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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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A/N: This is the story of Amielle, a DB I've used in two Farkas stories (so far). She's a lot of fun to write because she's a bit of a grouch! This is how and why left Cyrodiil to come to Skyrim.

tags: es:skyrim, char:f!pc, gen, angst, race:imperial

Smother

The maid pulled at the laces tighter and Amielle winced, her eyes fixed on themselves in the mirror in front of her. She was rather relishing being in a gown again. It had been quite a while since she had the opportunity to look like a true Count's daughter, a lady of Cyrodiil.

"Are you excited, Miss Amielle?" The maid beamed at her in the mirror and Amielle tore her eyes away from herself to look at her. Amielle smiled at her, her stomach fluttering.

"Yes, I am actually."

The maid tied the laces of her dress and said, "Well of course you are! Not every day your sister gets married. What a pleasure it'll be for me to see Miss Lucina in her wedding dress. No doubt your mother'll cry - "

Amielle zoned out, smoothing the front of her ornate gown. Her sister's wedding was of little importance to her. Of course she was glad for Lucina's happiness but Amielle was far too concerned with the exciting announcement her father was to make at the celebratory feast. She had been working towards this day for nearly ten years and finally all that hard work was about to pay off.

Her maid bustled around her for another hour, fixing her hair and chattering about how much she loved weddings. When Amielle was finally released from her chambers, she made her way through the stone corridors of Cheydinhal Castle until she reached the central hall. Then she stopped, aghast at the transformation. The old grey walls were decorated with white lace, light golden drapes and her sister's favourite wild flowers. It had taken the servants an age to put together but Amielle had to admit it looked magnificent (even if it was far too fussy for her taste). The hall was deserted except for one figure facing away from her.

"Uncle!" She cried, rushing towards him with a grin.

Uncle Coriton turned and held his arms out to embrace her. She hugged him around his middle and stepped back, studying his face. It had been nearly a year since she had seen him (though they wrote to each other often) and she thought that his hair was greyer at his temples. Still, he beamed at her like he always had.

"Well don't you look like a lady!" He laughed as she elbowed him. "Makes a change from that armour."

"I could say the same for you." She teased, brushing down the red velvet tunic her wore.

He chuckled and glanced around at the hall. "So today's the day." She knew he didn't mean the wedding. "He's definitely going to announce it tonight?"

She nodded, too excited to hold in a smile. "He told me last week."

Uncle Coriton eyed her. "Countess Amielle Culharia. Very regal. Suits you." There was a beat of silence. "How do you think Lucina will take it?"

Amielle waved a hand, watching a group of servants arrange the chairs around the long polished tables.

"She has never been interested in ruling Cheydinhal. She'll be happy in Bravil with her husband and her children, when she has them." She thought about her sister's soft smile, her tinkling laugh and how she always had kind words to say about everyone she met. "She was born to be a mother, not a Countess. She knows that and so does father."

"Miss Amielle!" Another servant had rushed in behind them. Lucina's maid. "Miss Lucina has requested you go to her chambers."

Amielle nodded. She touched her uncle's arm. "Here we go." She rolled her eyes but smiled still. "I have two hours of telling her she looks beautiful in her dress ahead of me. Take pity."

And Lucina really did look beautiful.

She was radiant throughout the ceremony; every bit the glowing, virginal bride. She recited her vows perfectly and her voice didn't shake. Amielle felt proud of her older sister and - to her surprise - felt a lump in her throat when the end of the ceremony came.

Now Lucina sat at the head of the table with her new husband, holding his hand and laughing at some joke he made.

Amielle caught her eye and the two of them shared a smile. Then she glanced across the table where their parents sat. Their mother was becoming more openly emotional with each goblet of wine but Amielle noticed that their father was sitting rather stiffly in his chair. Suddenly, he stood and Amielle's stomach flipped. This was it. At last.

A silence descend in the hall, everyone respecting the Count greatly. He cleared his throat.

"I will keep these words brief for I know we are all enjoying these celebrations enormously." A few cries of 'hear, hear!' rang out. Amielle chuckled, her spirits soaring. She glanced at her sister and thought about how fantastic this day was for both of them. Both of them were securing their future on the same day. She couldn't wait to celebrate with her, for them to laugh together and talk about how lucky they were that their lives had worked out so well.

Her father continued. "I am not a young man anymore, though I am not quite old enough to forget to lay the way for the next generation. My children are not only the source of great pride but they are also the future of Cheydinhal." Amielle held her breath in anticipation. "My greatest wish is that this family will live on in the halls of Cheydinhal long after I am gone." He turned slowly, his eyes stopping on Amielle...then continuing on to Lucina and her husband. "That is why this morning I signed documents that - upon my passing, whenever that may be - declare Lucina and Varien to be my rightful heirs! And then their children after that!"

The room erupted into cheers. And suddenly Amielle was too conscious of everything. Of her face burning with humiliation and disbelief. Of her breathing that seemed far too slow. Of her uncles' shocked stare, fixed upon her. Of her father leaning over the table, shaking Lucina's husband's hand and saying, "Welcome to the family, Varien."

Amielle felt her eyes stinging. Her nose was starting to wrinkle and her bottom lip was twitching. The applause was too loud for her ears and she winced and jerked her head, trying to shake off the sound. She looked down at her hands. They were white and clinging to each other in fear, afraid of what they would do if they let go. Then she saw her father sitting down again opposite her. His pale eyes stared right at her and she knew exactly what he was telling her to do.

Do not make a scene.

Her love for her sister was the only thing that kept Amielle in her seat.

And just like that, the celebration carried on.

Noblemen laughed at each other and filled their mouths with grapes, cheeses, bread, wine. Their wives primped their hair and eyed each other over their goblets. Lucina radiated happiness as their mother stroked her face and smiled. Lucina linked her arm through her husband's and rested her head on his shoulder while he talked with his uncle.

Amielle sat silent and still in her seat, her limbs like stone.

'If I screamed now...' she thought, a maddening calm gripping her brain. '...would anyone hear me?'

If they did, she knew they would wave if off as a hysterical episode and send her to bed with a sleeping draught.

They'd all shake their heads and say that she was cruel woman, to be jealous of her sister's happiness on her wedding day. They'd talk about her in the town. Word would spread and people would look at her with such disgusted pity.

She managed to stay for another round of drinks.

The edges of shock were starting to wear off and she didn't trust what she would do when she started to feel this. When she started to hurt.

Slipping away was easy. The party had become rowdy since her father's speech and she found she could easily slip through the crowds of merry nobles without anyone stopping her.

The walk back to her chambers seemed shorter than usual. She encountered no one on the way. She twisted the door handle and stumbled into her room. She stood in the doorway and stared inside with blank eyes. She was surprised to see it was just how she left it. Everything felt like it should have shifted somehow.

She stepped inside.

It was all so neat, so proper, so right.

She picked up the hairbrush on her dresser. It had been a gift from her parents on her sixteenth birthday. The handle was silver; solid, cold and beautiful. She slammed the handle into the mirror. Glass fell like venomous rain to the floor. And there it lay as she stared down at it, reflecting her blank eyes back to her.

There was a vase on the windowsill. She smashed that too.

And the delicate trinket box on the dresser. And the bottle of expensive wine on the table. And the glass inkwell on the desk.

It was unnerving at smash something and not hear it, to cut yourself and not feel it. But there it was: a gouge at the base of her index finger. The hairbrush fell from her hand and her eyes watched it hit the stone as her ears told her it never landed at all.

She looked back at her hand and at the blood oozing from the cut. She watched it trickling down her finger and fill the lines of her palm.

Oh, gods. This was all real.

It hit her with winding force. She gasped and held her hand over her mouth, afraid someone might hear. She could taste her blood on her lips.

Copper. Bitter. Iron. Steel.

Steel.

She stood amongst the wreckage with bloodstained lips and shaking legs. She opened her wardrobe and reached below the dresses and gowns. She groped until her fingers wrapped around the handle of a blade. She pulled it out and laid it in her hands, enjoying the comforting weight.

Then she placed it on the table and took a breath.

She ran her hand over the decadent fabrics in her wardrobe. Velvet, silk, satin, lace. Under those skirts, she knew armour lay. Her fingers itched to tighten the buckles around her, to feel the leather cover her until nothing could touch her anymore. And there was the solution.

Go. Get out. You don't know how to deal with this. Let it go.

She pulled the sword from its sheath and held the blade over her shoulder. If she wasn't careful, she could end up with more than that small cut on her hand. But her hand wasn't shaking anymore and she was proud that her cheeks were dry. She felt the sharp point of the sword against her lower back and then pulled it up sharply.

The tight laces of her gowns fell away and the cool evening air felt like a mouthful of cold water during a drought.

She might have needed help with her gown but she needed none with her armour. She never every curve of it, every buckle and every join. It clung to her perfectly, it knew the pattern of her body. She found her boots under the large bed and pulled them on, relishing the comfort over the shoes she had been wearing.

Yes. I should go. I should be away from here. This place is stifling. I need air, I need opens plains and new doors...

But where?

She cursed herself for leaving her maps in her father's study. She could not go there now. She did not want to breathe in his smell, to touch the same paper he had touched. She could not think of him yet. All she could do was to treat this like a battle; she was trapped inside an enemy fortress and she needed to get out. She had no allies but she had plenty of wit and courage -

The door opened and a figure filled the doorway, dressed in red and greying at the temples.

Perhaps she did have one ally.

Uncle Coriton sighed at the sight of her. "You cannot go."

"I must." Her voice was strong and firm. She was impressed with herself.

"Your father..." He trailed off. "You must at least speak with him..."

"I cannot." Amielle tied the sword to her left hip. She saw the hesitation in her uncle's eyes. "Please uncle! Let me go, for a while at least. I need time! If I stay, I fear what I will do. I will not stay and ruin Lucina's wedding."

There was a long pause before Coriton closed the door behind him and asked, "Where?"

"I...I am not sure."

"Skyrim." He answered so quickly, she knew she would immediately obey. "There is a good Imperial presence there. There is a legion base at Castle Dour in Solitude. If in doubt, go there. Can you get there?"

Amielle smiled at the question and felt a piece of herself grow back. "If I cannot fend off bandits and wolves, then you have wasted ten years teaching me how to use a sword!"

He almost laughed.

Then they heard footsteps in the corridor outside and they both froze, listening to them pass.

"I will get you to the border." Coriton said with such firmness she daren't argue. "As soon as your father realises you are gone, it is only a matter of time before he tracks you down. We may have to cross illegally to avoid being spotted by the legion. That'll buy you more time."

"Thank you." Amielle was touched he would go against his brother to help her. She knew her father would be furious when he realised they were gone in the morning.

"Do not think anything of it." Coriton helped her pull a pack onto her back. "I will deal with your father when I return. He only has himself to blame for this. It is understandable you would want to be away for while. Just promise me one thing: promise you will come back."

"Uncle - " Amielle made for the door. He grabbed her wrist.

"Promise me."

His grip was tight but not painful. She looked in his eyes and saw that he was worried for her. 'Why aren't you my father? Why didn't mother love you instead?'

"I promise."

He nodded and picked up her cloak from the chair. "Then come on. Let's try and get out of here quietly - that will buy us more time on the road. Your father will send out guards when he realises we are gone."

Excellent story. Is it bad I want the next chapter??!? Now I'm going to go find your other stories, because your writing flows so nicely.

Glad you're enjoying it, anon! Next installments should be coming soon :)

And in case you couldn't find them, the other two Amielle/Farkas stories are:

1: "Finding Home"
2: "A Dog's Loyalty"...which will get updated eventually!

The journey to the border took two days of hard riding. Thankfully, that was something Amielle was used to after all the (now worthless) training she had worked hard at for ten years.

Ten years, ten years, ten years. The words rattled around in her head in time with sound of her horse's hooves. The shock was wearing off and anger was gripping her, only calmed by her uncle when they stopped for a brief rest. She knew she should push it to the back of her mind, let it stay locked away in Cheydinhal Castle far behind them. But it was hard to forget the promise her father had made her when she was sixteen.

"You will rule, Amielle. Cheydinhal will be yours. Look after her."

She remembered the excitement she felt and how it kept her going, kept her training hard.

Now with a few words in a wedding speech, her father had taken those ten years from her. That training was all she was. That title was all she was going to be. Without that, Amielle had no idea who she was. She felt like she was sixteen again, with no purpose in her life.

"Halt!"

Her uncle pulled his horse to a stop in front of her and she did the same. He pointed ahead of them and her eyes found what he was looking at. The border was ahead. Far to their left, there was a great gate, guarded by the Legion. But down the hill in front of them, there was a small stream and a wood.

"It should provide good cover." He said, swinging off his horse. She slipped down too and embraced him, knowing what he would say next.

"I will have to leave you here. And you must go on foot."

"I know." She pulled away and gave him one last smile. "Thank you, uncle."

She checked her sword, her armour and her pack before setting off down the hill in the dusk, keeping low to the ground to avoid being spotted. She was halfway down when she heard hooves. She turned to see Uncle Coriton back on his horse and holding the other by its reins.

He gave her one last look before galloping back the way they had come. He disappeared over the hill and Amielle was alone.

Gods, she was alone. She had never been out like this on her own. She was a good fighter, hours of practice had seen to that, but she had never had to do it alone. She carried on, the border inching closer as the slope levelled out and her boots dragged through the dewy grass.

'How does one travel alone?' She wondered, frowning slightly as she pushed aside brambles to enter the woods. 'How does one rest whilst also keeping watch?'

She reached the stream and winced at the noise of her footsteps through the water. She stopped for a moment and thought she heard the snapping of a twig somewhere to her left. But she saw nothing so she carried on, eager to be out of Cyrodiil for the first time.

Perhaps all of this was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps she wasn't really meant to rule Cheydinhal. Perhaps she was meant to be an adventurer, travelling provinces; helping the needy and delivering justice to the rotten.

A hand hit her shoulder and she jumped, her eyes wide. A legionnaire stood behind her, hard faced.

"What do you think you're doing, little lady?"

Another soldier came wandering through the trees, an arrow readied in his bow. "Crossing the border illegally, looks like."

She was heaved to her feet roughly. "Ah." She began, forcing a smile. "There's a bit of a misunderstanding here. I am sure it will all be cleared up when you realise who I am - "

"I don't care who you are." The second solider said, putting the arrow back in its quiver and fixing her with a glare. "No one crosses the border without going through the gate. Else they're breaking the law. Which you just did. So it's off to a cell for you until someone comes to pay your fine."

"No!" She squirmed in their hold. "You can't! You don't understand! My father - "

The first soldier looked interested. "Got parents? We best write to them. Tell them what a sneak their daughter is."

"No!" She cried louder, wishing her uncle would hear her and come back. "Please, listen! I am the daughter of c - "

The second soldier rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut her up, will you?"

The handle of an axe collided with her skull and the dark claimed her.

*

Execution.

That was the general theme of the carriage ride when she woke.

It wasn't a theme she enjoyed. And she told the carriage driver so. Several times, much to his displeasure.

"Will you shut up?" He growled, guiding the horse down a hill and into a small Nordic village.

"All I am saying," She continued, rather impressed with her calm exterior. "Is that you simply cannot execute me for crossing the border illegally. I have studied Imperial law since I was eleven and I know the punishment is not execution!"

"No wonder they knocked you out." She heard him mutter as the carriage stopped.

She looked around, her eyes wide. She saw some Nords rushing into their house, eager to avoid the eyes of the soldiers. But she saw others who stood and watched. Then someone shouted, "Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"Why have we stopped?" She asked uneasily as the soldiers dragged out the first two prisoners.

"Why do you think?" The man opposite her said. "End of the line."

She was hauled out last, her heart racing, as the names of the others were read out one by one. Then the soldier with list realised she wasn't on it.

"She goes to the block." Was the captain's verdict.

Amielle froze. She should ask that captain her name, she should report her to father for her disregard of innocents. But to what end?

One of the men strode up to the block, impatient for death. His last words were, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

'No.' She thought immediately. 'My father never smiles.'

The man's head came clean off in one swing. Quick. Too quick and easy to end a life.

"You Imperial bastards!" Another onlooker shouted.

"Next, the Imperial in the rags!"

Very much an Imperial theme going on here. Gods, she felt delirious. She had heard of people saying mad things before they died but she never thought she would be one of them. No: home. Home was what she wanted to think about. A home which she evidently should never have left.

And the same useless words echoed in her head as they dragged her closer and closer to that block, her feet slipping in the dirt. 'This isn't what father wants. I've let father down. He'll be so angry with me for dying like this.'

Then a roar shot through the sky.

"Did you hear that?" A legionnaire looked around wildly.

Her neck slammed into the block.

She thought of her father and her mother and her sister. 'Don't let Lucina find out I'm dead too soon. Let her enjoy her wedding a while longer. Don't tell her too quickly. She'll cry and no one should cry on their honeymoon.'

Out of the corner of her eye, Amielle could see the axe lifting into the air.

'Shout.' She thought suddenly. ''Roar' didn't seem right. It sounded like something shouting.'

And then that something landed, sending the slate of the keep roof sliding and smashing. Black scales, black talons, black eyes, red mouth. She heard screaming, the sound of the axe being dropped far away from her neck, the tumbling of stone.

"Everyone get back!" One of the soldiers ordered. Amielle stood slowly and but didn't move. She felt as though she and it were both rooted down into the earth, both cursed to stare uselessly at each other for all eternity. Then a heavy hand hit her shoulder and dragged her back behind a broken cart. "What were you doing? That's a dragon!"

Fire washed over them and they sank lower behind the cart. Then it stopped and the soldier let out a breath. Amielle began to laugh. She sounded demented, she knew she should stop but it kept coming.

A bloody dragon.

Rather put things into perspective.

She followed the solider through the broken village, avoiding falling rubble and fire as they went. Then they reached the keep, remarkably undamaged and uncooked. The soldier cut her bonds and gave her a sword and some armour.

"Ready?" He asked as the dragon roared above them.

Trust Uncle Coriton to send her to the province of dragons. But for all the danger, her suddenly problems felt far away and tiny. All she felt now was the weight of a sword, the warmth of her armour. All she had to think about was surviving. And that was something she was good at. She smiled.

"Ready."

So nice to see other Imperial DBs!

Oooh this is really well written and I love your DB!

Thank you both for your lovely comments!

Amielle is a lot of fun because she's a bit cold and emotionally stunted. Writing her with sweet, simple Farkas is really very entertaining for me ;)

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