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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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I have a fill for this, sort of, if the anon from 2013 doesn't mind...a bit plotty, a bit fluffy. Sorry in advance if its not what you wanted.

Summary: Both the young, useless Abigail and the older, Dragonborn of Legends Abigail knew that Hadvar was worth winning the war for.

Tags:
char: Hadvar, F!DB
race: Imperial, Nord
relationship: het
kink: fluff, loyalty, friendship

“She's not on the list.”
“I don't care!” the Legate turned to Abigail, but responded to the young Imperial officer with the list to her side. “She has been charged with spying, so she is going to die.”
Abigail winced at her ferocity, the will to speak in her own defence fled. Her body was in shock. She couldn't believe this was actually happening.
“A spy?” the Imperial soldier spluttered to her defence, but was silenced immediately by a slap from the superior Legate.
“Don't you raise your voice to me,” she scathed as the young officer's cheek reddened. “We have our orders. Whether we agree with them or not.”
He flicked Abigail a glance when the Legate turned away and back to the main attraction; Ulfric Stormcloak.
Abigail shuffled slightly closer to the young officer while everyone was distracted, thinking that he was her only chance, while everyone paid attention to Ulfric.
“Thank you for trying,” she whispered to the officer, unable to stop her eyes from brimming with tears.
The Imperial officer stared at a moment, frowning, then looked away, blinking swiftly. “This doesn't feel right,” he muttered quietly.
Abigail felt the urge to calm him, lest he cause his career any more damage for her sake, then almost laughed at herself. Silly Abigail, worrying about someone else when she was being lead to her own beheading.
The officer turned back to her quickly. “Do you have family? Friends here?” he swallowed. “I could make sure they...know.”
The tears brimmed again as Abigail shook her head. “It's all right. It is best they don't know what became of me.”
Before the officer could respond, her name was called by the angry female Legate that had screamed at them both earlier. Abigail swallowed and forced herself to be brave, forced herself to ignore the severed head of the man who had gone before her, rolling in the grime and mud of Helgen's filthy street. She looked down a moment at her own feet; just as filthy. Her shoes had been taken from her when she was caught, apparently in case she had anything hidden in them, and her dress had been exchanged for a prisoner's tunic when she'd been captured. She didn't want to imagine how her hair was fairing; the once-fine brandy-coloured sheath secured in a ragged plait that trailed to her waist, matted and dirt-filled.
The young officer had reminded her of her parents, back in Anvil, and Abigail was suddenly very glad they could not see her in her last moments, for many reasons.
She was commanded to kneel. She knelt. Her head was urged forward, to rest on the gleaming chopping block. She winced as her cheek met the cool slickness of other men's blood.
And then the world turned upsidedown. A ground-shattering scream shook her bones, and she whipped her eyes open, to face...the stuff of legends.
A dragon. It landed on a watch tower, and bellowed flame, screaming another ear-shattering cry.
Everyone moved and screamed, all at once. Citizens of Helgen dashed for cover, guards hurriedly grabbed their bows while dashing back to take cover behind something, anything. Abigail noticed the prisoners, including the gagged would-be king, hurrying away together into one of the nearby watch towers.
Abigail couldn't take her eyes from the dragon. It was so beautiful, so terrifying. It's screams carried undertones Abigail could not fathom; loneliness, anger, desperation. Emotions that did not match what she was seeing. The dragon seemed to regard her a moment, before sweeping it's serpentine heard downward, opening its maw and sucking in air.
Abigail tried to run, and fell, immediately, over the body of the man who had been beheaded prior. Her hands still tied, she rocked back on her heels to try regain her footing as the heat of flame skidded toward her. Abigail rolled backwards, the flames charring the beheaded man immediately. The dragon screamed again, and Abigail was certain it was screaming at her, for moving.

She tried to rock upwards, but before she got too far a hand gripped her tunic and hauled her to her feet.
“Come on!”
It was the young officer from earlier – the one who had tried to speak for her.
Abigail was pushed forward and sideways, around a building, as another wave of heat struck the stones of the building beside them.
As the heat of the dragon's rage missed them barely again, the officer whirled her around then slammed his shoulder into a door frame, turning the handle frantically. It wasn't locked – and he threw her inside, crashing through after her and slamming it closed.
The sounds of terror and rage outside dulled immediately.
Abigail leaned, heaving against the wall, her arms above her head, as she coughed and spluttered.
The officer who had saved her grabbed her shoulder again, spinning her around.
“Don't!” he shook her. “Don't let the fear win. You let it win and we die.”
For the first time Abigail looked at him, properly, as his eyes bore into hers, full of fear and panic. His face was covered with muck and scratches, but his eyes were a clear, steely grey. Under his Imperial helm, she could see thick brownish-red hair.
“Do you understand me?” he shook her a little again. Abigail nodded.
His shoulders relaxed, and he stepped back. “Are you hurt?”
In answer, Abigail held out her wrists, still bound. “I'm...”
He cursed, fumbling for a dagger at his belt, then cut her bindings. “It'll be all right,” he told her, though she was certain he was comforting her. “I'll get you out of here. There's a tunnel in the basement we can use – it won't be able to find us there.”
Abigail nodded, rubbing her wrists gratefully as the bindings fell to the floor. “Thank...thank you.”
The officer nodded briefly, then hurried away, to an adjoining room.
Abigail stepped after him. “Why are you...who are you?” she didn't know which question to ask first.
“Hadvar,” he answered quickly. “And you are Abigail,” he stated.
Abigail nodded in answer, though he didn't see her nod. He knew her name from the execution list.
From her spot in the doorway, she could see the officer – Hadvar – pouring through a pile of what looked like armour. What was he doing?
“Here,” he threw something heavy in her direction, which fell to the stone floor with a bit of a clang. “Put this on. They'll think you're with me.”
Abigail bent down to retrieve the rough looking garment, recognising it as Imperial Legion armour.
Hadvar returned to the doorframe, and thrust a leather helmet over her matted hair. “There. Now you look like a soldier,” he saluted her, smirking.
Abigail spluttered as she laughed, the sound ragged to her ears and she cupped her hand over her mouth almost immediately, casting Hadvar a guilty glance.
His smile fell as the sounds of fighting outside were punctuated with another ungodly scream from the dragon.
“Quickly,” he nodded to the armour. “Put this on. We're not out of this yet, little one.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” she muttered, shoving the leather armour over her head, wriggling a little as it fell over her thin frame, several sizes too big.
Hadvar tutted and pulled the leather straps at the side of the armour, securing the buckles on their furthest setting, to tighten it a little. Abigail watched him, flushing.
“Why are you helping me?” she had to ask him finally. “I am a hinderance to you.”
“No time to talk,” Hadvar patted her sides and ducked down to her level, his task complete. “There. Fits like a glove. Come on!”
He dashed off and Abigail shook her head, wondering at how her fortunes had taken such staggeringly high and low turns since her arrival in Skyrim. She raced after him, hoping Hadvar's grand plan for escape would work. It was too memorable a day for her to die and the adventurer in her wanted to see how it would end.

Abigail felt useless.
They encountered none of Hadvar's fellow officers as he lead them to the basement. What they did find, was the odd Stormcloak. Hadvar handed Abigail the dagger from his belt, then took his bow.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she hissed at him.
Hadvar winked at her as he drew his bow, then loosed an arrow, which found it's home in a Stormcloak's skull. He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Abigail swallowed the bile rising in her throat, as three more very-much alive Stormcloaks screamed and make a run for their hiding spot.
Hadvar stood, pretence gone, and loosed another arrow, this one finding an advancing Stormcloak's side. The shot man dropped, clutching his side in pain as he screamed.
Abigail couldn't stop her feet from moving backwards but her back only met stone. They were already against a wall, their only shield a lump of rock that barely reached their waist. Hadvar cast his bow aside, drawing a sword, and charged forward to meet one of the advancing attackers.
“Hadvar!” Abigail screamed, as the second attacker ignored the sword fight, and advanced on her. “What do I do!?”
The Stormcloak advancing on her stalled at her cry, and tilted his head. “Huh?”
It was as though he suddenly saw what exactly he was advancing on for the first time. Abigail tried to disappear into the wall.
The Stormcloak laughed. “What are you?”
Ok, the dissolving into wall rock plan wasn't working. Abigail steadied her back and held the dagger Hadvar had given her forward, in an attempt to be menacing. “It's...it's my tactic,” she tried to force the shakiness from her voice. “Puts...puts people off guard. I'm a lot faster than I look.”
The Stormcloak roared with renewed laughter, and took a few steps closer. “What are you planning on doing with that, giving me a shave?”
The way he laughed at her made her see red, and she lunged forward, holding the dagger directly in front of her like a lance.
There was simply no power in her swing, though, and the Stormcloak grabbed her wrist and twisted it.
She cried out as a hot pain flew up her arm, and the dagger fell from her grasp.
The Stormcloak laughed again, low and menacing, and Abigail shook as she raised her eyes to his.
He spat in her face, and she winced.
“Filthy Imperials,” he grated, twisting her wrist at a harsher angle. Abigail wailed again, bending over to compensate for the twisting. Now prone, the Stormcloak kicked her in her stomach. Abigail cried out again, raggedly, unable to find the air to scream.
The part of her that didn't fear for her life raged, and she balled her non-secured fist, arching forward and pummelling it upwards into the Stormcloak's groin.
With a baffled cry, he lessened his grip and doubled over, and she darted forward, around him.
“Hadvar!” she called out again, wincing as she saw her rescuer deliver a killing-blow to his combatant. He was huffing as he withdrew his sword from the fallen Stormcloak's belly, as his eyes met Abigail's across the cavern.
“What are you doing?” he called out.
By way of answer the final Stormcloak let out a scream of rage as he collected himself and charged toward them. Abigail reached Hadvar's side, tears unwillingly escaping her eyes.
He threw her behind him and stood, sword ready.
“Would you kill a child in cold blood, traitor?” Hadvar called out, challenging.
Abigail gasped for air, turning her head from where she'd fallen, wondering why Hadvar didn't just deal with him.
The Stormcloak was slowly advancing on them, the torches in the cavern glinting and creating flames in his eyes.
“I would kill anything the Empire wanted to live,” he spat again. Abigail noticed Hadvar's grip tighten on his sword.
“Wrong answer,” Hadvar shook his head, then leaped forward, screaming in rage.

The Stormcloak met his sword with his own, the metal blades slashing against one another and ringing out, echoing from the cavern walls.
“Was this one for you?” the Stormcloak raged, swinging in anger as Hadvar met his attack stroke for stroke. “Your prize, for turning your back on your countrymen?” he scathed.
Hadvar didn't answer, darting under the Stormcloak's blade, then stabbing, driving deep into the man's side. Abigail winced as the Stormcloak shuddered violently, then fell to the ground.
Hadvar glared down, withdrawing his blade, wiping it against the fallen man's cuirass.
He whispered something, something Abigail didn't hear but that sounded a little like a prayer. Then he was at her side again, the dark look still on his face, his eyes still on the fallen Stormcloaks.
“Are you okay?”
Abigail nodded, ignoring the stabbing pain in her stomach, the fire coursing through her arm, and the hot grazes on her elbows and knees from when she'd fallen on the hard ground.
He looked down at her now, holding out his hand. “My dagger gone?”
Abigail winced as he hauled her to her feet, nodding. “I'm sorry. I told you I was useless.”
“Mmm, you are,” Hadvar dusted off her shoulders. “I should just kill you now and be done with the hassle.”
Abigail's heart skipped a beat as she paled, and Hadvar burst out laughing, patting her on the shoulder more comradely and moving back to the path.
“We're nearly through,” he called back. “Come on.”
Abigail riled and her frustration at being useless boiled over. She charged forward and pushed Hadvar in the back, hard.
Hadvar stumbled a little, but didn't fall, and turned, genuine shock on his face.
“What was that for?!”
Abigail's eyes flamed. “Just because I'm useless,” it came out in a rush, “and just because you've saved my life, doesn't mean you can bully me!”
“Bully you?” Hadvar took a step back toward her. “I'm doing everything I can to protect you!”
“By joking about killing me!” Abigail's eyes once again, mortifyingly, filled with tears.
Hadvar's face softened a little, and Abigail turned away. “I'm sorry I'm useless. I don't know how to fight. I've never held anything bigger than a kitchen knife in my hand. And I've nearly died today, more times than I can count.”
Hadvar was by her side, a hand on her shoulder. “It takes some getting used to,” his tone was kind.
His kind tone undid her, and her tears spilled forward, her hands covering her eyes straight away. She hated herself for crying, which made her only cry all the more.
“Here, little one,” he pulled her into a hug, and Abigail sobbed loudly, her hands still firmly pressed over her eyes and face, as he leaned her into his chest, his arms wrapped around her small frame in comfort. “This is Skyrim. We all nearly die every day. Before dragons,” he tried the last in a lighter tone, and Abigail huffed a little between her sobs.
“We're nearly through,” he pulled back, taking her hands and making her look at him.
Abigail could feel the wetness still dripping down her cheeks, slipping down her neck, and forced herself to breathe.
“My uncle lives not far from Helgen. We can hide out there until things have died down,” Hadvar continued.
Abigail breathed raggedly, shaking her head in astonishment. “Why are you helping me?” she asked quietly. “Nobody has helped me since I arrived here. Why now? Why you?”
Hadvar shrugged, and dropped his hands, moving down the path to the cavern exit. “Because it felt right to help you.”

When Hadvar and Abigail arrived at his uncle's house, the lady of the house – Hadvar had said her name was Sigrid – took one look at them both and cried out, dragging them inside, demanding to know what had happened and if they had any injuries that needed an alchemist.
Abigail watched her fussing about them through a haze, as she was seated at a bench, and Hadvar beside her.
“Dorthe, boil some water, and find your father,” Sigrid commanded to a small girl Abigail hadn't noticed before. The little girl nodded and busied herself near the hearth.
“Sigrid, it's all right,” Hadvar assured her. “We just need some rest. We look worse than we are.”
Sigrid huffed and pointed at Abigail, but addressed Hadvar still. “And you want me to believe that's all someone else's blood on your young officer there?”
Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared downstairs.
Abigail wondered just how bad she looked, and her eyes fell. She stared at her hands a moment. They were caked in grime, gore, mud, and sweat. Her fingernails were tattered and dark.
“Was it a big battle?” the little girl – Dorthe – was by Abigail's side, holding a pitcher of steaming water.
Abigail looked down at her, at her expectant face, and wide eyes, and she gulped back the tears all over again. Voice fled, she simply nodded.
“It was a huge battle,” Hadvar leaned across, and Dorthe's attention snapped to him.
“Dorthe don't pester them,” Sigrid returned, shushing her daughter away. “And go find your father.”
The girl raced off with an expectant glance at Hadvar – his cousin, Abigail realised.
Sigrid tutted a while longer, trying to gauge their injuries, and after a while Hadvar stood, holding his hands out. “Please, aunty we just need some rest!”
“I know you need rest!” she swatted at his hands. “But if you go to sleep with internal injuries you might wake up dead!”
What she said sunk in after a beat, and Hadvar laughed. Sigrid joined in after a moment, and Abigail just stared between the mad pair.
After their chuckle, Sigrid patted Hadvar on the shoulder instead. “All right, have it your way. But do your old aunt a favour, and drink one of these, hmm?”
She reached into a chest by the table, and withdrew two small red bottles, handing one to Abigail and the other to Hadvar.
“If it will make you feel better,” Hadvar unstoppered the bottle and drank it in one gulp.
Abigail held the little bottle in her open palm, watching Hadvar.
“Go on dear, you as well,” Sigrid urged Abigail kindly.
Abigail nodded, and upended it, the golden liquid lining her throat and making her feel lighter instantly.
“Good,” Sigrid was happier. “Now, dear – what's your name by the way?”
Abigail stumbled to her feet, mortified at being so rude, “I'm - I'm so sorry,” she spluttered. “Abigail. My name is Abigail.”
“She's a junior officer, just started with the group in Whiterun,” Hadvar added easily.
Sigrid half-smiled. “She's very young for an officer.”
“Junior,” Hadvar repeated pointedly.
“I'm not that young,” Abigail scoffed at the same time.
“Right now,” Sigrid continued. “There's some more hot water for you to wash yourself, and bedrolls in the basement when you're ready to rest. If you need anything, you just ask me.”
Abigail nodded obediently, inwardly thrilled to find not one, but two kind people in Skyrim. “Thank you, ma'am.”
“Now Hadvar,” Sigrid turned to him, her arms crossed. “So that the girl can bathe in peace, I'd suggest you head for the river. You smell like death.”
Hadvar groaned and looked to Abigail for help. “But the river's freezing!”
Abigail smiled a little at his tone, wondering just how young he actually was. He certainly sounded young all of a sudden, particularly with Sigrid bossing him around. How odd, that a man could be so many things, all in the space of a couple of hours.
“It's all right,” Abigail felt compelled to speak up. “I can go to the river to bathe and Hadvar can stay here. I'm messier than him anyway--”
Both Sigrid and Hadvar protested at this idea – Sigrid admitting that the river was far too cold for her Imperial blood, and Hadvar saying that it wasn't a good idea when nobody knew who she was. His careful tone reminded Abigail that she had been a prisoner of Skyrim only hours earlier.

In the end, Abigail took to the basement to bathe, and Hadvar waited upstairs, to use it afterwards, Sigrid determined for them to bathe separately, regardless of how things were run in the army with their communal bath houses.
Abigail was embarrassed to be grateful for her insistence. The basement contained a large pile of chopped wood, the bedrolls Sigrid had mentioned, another hearth, and a wooden barrel, big enough to sit in, full of steaming water. Abigail unbuckled the leather armour gently, so as to not aggravate what she was sure would be a massive bruise, where the Stormcloak had kicked her earlier. Lifting the armour over her head, then the prisoner's tunic, she looked down, ready for the worst.
There was nothing. Abigail blinked at her belly. It was smooth, and pale. She poked it with her finger tip. Nothing.
What was in that potion Sigrid had given her? It was a miracle!
Smiling at the way her luck had changed, so suddenly, she climbed into the steaming tub and began to scrub at her skin. She unbound her hair, ducking under the water to loosen it, and felt a spot at the back of her neck ease, no longer restricted. She scrubbed her hair, keeping her mouth tightly shut, to make sure she didn't get any of the grime falling out of it into her mouth, then rose out of the water, gasping for air, then went to work on her skin. The trauma of Helgen lessened as the grime was sloughed from her skin. Before long, though, the water had grown brown with muck, and Abigail stepped out of the bath, feeling better, but not feeling clean. Looking around the room, she found a towel and wrapped herself in it, and wondered what she should do. Call Sigrid, and ask if there was any more bath water? Sneak out to the river? No, Hadvar was right – someone may see her and recognise her.
Left with only one real option, Abigail held the towel firmly around her, and hesitantly snuck upstairs.
The house was quiet, and she began to wonder how long she had been. Movement caught her eye, and she startled at it, turning to see Hadvar, shirtless, sitting on a chair very close to the upstairs hearth, washing himself with a cloth. A bucket was by his feet.
Abigail gasped and took a step backwards despite herself. Hadvar hadn't heard her, and continued at his task, squeezing out the cloth, running it along his shoulder, focussing a moment on a spot on his forearm. Abigail's eyes followed the cloth, followed the contours of his arm muscles as the firelight flickered over them. From nowhere, she thrilled at the thought of those arms, holding her again. Embracing her as he had in the cavern earlier – only, obviously she wouldn't be crying this time. She flushed in remembrance. She had been horrible to him, hadn't she? He'd risked his life to save her, several times, and in the cave she'd screamed at him for one tiny little joke. He hadn't deserved that.
And she certainly didn't deserve him. Who was she, a nobody, an escaped prisoner.
She frowned, and her mind more calmed, she took a step forward, clearing her throat.
Hadvar looked up calmly, then stood hurriedly as he noticed Abigail, wet and wearing a towel.
“I'm sorry,” she stepped forward, keeping a firm grip on the towel. “I didn't mean to startle you.”
“No, don't be,” Hadvar held his hands up, turning away to rest the cloth over the bucket edge. “My thoughts were somewhere else.”
Abigail shrugged the towel closer, taking a moment to appreciate how his shoulder muscles flexed as he leaned forward. She shook herself.
“I was only wondering,” she started hurriedly. “If I could have some more water? It's...” she indicated downstairs.
“Mine too,” Hadvar pointed to his bucket. “I don't know if I'm washing blood off or straight back on again any more.”
Abigail nodded, “Right. Is there any more water?” she asked again.
Hadvar pointed to the hearth. “The others are at the pub for dinner, but I can get some more form the river. It'll just take a while to heat up.”
Abigail nodded again, feeling dumb. “Can I help?”
Hadvar regarded her a moment raising his eyebrows at her state. “You're wearing a towel.”
Abigail flushed a little. “I...don't have any clothes.”

Hadvar winced as he stepped forward. “Of course. I'm sorry. Stupid!” he cursed to himself. He hurried to a cupboard by her side, rummaging a moment and withdrawing some brown material.
“You'll have to borrow some of my old clothes,” he spoke, handing over a rough tunic and pair of trousers. “I don't quite feel right going through Sigrid's clothes,” he turned back, closing the cupboard, looking down at Abigail. Abigail looked back up to him, the clothes clutched in her hands, still holding the top of the towel protectively.
He smiled, reaching forward and fingering her hair between his thumb and forefinger.
“I didn't realise your hair was this colour,” he said quietly.
“It's still wet,” Abigail answered quickly, dumbly, then regretted saying anything. “I mean. It looks darker. At the moment.”
Hadvar nodded a little. “I...can't wait to see what colour it is when it's dry...”
“Thank you,” Abigail said in a small voice, ducking her head so he wouldn't see her flush, turning away to descend the staircase. Not looking at him made it easier. “I'll be back in a moment.”
“Take your time,” he called after her. Abigail heard what sounded like a muffled curse from him as soon as he'd said it, and she couldn't help but smile at this.
Once downstairs, she leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and exhaled.
What had just happened?
She dropped the towel, and hurried into the clothing Hadvar had handed her. The trousers were large but soft, and she knotted the tie at the front so they rested on her hips. The tunic was a pale cream colour, and much too large for her; the cuffs fell over her fingertips and the front gaped open. She re-knitted the ties at the front of the tunic, then darted back up stairs.
“Do you have a belt I could borrow?” she called out as she reached the upper level, and she chided herself for being disappointed that he had a shirt on.
Hadvar nodded from the table, and passed what looked like a piece of fish between two pieces of dark bread. “Here, want some?”
Abigail hadn't realised how hungry she was, and she thanked him again, trying not to stuff the food down her throat.
“I should have something,” he stepped past her as she ate, moving to the cupboard from before, and returning with a strip of cloth and a pair of boots.
“Here,” he handed her the cloth. “It'll do as a belt, right? And these,” he held up the boots, wrinkling his nose, “will unfortunately have to do.”
Abigail nodded through the mouthful of food, but didn't speak.
Once they'd belted and booted up, Abigail and Hadvar left the house, each of them carrying buckets. Abigail startled a little as her eyes strained to get used to the darkness, and her body strained to get used to the cold. She hadn't realised it was night time.
Hadvar chuckled a her and she cast a glance at him. “What?”
Hadvar shook his head. “Nothing. Come on!”
With that he ran down the side of the house, past what looked like a forge, toward the river they had crossed earlier that day. Abigail jogged to keep up with him, amazed that the cold air, or something, made her feel more energetic than she had when she was inside.
Hadvar jogged to a halt at the river, and Abigail huffed to a stop beside him.
She panted a little. “Just here?” she looked over the bank, wondering how they were going to get the water without falling straight in. She looked up to Hadvar.
He shook his head, and pointed to a low point. “We could go there.”
Abigail looked where he was pointing. “We'll have to climb back up the bank though.”
Hadvar nodded. “Yeah. And if you slip and fall into the mud, we'll be right back where we started.”
Abigail scoffed at him and tried to swing a bucket to hit him, but he dodged it and started running down the bank again.
“Come on!” he called after her. “I know just the place!”
Abigail darted after him, knowing she could never keep up. Hadvar lead her down the bank, across some stepping-stones that spanned the breadth of the river, and then continued running along the other side.
“Where are we going?” Abigail called out after him.
Hadvar slowed and turned, but kept moving backwards. “A little further!”
Abigail huffed and jogged on after him. At least she wasn't cold any more.

Hadvar turned sharply left, and she lost sight of him. She panicked, doubling her pace and darting around the same corner, to see him step into a cave.
Abigail faltered. “Hadvar!” she called.
He must have been too far away, or ignored her, because he didn't turn back. Abigail saw a flare of torchlight from the cave entrance, and he appeared again, jogging back to her. There was a torch in his hand and the buckets were gone; he must have put them down inside, she supposed.
“Come on,” he held out his hand. “I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner.”
Abigail regarded him warily. “Think of what?”
He kept his hand out, and Abigail thought she saw his eyes flicker with worry for a moment, but then it was gone. “It's...there's hot pools. As much hot bath water as you want.”
Abigail stared at the entrance to the cave, and Hadvar chose that moment to take her hand in his, urging her forward. “Come on! I promise, it's safe. Used to come here all the time when I was young.”
Abigail's gaze snapped back to Hadvar's, and she studied his face for a moment. Where had he come from? He was like her guardian Aedra, swooping in and saving her from certain death, more times than she cared to remember, all in one day. And now – all she saw in his face was kindness.
“All right,” Abigail said unsurely, still not quite feeling right with this, wondering how she was going to get around the embarrassment of bathing in front of a man.
Hadvar smiled back at her, and they jogged to the cave entrance and inside.
–
The air of the cavern was stifling and humid. Abigail began to sweat almost immediately.
“This way,” Hadvar lead her through a small passage. Abigail watched as the firelight lit up steam filtering up through the rocks.
“What...how is this place..?” she trailed off.
Hadvar turned back and grinned. “Isn't it brilliant? Who would have thought?”
“It's certainly...different,” Abigail responded.
The passageway opened up to a medium-sized cavern, the majority of which was taken up by a pool of water. After lighting two torches from the one in his hand, Hadvar dropped Abigail's hand and crouched, touching the water lightly.
“It's fine,” he rose again, then nodded to her. “Here, you go ahead, and I'll stand guard.”
“Stand guard!” Abigail spluttered, as he moved to re-enter the passage he'd just brought her along. “You said it was safe!”
Hadvar paused. “Unless you'd prefer me to stay..?”
Abigail shut her mouth, realising that he'd been teasing about the guarding. All he'd meant was that he'd leave her to bathe in privacy.
She dropped his gaze, turning away, unsure of where to go from there.
She heard Hadvar chuckle a little, as his steps retreated.
She breathed a sigh of relief. How could she be so stupid? How?!
Moving to one side of the cavern, she stripped off the borrowed clothes, and resumed bathing, not having to worry about the water souring. But she felt stupid, the whole time. Maybe that's what Hadvar meant by referring to her as 'young' all the time; that she was innocent and – well, quite dumb. She didn't feel all that young, at eighteen. She'd been sentenced to an adult's death, not a child's.
Feeling drowsy from the heat of the pool, Abigail let herself soak and drift, lying on her back, loving the feel of her hair, finally detangled, swishing around her shoulders as mild undercurrents from who-knew-where drifted around her. The knotted muscles she'd tensed from the trials of entering Skyrim loosened. She sighed, loving the feel of warm air in her throat as she breathed.
When her fingertips felt wrinkly, she reluctantly left the water and returned to her pile of Hadvar's old clothing. With no towel - she hadn't thought she'd be bathing, just getting more water - she sacrificed the trousers, rubbing herself down briefly, before donning the over-large shirt. It reached mid-thigh, so she didn't feel too exposed in it. Shaking the trousers out, to get rid of most of the water, she laid them out on a rock near a coiling vent of steam.

She sat, then, on another nearby rock. Ran her fingers through her hair, to detangle it a little. Rested her chin on her knees, stared at the pool. Wondered how long she should wait before going to find Hadvar. What if she went to find him, and got lost in the caves? Or worse - interrupted him having his own bath? What would she do then, besides die from further mortification?
No, she decided - she should wait where he left her.
She stared at the pool again, trying to make her mind blank, to relax fully into the moment.
...What if he didn't come back? What if he'd been attacked by a wolf or bear or something? What if it didn't kill him - what if he was injured, needing her help? And she was just sitting here like a fool, letting the steam go to her head.
She stood, retrieved the still-sodden trousers, put on the boots and belt and - feeling like a loon in the half-finished outfit and showing a fair bit more leg than she was used to - set off into the tunnel.
It was pitch black.
Abigail cursed, re-traced her steps and took one of the torches from the wall before starting along the passage again.
Luckily it wasn't all that long, and there were no turns. She arrived at the cave entrance, and inspected the other passages. It would be stupid of her to traverse them without knowing where Hadvar had gone. She looked for signed on footsteps, but the stone floor of the cave didn't carry any impressions. There were three ways she could try, though, so she decided to leave a sign for Hadvar and take one, in case he returned to the entrance looking for her.
She tied the wet trousers to the torch sconce by the passage she intended to take. Why not – she wasn't using them while they were wet, and Hadvar would certainly recognise them if he came out looking for her.
Feeling silly for getting worked up over what was probably nothing, she moved onward into the passage, listening out for the slightest noise. All she could hear was a whooshing sound, the air or maybe some underground water flow.
When the whooshing sound grew louder as she traversed the passage, Abigail's certainty grew that she'd be coming upon another bathing area soon. The air grew hotter, and somehow, thicker, as she pressed onwards, and before long she was feeling sweat trickle down her neck, arms and back of her legs.
At least she was clean. It would be easy to clean the sweat off.
Abigail scraped her arm across her forehead, wiping away the sweat, rounding a bend in the cavern and coming to a dead stop. The passageway opened up into a huge cavern, with a steaming river flowing through the centre of it. She could barely see the back end of the cavern, and squinted at what looked like a flare of blue light.
Intrigued, she pushed onward, being sure to keep to the path. The heat radiating off the pools was overwhelming, and Abigail started to feel a little dizzy. Part of her mind told her, go back now silly. But that part of her mind was ignored; a stronger part willing her forward, to the whooshing sound, that drilled through her ears in what was both a deafening and calming earnestness.
It wasn't water she could hear, she realised, as the mists of the cavern parted slightly and the blue light she had seen from the other side of the room flared again. She squinted, trying to see better. Something was etched into the back wall.
The blue light compelled her forward, the whooshing sound becoming whispers, of voices she didn't know but felt she should know. Abigail hurried to the back wall, jogging the final few steps, and then crashed to her knees in front of the glowing etched symbols, reaching her hand out to it, hypnotised.
The moment she touched the wall, the whispering invaded her body, mind and soul, coursing through her like fire and ice all at once. She unwillingly arched backward as something entered her, made her feel like she was going to explode right there. It then settled in her mind and grew quiet, satisfied.
The whooshing noise, the whispering voices, all ceased suddenly and Abigail gasped, leaning forward, supporting herself against the wall. She coughed, then heaved, the fish Hadvar had given her earlier coming back up.

It was a curse; I'm dying, Abigail thought, mentally panicking, as she started coughing up water. As she coughed, tears sprang to and leaked out of her eyes. She crouched over herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach, clenching her eyes closed, trying to stop from heaving and crying. She forced herself to breathe deeply through her nose.
It helped. Abigail was able to stop gagging, and when her stomach settled, she leaned her forehead and arms heavily against the wall, panting with exhaustion and relief. Ok, so, she wasn't dying right then and there.
But what had that wall done to her? For a moment there, it had felt so right. Like power. She hadn't felt useless. Then it had almost ripped her apart.
The immediate danger gone, Abigail clenched her eyes shut again, bashing her fist against the wall and screaming out in frustration. What did Skyrim have against her? If she wasn't being lead to the executioner's block, or being chased by dragons, she was being...poisoned by stone walls!
She let the tears fall, remembering home. The warm summer breeze, smelling of salt. The sound of the ocean as it lapped against the port in Anvil. The smell of horses, and the yellow grass, freshly mown for them.
What was she doing here when she could be there?
Resolving to leave Skyrim as soon as she could, she stood, wiping her arm against her eyes to get rid of the last of the tears. They mingled with her sweat, and she blinked to dispel the salt from her eyes, turning away from the wall, to leave it and it's now-silent etched facade behind.
Through the mists, she saw a familiar figure. Hadvar was standing on the path, only metres from her. His mouth was open, eyes were wide, and he was holding the trousers she'd left tied to the entrance as a sign. He looked stunned.
“What...?” he swallowed, his eyes never leaving Abigail, searching.
Feeling vulnerable and ashamed, Abigail held onto her own arms and looked away.
“I don't know,” she answered in a small voice, mortified as she heard a waver in it. Hadn't she cried enough in front of Hadvar already?
He took a step forward, holding out the trousers but not really offering them, more using the hand holding them to indicate her. “Are you...all right now?”
Abigail nodded, still not able to look at him, feeling wretched. “I think so.”
He closed the gap between them, pulling her into a hug. Abigail nearly screamed, and stiffened, and panicked at the sudden movement.
“I thought you were dying,” he embraced her fully, one arm around her waist, the other holding her head to his chest. Her face pressed into the damp cotton of his tunic, and through it she could feel the hard chest muscles she had admired earlier.
Abigail closed her eyes, trying to force the adrenalin out of her system, trying to make her heart stop thumping so wildly, as she focused on the feel of him, because it was a welcome distraction. “How...much did you see?” she asked into his chest.
Hadvar held her close to him in silence, and she felt that he was shaking his head. “I...I don't know what I saw. It's not important,” he resolved.
Abigail moved her arms from where they were crushed between her breast and Hadvar's chest and Hadvar pulled back, holding onto her shoulders still and ducking down, searching Abigail's eyes.
He was frowning, and all Abigail could see in his eyes was worry and fear.
She nodded slightly, then shrugged. “Can we leave this place?”
Hadvar nodded once, then turned them both around, ushering her out of the expansive cavern, away from the now benevolent wall. Abigail let herself be lead, feeling forlorn.
As they entered the tunnel that would lead back to the entrance, Hadvar dropped Abigail's shoulders to grab a torch from the wall, and took her hand instead. Abigail found herself gripping it for dear life.
Silently they made their way back to the entrance.
When they reached it, Hadvar turned back to face her, but kept hold of her hand.

The torch was placed in a wall sconce.
Abigail looked up to him, watching his careful movements, again wondering where he'd swooped down from to save her.
"There, see? You look better already," he smiled, turning back to face her.
Abigail tried to smile tentatively back up at him. "I smell like sick and feel like death."
He reached down, frowning, and laid the back of his now free hand on her forehead. "No fever."
Abigail choked on her laughter, and Hadvar's face remained mock-concerned, as he brought both hands to her jawline, and turned her head from side to side, inspecting her as a medic would. "No headwounds or concussion," he moved a hand to her neck, and pressed lightly just under her ear.
Abigail suppressed a gasp as she felt her heart beat quicken.
"Heart very much still beating," Hadvar continued his analysis, laughing a little this time, then placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her.
"I see no reason for you to be feeling ill, Abigail," he held up one of his hands as she went to speak. "Apart from your nearly being devoured by a glowing wall."
Abigail tried to quell her laughter again, amazed that Hadvar could find fun in everything, and doubly amazed that it was rubbing off on her. "Not to mention," she started quietly, "nearly being roasted by a dragon," she shrugged a little.
"Oh, come now, that has nothing to do with it," Hadvar fobbed, turning away as he threw Abigail the trousers she was borrowing. "We all had that, you see me throwing up?"
Abigail shook her head, laughing and glaring at his back as she hurried into the trousers. "Or, maybe the nearly getting my head cut off?"
"What's with all the 'nearly's?" he scoffed, turning his head back a little, then fully as he saw she was dressed again.
Abigail glared balefully up at him and he crossed his arms, chuckling at the ground. "You'll keep."
Keep what, she wondered, but didn't respond.
He pointed back at one of the passages. "Go on and wash the sick off you then. Otherwise my aunt will think I've had you out drinking all night."
Abigail looked into the dark pathway that lead to the original cavern hesitantly, as she reached over for one of the torches. "What if another wall tries to eat me?"
Hadvar moved to her side, linking his arm in hers. "Eat it first?"
She hit him on the shoulder as they laughed and headed back to the bathing pool.
They walked in silence for a moment, the torch making the walls glimmer and the heady mists swirl.
"What happens tomorrow, Hadvar?" Abigail asked, as they reached the cavern.
"What do you mean?" he took the torch as she offered it to him, placed it in the sconce, then leaned against one of the large rocks.
Abigail moved forward to the pool, then knelt. "Tomorrow, when news of the Helgen incident has spread." She leaned down, scooping a handful of steaming water into her mouth, swishing it around, then spitting.
"I don't think they'll worry about coming for you," Hadvar sounded a little patronising.
"That's not what I meant," she gave him a look over her shoulder, though in truth she was relieved to hear him say it. "I mean with the Stormcloaks escaping, and the dragon turning up when it did," she scooped up some more water, and scrubbed her face. "What happens next?"
"Oh," Hadvar replied, and his response was more thoughtful. "I won't really know until I'm back in Solitude."
Abigail nodded, taking another mouthful of water and swishing it around again.
"So you'll get your answer as soon as I get back."
Abigail spurted out the water she'd been swishing and turned back to him. "Wait - you're leaving?"
Hadvar shrugged. "I have to leave to go to Solitude. It's my job."
Abigail scurried to her feet and took a step closer. "But you're leaving...soon?"
He nodded, shuffling a little on the rock. "I have to go back tomorrow. They'll think it strange if I don't."
Abigail didn't know what to say, but her throat clammed up and she tried not to panic that the only person who had looked out for her since entering Skyrim was...going away.
"Shouldn't I come with you? Your family...think I'm a soldier too."
Hadvar shifted again, holding out his hands. "We'll tell them you're on leave. That your injury-"
"I'm not injured," she cut in quickly, watching him closely.

"Then..." he searched. "We say you're traumatised! I don't know, help me out here Abigail!" he threw his hands up in the air, looking to the cavern roof.
Abigail bit her bottom lip, feeling wretched, and spoke up very quietly. "Please don't go."
He looked back down at her, his eyes conveying a sort of weariness. "I'm coming back," he said quietly. "Riverwood's home."
Abigail closed her eyes, made herself breathe. "You promise me?" she opened her eyes again, feeling calmer. "When?"
Hadvar laughed uneasily and stepped forward, taking her shoulders again. "Abigail, I'm a soldier. Helgen - well, what's left of it - was my post, and any who survived will head to Solitude to be reassigned."
Abigail sighed raggedly, trying to tell herself to stop being a baby.
Hadvar laughed a little again at her shudder, tucking Abigail's hair behind her ear. "Hey! You'll be all right. Sit it out here with Sigrid and Dorthe. My uncle Alvor's a good guy, too, and he might even teach you some smithing, if you ask him nicely," he nodded, smiling and ducking to her level. "Maybe you can make me a replacement for that dagger while I'm gone?"
Abigail didn't respond, just stared back at him, searching his eyes.
The sensible part of Abigail told her to nod, to respond. Why was she being such a baby? Hadvar had done so much for her, and she was only being a bother by protesting like a stubborn child, making life more difficult for him.
What if she never saw him again?
A desperate part of Abigail leaned forward a little, slowly, gauging him for response. Too afraid to move any further toward him, she watched him. His grey eyes flickered with yellow torchlight, looking down at her lips for just a second, before meeting her eyes.
Hadvar cleared his throat. "We should leave, it is very late," he said very evenly. His grip on her shoulder was firm, stopping her from moving forward any further.
"Hadvar," Abigail whispered, bringing her hands up to his forearms, indicating she wanted to be let go of. His grip lessened at her touch, and she stepped forward now, his hands sliding around her shoulders to rest on her shoulder blades, his arms embracing her.
Unsure of what she was doing exactly, she looked up at him, placing her hands on his chest, leaning herself ever so slightly against him.
He was very still; his body was rigid.
"What," he breathed, "are you doing?"
"I..." Abigail trailed her hands from his chest to his upper arms, and held them, enjoying the feel of the muscle against her hands. She kneaded his upper arms gently. "...I don't know."

"Abigail," he said in a pained voice, then closed his eyes. Abigail could feel his rigid body shaking a little. "Please. I understand you are frightened, but you don't know what you're doing."
"So teach me?" she whispered again, leaning her face against his chest, placing her lips against his collarbone, very gently.
She felt him shudder, and his hands moved back to her shoulders, urging her away from him.
When she looked up at him, his eyes had a sadness in them that took Abigail back, and she was so focussed on his sad look that she startled when one of his hands left her shoulder to stroke her cheek.
He smiled, though still sadly, at her startle. "See? You don't want this," his voice carried a caring that made Abigail flush.
"I am a son of Skyrim, and we are at war," he continued, dropping his hands to his sides. "And I will do what I believe is right."
Abigail held her arms, hugging herself, wanting to shrink into the rock wall. "I'm...I'm so sorry, Hadvar," she tried, not able to meet his eyes. "I just...thought-"
"Come on," he recollected the torch, and pointed it toward the exit. "We could both use some sleep."
Abigail nodded, mortified, and sad that he wasn't reaching for her hand like before. How could she have been so stupid? Had she thought she could make him stay, by giving herself to him?
Yes, she realised. That was exactly what she had thought.
As she stepped into the tunnel, and as she rounded the first bend, she felt his hand on her upper arm again. She turned back to him, though she could barely see him, the torch's flame dwindling.
"Abigail," he started softly, "if you still feel this way when I return," he leaned in, and Abigail let a small gasp escape, involuntarily, as his lips met her neck. He lingered there, barely touching her, on the spot under her ear, and she closed her eyes, willing him to keep going. She felt as though the spot on her neck was on fire.
He cleared his throat, and whispered. "Don't be afraid to come to me."
Too afraid to touch him after what had happened in the cavern, Abigail swallowed, then nodded, as he pulled back and released her arm.
Without another word, he grabbed her hand and lead them from the cave network, into the brisk cool of Skyrim's night.

Seven years later...
--
Ulfric Stormcloak was dead. He'd died at the hand of General Tullius. The Dragonborn, Abigail, overcome with rage at the rebel's arrogance even in defeat, could not bear to grant the creator of so much turmoil his final request, as much as she desired to strike the killing blow to satisfy the urge to end him.
"Let the songs not be sung," she growled, glaring down at the back of Ulfric's head. "Let Skyrim forget him, for then he is truly dead."
Abigail had seen how much General Tullius had appreciated this tactic, as he'd swept forward and delivered the kill shot.
It would make for a much better song this way, for the Empire. And that's what all of this was for.
--
A while later, and Candlehearth Hall was full of celebrating Legionaires, Dark Elves and Argonians. Non-legion Nords were still aplenty, Abigail noticed, but some of the familiar faces were missing. The barkeep Elda served silently, mutinous glares served to every reveller.
But nobody paid the few dark looks that came any mind, not even Abigail. The Stormcloaks of the city would learn. For too long had they been allowed to oppress any who wasn't Nord. If Abigail had had any doubt over whether she had been fighting for the right side, it had been quashed by the Argonian she had been talking to only a moment ago, Scouts-Many-Marshes. It'd been the first night he'd been in the city and his praise for the Empire wasn't loud or awe-filled. It was quiet, relieved, and tugged at Abigail's heartstrings. Ulfric had been a beast. Scouts-Many-Marshes had thanked Abigail finally for her ending the reign of their oppressor.
“I didn't kill him,” she told the Argonian, repeating the words for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. “It was the General, General Tullius. He delivered the killing blow.”
Abigail was sure Scouts-Many-Marshes didn't believe her, as he took his leave and headed for the bar.
“They'll still say you did it, you know."
Abigail's face lit up at the voice, and she turned quickly, to face a beaming Hadvar, his Imperial armour replaced with civilian clothes. He was holding two tankards.
"A toast?" he held one forward.
Abigail threw her arms around his neck and embraced him, wordlessly. He did his best to return the hug while holding the two tankards.
She could feel the eyes of her officers on them, and revelled in the ability to show affection, not worrying about who outranked who and what was considered appropriate. It didn't matter any more.
She heard him sigh into her hair, and pulled back to look up into his eyes, leaving a hand at the back of his neck, under his hair, while her other took the tankard he'd offered. His free hand fell to her hip.
"A toast," she answered him finally, raising it slightly, twirling a piece of hair at the base of his neck around her finger. "To us. We made it through the war, in one piece."
His smile reached his eyes and he moved the hand on her hip up, to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Yes, we did."
Abigail heard a cat-call from one of the officers, dimly, but her focus was locked on him.
His gaze flickered at the call, though, to the roomful of people momentarily, and Abigail noticed his slight flush. This whole being open about their feelings would take some getting used to, she supposed.
"To all of us," she raised her voice, and her tankard. She was a Legate after all - it was practically her duty to lead the toasts.
The soldiers close by sounded a roar of ascent and Abigail clanked tankards lightly with Hadvar. They sipped.
Abigail took her seat again, and motioned Hadvar the empty one opposite her. "Are you here to stay, or just visiting?" she smirked up at him.
He chuckled and sat. Abigail was pleased to see his flush was gone, his easy manner returned. "I'm hopeful that we'll need never say those words to each other again."
"Mmm," Abigail took another sip of mead. "It would be nice to see each other for more than one night at a time, for a change," she pondered cheekily, voice lowered.
"I'm pleased you think so," he smiled back, voice also lowered in mock conspiracy.

Their relationship had been entirely too cheeky and rushed, since the outset. First time aside, after Riverwood, their encounters had been fleeting and frantic in whenever they discovered they'd been garrisoned together. Secret liaisons in abandoned forts and tents covered in snow. Desperate for their small piece of normality and warmth and comfort, in a world where long life and love were luxuries afforded only to anyone wealthy or apathetic enough to ignore the war.
And during the war, interspersed with Abigail's Dragonborn duties, which had spanned just over seven of their years, the rare meetings had grown into something more. Abigail had grown to care for Hadvar. More than she could have thought possible. His ability to laugh with her in the midst of so much terror filled her with warm hope.
The night carried on and they had little time to talk about the unknown hanging between them. Everybody wanted to drink a toast to Legate Abi, to the Dragonborn, who'd saved their hides at least twice. The resident bard, Arivanya, sat close all night; Abigail could see the words of a ballad forming and reforming in her mind and tried not to grimace at the thought.
A bell sounded eventually and the surly Elda announced it was closing time. “We're closing in five minutes, so you can all clear off!” she growled over the din.
“To the Gnisis!” someone bellowed immediately, which was followed by more laughter and cheering. Chairs scraped as the entire room full of revellers moved towards the exits. Abigail leaped up, grabbing Hadvar's arm so the two of them weren't swept apart in the exodus, and they were hustled toward the door with the crowd.
"The Gnisis? Haven't been there since..." Hadvar trailed off as they were jostled through the front double-doors of Candlehearth.
Abigail stole a look behind her as they were turned about; Elda had quite the mess to clean up. Serve her right for being so rotten to everyone.
"Must be four years now, I guess, how about you?" Hadvar continued, the fresh, cool air hitting them like a wall. Abigail gasped. The revellers were dispersing, the majority heading toward the grey district, though some were clearly worse for wear and calling it a night.
Abigail leaped from the exposed stairs to the side of the tavern, to where she hoped there'd be no wind, then shuffled on the spot, trying to warm up.
"I will never get used to this blasted cold!" she rubbed her hands together.
Hadvar laughed a little, not unkindly, tutting about Imperials and their lack of resilience, as he joined her and took her hands, pressing them between his.
Her eyes followed his movement, as she ignored his jibe at her heritage. She looked down at them, wondering at how much larger his wrists and fingers were than hers.
Abigail shivered still, but a near scalding warmth enveloped her hands. She blinked at him dumbly, marvelling at his resistance to the frosty temperatures. He blinked back, chuckling.
"How do you do that?" she asked quietly.
His eyes never left hers as he raised her hands, still cupped in his, toward his lips. "Do what?" he asked serenely, blowing warm air into a gap between his hands.
Another wave of warmth washed over her hands, and this one flowed through her body. She stifled another gasp, this one not brought on entirely by the weather.
"You know what," she quietened, smirking up at him, but unable to keep the shakiness from her voice. For a moment she baulked, wanting to try to keep the air somewhat light between them. This was the first night they had had in seven years that didn't have to be rushed or hidden; she was actually nervous, realising how she felt for the man standing in front of her, warming her hands in the shadows.
Then she felt his soft lips graze her knuckles. Her focus snapped back to the here and now. To Hadvar.
"I don't know," he was still so quiet, and placed another kiss, this time on her fingertips. "Will you remind me?" he asked.
The tone behind the question melted her and the cold of night was no longer of any concern. With a pang, she wondered - or realised - that he was unsure as well.

Unsure of what? Abigail tried to assess as her mind grew foggy with want, as Hadvar placed a third kiss, this time on a pulse point on her wrist. How did he do what, indeed? How did he hold her in thrall, with a simple kiss to the hand?
"Hadvar..." Abigail urged quietly.
His gaze shifted from her hands, to look down at her. There was no smile or cheekiness now in them, only longing, and they both closed the gap between them, each taking a step forward. Hadvar rested his cheek against hers, closing his eyes.
"Abi," he breathed, caressing her back as he settled his hands in the small, holding her close.
"How you set me on fire," Abigail whispered, nuzzling him and then easing back, answering his earlier question, moving a much warmer hand to his cheek, to caress the stubble growing there and trail the contours of his face. He kissed her thumb as it flicked over his bottom lip and Abigail bit her lip, in anticipation of tasting him again, after all this time. How long had it been? Months? A year? Her free hand came to rest again at the back of his neck and she twined her fingers into the thick brown locks.
He cleared his throat a little, before speaking. "I set you on fire?" his voice was still thick, and somewhat amazed, and he cleared his throat again.
"Mm hmm," Abigail nodded, shifting her weight slightly to bring their bodies even closer. She heard Hadvar stifle his groan this time, and Abigail wondered, incredulously, what he was waiting for? Was he playing with her? Enjoying the anticipation, as much as detesting it, she shifted her head to the side on his neck and softly kissed it. She felt him throb against her body and she smiled, trailing her lips along his neck to his ear. Kissing the point directly below his ear, she lingered, sucking and breathing in the smell and taste of him. Hadvar made another noise, like he wanted to speak again, but said nothing Abi could interpret, trailing his hands back to her hips and taking hold of them firmly. His urgency was building and Abigail kissed back along his cheekbone and down, to finally meet his lips for a brief, hot kiss that pulled the breath from her lungs and made her see stars. She pulled back for a moment, to meet his gaze and catch her breath, before he leaned in for more. The kiss was deep, but soft, conveying a passion, and a caring, that they'd both neither had the time nor control to convey since they'd first begun their relationship, if it could be called that. Hadvar's hands wrapped around her again, protectively, almost, and Abigail held his head to hers, the hair at his neck still entwined, as her other hand found its way under his shirt, to caress the bare skin of his back.
He made another incomprehensible mumbling sound and withdrew from the kiss, leaving Abigail's lips swollen and thirsty for more.
"But you're cold," he mumbled, hugging her closer. From his embrace Abigail kissed his neck again, nipping softly at the beloved spot she had been kissing before, then whispering into his ear, "I'm burning. Can't you feel it?" One of her hands trailed down his side, then inwards, to brush the fabric straining over his erection.
This pulled a deep groan from Hadvar and he leaned into Abigail again, his momentum sending them into the wall of the tavern. Frozen stones met Abigail's back before Hadvar's hands found her backside and lifted her up, pressing against her and crashing his lips forward, and up, now, to meet hers hungrily. The kiss was hard and urgent, and everything they'd always been.
"Wait," he managed through the kiss. He released her lips, pulling her away from the wall and setting her back down onto her feet, putting a small distance between them, though his eyes bore down on her as though it was taking all his might to keep from continuing. "Not like this. Not tonight," his eyes shone with hunger, but there was more than simple lust there, too. Abigail reached for him and he took her hand. "We cannot stay here. You will freeze."
Abigail twined her fingers in his. "We can do much better than the alleyway aside Candlehearth Hall, too," she lead them away, away from the main gates.

"You have friends here?" Hadvar followed, clearing his throat again. He sounded so hopeful in that moment it was all Abigail could do to stop herself from waylaying them again.
Instead, she shook her head, and lead him into a street to the left.
"I have a house here," she told him.
Hadvar scoffed at this surprise and urged her forward. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"
Abigail flicked him a hooded look over her shoulder. "You didn't give me a chance to speak of it."
He laughed now and he grabbed to take her waist - she dashed out of his reach, and he missed. Abi darted forward, laughing herself now, at the sheer joy of it all - of Hadvar, of the war being over. At the playfulness.
"I have to warn you, it isn't much," she turned back to him, taking a few steps backwards toward their destination, keeping him still out of reach. "I've stayed there once, years ago, haven't even properly furnished the place and-"
"Is there wood, a fireplace?" Hadvar interrupted.
Abigail gave him a look. She doubted there was a house in all of Skyrim that didn't have a fireplace.
He smirked and jogged the few steps to meet her, his arm resting over her shoulder. "How did you get a house in Windhelm?"
Abigail shrugged a little. "Money from, you know," she flicked him a glance.
"The dragon days," he answered easily. "And..? Houses aren't exactly easy to come by in a walled city. Let alone the city ruled by your enemy."
Abigail stopped when Hjerim was in view through the fog, and nodded at it from the path. "It was going cheap. There was a..."
Sigh. Ultimate mood killer eminent.
But Hadvar surprised her.
"Hjerim? You bought the murder house?"
Abigail grimaced and nodded. "Yeah. But that was a long time ago. It's been cleansed by priests and...and wizards and some woman claiming to be a shaman-" she babbled a little.
Hadvar shrugged her a little closer. "Hey. We live in Skyrim, love. There's not a stone in this city that hasn't seen blood at some point."
Abigail looked up to him, her mind eased a little.
He continued. "The way I think of it," he started their walking toward the house again, "is that the rest of us who live in Skyrim's bloodied walls? That our love counters the horror. It's all we have, in atonement, I guess," he looked embarrassed at the last, and chuckled to himself as they reached the doorway.
Abigail didn't laugh with him and she stopped them, made him face her, and stood on tip-toe to kiss him. A soft kiss, not demanding in the slightest, and in that kiss she tried to project all the admiration she felt for him. His arms encircled her and she sighed, withdrawing from the kiss, but staying in his arms.
"What was that for?" he asked, a spark in his eye telling Abi that he was more than ready to go back to where they left off beside the tavern.
Abigail rested her hands on his shoulders and sighed with satisfaction. "For you, my love."
Hadvar's smile reached his eyes. "You...called me love?"
Abigail smirked, twining her hands behind his head. "You said it first," she told him. "And you didn't even realise."
Hadvar's eyes widened a little, realising that he had, and before he could respond, Abi leaned back up an captured his lips with hers. He kissed her back immediately, his hands pressing into her back, pulling her forward, gently. She changed the angle of her head, to kiss him deeper, then pulled back, biting his bottom lip softly. He moaned into her mouth, a noise that set her body on fire, again, and while the kiss deepened, and increased its pace, she found herself tugging at the edges of his shirt. His hands roamed her sides, searching blindly for the laces that bound her dress to her body.
When her now-icy hand met the warm skin of his abdomen, he pulled back from the kiss, and smouldered down at her.
"Inside," he managed thickly, before leaning in and pressing his lips to Abigail's neck, trailing heavy kisses along the soft skin there. "Now," he added between kisses.
Abigail leaned into the assault, gasping, her hands gripping his shoulders to steady herself, closing her eyes as the moment deepened.
He stopped the onslaught as his lips reached her ear, whispering "Inside!" again earnestly.

Abigail nodded, swallowing and opening her eyes and steadying her grip on his shoulders, then turned in his grasp to the door, hand fumbling to her pocket for the key.
As soon as her back was to him he shifted his hands, raising one and dropping the other, and his lips were on her neck again. Abigail would have laughed if she hadn't been so caught by his movements. Did he want to go inside or not? His raised arm encircled her, holding one of her breasts firmly and the other hand pulled at her hips, pulling her pelvis back as he rubbed between her thighs through her dress. She moaned as he massaged her with both tantilisingly-positioned hands, and she dropped the key. It fell to the pathway with a tinkle.
This made them both laugh, though Hadvar's laugh came out as a heavy huff of breath on her neck.
"Now look what you've done," he mock scolded.
"What I've done?" the laughter had stalled the fog of passion long enough for Abigail to scold him back, and she removed his hands from her sensitive regions and stepped down back onto the path, reaching over to grab the key.
"Let's try that again?" she held the key up, raising an eyebrow at him. "Step aside, Officer."
He bowed fancifully and stepped aside. "As you command."
She gave him a sideways look as she stepped forward warily, then turned away from him to turn the key in the lock. "Do you know the penalty for making fun of a superior officer in these times, Officer Had-ahhh!"
Her legs were swept out from under her as Hadvar lifted her up in a single swoop and cradled her, an arm each under her knees and supporting her back.
She looped her arms around his neck, and let herself be carried inside. Once through the door, Hadvar settled her feet back on the floor, and turned to close the door and secure the latch.
Abigail watched his movements in the darkness in silence as her eyes adjusted, and when he turned back to her, asked in a small, almost baffled voice, "What was that for? The carrying?"
Hadvar smiled as he stepped up, trailing both his hands carefully down her temples, along her cheeks, resting on her jaw, tilting her head upwards gently, as though finding her in the dark. "Oh, just an old Nord tradition," he whispered, smiling, leaning down.
Abigail wanted to ask more, but the question dissolved as he captured her lips. She didn't need any urging from his hands, still cupping her jaw, his warm fingertips leaving a tingling sensation on her cheekbones. Without realising they'd been moving backwards, Abigail came to rest against the closed door. Hadvar chose that moment to press his pelvis forward, and Abigail felt the heated throb of his erection against her leg. She moaned appreciatively into the kiss, moving one of her hands down to again caress what she'd only had a brief touch of before, though still through the confines of his trousers. He echoed with his own appreciative sound, and ground forward again, pressing her into the door more firmly this time but breaking free of the kiss.
"You have a lovely house," he said, rushed, mumbling, and Abigail managed a laugh before he moved his lips to her neck, and the laughter turned straight back into another appreciative moan, nearly turning into a cry as she bit her lip when he nipped down onto her earlobe and drew it back through his teeth. As payback she dipped her hand down, into his trousers, and took what she could hold of him, pulsing her hand down him once. This caused him to falter his onslaught on her neck and Abigail smiled over his shoulder, at a small win. Divines knew he'd had the upper hand all night already. "We should move out of the doorway, and start a fire..."
Hadvar sighed raggedly, but nodded, reluctantly stepping back, as Abi withdrew her hand from his trousers. She could just make out his face in the darkness, though his eyes were hooded and dark, and she wanted to see them at that moment, see what he was conveying with them. Abigail stepped forward, trailing her hand down his arm as she passed him, and cast magelight in front of her, into the room.

She stared as the dusty, disused, mostly empty house was made slightly more visible in the tiny white light that flowed from her hand. She felt Hadvar shiver, from where she was holding his wrist, and turned back to him. Nords were very superstitious, and any use of magic usually ruffled them.
He smiled, somewhat apologetically. "I have never been able to think of you as a Mage, when we fight side by side with swords. Most people are usually one or the other."
Abigail shrugged and moved forward, inspecting the layer of dust on the mantelpiece with her fingertip, then wiping it away with a grimace. "I'm not a Mage, really. I just...picked up a few tricks, here and there."
Hadvar stepped forward hesitantly and examined the hovering ball of white light. "It will help with finding the wood pile and starting a fire," he considered. "But it's just so...pale," he turned back to face Abigail. "It makes you look like a ghost."
"I'm not a ghost," Abigail smiled wryly, then indicated a hatchway that lead to the basement. "There will be wood down there. It should be very dry by now, come on."
There was plenty of wood, and Abigail loaded up Hadvar's arms before taking an armful herself, the little magelight flickering and dancing beside her head. When the fireplace was stoked Abigail offered to light it with another spell, but Hadvar shook his head, searching instead for a flint.
"What kind of man would I be, if I couldn't light the fire to keep you warm tonight?" he cast her a glance over his shoulder. "Perhaps you can find some blankets not too full of dust?"
Abigail gave him a confused look but he'd turned away already, looking in an end table, closing it, then checking a cupboard. He didn't like magic, sure - Abigail didn't really either, to be fair - but his words struck Abigail as...almost formal. Another Nord tradition, she wondered? They seemed to have traditions for most things, though they had never bothered with tradition or propriety before now. Not that she minded; she just had a feeling at the back of her mind that Hadvar was up to something.
She walked upstairs, to the bedroom, casting magelight once more, then wrinkling her nose at the thick layer of dust on the bed, and turning instead to the cupboard. It contained a variety of pelts, each a little moth eaten, and some rough goats wool blankets. She chose the best of what was there and bundled it up in her arms, traipsing back to the lower levels of the house and letting the magelight extinguish - there was an orange flicker of true firelight and a crackle that promised warmth.
She was going to ask him where he'd found the flint but the words stuck in her throat as she spotted Hadvar. He had his back to her, standing in between her and the fire - and he'd removed his clothing - all of it. The firelight cast flickering lights and shadows across the plains of his muscles, the scars on his back and legs, and his hair glowed a firey red where the light hit it directly, and deep brown where it fell to the shadows.
He turned his head at her approach, but only faced her fully when she reached his side, and he reached out to her, slipping his hand under the neckline of her dress, to push one side off her shoulder. She trembled at his touch, and wondered why she suddenly felt so nervous. The blankets and pelts she had retrieved fell to the floor, forgotten for a moment.
The skin of her shoulder exposed, Hadvar leaned forward to kiss it with a feather-light touch of his lips.
She felt the cool brush of something metal against her shoulder, as he pulled his head back to regard her again. His hands found the ties either side of her dress, and started to unbind them, as Abigail reached forward to touch the only thing Hadvar was wearing, what she'd failed to notice until it had bumped against her shoulder. An Amulet, gold, gaudy, one might say; a circular design with light blue stones set into it. This Nord tradition, she knew of.

Hadvar paused to look down at her hand, which was fingering the Amulet of Mara delicately, then raised his eyes, slowly, to meet hers, a question behind them that both thrilled and terrified Abi. The thrill of what this meant overrode the fear, and she cleared her throat a little, to try make her voice come back to her. She had to acknowledge it. That was how the custom worked, right?
"I see..." she started slowly, "you are wearing an Amulet of Mara?"
Hadvar nodded, and his hands stilled from their work on her dress, resting on her sides, his eyes searching hers. "I am. Are you...interested?"
Abigail smiled, absurdly nervous, and took over what he had paused doing - unlacing the last few strands of leather that held the sides of her dress together. At her movement his hands went back to work and they had it unlaced swiftly. With a gentle wriggle, it pooled around Abigail's feet, along with her undergarments.
She embraced him, and for a moment the two of them stood, still, in the flickering firelight, holding one another and enjoying the feeling of their naked bodies against one another.
"Am I interested in you?" she breathed his question back to him, running her fingertips down his back. He stayed silent, but shuddered under her touch.
Then Abigail stepped back. Hadvar's hands trailed her sides, as she stepped, and came to rest on her hips.
She put a hand on his chest, urging backwards. "Sit, my love."
Hadvar didn't break her gaze as he obliged. He knelt, his hands still secured to her hips, and he stared up lovingly. Abigail knelt, putting her palm to his chest again, urging him backward. He leaned back, against the pile of woollen blankets that had pooled at their feet, and Abigail leant with him, over him, her hair falling forward to caress his cheek. She shifted her knees so they pressed against his sides.
Veiled from the world by the curtain of her hair, he reminded her, "You haven't answered me." His eyes were dark, longing, his pupils dilated, but she heard the pang of worry in his tone. Did he believe – did he fear, that she would only be interested in sparse, brief trysts now the war was over, she wondered? They had never talked of marriage, not in all their years. Marriage was for those lucky enough to not be part of the war.
She leaned down, kissed him in answer, and felt his hands on the small of her back pull her forward, deeper into the kiss.
She broke it to run a hand down the side of his face and gaze into his eyes. "I am amazed, truly, that you would have me for a wife. Yes, I am interested in you," she laughed a little, as the smile broke out on his face. "I've been in love with you since I was a useless child, since you saved me at Helgen."
She could see his eyes misting as she spoke, and she shifted the angle of her head, to renew their kiss, and at the same time inched her body backward, closer to his tip. It tickled her backside, smooth and warm. The feel of his erection, throbbing against her, but not inside her - the anticipation was intoxicating and she let slip a gasp, biting his bottom lip again. Hadvar's hands clenched to her waist as he tilted her upward into a sitting position and she reached behind herself, to grip him at his base in her hand. She pumped him once, taking her time with her hand, arching herself back so his enormous girth pressed firmly between her buttocks, the warmth of her core grinding against his lower abdomen. As she arched, he moaned her name and reached for her breasts, cupping, massaging them, and supporting her at the same time.
"Abi," he breathed.
"Shh," she whispered, taking one of his wrists with her unoccupied hand, leading him from breast, to between her legs, urging his fingers forward. "We don't have to rush, this time," she whispered again, leading his fingertips into her folds, as she pumped her other hand back down him again and they arched against each other.
"I know, my love," Hadvar replied thickly, as he dipped his fingers into her again, and she rocked against him, pumping her hand down and pressing him against her buttocks again in time.
He hissed and closed his eyes a moment, then said, "But I need you. Now."

Abigail was panting with want as well, but was enjoying the position of power, all too much. The build up was coiling inside her like a spring, waiting for that moment of release, and they hadn't even truly begun.
"Don't make me beg," Hadvar said in an almost laughing plead, as Abigail changed her position again, and his hand was no longer in reach of her sweet spot.
She stopped teasing him and let go of his girth, bringing her hands both to his chest and pressing her palms on him, never breaking his gaze. He gripped her waist again, and leaned her very slightly forward and up, along the outside of his shaft, pausing at her entrance. She closed her eyes, feeling him pulse against her opening.
"My love," he spoke, his voice low and thick. She opened her eyes and watched him, as he eased her back down, slowly, on top of his erection, staring straight into her eyes, while he filled her completely in a single stroke. Abigail let out a cry of pleasure, shock, surprise and release, as her inner muscles gripped down onto him, unable to stop from closing her eyes and crying out to the heavens.
"Then you, you need to say," Hadvar instructed, rocking her hips forward a little at the urging of his hands. Abigail ground against him in response, and he cried out, gripping her hips tighter and bucking up against her.
"I say what, my love?" Abigail asked, rocking forward, sliding him completely out of her, just, before settling herself back onto him as he lifted upward. She arched her back, palms pushing down firmly on his chest.
"You say," Hadvar faltered, grunting as Abigail rode up, then down on him again, and he rose his hips to meet her. "You have to say...something," he lost his train of thought, as Abigail rode a little faster than before.
Abi lifted and lowered herself, with Hadvar's hands and hips urging her movements, setting a slow, but sure, deep rhythm, forcing each other to hold back. Neither of them wanted to rush this.
"I say, something, then, as you command," Abigail bit her bottom lip and gasped as Hadvar thrust into her, harder than before, and withdrew completely.
Before he could thrust back into her, she changed her position atop him, turning and spreading her knees wide, to slide down his shaft again, but at this angle his intrusion hit a different sensitive spot inside her. Her deep moan encouraged him and he arched forward to get a better angle. When she rose this time, he gripped onto her waist, pulling her back onto him as he drove his hips upward. The hand not on her waist, guiding her as she rose and fell, traced around her hip, and reached forward further to tickle the enflamed bud between her folds. Abigail spasmed at his touch, and he reached down past her clit to slip his fingers into her, just as his penis exited, then moved back to tickling her clitoris as he re-entered her.
"Hadvar!" she panted, reaching her hand down to between her legs, gripping the base of his erection and following his movement as he entered and exited, her fingertips broaching the edge of her own folds. A pressure wave built inside her abdomen and she bucked against him harder. Hadvar's busy hand moved from tickling her, to her leg, and the next time she rose, he lifted it, bringing her back around to face him.
She was panting, confused at his interrupting the rhythm when she was so close, but he pushed deep inside her before she could question, and leaned up to pull her shoulders toward him, so they met now in a sitting pose. He thrust up into her again, holding her close, his arms wound around her so his hands gripped her shoulders. She rose and fell, as he thrust upward, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

"Let me look into your eyes when you come," he breathed, pupils dilated with lust, and Abigail shuddered, and rocked against him, their rhythm renewed. Another moment they could take time with, for once. No enforced secrecy and silence subduing them, no frantically withdrawing at the final moment in an attempt to ensure no accidents were created during war time, their orgasms furiously withheld or expelled on top of their bodies, or into whatever clothing was within reach.
He urged her up and down while keeping her chest pressed to his, locking gaze. Abigail obliged, trying to keep her eyes on his as the coiling spring in her belly pressed harder and harder against her.
As the pace built, Abigail felt the warm glow begin to seep through her, and she let out a whimper as her eyes fluttered closed, involuntarily. The glow spread as Hadvar drove himself deeper, faster inside her, and the wave of ecstasy flowed through Abigail and her muscles clamped around him. Her undoing was his, and as the glow in her overtook her senses, Hadvar cried out her name and thrust deep into her. Abigail was filled with the warmth of his orgasm, for the first time in seven years, which only made her feel hotter and served to fuel her own all over again as the wave of heat doubly assailed her. She gripped onto his shoulders, her nails digging into him as he pumped, more gently than before, filling her, and she rode deeper and slower than before, her thighs slick with moisture. She stifled her moan by setting her mouth to his shoulder, biting down for the final moments as he thrust himself upward and held himself up inside her. The organ still flickered against her, deep inside, as the last of his orgasm escaped him and the seed of his lovemaking started to trickle back out of her, warming and tickling her legs.
"Oh my love," he panted into her neck, his forehead slick with sweat as it rested against her.
By way of answer, she rested fully against him, her mouth kissing his neck softly, a small "Mmm" escaping her.
He chuckled softly at this, and lifted her gently off him, but keeping her close, straddling him, her arms on his shoulders. She revelled in the ache between her thighs, an ache she'd waited too long to feel again.
So it is settled? You and me, together?"Hadvar confirmed, nose nuzzling her neck before placing a light kiss there.
His eyes shone in the post-coital haze, and Abi leaned back over to embrace him, feeling his back and forehead were thick with sweat. They hugged each other by the fire, their vowed exchanged to make what should have been made seven years ago official.
Abigail nodded, drawing back to look into his eyes again, the wake of their lovemaking leaving her hazy. "Yes. You and me," she replied. "Together."
--

The End. Hope that was something like what you wanted!

Not OP, but that was amazing A!A! It was sweet but you captured the harshness of Skyrim appropriately, and I loved you Drabonborn. So heart-warming. :)

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