminated at the end made her breathe in relief. That was what she came for.

She recovered the so called powerful weapon. It was an enchanted iron warhammer, nothing more. She cursed herself and the Nords she had listened to. She could make this item herself! She almost lost her life for it!

She tied it to her bag, shoving whatever else was in the chest with it before slamming the lid down in anger, leaving the tomb through an alternate door. She marched to Winterhold, her hands being shoved under her arms as she did and she entered the small shop when she got there, the woman behind the counter looking up.

“Welcome,” she said but she wouldn’t hear it. She dropped the warhammer on the counter making the poor shopkeeper flinch in shock and she emptied out a part of her bag.

“How much for all of this?!” she asked and the shopkeeper stared at the items almost hungrily. Kjersti put her hand down. “I’m willing to take whatever’s fair!”

The woman picked up a few of the things, studying the boots, a mace and an axe before she touched the enchanted weapon. She took her time to think. “I would say one hundred and fifty septims is fair.”

Kjersti stared. “That warhammer alone is worth over two hundred!”

The shopkeeper gave her a dirty look. “You asked what was fair and I’m giving it to you. No trader in their right mind is going to give you full price for an item! We have families to feed as well! So either you take all this back or you accept the deal!”

She stared hard at the woman, her frustrations over the weapon already making her illogical and she threw her hands up, accepting. She was given her coin and she left, looking up to the dark sky. Her eyes went to the glorious college, a beam of blue light coming from the center and she pursed her lips before she went to the inn, giving the happy innkeeper ten septims before she took to a room.

She wasn’t expecting the vivid nightmares she was plagued with during the night but after a long time of staring at the ceiling, her weary mind piecing together what had happened it made sense. She almost died. It scared her more than anything to think her body could have rotted away, forgotten, in some haunted tomb.

She paid for another night, sleeping intermittently during the day. At least the sounds of people outside helped lull her to sleep. It helped to know she wasn’t alone.

--

She caught a fish outside of Morthal. She yelled out as she did, so proud of herself but there was no one around to congratulate her as she held it by its tail, the body thrashing. She didn’t care. She had caught a fish and she looked at it, hungry, her stomach rumbling when the fish stopped fighting and remained still before her, desperately gasping for water.

She watched it, the triumph in her slowly waning and she found herself staring at the poor thing, how it struggled for life just like she was doing.

She let it go, standing in the creek after it broke away, disappearing into the murky water and she wiped her nose, her robes soaked and her muscles suddenly weary. She was so tired and hungry but killing an innocent thing to sustain her seemed wrong.

She bit her lip and turned, grabbing her gear as she walked away.

--

She had made camp one night on the plains of Whiterun, the small sticks she had foraged fueling the fire and she ate a small handful of berries as she did, watching the flames without a thought in her head. Her eyes were locked on the dancing fire, her own mind slowly tinkering with how she could achieve such fluid movement when a rustling drew her up.

A man was coming towards her and she stood, readying her hands.

“Evening, traveller!” a voice called, friendly and warm and she found herself hesitating. The man came forward, a lute to his back and she stared at him, confused. “Oh, sorry. I don’t mean to intrude. I just saw a light and thought I would check it out! You don’t see many fires near the road.”

She flushed, embarrassed. “I-It was the only place I could find.”

“That’s fine,” he smiled, giving her a warm look. She hesitated but sat down, her relaxed figure allowing him to come forth. “My name is Talsgar the Wanderer. And who, my dear lady, might you be?”

She thought about it for a while. “Just a vagabond,” she came up with. “No one worth stealing from.”

He let out a soft laugh. “I’m no thief, my dear. I’m a bard. See?” he pulled out his lute, sitting down near her and she looked at the instrument shining under the light. He pulled a few strings, playing a little tune and she said nothing making him sigh. “I make my living by going around and spreading music. Why should only the Jarls know the joys of music?” he asked and her heart stung. “Do you have any requests, my lady? A few septims is all it takes!”

“Do you know any songs of heartache?” she said a bit bitterly and he looked at her before laughing. She was taken back by it but didn’t say anything.

“Dear me, my lady, songs of love and heartache are as plenty as there are fish in the sea!” he chuckled and she flushed. “It’s only natural. Humans and emotions are always in a duel. One minute, you couldn’t be happier and the next-! You wish you were dead!”

He laughed again and she gave a small smile, embarrassed again. Of course others felt heartache and forlornness. She wasn’t the first and she wouldn’t be the last. She was just the only one in Skyrim – nay, Tamriel – who didn’t know how to deal with it.

He plucked at the strings of his lute, the sound pleasant and she drew her knees up, resting her chin on them, watching the fire again silent. She remained that way for a while despite her weariness. He remained close, seeming to not be tired at all.

When it was apparent she wasn’t going to request he sighed and tied his lute around his back, giving her a look. She maintained her eye contact with the fire, quiet and he stood up, brushing off his trousers before he reached into his pocket. He came to her side and offered her a flower and she stared at it for a while before taking it, holding it gently in her hands.

“I hope, dear lady, you are not troubled with emotions. I would like to see you smile but I will not impose so I will go. If you catch me again, ask for a tune. I will gladly give it to you.”

She flushed. “Thank you,” she said and he left leaving her alone with her fire again, her thoughts confused before they went blank. She watched the flames, twirling the flower absently between her fingers before she got up and crawled into her bedroll. She slept another restless night.

--

He kept passing the little worn tablets, each one more cryptic than the last, though they seemed to tell a story. If only he could read the words, maybe they would shed some light on this Dragonborn situation. But he couldn’t. Maybe the Greybeards could tell him what they said.

The trees grew sparse. Hard patches of snow gleamed in the sunlight, which beat down on his unprotected head and sent shards of light into his still-sensitive eyes. Despite the sun’s intensity, the air was cold, cold enough to bite through the thick woolen cloak. Calmerion grudgingly admitted to himself that he would have frozen without it, or more likely, would have turned back a while ago. He had to be almost there. There were no other travelers on the steps, neither hunters nor pilgrims. There was a troll, finally, a big ugly white-furred one, but he saw it before it saw him, and the fight was short. He beat it back with his usual lightning. A final push sent it flying over the edge of the path and onto the rocks below.

The effort taxed him more than usual, whether from the hangover or the altitude or both, and he sat down for a few minutes before continuing. One of Gwilin’s rolls gave him the energy to finish the trip. Despite Calmerion’s current discomfort, he wouldn’t say it hadn’t been worth it, drinking all that delicious mead and then spending the night with him. The Bosmer was even sweeter than the mead was, and didn’t leave him with a headache in the morning.

When he continued, it was only a few more turns before his destination came into view. High Hrothgar rose over the path, craggy and stark against the brilliant sky. He stopped briefly, taking it in and wondering at how only a few months ago, he never would have imagined he’d end up here for any reason. He hadn’t even known this place existed until recently, and he still didn’t know what it all meant.

Hopefully the trek up the Seven Thousand Steps would give him at least one answer and hopefully not too many more questions. Maybe they couldn’t tell him everything, but they wouldn’t have brought him here without intending to tell him something useful.

The door loomed over him, dark and silent, a portal into a different world.

He didn’t know who the Greybeards were had been expecting when they summoned the Dragonborn to their monastery. A silent warrior clad in wolfskins, maybe, or a gray-eyed archer maiden. Probably not a cranky, bedraggled, kind of hungover elf wearing a tiny shirt and displaying several obvious love bites on his neck.

Whoever they were expecting, it was all over now. Calmerion was the Dragonborn, and he had answered the call.

“This is it,” he muttered to himself, placing his hands on the door. “Time to see what they want with me.” He took a deep breath and pushed it open.

-----

char:m!pc char:gwilin race:bosmer race:altmer relationship:slash kink:crack/humor

-----

Previous Calmerion fill here: skyrimkinkmeme . livejournal . com /4295.html? thread=7574471& #t7574471

She stood on the top of a cliff looking down to the world below her. She held up her map, the letters on it foreign but the pictures helped her gauge where she was. The innkeeper at Ivarstead kindly pointed her towards Eastmarch where some bandits were bothering folks deep in the sulfur marshes, promises of treasure to be taken from them high in her mind but his directions led her down a goat path and she found herself lost.

Still, from where she was she could see far out, steam rising from below near bright pools and she folded up the map, placing it carefully in her pack. Her hair fell down and she struggled to force it back into her hood. It had grown significantly since she had left, the black strands becoming thicker and harder to maintain and she wished she had asked her old housecarl how to keep it from being so bothersome.

She had once considered chopping it off with a knife but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. When she touched her hair she thought to how her mother used to stroke it, humming as she did and it always made her chest tighten. She missed her and didn’t want to part with something that made her so vividly recall her memory.

She shouldered her pack, standing tall and she looked down, the rocks jagged below. There was something inside her that wanted to jump, to bounce on the stones like the mountain goats did but she reminded herself she wasn’t a child nor did she have enough healing potions to do so. She retreated, walking along the edge to find another way and she came across an old deer path that cut down into soft earth.

She followed it, using trees to break her fall and slowly she started to descend from the Rift to Eastmarch, her hands becoming red from how tightly she gripped the branches.

She reached the new land by twilight and from there she began to explore, not wanting to sleep. Along the way, she found a ring of emerald and gold. It was sitting in the water of a sulfur pool, having fallen out of a satchel of a traveller. She scooped it up, holding it tight and she thought of her Jarl. The ring he had wanted. She smiled to herself, emptying a pocket in her knapsack to tuck it inside.

She remembered Brynhilda and her face fell. She ignored it. She got gifts for her Jarl all the time before her, why should she stop now?

Still, the ring seemed to add a weight to her that she hated to carry. Her guilt chewed her up inside.

--

There was one night where she considered going back and pretending like nothing had happened but she knew she was being stupid. She paced in the room she had rented at the Sleeping Giant, her nerves frayed and her stomach empty from the lack of food she had consumed over the week.

She wanted to see him, badly. She wanted him to bed her, to dominate her like they both liked, for him to hiss into her ear while he came and bite her neck and just remind her that he owned her. She fell on the bed, burying her face into the pillow before she got up, pacing more.

Maybe she should let the bard come into her room. He had been giving her looks and she wasn’t opposed to them – as long as she could call out another man’s name while they did it – oh gods above and daedra below, what was wrong with her?! She was going crazy. It had been far too long, she didn’t even know anymore, and she ached for her life back. She had been in too many stinking caves, went without food for days and when she drank mead she was instantly knocked out finding herself waking up in strange temples or on the road.

She went and laid on her bed again, growling at herself. What was wrong with her? There was a knock and she looked up, feeling weary now.

“Come in,” she said and the door opened, the innkeeper coming in.

“Excuse me, miss, but you said you were a traveller?” he asked and she leaned up, wary. He held up a piece of paper and she tilted her head in confusion. “The Jarl’s men stopped by with a bounty. Thought you would be interested.”

“Thank you,” she said and he came to leave her the paper. She sighed, folding it up to be used as kindling in her next fire before she flopped back down on the bed. Maybe she should get drunk. That might clear her head.

--

She looked up at the sky, quiet. There were grey clouds as far as the eye could see, a rain storm threatening to move in and she pursed her lips looking back to the gates of Falkreath, hesitating once again. She had been standing at the western gates for more than an hour, her nerves preventing her from entering and she silently reminded herself if she did not go, she might as well leave and never return.

She finally stepped forward and her feet timidly took her along, her entire body stiff as she did. The guard at the gate looked at her before looking out and she realized he didn’t recognize her as his face was not friendly and his eyes cold to her. Had she been gone that long?

She continued on, not seeing Thadgeir by the block and the small town was quiet, not even Lod was outside. She began to worry, the sound of thunder rumbling from above and she went to the longhouse, climbing the stairs before she opened the door.

Inside it smelled of lavender and smoke and she was taken aback by the smells. It was foreign to her, unappealing and she found herself standing at the door, staring at the alien court before her. She no longer belonged there.

There was no one on the throne and she felt herself hesitate, wondering if she had missed the entire town evacuating or something when the Jarl strode out from his bedroom, stopping to look behind him. Out came a woman with a protruding belly and Kjersti’s breath caught in her throat.

The Jarl took the woman’s hand, leading her to a chair by the fire and she waved him off. “My love, I’m fine.”

“Are you?” he said in his typical prickly voice and she stared at them, stunned. “If anything happens to you and the baby…”

“What could happen from the room to here?” she said in a light voice and the steward emerged from the bedroom with a blanket, slinging it over the back. “Oh, Nenya, please! Your fussing is making me feel bad!”

“Nonsense,” she said and Kjersti looked away, her throat tight. It was a mistake for her to return, her heart pounding hard in her chest, her head swimming and she reached for the door, pulling the handle when the Jarl’s wife called out. “Traveller? Traveller, do not leave! Have you been helped?”

She clutched the door handle, not turning and she watched as rain started to dot the stones, the weather finally coming down. She could flee out into it and never return or pay her respects as she was supposed to. She shut the door, reminding herself of her duties, how foolish she was being and she hung her head down as she turned back, slowly approaching the little crowd.

She made she they couldn’t see her face and she pulled off her knapsack, reaching in to pluck out a bag of coins. She placed it delicately on the stones and bowed, moving to leave but the voice called out again.

“Wait! Traveller!” his wife said, confused. “Siddgeir-!?”

“Stop,” was all he had to say and she stopped dead, not moving. There were sounds of the chair scraping against the floor and muttering and hissing as his wife was obviously getting up. She came to her side and Kjersti maintained her eye contact with the stones.

“Traveller-? What is this? Why do you bring us money without a word?” she asked, bending over a little and the steward came forth, touching Brynhilda’s arm before looking to her. There was an uncomfortable silence and Nenya stepped towards her.

“Kjersti? Is that you?”

She hung her head down more, her throat so tight it was painful and her eyes brimming with tears. “I got to go,” she blurted, rushing to the door but her cloak was grabbed preventing her from leaving. She was pulled back, a strong hand grabbing her wrist and she was forced to turn, her hair spilling out from where she had it tucked as her hood fell down.

She stared into the eyes of her Jarl, her heart moving to her throat, her entire body shaking and he looked at her, disturbed. His eyes were on her scars, the jagged marks on her face and his wife let out a gasp.

“Kjersti?!” she asked, genuinely concerned. She bit her lip hard, nearly drawing blood. “What happened?!”

She snapped her wrist back, staggering away and she said nothing, looking back at the tiles before she pulled her hood over her head.

She had noticed on his finger he had a ring of diamond and gold. The ring of emerald she had found him was paltry in return and she pulled her cloak around her so he could not grab her again.

“Excuse me,” she said and she fled, moving out into the rain. The drops pelted her, her body becoming soaked within minutes and she ran out through the western gate, not looking back as she did. His fiancée – no, she was his wife – was pregnant and diamonds adorned their hands. It was too much for her to bear and she rushed down the road, not seeking shelter even when it began to hail, the chunks of ice bruising her skin.

She ended up taking refuge in the broken watchtower of Falkreath, hyperventilating as she did. It had been more than six months yet she could not compose herself. His wife, his sweet wife was pregnant, they were married and she was the uncomfortable third wheel. Her Jarl’s eyes told her everything, his almost anger at her returning still piercing her heart and she drew her cloak around her as she had her fit.

Six months and she wasn’t over him. She cried out to the gods, spitting on the ground as she did. She was so weak. She shouldn’t have returned, there were other ways to give them money for the treasury and yet she subjugated herself to it. She hit her eyes with her palms, twisting her robes in her hands before she leaned against the stone, her skin cold.

She touched her scars. They dug into her face, marred her nose, cheek, lips and chin. They reflected her pathetic, cowardly personality. She buried her face in her hands.

The time passed slowly and she sat cross-legged in the entrance, watching the rain pour down, the hail stopping after some time. The soft earth turned to mud in front of the ruined steps and she found some loose stones, tossing them out to watch them tumble down the hill, her game boring her after a while.

She rearranged her pack, dug in the barrels near the door to discover them empty and she peeked up top seeing only a ruined shelter where a necromancer once lived. She eradicated them long ago and it looked like no one had found the place to try it again. She contemplated setting up camp and living as a crazy witch, terrorizing anyone who came near. One look at her face and they would flee. She laughed about it for a moment but stopped when she realized people had already run from her.

She felt like a starving half-dog among wolves. She didn’t belong with a pack nor did she do any good on her own. She ended up setting up the fire pit on top of the ruined tower, lighting it under the small remnants of the roof and placing the pot on the stones, filling it with small scraps of food. The rain kept coming down and she stirred her meagre stew, struggling to keep the fire going.

It stopped close to dark allowing her to properly bring the fire to a good height and she sat beside it, using a stick to pick out the large vegetable chunks, some of them still raw when she bit into them. She didn’t care, she was hungry and it was all she had to eat. When she had finished them all she drank the broth, quiet as she did and she slept on the small space where the stones were dry, shivering twice in the night from the cold.

The air was full of fog when she woke and she packed her things, leaving towards the Reach. She felt like a vagabond, like the bard she had met. She wondered if she could be like him, maybe offer her services to folks but she realized she really didn’t have any. She wasn’t trained by the college nor did she have any other skills. She stopped thinking after a while, walking quietly in the fog and she found the road to Whiterun, carefully following it out to the plains.

She fought another sabre cat as soon as she veered off the path.

--

She stripped off her robes before she moved into the small pool under the waterfall cascading from the jagged rocks of the Reach, shivering before she eased into it, her hands rubbing her shoulders. She sunk down, sneaking to let the water just hit her head and she shouted in delight as she was soaked, the water spilling over her mangy locks in a large shower. She moved back, out of the stream and reached up, smoothing her hair back. She did it a few more times until her hair was as slick as oil and she slowly relaxed, looking at her hands under the water.

Every scar she had acquired seemed to show up on her body and she traced the ones on her arm, moving to count them after a while. She had them on her arms, stomach, chest, face, and legs. She wondered what her back looked like, her hand subconsciously reaching to touch and she found herself staring at her reflection in the water she cupped in her hands.

Though inaccurate, she still got an idea on what people saw when she spoke to them. She flicked the water off her hands, ashamed. She was suddenly filled with embarrassment and she exited the pool, using some rags she picked up to wipe her body down, tugging her robes on after and she grabbed her things, leaving.

--

“I know you’re in here!” the voice hissed and she remained still by the rock, not daring to breathe. “Just make it easier on yourself and come out!”

She continued to hide, her heart slamming against her ribs as she did, watching the area in front of her as the hag searched her out. After what felt like forever it stopped and lowered its hands, moving back down the rock hallway to where its home was. She crept out of her place, her hands sweaty on the staff she had acquired and she began to go back the way she came, her robes sweeping the ground as she did.

“There you are!” the hag screeched and she screamed, running. Its claws slashed her back, its horrible voice ringing in her ears and she turned, swinging the staff as hard as she could. It made a sickening crack as it hit the hagraven’s head, the beast falling after but she didn’t stick around to see if it was dead. She just ran, breaking out of the cave and rushing down into the wilds, her stomach sick as adrenaline pumped through her veins.

She ended up collapsing, retching by the side of the road as she shook, still filled with fear. The staff was now coated in blood, the wood at the top cracked from the impact and she drew her knees to her chest, crying.

She was still just a child in the world. She shouldn’t be exploring caves so recklessly.

--

It occurred to her when she was walking over the plains, a light flurry hitting her as she did.

She was a year older.

She stopped, looking at her feet before she continued. Dates meant nothing anyways.

--

She held the book in her hand, shocked, the cover worn around the edges but otherwise it was brand new. She inspected it, turning it over, waiting to see if it was a fake but nothing indicated it was. She turned to the miner, shocked.

“Y…You really wish me to have this?” she said, skeptical. “W-Why?”

“I ain’t no mage,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m a blacksmith, and a fine good one at that! But I don’t have any coin to give you for what you’ve done-”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “No, please, I cleared the mines out as an act of kindness. I don’t need pay for it! Frostbite spiders are easy to deal with!” she protested and he stared at her. It made her flush, embarrassed and she held the book back to him but he refused.

“Young lady, those spiders may have been nothing to you but for all of us, they have been a terror for weeks. No one here could take down a single one and yet you went and killed them all! A simple spell tome is paltry payment but it’s the least I can do.” She bit her lip, not convinced and he sighed. “Like I said, none of us here are mages. That tome will sit in a dresser here until the end of time. Its better someone like you gets to use it. You deserve it.”

She looked at the book again, biting her lip. Slowly she opened it, strange drawings on the page and before she could comprehend what they were the book pulled out of her hands and shattered making her shout. Her hands felt warm, a new spell knitting into her head and she winced before she opened her eyes. The burly blacksmith gave her a curious look and she looked to him before calling forth the spell.

A bubble of dark purple formed in her hands and suddenly, they were gone. All of her was gone. She was invisible! The blacksmith made a sound. “By Shor’s bones! She disappeared!”

“I’m here!” she said making him step back, frightened and she stepped forward, her body still gone but once she hit the side of his workbench she became whole again. They looked to each other.

He scratched his head, still wary. “Well, I suppose that could come in handy…”

She nodded but he was now stiff and his welcome and hospitality had disappeared. She was imposing on him now, her new magic obviously making him view her differently and she frowned and fetched her bag, giving him a bow. She ran off before he could say anything else, not wanting him to think she would stay and rob him blind or something. She went south to Riften, moving into the trees to avoid the massive Imperial-owned fort and she stopped by a small creek, pulling her hands out to test her magic again.

It seemed as long as she didn’t touch anything, she could remain invisible. She thought of all the bandit camps she had passed and how useful this would have been a year ago after she set out. It would have saved her a lot of bloodshed but her magic had grown strong from it so maybe it was fate that she didn’t.

She decided to only use the ability when it was absolutely necessary. There was no need to draw further attention to herself.

--

Her robes were becoming ratty and she finally had to stop and strip, pulling out some string she had saved to try and mend them.

She didn’t do a very good job and she sighed, tugging them on anyways. She hoped she would come across some new ones soon. The purple her robes once sported was fading and the trim around the edges were frayed. She tugged on her boots and continued her journey.

--

She stood staring up at the statue of Talos before Windhelm, his figure imposing from the rock he stood on, snow sticking to the chiseled grooves. The wind blowing around her was bitter cold but she didn’t draw her cloak near, her mind focused instead on the god. She didn’t understand the fuss over him. He was just a man.

She went around the rock, deciding to go in for a closer look when she saw movement down the road. A stormcloak patrol. She drew her robes around herself, her head down as she slowly walked and they passed by her without an incident.

She climbed the small hill once she was sure they were gone, keeping her balance on the stone bridge and she stood before the statue, the small shrine below it covered in various items. She looked at the bottles of stamina, some covered in frost and others brand new and she pulled her knapsack off her shoulder, digging within it to pull out a bottle to add to the collection when her fingers slipped. The bottle dropped down and she chased after it, falling to an area below the statue when she screamed at the body she had found below.

There was an axe embedded in the back of a Thalmor Agent, his blood caked on the rocks, his eyes glassy, skin starting to sink and she stumbled, horrified before leaving, not bothering with the bottle. She had to get away.

--

She had found a bow made of the finest ebony. Leather that had been perfectly grooved was wrapped around the grip, details carved from pearls and ivory adorning the sides and as she held it, her breath stilled. It was beautiful and she dearly wished she was an archer as the weapon was meant to be used, but she wasn’t, her hands only made for magic and she contemplated on what to do.

For the first time in months, she thought of her Jarl. It stung, the thought but she knew the bow would suit him perfectly. It was decadent and strong, much better than his worn glass bow and she sat before the chest for a while, thinking about what to do. She didn’t want to go back to Falkreath – how could she? Her heart burned thinking about it – and she thought about giving it to a courier to take but she knew how easily the poor boys could die along the way.

She would have to take it herself. She gathered up her coins, checking to see how much she had so it wouldn’t look so atrocious with her walking in to give the Jarl a bow and nothing else and she had enough to possibly stock his coffers again. She didn’t know how the treasury was doing but any amount of coin was probably welcome.

She set off, hooking the weapon to her back despite how it slowed her a bit and she stepped out into the morning sun, shielding her eyes as the bright light stung a bit. She was on the edge of Whiterun and she slowly started to make her way to the road, climbing a bit of a hill before she met the stones.

By the time she made it to Falkreath, it was nearing past midnight, the air cold and the sky dark, clouds obstructing any stars in the sky. She stood before the Longhouse knowing everyone inside was sleeping. Everyone in the town was sleeping in fact, save for maybe Valga in the Inn but she wasn’t in the mood to go there and rent a room. She wanted this over as quick as possible and she decided to leave the bow and coin on the throne; an anonymous gift.

She entered the hall, the fire inside still crackling and it had changed once more since she had last been there. There were two thrones now, the hall decorated with new banners, new trophies and there was furniture in the corners, gifts from afar. She slumped, guilty, staring at the lavish things she never thought to get for her Jarl and she slowly walked to the thrones. His and Hers.

She pulled off the bow, gently laying it across the arm of the one on the left before she pulled off her knapsack, quietly reaching in to put out the small bag of coins. She set it down, the bag making a bit of noise and from the bedroom she heard a sound. It was the sigh of a baby and she froze, looking up.

So his wife had the child. She wondered what it was, if it was a boy who would grow up to be handsome like his father or a girl who would become as beautiful as her mother. It didn’t concern her but she waited, not wanting the babe to wake before she threw on her knapsack. She crossed the hall, ready to leave when a voice called to her.

“Kjersti,” it said, cold and she stopped, her heart thrusting into her mouth. It was painful and she felt like she was going to wretch but she didn’t move, her hands turning clammy. Footsteps sounded on the stones but they didn’t come from the bedroom. Her Jarl had been in the wine cellar and she remained still, stiff as a board, as he came to her side.

She could smell the mead on him and she shook as she gave a quick bow. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, not looking at him as she moved to the door but he grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and she was forced to stop. He said nothing but he squeezed hard making her wince and she had to finally turn, her fingers reaching for his to pry them off. He spun her, forcing her to fully face him and her breath hitched as their eyes met, her hair pooling around her neck, the long, jagged strands sweeping down her collar.

He said nothing and she bit her lip. It hurt seeing him. It had been more than a year and her worst fears were confirmed – she was still madly in love with him despite how much she tried to ignore it. Her heart ached and she broke their gaze to look at her feet, her wrists still bound in his grip. He let out an annoyed sigh.

“Where have you been?” he growled making her flush. “You owe me a fortune in taxes!”

She stared at him and slowly her shoulders slumped, her flush fading. Of course. She pulled her wrists from his grip, rubbing them as she stared at the floor and he continued to glare at her waiting for an answer. She had none to give and when it was apparent she wasn’t going to speak he reached up and touched her scars. She flinched but he pressed his thumb against her and she stopped, letting him do as he wished.

His hand moved down and she grabbed it, preventing him from touching her chest. “You have a wife,” she said quietly and he pulled away making her flush. “Please, my Jarl. I should go.”

“I own you,” he snapped. “You only leave on my instruction! And you do as I bloody well ask!”

“Yes, my Jarl,” she said automatically but it didn’t feel right coming from her anymore. She had been her own master for so long that to submit again felt strange. He reached for her again, his hands moving down her body but she grabbed him, making him stop.

“You’re married,” she said once again and he growled, his nails digging into her skin making her wince. “I-It’s… It’s an insult for you to be with me now! If you’re seen… y-you’ll be disgraced!”

“You idiot,” he hissed but his hands let go of her and she hugged her body, staring at the stones. “Why did you come back here then? To just leave a flimsy bow and some coin and then go?”

“Yes,” she stressed and her eyes moved up, meeting his. He was angry and she didn’t know why. “My Jarl, I know not to insult you or your name. I only came to give you some things for the treasury. I intended to leave again so… so that…”

“So that what?”

She closed her eyes, calming herself. “So that I wouldn’t tempt you,” she admitted and his scoff made her cringe. “I know I shouldn’t assume, but you’ve always said I was…”

“You’re an idiot,” he cut in and she went silent. “You stupid fucking elf.” She bowed her head in an apology but he advanced on her. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” she said and he stared at her making her flush. He cupped her head, holding her still and he moved forward making her stiffen. She knew what was coming and she grabbed his hands, her nails tugging on him. “You can’t,” she pleaded. “You’re married.”

“So what,” he shot back but she stopped him, her heart aching.

She pulled away. “You’re a Jarl,” she reminded him. “I’m just your Thane. There is no marriage or love in this. That’s how it will always be. You’ve… always said so yourself.”

He stared at her, hard but she didn’t say a word. She could feel his anger, how disappointed he was in her and he shoved past her, opening the door.

“Leave,” he commanded and she did as he asked. She ran down the steps, moving past the burning lanterns and she didn’t look back as she did; she had done enough. He released her from his service and she ran past the gate into the wilds.

Her feet carried her down the road, her running slowing to a jog and she soon was slowly walking, the early morning air creeping in through the forest, the sounds of wolves on the hunt echoing in the valley. She merely followed the road, her heart aching as she did but she didn’t cry over it, she had done enough of that already. She aimed for Whiterun, taking the path and she drew her cloak around her as she did, silent, continuing down it through the night.

She slowly walked along the road as the plains beckoned her and she stopped, looking towards where Rorikstead lay before she cut off the stone path, running up the hill towards the top. All around her the stars were slowly disappearing from the sky and the light blue of dawn was calling to her. She rushed towards it, her breath coming out in pants as she did.

She hit the top, running towards a mountain of rocks, her hands grabbing the cold stones and she pulled herself up, standing tall as a breeze caught her. It blew back her hood, the ends of her robes whipping behind her as well and she closed her eyes, inhaling. When she opened them again, the morning light was starting to shine over the mountains, a light blue mixing with purple as stars twinkled above.

This was her favourite time. A dawn breaking meant a new day and that meant a new start, something she hadn’t seen or had in a while. She was worn from her emotions, blinded from her lust and stupidity and as the sky changed to a light pink she began to flush. The wind hit her again making her shiver but she continued to stand, eyes on the sky.

It was then something was called into her mind; a realization she never had before. Years upon years ago when her mother lived and she was a child, how she questioned her, begging for answers and she was told only when she was older she would understand.

Somehow, she finally knew. The reason her mom hid them away for so long, why she wasn’t allowed near the road or near others. Being with them led to these feelings, this heartache she could barely mend from, the weight of being alone amongst a crowd. They struggled when they were in the meagre home but she was never unhappy like she was now. When she thought about it, her mother was trying to protect her. She never knew her father but what his presence did to her mom must have affected her enough to make her try and shield her from it.

She closed her eyes again, the wind rushing through her hair. She should have listened. She was so messed up now she didn’t know what to do. She turned down the only man she would ever love, was childless, loveless, and she assumed homeless as she couldn’t bear to go back to the manor her Jarl gave her and now she stood on the rocks of the Reach watching a sun rise from the east, the rays warm on her body.

“What do I do?” she asked the sky. “I have nothing. I have no prospects, no money, no home or family! What do I do?!”

The wind hit her as if guided by the gods and strands of her hair blew over her vision making her shiver and push them back over her ear. She looked to the west where the wind was blowing and a strong scent of juniper and lavender hit her making her close her eyes and sigh. It reminded her of her mother and she hugged her arms.

“That’s right,” she said softly. “I started out with nothing before… I can do it again.” She opened her eyes, looking to the sky painted like the lights of the north and she smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. She had a knapsack full of odds and ends but her skills were greater than when she had started. She could enchant, craft a few potions and even smith a sword. It was plenty for her to survive on and she found herself stretching, smiling at the morning sky.

Her Jarl had moved on, he had a child, a beautiful wife and a Hold he ruled over. She was just as he always said – a peasant – and her silly notions towards him needed to be buried so she could move on as well. She reached into her bag, digging through the various pockets and she pulled out the emerald ring she had acquired for him, holding them up to the light. It sparkled, her throat tightening as it did and she held it for a second, her heart beating, broken, before she shouted and threw it as far as she could over the cliff.

It bounced once on a rock near her then disappeared, lost among the pebbles and she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. She wiped at the tears spilling from her eyes but she refused to think of it. He had everything he needed and she was no longer required.

She jumped off the rock, the morning light now flooding the plains and she made her way along the cliff, moving to a goat path to descend into the Reach. She stopped, looking one last time towards Falkreath, her heart pounding as she did but she forced herself to smile. She hiked up her robes and disappeared down the path.

The wind picked up again, blowing the stalks of lavender that grew along Whiterun and the day began as it always did, beasts that lingered in the night returning to their dens and those that owned the day moving out from their shelters.

Somewhere along the Reach, the black-haired Altmer mage disappeared, her footsteps moving off the road. There was a footprint in the sand, another in the mud before they were gone completely.

--

blergh. my wrists hurt

So the female dragonborn - perferrably of a human race - is on good terms with the Thalmor despite whatever faction she's aligned with. Maybe she's in a long term relationship with one of them but regardless they get along.

So one night she gets called to attend a party at the embassy. Only this is a party filled with members of the Thalmor only and they're very hard to please. Cue the dragonborn attending as a means to amuse them which she reluctantly agrees to for Elenwen (or Ondolemar if he asked for a favor or whoever)

Over the course of this, comments are made and it becmes apparent some of the Agents would like her to amuse them in ways she didn't expect. So the dragonborn finds herself servicing the Agents, female and male alike in one messy thalmor orgy.

I'd prefer it not to be outright non-con/dub-con but more of the dragonborn being reluctant to do such things (especially if she's in a relationship) but still accepting the terms given to her and even getting into it.

The obvious kinks in this would be size differences (big mer on a little human), double penetration, handjobs while giving oral, multiple orgasms, multiple partners, swallowing, facials, tugging on hair, dominance, etc. but I'd also like for the dragonborn to realistically be sore after and maybe having to answer for this if someone finds out. (A follower comes to mind like Lydia figuring it out or Marcurio) but that's not a requirement.

Though Bonus if there are other races there while this happens like Malborn and they get dragged into it.
Also double bonus if Ondolemar takes Elenwen during this. Don't ask. I just like them together.

Squicks are watersports, scat, and heavy violence.

OP here: AAAHHHHHH, THIS IS FREAKING AMAZING ANON!!!
GO CICERO, NAZIR AND BABETTE - TORTURE THAT THALMOR BITCH!

A/N: The pace is slowing down a bit now as we approach the final chapters. After this one, I'd say we have about three more to go, roughly.

One reviewer expressed surprise at Madanach not having said anything to Liriel about the pregnancy despite the presence of his granddaughter. He has indeed been brooding on it constantly but fortunately has sufficient self-control not to say anything yet - his reasoning being that Liriel has enough on her plate what with just having lost her father. But it's coming, don't worry.

Dawnguard spoilers in this one too. Also a bit of slightly rough sex involving dirty talk and biting and dom!Madanach.

Summary: Sabrinda's hearing produces mixed results, with Liriel finding herself in the judge's chair after realising she's the official Reach representative post-regency. But one revelation has knock-on effects for Madanach, and the results lead to an emotional conversation with Liriel and a decision that will change everything.

The meeting took place in one of the chambers in the re-opened Pelagius Wing, Elisif holding closed court to decide what to do with Sabrinda. Not a formal criminal case, of course, that would involve pressing charges, at which point Elenwen would get involved and everything would go to the Void. No, this was just a meeting to decide where everyone went from here.

The fact that Sabrinda was sitting apart from everyone else with two big burly Haafingar guards at her back was just for the Justiciar's own safety, of course.

Elisif was sitting in an improvised throne of sorts, with Sabrinda off on the left-hand side, Argis at her right, Madanach and Liriel opposite, Borkul and Jordis standing guard behind them, and Cicero nowhere in sight, having been packed off to entertain Ancalime while the grown-ups were talking.

“Good to see you up and about, Liriel,” Elisif said gently. “We were all so worried. Thank Mara you're well again.”

“Thank you, Elisif,” Liriel replied, blushing a little. “I'm feeling a lot better now. I've had better weeks, I really have.”

“I'm sure you have,” Elisif said sympathetically. “Not every day you get abducted by your own parents, after all.”

“We did not abduct-!” Sabrinda cried, falling silent on receiving a chilling glare from Elisif.

“You by your own admission threw her in a trunk, tied her up and took her from her home city by force,” Elisif snapped. “Sounds like abduction to me!”

“She would have left anyway, Madanach had asked for a divorce!” Sabrinda protested. Elisif and Argis as one turned to Liriel and Madanach for confirmation of this.

“We argued,” Madanach said stiffly. “It is possible that rash words were said that weren't meant. But Liriel and I have talked and we're not getting a divorce. I love Liriel, I don't want her to go.”

Smiles from High Queen and Consort and Elisif continued.

“That's good to hear. But regardless of the state of her marriage and if Liriel was planning to leave anyway – that doesn't change the fact you and Meryndor did in fact cast paralysing magic on one of my Thanes and take her by force. Sabrinda, I hope you realise that under Skyrim law, that's a lengthy prison sentence.”

“Under Reach law, it's the death penalty,” Madanach said quietly, glaring at Sabrinda. “Liriel's not just any old citizen, she's a member of our royal family, it's an offence against the state. And the abduction took place in Markarth.”

“Extraditing you back to Markarth for a trial is an option, Sabrinda,” said Elisif calmly. “Although I'm sure the Embassy will intervene should a formal charge be brought – but that would be Madanach's problem.”

“Not right now, it wouldn't be,” Liriel said cheerfully. “Due to Madanach rendering himself unfit for duty via substance ingestion while the abduction was going on, there's presently a regency arrangement in force, although I'd prefer that didn't leave this room.”

“Substance ingestion?” Elisif said, confused. “What, you were drowning your sorrows on that jenever stuff? That's a bit harsh.”

Silence as Liriel wondered what to say, glancing at Argis who was also looking worried, and then Madanach spoke up.

“It wasn't jenever, Elisif. It was Skooma. A little habit I picked up in Cidhna Mine, one I thought I'd kicked... but apparently I'm not as strong as I thought.”

Elisif's eyes widened as she turned to Argis for confirmation then to Liriel.

“Skooma... you knew this?”

“I knew he'd taken some in prison,” Liriel admitted. “I didn't know he was still addicted. But apparently he is, and until he's got it under control, the Reach is being run by a council of regents led by Princess Eola, comprising her, Matriarch Keirine, Steward Nepos, Field-Marshal Uraccen and, er, me apparently.”

“He's a Skooma addict??” Sabrinda said incredulously. “And he's been in prison?? Liriel, what exactly were you thinking?”

“Mother!” Liriel growled and Sabrinda did subside, but she still glared at Madanach.

“You are not good enough for her,” she muttered. Madanach, to everyone's surprise, actually nodded.

“You're right. I'm not. But Liriel apparently thinks otherwise, and as long as I get treatment, she wants to keep me. Who am I to say no?”

Elisif was still staring at Madanach in horror. “Skooma... you. I had no idea... Argis, why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought he'd quit,” Argis said quietly. “You know him, he does the impossible all the time. But we can talk later about this, right?”

“Right,” Elisif said, still staring at Madanach, who'd lowered his eyes and Liriel could feel the defeat and resignation coming from him, remembered his fear that he'd never see Lirela again once Elisif found out. Liriel squeezed his hand, vowing to speak to Elisif later, talk her into not shutting Madanach off completely from his granddaughter.

“Anyway,” Elisif was saying briskly. “We're here today to work out what to do with Sabrinda. Seeing as her crime was committed in Markarth, the Reach has first claim jurisdiction-wise, but if she's up for the death penalty, the Thalmor won't hesitate to intervene. I can of course try her here, but it's a much lesser sentence. However, it's more complex than that. While travelling in Skyrim, Sabrinda lost her husband due to an attack by Falmer, along a road known to have had disappearances and murdered travellers, and this has been known to the local Jarls. The stretch of road in question is in Hjaalmarch, but Jarl Idgrod hasn't got the guards to patrol it. I've got men at my disposal, but for Haafingar's Jarl to start sending men unasked into another Hold is apparently inciting trouble. However, I am also High Queen now and if there's a public risk, I could justify it if we were careful and didn't tread on any toes. But we didn't know what was causing the problem, the area is uninhabited and isolated, and armed patrols tend not to get attacked. Also while I have the men for a one-off mission, I can't field regular patrols. But it's also close to the border with the Reach, and we know the ReachGuard have the people to deal with all manner of problems.”

“Elisif, we don't have anyone living near that area,” Madanach sighed. “We can patrol the roads near Cwm Prendwemyn for you, but out near Dragon Bridge? We've got a small border outpost with about three people there at any one time, that's it. Elisif, I can't deal with incidents that aren't even happening in my borders.”

“Yes, you said that about Lost Valley and look what happened,” Elisif said sternly.

“That's completely different, that was treasonous elements in the Forsworn. This was Falmer, how on earth do you expect me to deal with a hive we didn't know was there??” Madanach protested.

“All the same, the disappearances have been going on for months, and it turns out the perpetrators, outlaws though they may be, were operating from inside your borders,” Elisif sighed. “Now they've killed Sabrinda's husband and your queen's father – she may be in trouble herself, but if she'd been travelling that way without Liriel, help would never have come, Ancalime would likely also be dead and we'd all be having to answer to the Ambassador right now. We do owe her recompense and the Reach in particular needs to respond.”

Madanach looked like he was about to argue, before it occurred to him that thanks to his daughter and steward, none of this was his problem any more.

“I agree, this all sounds very complicated and requires an official response from the Mournful Throne,” Madanach said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. “Currently that's in the hands of the Council of Regents led by my daughter who is not here, but fortunately my wife's a member – Liriel, care to respond?”

Liriel briefly contemplated exactly how much force it would take to throttle her husband, but on the other hand, there was no denying that she did now represent the Reach officially, not just as it's consort. Which made things very interesting.

“The Reach will respond,” Liriel promised. “As you say, the ReachGuard have the troops to deal with this, and as they're on our land, we'll deal with the problem. I'll write to the Torc-Brenyeen directly and request she send troops in. However, we have our price for this, and this is it: we want jurisdiction over Sabrinda's case.”

Elisif bowed her head, nodding thoughtfully, and Sabrinda promptly panicked.

“Liriel, you can't, you can't execute me, I'm your mother!” she cried, terrified. “How are you going to explain it to Ancalime, how?? She's already lost one parent! Jarl Elisif, you're a mother, you know how it is, right?”

“I do,” Elisif said softly. “They come in to your life, you give birth to them and suddenly everything changes and you'd do anything to protect them, anything to see them happy, you really would kill anyone who hurt your little baby girl, isn't that right?”

Sabrinda nodded, smiling, relieved to see someone understood. Her relief was utterly shattered by Elisif's next comment.

“How does that square with incapacitating her with magic, tying her up and locking her in a trunk for hours, exactly?” Elisif inquired sweetly, with a bitchiness Liriel hadn't known she had in her. There was a muffled snort from Madanach, a dark chuckle from Borkul, Jordis saying nothing but probably grinning, and Argis staring at his feet, hair shadowing his face but probably smirking.

Sabrinda had gone bright red, jaw dropping as she tried to process what the High Queen had just said to her.

“I'm sorry?” she whispered. Elisif rolled her eyes and tried the more straightforward approach.

“Why. Did. You. Do. It?” Elisif sighed. “Plenty of people disapprove of their children's spouses every day, they don't usually respond by stealing their grown child back.”

“It was for her own good,” Sabrinda gasped, her composure shaken. “Liriel, we were trying to save you, we didn't want to hurt you!”

“Save me??” Liriel snapped. “You locked me in a trunk! That isn't saving me from anything!”

“Elenwen's trying to kill you!” Sabrinda cried, then gasping as she realised what she'd said. The entire room had gone deathly quiet... apart from one ex-Reach-King who looked fascinated.

“Do go on,” Madanach drawled. “We all want to hear a Thalmor Justiciar admit there's a genuine assassination plot against a lawful Imperial ruler's wife – no, a member of the Reach's ruling council in her own right now. She's not even a Talos worshipper.”

“That's an act of war if proven. Maybe even if not,” Argis said solemnly and the entire room had gone quiet. Elisif was looking pale and worried for the first time since proceedings had started.

“I don't know if we're ready for a war,” Elisif said softly. “By the Aedra, Rikke's going to be furious.”

Foolish of Elisif to admit that out loud, not to mention admit Skyrim's military capability was firmly in the Legion's hands. But this was a private hearing, and Liriel knew how to play this game.

“Jarl Elisif, if I may?” Liriel asked, and Elisif nodded. Liriel thanked her and turned to her mother.

“That's your defence, is it? Elenwen had said something, in a no doubt deniable conversation, no doubt in a manner which could easily be miscontrued if the Embassy needed to cover itself, that could be interpreted as the Thalmor wanting to kill me?”

Sabrinda nodded once. “Yes, although you're right about the deniability. Liriel, please, we just wanted to keep you safe. We thought if we took you back to the estate in Alinor, they'd let it all drop.”

“Bit late for that,” Liriel said harshly. “Mother, I know they're trying to kill me! Every time I travel in the wilderness, I get attacked by allegedly rogue Thalmor patrols with anonymous kill orders in their pockets. I've got a whole collection of them back in Markarth, we're up to about fifteen attempts now. Frankly, I'm surprised Madanach still lets me out of the city.”

“I don't unless you take someone with you,” Madanach said coldly. “Fortunately you've got sufficient people willing to trek along after you who are more than a match for the odd rogue Thalmor patrol. We've complained to Elenwen many times, but she just shrugs and says they're acting outside her orders and she's trying to root out the culprits but that there are many out there who don't like true-blooded Altmer dallying with humans. That's if they are genuine Thalmor and not mer who've stolen the uniforms and are just trying to make her look bad. Drives me up the wall, but on the other hand, it does mean when a genuine patrol vanishes inside our borders, I can just shrug my shoulders and say the Reach is a dangerous place if you go off-road and the ReachGuard can't be everywhere.”

Liriel squeezed his hand, grinning. Cicero and Eola between them were making life very difficult for unaccompanied Thalmor in or near the Reach. It was keeping the Namira cultists very happy indeed. Not that Madanach knew about that, but he wasn't going to shed tears over the Thalmor. And so this little dance kept on dancing, Elenwen sending people after the Reach's Queen and the Reach neatly swallowing Elenwen's people in turn, and Liriel and Elenwen smiling acidic little smiles at each other at Elenwen's Embassy parties. There'd be a reckoning one day, but not just yet.

“You know,” Sabrinda said, stunned... but there was a new respect for Liriel there. “Wait, you mean they've already tried...”

“Yes,” said Liriel tersely. “In fact, I think getting you up here to try and talk me out of staying here was a last-ditch attempt to shut me up. Nearly worked too.”

Sabrinda was staring at the floor, shocked into silence. Liriel despite everything felt her heart go out to her. Her mother had given most of her life to the Thalmor – to have them turn on her child must be a shock. Honestly, Liriel had expected Sabrinda to rally herself, disown her and insist on Embassy representation or a release without charge. That this hadn't happened was a surprise, but it boded well.

“As I was saying,” Liriel continued. “The Reach claims jurisdiction of this case... but we're mindful that due to outlaws in our own borders, Sabrinda's suffered a loss of her own and has a claim for keteen. We're also aware that Sabrinda when given the chance did assist in rescuing me from the Falmer and has so far co-operated with the authorities. So while we claim jurisdiction, we're waiving the death penalty, but we are imposing conditions.”

Elisif relaxed noticeably, smiling now. “I think I see where this is going – do continue.”

Liriel nodded, took a deep breath and began to list them.

“Firstly, Mother, you're resigning from the Thalmor. Tell them your husband's death has made you rethink your life and you're resigning to seek new direction. I know I can't stop them doing what they want, but one day there will be a reckoning and I would rather my mother is not in the way.”

Sabrinda bowed her head and nodded. “Agreed,” she said quietly. “I was thinking of taking Ancalime and going on a sabbatical anyway.”

A stab of guilt here, but Liriel reminded herself her mother's idea of protection had been to shove her in a trunk, and soldiered on.

“My second condition is I am taking custody of Ancalime.”

“NO!” Sabrinda cried. “No, you can't, she's my baby, she's all I've got left!”

“Mother, you threw me in a trunk because you didn't like my husband!” Liriel sighed. “Not only that, you lied to me my entire life, telling me Altmer only loved once, something you knew wasn't true because you had a fiancee before Daddy! I'm not having Ancalime brought up like that. I want her with me. I've got children already, she's already befriended them. We can care for her in Markarth until she's of age in twenty years or so.”

“You, perhaps,” Sabrinda snapped. “You expect me to hand my baby over to your Skooma junkie husband as well?”

Madanach flinched and Liriel finally lost her temper.

“My recovering Skooma addict husband who managed to stay clean untreated for over a year, and who will shortly be enrolling in the best addiction treatment programme in Tamriel, is a considerably better parent than either you or my father ever were!” Liriel shouted. “And it is not just him, is it? She'll be raised at the court of the Reach-King, with Princess Eola, Steward Nepos and many others keeping an eye on her. She will have the protection of the entire ReachGuard. She will have the King's own daughters as playmates and receive a general and magical education second to none. So do not bring my husband's illness into this, because I assure you the Reach will do all in its power to ensure its King stays clean!”

Sabrinda gave up on Liriel and appealed to Elisif.

“Jarl Elisif, Lady Queen, please, surely you understand a child can't be separated from its mother so young...”

Elisif did look sympathetic... but only up to a point.

“You did lock your older daughter in a trunk,” Elisif said quietly. “I think Liriel's got a valid claim for custody of her little sister under the circumstances. Frankly, after abducting the Queen of the Reach, you're lucky they're not pressing for right to execute. I don't know about the Empire as a whole, but the Reach isn't scared of the Dominion. There's a lot of ReachGuard and those are just the official ones. Unofficially, you can double those numbers, and they're used to guerrilla warfare in their own land. Also they're magic resistant and can wield it as well as you. Take it from us, even if you were to conquer Markarth, they'd just take to the hills, become Forsworn again, except this time, the Nords of Skyrim might just decide any excuse to kill elves would do and take their side. I'm upholding Liriel's arguments on this one. I've seen her with her daughters, she's an excellent mother.”

“We would never interfere with a happily married child's marriage, would we, Madanach?” Liriel said sweetly.

“Us? Never,” said Madanach innocently, although most of those present guessed that any potential spouse of a child of Madanach could expect intimidation like they'd never known was possible.

Sabrinda had her head in her hands, weeping softly but she finally nodded once.

“I want to be able to write to her,” Sabrinda said quietly. “And visit. You'll let me have that at least.”

“I will,” Liriel agreed. It wasn't as if this was intended as a punishment even. Liriel just didn't want her little sister reared like she'd been.

“Is there anything else?” Elisif asked, clearly wondering if there was going to be any actual judicial punishment of any kind. Liriel nodded. There was one thing she had in mind.

“Yes, there's one more. I'm not just letting you go back to Alinor, Mother, you need to make some atonement.”

“As if taking my daughter isn't enough?” Sabrinda snapped. Then she sighed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Very well, what would you have of me? I'm not joining the ReachGuard, no one my age should wear that getup.”

“Not the ReachGuard,” Liriel said with a smile. “No, this is more of a religious service. Tell me, Mother, do you want to know what it truly means to be mer?”

Sabrinda inclined her head, curious. “I truly hope this doesn't involve Daedra worship, daughter. Or whatever other heathen deities you worship in that country – the reports have always been rather vague. Heretical old gods, so I'm told.”

“How's your faith in Auriel?” Liriel asked and that stunned Sabrinda into silence.

“What?” Sabrinda whispered. “But... of course I believe in Auriel, what true mer wouldn't?”

“So do we,” Madanach said, grinning. “We mostly see him as an aspect of Anu, but in a more personalised form. We even found an old site of worship of his right in the Reach – well, Liriel did on one of her adventures. Liriel, I take it that's what you had in mind?”

“I did,” Liriel confirmed. “Founding deity of the Aldmeri people, revered by all elvenkind and by the Reachmen, and we could do with help restoring his temple to its former glory. Madanach has people out there but we could do with an actual elf to help. Well? Want to help manifest the glory of Auriel on Nirn?”

Sabrinda's eyes had widened as Liriel had talked, just as Liriel had known they would. Auriel, Anu incarnate, Aldmeri equivalent of Akatosh, the god who had helped create the mortal world then become disgusted with his creation and sought to offer his devotees a way to become one with the Aedra again, a deity many in Alinor held dear, particularly Thalmor and especially her mother. To become a priestess of Auriel and bring his light to the Reachmen... no, Sabrinda was definitely caught by this prospect. As Liriel had known she would be.

“I must confess I'm in need of spiritual guidance...” Sabrinda whispered. “But... am I to be the only mer there? In a sea of humans?”

“No,” Liriel said quietly. “There's one other there, the present guardian of the shrine. A recluse by nature and still not used to having all these humans around. But I think he'd like having another elf there.”

“Well in that case, who am I to deprive the poor man of elven company?” Sabrinda said, finally smiling. “All right. I accept your terms.”

Sighs of relief all round as the entire room relaxed.

“Thank you,” Liriel said quietly, relieved it had all actually worked out. She just hoped Ancalime reacted well to the news she was going to live in Markarth... but somehow Liriel suspected she'd be all right with it. Especially given the way she'd taken to trailing after Cicero. Apparently she'd seen him shoot three Falmer in semi-darkness without missing once and now idolised him even more.

“Well, I'm glad that's taken care of,” Elisif said brightly. “I'm so pleased, I really didn't want the unpleasantness of a trial or extradition or involving the Ambassador. There is just one last thing I need dealing with.” The smile didn't shift an inch as Elisif's eyes turned to Madanach. “Where is it.”

“Where's what?” Madanach said innocently. Elisif's eyes hardened although her voice never lost that sweet tone.

“You see, I initially assumed your speedy arrival was due to your teleportal to Deepwood Vale and then hard riding to Solitude, so of course I made sure to send word to the stables to make sure your horses were taken care of. Imagine my surprise when I received word that not only were there no horses from the Reach there, the gate guards hadn't seen you come in. In fact, the first sighting of you in Solitude was you and Borkul emerging from the cellars in the Temple of Divines.” The smile faded as Elisif's lips curled back in a snarl. “Madanach ap Caradach, have you built an illegal teleportal in the catacombs??”

“You haven't,” Liriel said, feeling mortified as she turned to look at her sheepish husband. “Sweet Aedra, you have, haven't you.”

“It's only a small one!” Madanach protested. “Barely noticeable, you'd hardly know it was there. And its use saved the life of a sweet young Elven child, so who is complaining now, hmm?”

Elisif was staring him down, face a mask of fury and Madanach actually edged closer to Liriel. She might be young, she might not be much of a warrior and certainly no mage, but she was as fierce as any of her kinsmen.

“Get it out of my city,” Elisif hissed, getting to her feet, and for an unarmed Nord girl, she was doing a very good job of intimidating Madanach, who had actually reached for Liriel's hand and was turning pleading eyes on Argis.

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