skyrimkinkmeme | Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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This is such a weird request but hear me out!

The thing I love about fics usually boils down to mundane situations in which the main character is either having a normal conversation with someone or doing something extremely boring like cooking, cleaning, etc. Because those moments usually give way to awesome headcanons and it also seems to be great on building up characters. (Seriously, that's my biggest joy in fics. Like a nerd.)

Anyways, that's really what I'm asking for. Whether its a Dragonborn or NPC or whoever, just.. give me a snippet of their life. Of the Dragonborn counting change at Belethor's or Telma cooking for the companions and talking to Ria in the process about her love life or Mjoll and Aerin watching the market and her telling him a tale of adventure or whatever. Whatever!

Actually, double props if Dragonborns are used because I love people's stories for their characters. And if you want to add a kink, since this is a kink meme, maybe even throw in discussion of a kink over breakfast or after-sex conversation, etc.

Just.. give me your mundane lives, anons.

I promise a Rozenn!fill for this, but I don't know when it will happen.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm really excited for that

Would it be okay to write a fill with a DB's spouse and kids, or would that count as a Hearthfire DLC fill?

*coughs* I don't consider that DLC due to me only have played the Legendary version, but it's up to you. I encourage it since I AM CURIOUS AND A CHARACTER HOUND but if you don't feel right as it might violate the terms, it's no worries.

Finally!

I've had my Asta/Ulfric one shot fic sitting around on my computer waiting for someone to prompt something like this OuO

Yessssssssss

I'll be right back ouo

I may have been planning another mundane fic too with them. We shall see

Summary; Asta is still adjusting to the changes in her life- but maybe they aren't all so bad.

Tags: Char: F!DB Char:Ulfric Race:Nord Kink:Pregnancy Pairing:Het Kink:Fluff Series:Asta

So, this was a little one shot I did in the hopes of drawing out my muse to update my Nora fics. But now I have a het pairing and that's cool too. This is what started it all, and it's technically the sequel to Of Gods and Monsters (Part 4, page 21 for those interested), but I consider OGAM the prequel to Domestic(which I swear I will update OGAM one day).

"Asta. Come inside."

"Just a little while longer."

"You shouldn't be out this late in your... condition."

The Nordic lady took a deep breath, determined not to rise to the bait. Nothing grated her nerves as hard or fast as being treated like some gentle, exotic flower who'd shrivel at the slightest inclination. Rather, she turned and smiled at him before starting her way down the stairs.

"Walk with me."

"Asta." His voice was sharper, more cutting, demanding she yield to him.

She wouldn't. He knew. She never listened to anything he said- why would she start now?

She ignored him, continuing down the steps. Though they split their time between Windhelm and Solitude, she'd never had much time to explore. The only time she'd ever been here, in Solitude, Asta had always some goal, one way or the other. When given a purpose, she had a one track mind, and didn't allow for distractions such as exploring.

Were Ulfric to have his way, Asta would currently be cooped up in a bed, sitting on her backside and stuffing her face with boiled crème treats (though those did sound delectable right about now...). Never one to stay put for long, her wandering spirit was laid slightly to rest by simply walking and exploring this new city she'd never been acquainted with. No- her days of traipsing over Skyrim wherever she felt were long over. But did she miss it?

Skyrim was no longer struggling with a civil war, and the dragons were no longer a problem. The Thalmor loomed over them, heavy and oppressive as ever, even closer now that the barrier of the Empire was gone- but they would be dealt with in time. Skyrim would not fall.

The sound of snow being crunched under feet was not a surprise to Asta in the slightest. In all actuality, it was what she wanted. Let him follow after her.

Being placed on bed rest would be detrimental to her mental health. Her aimless wandering of the Palace was encouraged by the Court Wizard, which really only mattered when Ulfric would start arguing with her, as he often did. Lately though, even the Palace was beginning to feel too cramped; and Ulfric was grating on her nerves with his over possessive behavior. Though... well, she certainly didn't agree to it, and rarely paid attention to him when he was acting like that, in an abstract way she could understand his reasoning. Pregnancy was perilous in Skyrim on a good day, and Asta was hardly some fresh young eighteen year old girl. The fact that this was her first did not stack the odds in her favor.

Just because she understood where he was coming from didn't mean she agreed with where he was coming from- that had been proven time and time again.

Being domestic after a lifetime of wandering was a hell of an adjustment. Early on, the trips between Solitude and Windhelm had helped keep her restless spirit relaxed, but Ulfric was insistent they cease traveling this late in the pregnancy. There was still three months.

Asta wasn't the only restless one; the little life budding inside her could never seem to hold still. There was many a sleepless night for Asta because the baby wouldn't stop kicking and wiggling and shifting.

"What do you think you're doing?" His voice was low; didn't want the guards to hear. Asta found that pointless- surely no one would think Asta, the Dragonborn, would roll over and crawl on her hands and knees because Husband didn't approve. While she had the presence of mind to not make a spectacle of it, the Dragon Queen rarely did something she didn't want to, even when implored by Husband and High King.

"Walking."

"Asta-"

"Ulfric." Voice equally clipped as his was with hers. All she wanted to do was wander the city at night, to see it when it wasn't crawling with people who wanted to pester her with questions and put their hands on her belly. Oh sweet Divines, if one more person- "I just want to walk- stretch my legs out some."

"If you just wanted to str-" A pointed glare cut him off the second she'd seen the innuendo coming. "Fine." For a man nearing fifty, he was prone to acting like a teenager at times.

Domestic [1b/1]

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-10 19:28 (UTC) - Expand

Domestic [1c/1]

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-10 19:29 (UTC) - Expand

OP

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-10 23:29 (UTC) - Expand

Rozenn!Anon

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-11 00:00 (UTC) - Expand

o/////////////o -blushing A!A is blushing

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-16 04:06 (UTC) - Expand

Characters: Altmer F!DB, Ghorbash, Kharjo, Blaise, Lucia
Kinks: Humor, fluff, marriage, family
Relationships: Het, gen
Summary: Coming home after several days of adventuring is something the Dragonborn always looks forward to, especially now that she has adopted children. However, the idyllic family life isn’t exactly what greets her when she returns to her once-beautiful manor…

x-x-x-x-x

My face fell the instant my homestead came into view. I slowed my horse as I took in the mess strewn around my manor, spotting broken fence pieces, spoiled food, and even someone’s underwear decorating the front lawn. My animals had scattered around the property, with my cow somehow loitering on the balcony above the master bedroom. Initially, I thought another group of bandits had attacked, and panic shot through my limbs when I heard screaming from inside.

“Kharjo, let’s hurry,” I said to my Khajiit follower as I leaped off my horse and sprinted forward on foot.

I heard him do the same, and I drew my glass sword in one hand as an ice spell appeared in my other. The circlet and enchanted robes I wore glowed in response to my adrenaline. Intent on saving my family from whatever disaster had occurred here, I kicked open the front door and charged through the entry room, only to stumble to a halt when I reached the main hall.

Not only did the entire space look like I had repeatedly Shouted Unrelenting Force with wild abandon, a (rather loud) conflict was indeed taking place. Only, it was not so much outside danger as it was a war between angry family members.

Incensed cries and yells assaulted my ears as I watched my Orsimer husband, Ghorbash, swiftly losing his parental leverage. With one arm, he held our thrashing son, Blaise, upside down in the air while the other tried to soothe our crying daughter, Lucia. My jaw dropped when I realized her sable hair had been hacked into uneven chunks, and Ghorbash was actually shaking Blaise like a tambourine in order to get him to drop the iron dagger still in his hands.

None had noticed my less than subtle entrance, engrossed as they were in their arguing and the children’s general proclamations of hatred for each other. Neither my housecarl nor my steward were anywhere to be found, but my bard, Llewellyn, trudged by, nursing a black eye and a sour expression. I sheathed my sword at my hip and gave Kharjo an apologetic look before extending my palm and sending an ice spike into the wooden dining table.

The chaos ceased at once. Several pairs of eyes locked onto me, and as soon as I opened my mouth to ask what in Oblivion had happened here, I found myself interrupted by my children launching themselves at my waist.

“Mama!”

“Ma!”

“I hate Blaise! He’s terrible! Look what he did to my hair!”

“Lucia started it! She pricked my bum with my own dagger!”

“That’s not true!”

“I can prove it!”

And so, in front of the guest I’d hoped to introduce over supper, my charming son whirled around, bent over, and pulled down his trousers, exposing his arse for all to see.

There was never a more mortified parent than I at that moment.

“Look! That wound on my right cheek!” Blaise shouted, pointing at a red spot I could barely make out.

“Eww, put your bum away. Though that’s your better end, isn’t it?” Lucia hissed, tears and mucus still pouring from her facial orifices as she clung to me.

“Enough. Blaise, pull your pants back up. Lucia, stop blowing your nose into my robes,” I chastised while sending my spouse a glare that said, what happened here?

Ghorbash, a mighty and esteemed warrior from the Dushnikh Yal stronghold, only shrugged sheepishly and retorted, “I looked away for one second, Efaldra!”

Sighing, I ushered the children toward their room and made a mental note to drill them with manners and etiquette as soon as possible. Had I brought them back as they were to my home city in the Summerset Isles, I would have been the laughingstock of Alinor, Dragonborn or no. Once I sentenced both of them to timeout on opposite sides of the room, I returned to the main hall, only for Lucia to blatantly disobey me by scurrying up to the heavily armed Kharjo.

“A kitty! Mama, I didn’t know you had a kitty! He’s so cute,” she gushed, all evidence of her distress gone. “Can I keep him? Please?”

With horror, I clamped my hands over her mouth and dragged her back to her timeout corner, asking Kharjo to excuse her inadvertently racist remarks. My follower seemed amused more than anything, at least. After telling Lucia to stay put—and promising to fix what I could of her horrid new hairstyle—I wandered back past the fireplace, where Llewellyn was plucking away at his lute with clear bitterness.

“What happened to him?” I inquired when I reached Ghorbash’s side, nodding to the bard’s bruised mug.

My husband grunted and crossed his arms. “Once the calamity started, he suggested that we put the kids back where we found them. So I put him back in his place.”

That certainly knocked my sympathy for Llewellyn down several notches. We listened to his unenthusiastic playing for a few seconds before I glanced around and frowned.

“Where are Rayya and Derkeethus?”

“Your loyal housecarl has been hiding in the cellar, and your steward said something about heading out to purchase more building materials… all the way over in Darkwater Crossing,” Ghorbash replied dryly.

I ran my hand over my face and nodded. “Of course. Well, had Kharjo and I known that there was a Lakeview civil war, we would have gotten some rest before heading here.”

“Yeah…” Ghorbash suddenly rumbled, narrowing his eyes at the Khajiit in the doorway. “So who’s your friend, Efaldra?”

I recognized the wary and aggressive tone, and I hurried to put a stop to my spouse’s jealousy before it spiraled out of control again, such as the time I had brought home a dashing Nord follower. Vorstag still refused to talk to me on account of the beating he had received after making one too many appreciative comments about my chest in front of Ghorbash. Fortunately, Kharjo was the most platonic follower I’d run into thus far.

“This is Kharjo, and no, I am not his type, he has no interest in getting acquainted with my cleavage, and you are not to contact the Circle and have them chase him around in beast form for your amusement,” I declared, already sensing the devious ideas that popped into his head.

Ghorbash huffed, glowering at Kharjo in warning. “Fine. But I’m keeping my eye on you, cat.”

Passerby anon here. LOL oh I am loving this home life look a!a and I really like the various races you feature in one household. please continue!

I agree with the above passerby. I am literally camped out here making LJ obey my refreshes to see where this goes. I love that Kharjo is included because he's the sweetest follower ever.

A!A

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-12 00:29 (UTC) - Expand

Re: A!A

(Anonymous) - 2013-12-12 12:57 (UTC) - Expand

Kharjo’s answering mischievous grin did not help.

The rest of the afternoon went by… no less chaotically.

Following their timeout session, Blaise and Lucia grabbed several tokens of my affection that I had lovingly set next to their beds and flung them at each other. Gems, rare books, and custom pieces of armor I’d paid good money for became makeshift ballistics. It took both Ghorbash and myself to put a stop to the rapid rate of fire, and only when I threatened to relocate the family to the cramped quarters of Breezehome did the children stalk off in different directions. A headache crawled its way through my temples as my spouse grabbed the nearest liquor bottle and plopped himself into a nearby chair.

“Who knew raising kids could be so exhausting?” he wheezed, pouring himself a drink. “I once went three training days without resting during my time in the Legion. Ten minutes with these two rugrats, and I’m ready to take a nap.”

“Maybe parents develop some kind of special stamina when they start with babies,” I mused. “We must have missed that crucial metamorphosis by going the adoption route.”

Ghorbash leered at me. “So should we try for a baby once all this dragon business is finished? Start the whole childrearing thing from the beginning?”

The suggestion brought warmth to my face, and I sent him my best sultry smile as I prepared to deliver a coy response.

Unfortunately, my flirtatious moment was ruined by a new commotion resounding from the main hall. Exhaling in vexation, I crossed babies off the to-make list for the time being and spun around to stomp out. A skeever greeted me from my dining table, and despite Llewellyn’s best efforts to smash it with his lute, it scurried around evading the attacks until it made the decision to leap straight at me.

The stream of flames that surged from my hand barbecued it in midair, and its charred corpse hit the wall next to me as a shrill howl suddenly filled the entire manor.

“Why would you do that?” Blaise shrieked from the other side of the table. “I was going to ask if I could keep it as a pet. I’m never speaking to you again!”

And off he went in an overdramatic display of anguish that raised questions about his masculinity.

Kharjo sauntered over to stand next to me, feline features set in an observant expression. “This has been… very enlightening.”

“Indeed,” I answered with deep dismay. “I was naïve to think that perhaps this would be one time my family didn’t completely embarrass me.”

“Hey! Back up from my wife before I turn you into a fur rug, Cargo!” Ghorbash barked from the bedroom.

My fingers came up to pinch the bridge of my nose in a pose of weariness as I addressed my follower. “If you can find a section of the manor that isn’t teeming with hostility or insanity, please feel free to make yourself at home,” I told him. “And we will spend only one night here, I promise. Any longer, and I’ll be far too tired to bother facing the World-Eater.”

Once Kharjo went to try his luck at the north wing, I hunted down Rayya, who was having a grand time hammering away at the cellar’s fully functional forge—which, in retrospect, seemed a terrible idea to build below the abode where my children lived. Something about the noxious fumes, but oh well; it was done. My Redguard housecarl snapped to attention when I snatched the blacksmith hammer from her hand, and reluctantly, she complied with my order to station herself at the kitchen and cook dinner.

I took a few blessed minutes of peace to myself, unloading the items from my pack into the safes and chests surrounding the forge. A self-professed hoarder, I produced animal pelts, ingots, daggers, and potions that should have been physically impossible to all fit into the simple traveling bag I lugged around with me on my adventures. I was halfway through my obsessive-compulsive organizing when the surface over my head suddenly shook from a loud impact. Cursing, I dropped the ingots I was arranging in alphabetical order and dragged myself to the ladder leading back to the manor.

The interior had been evacuated, but the telltale sounds of a battle waging outside brought new speed to my movements. Dashing to the open entrance, I came upon the sight of my follower, my spouse, my bard, and my housecarl taking on an incensed giant that had murdered all of my chickens. So busy was I mourning for my deceased poultry, that the members of my household managed to kill the giant without my help.

“While I would never question your priorities, my Thane, I’m surprised at your concern for the chickens when the children are in hysterics over there,” Rayya commented in a flat tone, pointing to Blaise and Lucia quivering in the stables.

“Of course the children are first on my mind,” I sputtered as my face flushed. Leaning down, I grabbed the chickens and shoved them at her. “Here. You might as well add them to the meal. Now back to the kitchen with you.”

Once again demoted from guardian warrior to domestic chef, Rayya took the birds and made her disgruntled way back inside. Llewellyn and Kharjo followed her while Ghorbash herded Blaise and Lucia up the stairs to the balcony on the other side of the manor since they refused to go near the giant’s corpse. It had begun raining, and I had to coax my carriage driver to come in out of the downpour when, for some incomprehensible reason, he stubbornly declined to leave his post.

With everyone inside, I glanced at the dead giant now draped over my doorstep.

Meh. We’ll move that thing later. Bloody chicken-killing savage.

In the next hour, I spent a ridiculous amount of time playing hairdresser to my distraught daughter. All attempts to salvage her once-vibrant tresses ended in an unsightly crew cut that even I wanted to claw my eyes out over. When she asked for a mirror to see the results, I spared her the horror and sent her off to play. Blaise, still cross with me for roasting his disgusting rat pet (which I wouldn’t have allowed him to keep, anyway), took to following Kharjo around and lamenting about how it was unfair, how everything was unfair, and no one understood him. I witnessed Kharjo’s eyes glaze over as he offhandedly agreed with all the complaints pouring from the boy’s mouth.

Dinner, of course, turned out to be a disastrous event. Rayya stood at the far end of the dining table and unleashed a defensive running documentary about how she was trained for combat, not cooking. After one taste, Kharjo and I silently pushed away our bowls of the concoction trying to pass off as stew. Llewellyn leaped from the table with the declaration that he felt ill, Blaise and Lucia outright spat their mouthfuls at each other, and Ghorbash stomped to the kitchen with the intention of preparing a meal that was at least edible. The carriage driver, Gunjar, who had waited for everyone else’s reactions before tasting the stew, set his spoon down, looking smug.

“Damn it, Derkeethus,” I muttered to myself as the space erupted with louder chatter and arguing. “Now would be a fantastic time to have my steward hire an in-house chef. How do the children even eat while I’m gone?”

When Llewellyn returned to the main hall, I barked at him to play something that would hopefully distract people enough to prevent further mayhem.

“What would you like me to play?”

“For the love of the Nines, I don’t care, just hurry up and let me hear something besides all this quarreling,” I snapped, rubbing my temples.

He picked up his flute just as Blaise and Lucia decided on using their spoons as catapults for Rayya’s food. My offended housecarl remained in her spot with her arms folded over her chest, and Kharjo was kind enough to help me separate the wayward siblings to different wings of the manor. While he carted Blaise over to the storage room, I sat Lucia down in the kitchen, where Ghorbash muttered about how ridiculous it was for a woman to utterly fail at something so simple and domestic like making stew.

“I just don’t understand,” he griped, throwing leeks and peeled potatoes into a pot of boiling beef stock. “The men over in Dushnikh Yal would make better wives than your housecarl, Efaldra.”

“Well, in her defense, she did state that she hadn’t been taught the art of domesticity. I’m no four star chef myself.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got your looks going for you.” My husband sent me an impish wink and a tusk-filled grin.

Despite my sheer exhaustion, I chuckled. “You, sir, are biased.”

Lucia stared back and forth between us during the exchange and wrinkled her nose. “Ew. I knew this about Papa because he’s always making goo-goo eyes when you come home, Mama, but I expected better of you. Just, eww…”

And then I, the Dragonborn of legend, was accused of having cooties.

Later on, after everyone managed to eat a stew that didn’t assail our gag reflexes, I readied the children for bed. Or, at least, tried to.

Blaise, in a fit of childish mischief, ran away wearing only his underwear when Ghorbash attempted to give him his evening bath. In the next room, I fared worse with Lucia, who, upon seeing her reflection in the bathwater, wailed like a banshee and threw a temper tantrum that both Rayya and I failed to restrain. This went on for the better part of a half hour until we decided to just sort of dunk her into the basin a few times and call it sufficient.

Both children put up a fight when we tucked them into their beds. Eventually, all the adults ended up in the bedroom, trying to convince them to go to sleep.

“But Mama, you’ll be gone by the morning, won’t you?” Lucia pouted from under the frilly white nightcap she insisted on wearing for the next several months.

“Yeah, we don’t want to fall asleep when we don’t know when you’ll be back,” Blaise added, evidently having gotten over his anger at me.

Their unhappy faces tugged at my heartstrings, and I found myself torn between duty and parental love. Kharjo stepped forward at that moment, offering to tell them a few bedtime stories of his homeland that would carry them over until I returned. I sent him a grateful look when they accepted, and I had Llewellyn play some soft background music as we settled in to listen. The atmosphere finally winded down to a calm quality, with Kharjo’s lilting, accented voice weaving together the tales of Elseweyr.

Ghorbash took my hand and entwined our fingers as Blaise and Lucia’s eyelids grew heavy. Once Kharjo finished the last story and Llewellyn plucked the final few notes on his lute, I stood and planted a kiss on each child’s forehead. The adults tiptoed out, and I was about to shut the doors and thank the Divines for the peace and quiet I so desperately needed.

The front entrance banged open.

“I have returned!” Derkeethus’s voice announced. “By the way, did you all know there’s a dead giant out in the front?”

NO!

My heart plummeted when the children’s eyes instantly popped open. Our achievements in the past twenty minutes came undone as they shot out of their beds and barreled past me to greet my friendly Argonian steward—whom I now wanted to kill.

“Derkeethus! Derkeethus! What took you so long?” they chirped.

“Damn it, lizard!” Ghorbash roared from downstairs. “Efaldra and I were able to get these two to sleep at last, then you come in and just ruin everything!”

“Oh, she’s here?” was Derkeethus’s nonchalant reply. “Excellent! I need to let her know I borrowed one of her horses, which, sadly, didn’t make it on the journey back…”

“She will be most displeased,” Kharjo remarked. “I have seen how she reacts when her equines die.”

“And who might you be?”

The volume of noise escalated as everyone began talking at once, and above the new ruckus, Llewellyn called, “Should I play something again, mistress?”

I stayed frozen on the spot in front of the children’s bedroom, fuming and too livid to respond.

“Derkeethus, I need another opinion on this stew I made earlier.” Rayya’s voice joined the fray. “Perhaps the Argonian digestive system will have better luck with it.”

“Don’t do it,” Gunjar warned. “That culinary abomination is better off as poison.”

“Say that again, carriage driver,” Rayya snarled.

When all the bickering reached an intolerable crescendo, I commanded my legs to walk… out the north balcony and down the stairs to escape the manor. I came upon an amateur conjurer at some ritual stones down by the lake, and I absentmindedly zapped him to death when he turned hostile. Sighing, I sat next to the skeleton he’d laid out on an altar in the middle of the stone circle, weary beyond my mind.

However, I had found silence and tranquility at last.

“You’re the only one who understands me,” I said to the skeletal remains of some unfortunate soul. “The quiet is best. Now move. This is the only place around here where I can get some rest.”

This had me in stitches! Such a fun little story, easily one of my faves. Wonderfully done, a!a!

haha! poor efaldra, has to sleep next to a skeleton just to get some peace. fantastic writing!

I've never written for Skyrim before but damn, always a first time!

Characters: Altmer F!PC, Nenya, Jarl Siddgeir, Helvard, Legate Skulnar
Genre: Humor, Fluff
Relationships: General
Summary: The Thane of Falkreath comes back from a morning hunt for meat to last the months of winter.

Tags: char:F!PC, char:nenya, char:siddgeir, es:skyrim, kink:fluff

BG: My Altmer mage, Kjersti is the only Thane of Falkreath I actually try and make act like a Thane. She takes Siddgeir’s verbal abuse with stride but I blame that on her aloofness. She literally had done nothing else but remain in Falkreath, wiping out encampments and doing bounties when required as well as slaving over her house (which must be perfect). One day I’m sure she can go to the College of Winterhold to learn magic but until then… all her found gold is to benefit Siddgeir’s treasury.

--

“We’re back!” Kjersti cried as she entered the hall, snow falling off her cloak to stain the stones as she struggled to bring in the nearly-frozen elk carcass. The warmth from the hearth fire hit her senses head on and she immediately began to sniff, her nose running and her cold cheeks feeling painful as she blundered in. Helvard came after her, carrying another elk over his shoulder with ease while he tried to grip the legs of her kill. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold, his scaled armor stiff against his skin and his cheeks a bit red but other than that he was just as if he walked out into a summer’s day.

It was the only thing Kjersti envied about the Nords. She dropped the elk unceremoniously on the floor which caused the Steward of Falkreath to quickly skitter out of the Jarl’s bedroom, a paper still in her hand as she checked the door. She shivered and stayed at a considerable distance.

“Kjersti! Helvard! Oh…” she looked disappointed for a moment. “Is that all you got? Two elk?”

“No,” she shook her head, snow falling off to wet the floor some more before she nearly scrambled to the hearth, her fingers clenching painfully as she tried to warm them. “There’s a whole cart full, as was instructed. I think we have seven in all?” She looked to the housecarl who only nodded before exiting to go get the others, his elk placed gently by the door near hers. “That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“I certainly hope so,” Nenya commented, pondering until the Jarl exited his chambers, his winter furs now donning his body making Kjersti stand up and bow. He gave her a look.

“You’re cold?” he snorted and she flushed. “Honestly, you elves. It’s barely even brisk out, grow some skin.”

“Siddgeir,” Nenya warned but as usual he ignored her and strolled into his wine cellar. Kjersti only gave a small laugh before she leaned further into the fire. She had to take her gloves off during the hunt, unable to properly conjure a spell with them on and she regretted it now that the feeling was coming back. She blew on her fingertips as if it would help but it only seemed to make them more painful. Nenya took pity.

“Here,” she strode over, tucking the paper under her arm and took her hands, rubbing her warm ones against them making her sigh. “By the eight, you are cold.”

“That’s the punishment I get for favoring magic, I suppose,” she lightly commented but Nenya shook her head.

“I would favor it as well if I traveled. It’s a comfort to have,” she rubbed a bit harder. “But we are thankful you use it. Weapons alone cannot protect Falkreath, what with more rogue necromancers and witches on the loose.”

Kjersti frowned at her words. “Has there been a report of any again?”

She sighed, rubbing her hands a bit longer before she withdrew and took the paper again, handing it to her. It was a rough decree. Kjersti pursed her lips as she stared at it. She still couldn’t read for the life of her.

“Um.”

“We’re putting out a bounty on the bandits at Embershard Mine since,” Nenya let out a heavy sigh as she said it. “They’re not paying enough...”

“Oh.”

“But there is also a secondary bounty of a supposed witch living in the old Falkreath Tower. I believe it’s near your manor.”

Kjersti fiddled her hands, bringing them near the fire again as she thought of the location. There was one main entrance but who knew how many ‘people’ could hole up in it. She knew she might have to take a trek later that evening to survey it before deciding her best course of action to take on infiltrating it which made her shiver. Her mind drifted to the snow banks she would have to break through and she felt her previous joyful mood fade.

Her Jarl came back out of the cellar with a bottle of mead in hand. “Are you still by the fire? Honestly, do you work at all?!”

“Sorry, my Jarl,” she bowed, forgetting where she was and she nearly tumbled into the fire which made Nenya yell. Siddgeir merely laughed, taking a drink before striding confidently to his throne.

“Sometimes I wonder how I made such an idiot my Thane,” he chuckled and Kjersti flushed again, fidgeting with the neck of her cloak as Nenya straightened her. “Well… You do bring in good coin so I suppose that is a plus.”

“Thank you, my Jarl,” she bowed again, this time not towards the fire and Nenya gave him a look.

“Siddgeir, she does more than that. Honestly, can’t you be civil to your own court?”

He took a long drink, staring at her while he did and when he finished he merely shrugged, the bottle being lightly rocked in his hand. “Nenya, remind me when I should, as you commoners say, give a shit? Now put out that bounty already. I want that bastard dead and everything else in that dirty little hole.”

Kjersti looked up. “I can go clear out Embershard.”

She really could, it wasn’t that far from her manor. It just meant she would be entering it at night which she figured would help cloak her a little and make it easier to annihilate them. Siddgeir seemed to brighten a little. “Oh good! Then I don’t have to shell out any coin for that deed to be done!”

“Siddgeir,” Nenya glared at him. “If she clears it out, she gets paid.”

“Please, she’s my Thane and she’s to do what I say, right Kjersti?” he asked in a falsely sweet voice. She let out a small laugh and undid the clasp of her cloak, letting it slip off her shoulders. “So, be a dear will you? Go murder those coin-hoarding idiots. Make sure their heads roll.”

She smiled at him. “Of course, my Jarl.”

“Kjersti,” Nenya snapped at her, her disappointment obvious. Kjersti looked away, embarrassed but she never could really say no to the man who did give her a deed and title. “Siddgeir, I’m putting this bounty out and whoever does it will get paid.”

“Not from my pocket,” he growled and the two glared at each other before Nenya exited to her room, muttering as she did.

She could only smile, still finding their constant bickering an amusement and she brushed the rest of the wet snow off her cloak, setting it by the fire to dry before doing her duty as Thane; she gave Siddgeir the gold she had found while hunting, a garnet in the package from a wolf and he in turn gave her a pleased look and pocketed the paltry coins and jewel, taking a sip from his mead. She stood beside him, substituting as housecarl while Helvard worked, bringing in the rest of the elk carcasses. Siddgeir gave her a look once the last one was in.

“Any of those trophies?”

She pondered. “I do not believe so, my Jarl.”

“Try harder next time,” he muttered as he relaxed his bottle now almost empty. Once Helvard finished, he traded her spots and the elk were dragged into the old wine cellar, Legate Skulnar sacrificing his table so the butchering could begin. Kjersti worked alone on it, used to skinning and cutting the meat and she set aside a bucket for entrails, all which would be fed to Siddgeir’s hunting dogs. She made a separate bucket for the legs; treats the dogs would appreciate before working on dividing the prized meat.

The best cuts would be for Siddgeir alone; the rest were for the court. Such was the way of life for them but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t a large fan of meat anyways. She knew sometimes Helvard seemed disappointed with his share, and the Legate would be allowed one good cut so he never complained but between Nenya and herself, whatever was left was fine. She had a habit of letting her own housecarl Rayya eat most of her rations anyways since she preferred potatoes and cheese.

She took her dagger and dug it deep against the ribs, cracking them open so she could wedge a wooden stick between them, cutting out the lungs. Her arms became stained and when she withdrew she could feel the Legate’s eyes on her and she gave him a smile. He only smiled back at her.

“Pity you won’t join the Legion,” he said quietly as she took a drink from his tankard. “Having a woman like you on our side would be a great honor for the empire.”

She dropped the organs into a pail that she would have to dump in the woods later. “Sorry, Legate Skulnar. I told you I swore fealty to Siddgeir and I cannot break that,” she turned the carcass around and began scraping the veins away from the marbled flesh. “No matter how many times you ask.”

“I know,” he remarked and he took another drink. “It’s just a shame.”

She grinned and continued, hacking away until she had the first cuts ready. When she came out to inform Helvard, her Jarl gave her a look. “You stink of blood.”

“Sorry, my Jarl,” she bowed and he rolled his eyes.

“Where’s the hide?” She went and fetched it, the head still attached and she brought it for him to see. He gave her another look. “The tongue is hanging out.”

“Apologizes, my Jarl,” she brought out her dagger, ready to cut it when he put up his hand.

“Do that back in there, you barbarian! You damn elves, I swear on the eight!” She ran back to do the deed before properly bringing it out. He merely studied it and waved her off. “Tell Nenya to clean that up. You can get rid of the head, it’s too small to interest me but keep the horns.”

“Yes, my Jarl.”

“And hurry up. I can smell your doings from here,” he waved her off and she could only smile, rushing up to interrupt Nenya and her piles of paper so she could help with the hides.

Between the two of them, three elk were finished and the cuts and hides presented to Siddgeir. He did away with the heads, saving the horns but when Kjersti was hauling the other four out to the guard house with the help of Helvard, he stopped them to check the kills.

He picked out one. “Cut off its head, from the neck,” he instructed. “I want that to hang in the hall.”

She looked at the massive beast; it was one she had killed with a frost spell but it wasn’t that impressive. In fact it seemed a little small but before she thought to protest, he gave her an answer. “It’s merely for show until you get something better. You should go kill a dragon for me… that would show up that idiot Balgruuf from Whiterun.”

She tried hard not to laugh in disbelief and when he glared at her, she quickly recovered. “I-I will need some straw and leather to mount it,” she replied and he gave her a look.

“Go pay for it, then,” he snapped at her. “And get it done by tonight. I want to wake up tomorrow and see it.”

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “Y-Yes, my Jarl.” There went her plans to catch any sleep that night.

“Good,” he looked at the floor and gave her a disapproving look before moving back to his throne, the white sabre and fox furs that made up his robes sweeping the floor. “And Kjersti?”

“Yes?”

“Bring me whatever loot you find from Embershard as well. The armory is depleting,” he complained and she bowed.

“Yes, my Jarl.”

“You’re dismissed.”

She obeyed, exiting the hall with the elk and Helvard fetched the pails of waste, handing them to her so she could go empty them in the woods near the abandoned tower, the snow that had piled up still difficult to break through.

She stopped when she stood on the path that allowed her to see all of the small town of Falkreath, looking to the mill where Bolund was struggling with strapping some lumber to haul and then to the smoke coming from the inn, the sounds of Delacourt’s flute echoing in her head. She took in a breath, feeling her nose go numb and she exhaled, letting it hang in the air. The sun was going down, leaving only hues of gold in the air and she found herself smiling.

She loved her Hold.

--

This was cute, A!A! I actually had no idea there was a Legate there so I had to go look, ha ha. The more you know! I also enjoyed Nenya a lot. She always seemed like such a sweetheart!

Thanks again A!A~

Summary: Some confusion over an Amulet of Mara causes tension between the dragonborn and Borgakh the Steel-Heart.

Characters: Borgakh the Steel-Heart and M!DB
Genre: Semi-Drama and Fluff
Notes: Torin is half-bosmer and half-orc, his skin has a greenish hue to it, and he's a little taller/stronger than the average wood-elf but otherwise, he looks totally bosmer.

Tags
es:skyrim
char:borgakh_the_steel_heart
char:M!PC
kink:fluff

The day was nice, the trees were swaying in the breeze, and the sun warmed Torin's freckled nose as he and Borgakh walked along the road. He reached for her hand, and she withdrew, causing Torin to stop and glace back at her. "Something wrong?" Borgakh shook her head and pressed on, leaving a shrugging Torin to saunter behind her.

Mor Khazgur had been quite a hassle to find, but Torin had been persistant. He grew up in Valenwood, and had never known an Orc Stronghold. Fortunately for him, the strongholds in Skyrim were quite willing to welcome a newcomer in exchange for doing a few favors. While Mor Khazgur had proved to hold nothing but a couple of ore veins, he had found Borgakh there, and was very happy.

Today, though, they were searching for Largashbur, another orc stronghold that Torin was interested in. It would only be a short stop on their way to Riften, but he still wanted a place he could easily access if he wanted a few questions answered about his orc lineage. Borgakh stopped ahead of him, staring up at the darkening sky and making small noises in the back of her throat. "We should stop soon." She said gruffly, making the tips of his toes

Torin smiled and patted the knapsack on his back. "We can stop now, if you want." Borgakh eyed him for a second before nodding. They worked together to pitch the tent and start the fire. After a moment of admiring their handiwork, Torin took out his bow and offered to kill some game for their dinner. Borgakh nodded in approval. Torin smiled toothily at her and went out. He found and killed a small deer, one whose antlers could easily be ground into alchemy ingredients, and whose leftover meat wouldn't be cumbersome the next day. When he made it back to their campsite, Borgakh was leaning against a tree, asleep. He smiled at her again and began to think that, maybe, he had been falling in love with her.

He chose a medium sized piece of meat and rigged up a rotisserie from supplies in his knapsack. As the smell began wafting in the night breeze, Borgakh woke hungry, as Torin knew she would. He gave her the piece and began another small piece for himself.

The night was quiet, but the fire crackling between them had things to say even when they didn't. It was comfortable, at least to Torin. Borgakh had a strange, almost pained, look on her face. Torin's heart started beating. Had he fully cooked her piece? Or was the meat tainted? "Borgakh?" He stood and crossed over to her, where she moved away from his touch. "Is everything okay? Was the meat good?" Borgakh nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. Her face contorted and she stood, taking a few steps away from the fire. "Hey." Torin called, "Don't leave. If the meat wasn't any good, I might have a sweet roll or two you could have."

She whirled around to face Torin. "What are your intentions?" She asked, her voice sounded angry, but Torin couldn't make out any facial features. His intentions? What'd that mean?

"I didn't poison the meat, if that's what you're hinting at." His heart throbbed in his chest, how could she think that? Torin watched as she fished something out of her pocket, tossing it down near his feet. The familiar carvings danced in the firelight, as he recognized the insignia, heat rose to his face. "Oh." He stated, "This isn't how I wanted you to find out."

"Then how were you going to tell me?" Borgakh's voice had become distant, it sounded like she had turned away from him. Torin put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off and moved towards her bedroll.

"I don't know." This was getting exasperating. "I expected to have something set up, but I hadn't really thought out the details yet. I was thinking about telling you in Riften."

"Oh." She scoffed, pulling the furs over her head, "So that I could walk all the way back across Skyrim alone?"

Not so Steel-Hearted [2/2]

(Anonymous) - 2014-03-24 04:12 (UTC) - Expand

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