Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

[skyrimkinkmeme]

 CLOSED FOR PROMPTS,

BUT OPEN FOR FILLS

HELPFUL TIPS

>Please post your prompts with the paired characters and any notable kinks/trigger warnings in the title.
>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
>When filling, please remember to add your story tags: characters, relationship types, kinks, series and universe (ie: skyrim)
>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.

Comments

Give me your Dragonborns; Any/DB/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

Is there a kink for being nosy? There is now!
My prompt is sort of simple: Tell me about your dragonborns/PC's. Tell me their love interests, their backstories, their children and enemies, etc. Just give me the gossip. I don't care how. You can do a fill or merely answer - if that's alright.
I'm just craving to know the dragonborns on here more.

Re: Give me your Dragonborns; Any/DB/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

[tags: char:F!DB, race:Bosmer]


This wasn't supposed to happen. Aeoban had been trying to get out, but she ended up being dragged back. And she wasn't being carted to a prison, no, she was going to die. Die with the same men that made her life hell in Windhelm. Her only comfort, was that the Imperial soldiers was treating the Jarl the same way he treated the mer in his hold, like she was being treated.

Later that day, all she would be able to say on the happenings on Helgen, or what she could remember clearly, is about this one soldier telling her that her remains will be returned to Valenwood. The only response to that at the time, had been something like indifference. Now, wearing some enhanced robe she never had before, and holding a bow for the first time in only Mara knows how long, the only sign of normality is healing herself, but she had never used those spells while running, so there was nothing normal on that either.

Time was always short, and all she really wanted was to forget the things her mind was already suppressing. The soldier who said her body was going to be sent to Valenwood was there on the road with her, and she was very temped to just off herself and hope she could finally go back home. But the soldier was too energetic, dragging her to a small settlement, speaking of dragons and wars with a relative while she tried to shove some bread in her mouth. Wheat never fared well with her stomach, but it served as a great distraction from their pointed stares, and polite demands, all bent on making her cross over a mountain by herself and ask a Jarl to aid them, and maybe join the army if she had some spare time and limbs.

Aeoban agreed to it quite well, it was easy, she was not a Nord with their twisted senses of honor, she could lie. She lied so well that she managed to get to the stables of Whiterun without thinking of running. But that was it, because as soon as the carriage appeared in front of her, she knew that she rather be one more mer in the slums of Winterhold than to remember what she saw that day, let alone see it again.

Time is always short, but with the sound of coins clinking on the driver's hand, and with the practice of years, she can push the nightmares to the back of her mind, and focus solely on the healing magic that's seeping through her throbbing leg, and the bumps of the road.


[I know it's short and probably a bit silly, but I couldn't resist when I saw the prompt]

OP

[(Anonymous)]

This wasn't silly! I really enjoyed this A!A
Like I would like to know more and her life after! Thank you for sharing!
Please write more D:

Re: Give me your Dragonborns; Any/DB/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

On the Dragonborn.
" A collection of observations and interviews about the Dragonborn collected by the bards of the Bards college in Solitude. "

*

The Bards of Solitude have endeavored to uncover a more personal portrait of the Dragonborn for the perusal and enjoyment of the reader. We hope this book succeeds in shining a brighter light on our hero of legend.

*

"His [the Dragonborn's] appearance was always staunchly Imperial. Dark hair, even darker eyes. He was clean-shaven, which some of my men laughed about before he truly began to gain their respect. And he was short, something I think he was always quite aware of, and lithely built. More than once I found myself guilty of tripping over him. In my defense, he's a very quiet man. Reticent. It took a long time for my men and I to warm to him. It's unnerving, how quietly he moves, but that made him excellent for reconnaissance. He always looked more suited to the dark leathers of an assassin, the way he moved, than the uniform of a soldier. I certainly never thought I'd see an Imperial wear the armour of the bear, but he rose quickly in my estimation. When he first appeared in my palace there was no doubt that there was something different about him... he was too well-spoken to be some lowly mercenary though he advertised himself as such. When we became closer he hinted to some past in Cyrodiil but that was of no concern to me. Many Imperials have found themselves betrayed by the sham of an Empire they once served, though there were few among our ranks. He quickly proved that he was no friend of the Emperor. And this was Skyrim, this was Windhelm, not the Imperial court. Leave a man's past in the past."--High King Ulfric Stormcloak on the Dragonborn.

*

"He was very shy, poor dear. Very sensitive to teasing. He took offense to being called 'whelp' when he first joined up with the Companions. I can't count the amount of times Kodlak-- Arkay rest his soul-- took to lecturing the lad and Vilkas too; nor the number of times I had to clean up after them. I think that was just typical Imperial ignorance, not quite understanding Companion tradition. Of course Vilkas was always very hot-headed so there was bound to be some clashing. He calmed down after a while, but he still never quite saw eye-to-eye with our Vilkas. Of course, this was before we knew he was the Dragonborn. To us he was still just a whelp with dreams of being a warrior. When we all found out what he really was some of the Companions, oh Ria in particular, treated him with real deference. I don't think he liked that much either. We haven't seen him since the Great Battle of Whiterun however. Some of us didn't think a Companion should be involved in the war, others thought a Companion could pick his battles as he pleased. He's been gone for some time now. I know Aela, for one, misses him sorely. Of course she'd never admit it, poor dear." -- from an interview with Tilma the Haggard, caretaker of the Companions in Whiterun.

*

"I know everyone thinks he was some great hero, but let me tell you the Dragonborn is flawed. If I had a septim for every time Cassius set off a trap or stepped on a shock rune... let me put it this way: I wouldn't be selling my services in a rathole like Riften. And we had to stop, oh, every five minutes. Look in this jar, search this bookcase. He'd pick every herb he saw and want to know what it did. Never mind the Falmer pouring out of the walls, list me the properties of a nirnroot! And I've put on whole pounds of muscles since I started travelling with the guy. "Listen," I'd tell him. "I'm an apprentice wizard! Not a pack-mule!" --from an interview with Marcurio, mage-for-hire of Riften.

On the Dragonborn [part 2] +tags

[(Anonymous)]

*

"Lots of rumours surround the Dragonborn. There was a big smear campaign that sprang from the Imperial Army once he made his allegiance to the Stormcloaks known. That's what Imperial dogs are like. What they can't win by force they'll try and take through underhanded trickery. Let the elves take them! The Dragonborn was secretly a Thalmor agent at one point, at another he was having a scandalous affair with an Argonian Concubin! Other such filthy rumours rose up in a bid to defame him. The worst I have heard to date is that he [the Dragonborn] was secretly the head of the Dark Brotherhood! With the Emperor so publicly assassinated there can be no doubt of the Brotherhood's return but to accuse the Dragonborn of being party to such crimes is as ridiculous as it is dangerous. Yes he was present at the time of the Notorious Red Wedding of Solitude, but the man has a residence there! He's a Thane of Solitude for Arkay's sake! There is something odd about the man to be sure-- he is an Imperial after all-- but that does not an assassin make. Furthermore my guards have searched The Pale top and bottom. There is no 'Sanctuary' of the Dark Brotherhood in Dawnstar, and if such a place were to be found it would be quickly, and swiftly, dealt with. I've no doubt the Dragonborn, also a Thane of my own hold, would be eager to head the hunting party for me." -- Jarl Skald the Elder of Dawnstar, addressing rumours on the Dragonborn.

*

"Where has the Dragonborn gone? Wherever he pleases, it is of no concern to me. A man who deserts his Companions is no man at all, in my opinion. Very occasionally a dragon finds it's way to Whiterun's borders but the Companions do a sound job of keeping the area dragon-free, even without him. As to his location, I know he would never return to Cyrodiil, so perhaps he has gone to Hammerfell. He once said he might travel to Solstheim. Perhaps he is dead in a ditch.

Additionally, bard, attempt to question me on any 'personal relationship' with the Dragonborn again and risk an arrow through your chest."--A short speculation on the location of the Dragonborn from Aela the Huntress, a Companion of Whiterun.

*

A!A forgot to write the caption for the first post. silly, silly, silly. Anyhoo love OP's prompt. Personally, I'm quite nosy when it comes to Dragonborns. Sometimes I prefer reading about them than the NPCs I know and love. Also, is OP going to share his/her own Dragonborn(s)? ;)

tags: Ulfric, M!Imperial!DB, Marcurio, Aela, Tilma the Haggard, Skald the Elder. Gen.

Re: Give me your Dragonborns; Any/DB/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

Tags char:M!DB race:Nord. Jon Oaken-Hull.

It was a matter of politics really, more specifically, trying to avoid politics. My family have been merchant traders for the last hundred odd years, so we have some experience of the things that can happen if you get involved with the wrong people. So when i told my parents that i wanted to study magic properly, well it set the cat among the pigeons.

You have to remember that since the dissolution of the Mages Guild at the dawn of the fourth era, there have been two institutions that tried to take it's place. The College of Whispers and The Synod. I don't have to tell you what happens when two factions both claim to be the best in their chosen field do i? Yes, i thought you might understand.

The College of Winterhold was really the most sensible place to study. It had a good reputation and it was a serious centre of learning. I thought it would be a nice quiet place where i could learn more about magic.

Of course that was before i got sucked into that whole Saarthal mess. Not to mention the whole Dragonborn fiasco.

Re: Give me your Dragonborns; Any/DB/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

Tags. charM!DB race:Nord. Jon Oaken-Hull.

The Saarthal incident was indirectly responsible for my ivolvement in the Dragonborn situation. As part of the College's response to the misuse of the Eye of Magnus i was dispatched to Mzulft in search of information.

No, i'm not telling you what information. You are not a member of the College and frankly the whole situation was an embarassment. We are still restoring our reputation even now.

Now where was i?

Oh yes. I was returning from the Dwemer ruins of Mzulft when i was unfortunate enough to run into the ambush at Darkwater Crossing. Yes that ambush. One minute i'm crossing a bridge, and then i have a screaming Legion soldier running at me with his sword drawn.

Well of course i threw a fireball at his head. I certainly wasn't going to let him stab me was i? Unfortunately blowing someones head off with a fireball tends to draw attention and the Imperials decided that i must have been working with the Stormcloaks.

Because obviously a blue robe and a bearskin cloak mark you as a Stormcloak. I fail to see what's so funny Bard.

The rest you know, i ended up in Helgen with Ulfric Stormcloak, i was saved from the headsmans axe by the re-emergence of Alduin and i escaped being incinerated.

What more do you need? Honestly boy, if i told you even half of what i've dealt with in my years in Skyrim, you would still be writing ten years from now.

Now shoo, my family are coming to visit and i see precious little of my grandchildren as it is without having to deal with nosy bards.

Red Book [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Tags and Summary will come last this time. And I did this quite quick, within an hour but I did edit it four times since I kept getting interrupted. Hopefully it makes sense and is good because multi-tasking is hard for me...

--

“Miss Elenwen,” one of her guards said as they stood in the doorway, hands to their sides and chest out making them look a bit comical. She put down her book and looked to them, silent as she did. “Some of your agents are back. Shall I let them in?”

She smiled. “Yes, let them in, thank you.”

With that the guard bowed and disappeared letting her take the time to pour herself a drink and sit in the chair facing the room, waiting for her company. She took a small sip of her Alto wine and was displeased a little by its ruddy texture. It hadn’t aged enough. Leave it to Malborn to not understand when to bring wine out.

Three of her Thalmor agents entered the room, walking in a straight line before they split, standing in a row. She looked to them, her eyes inspecting them for a moment before they bowed and she relaxed. “As you were,” she said softly letting them become a bit more casual. Her guard, which had let them in came forth and handed her a small package wrapped in brown linen. She took it, curious, but let it on the end table by her goblet of wine. “Thank you, you may leave.”

“Ma’am,” her guard bowed and she was left alone with the agents. She waited, crossing her legs as she did.

“What brings you back to the embassy?” she addressed all three and they hesitated before Ondolemar spoke up, stepping forward from his place at the far left.

“We all seemed to have gathered the information on our targets at the same time,” he said. Elenwen raised a brow. “We’re here to report.”

How fascinating. She tapped her nails on the armchair. “Well then. Proceed.”

They hesitated before Ancano stood up, taking the lead from the far right. She gave him a curious look. “Ancano… remind me, what is it you were doing?”

He held his head high at her. “I was trying to allow you to let me into that damnable college to see what they were doing,” he said with a bit of bitterness. “But you instructed me to follow an Altmer in Falkreath to prove myself first.” He gave a look to the other agents, one of smugness. “And I believe I have.”

Elenwen took a sip of her wine, not saying anything. Such a loathsome smug Thalmor he was. He practically believed he should be the diplomat and not her but she was determined to make sure he was put in his place before he made any demands. When she didn’t speak he hesitated before going forth, pulling out a red journal. He was going to just give it to her but she put up her hand. “Read it.”

He looked shocked. “My lady,” he said.

“Entertain us with your findings,” she merely stated, enjoying watching him become uncomfortable. “Tell me about that Altmer… who was she? A rogue?” She actually couldn’t remember. Ancano sighed but stepped back in line, looking to the other two agents who were staring forward but smirking. He grumbled.

“Her name is Kjersti Spring-born,” he reminded her in a miserable tone. “She’s an Altmer in Falkreath. A curious little thing with black hair. Was arrested and taken to Helgen with the Stormcloaks.”

She remembered now. As she recalled, the woman’s head never rolled and Tullius had commented on making a mistake with her later when it was revealed she escaped. But she didn’t believe it. The humans were stupid and a wrongful arrest seemed likely but it was intriguing that an Altmer had been sent to the block with Stormcloaks. She wanted to know the story.

“Go on,” she said, hiding a smile behind the goblet to her lips. He didn’t have a choice but to continue.

“Fine,” he muttered. “It seems she was arrested trying to cross the border between Falkreath and Cyrodil. She insisted it was to go home but I cannot confirm that. Previous to her being arrested, she seems to have entered into Skyrim with her mother seeking help.”

“Where is her mother?” Elenwen asked, a bit curious.

Red Book [2/?]

[(Anonymous)]

“Dead. Seems the thing had rock joint and died at the Hall of the Dead in Falkreath. I found her grave there riddled in flowers so, the mer seems to mourn her. After that she was arrested at the border and sent to be with the prisoners to be executed at Helgen,” he sighed. “When I inquired, one said she might have been a spy since they never seen her cross into the province.”

“Do you believe that?” she asked and he snorted.

“No. Although she is a mer, the thing can’t read. She’s-!” he took a moment but that uncontrollable fury came forth, one of the reasons Elenwen didn’t trust him. “She’s insulting to us! Her intelligence seems to be of average and she serves a Nord, indicating just as much. It’s like she isn’t even aware of our superior race!”

Lorcalin spoke up next to him. “What a shame,” he sighed. “She must be one of those Altmer who escaped before we gloriously came in. One of those deserters.”

Ancano turned on him. “She isn’t. I checked around and sent word to the homeland; no one has heard of her and she is young – not even hitting a hundred yet. Her mother, though, vanished from the Isles some time ago…” He looked back to Elenwen who was listening to it all, thinking. An Altmer disappearing and later producing a child somewhere unknown. She must not be a full Altmer then. “She’s not a spy, seems to have been caught at the wrong time, but she is one to watch regardless.”

“How so?” she said. Her men were stretched thin already and if he was suggesting putting an agent on her, she would make it him or no one and he seemed to sense that.

He hesitated. “After escaping her little execution and the dragon, she’s gone back to Falkreath and seems to have worked her way into the good Jarl’s graces,” he said sarcastically. “That idiot Nord now has two Altmer women at his side. Seems she became his Thane after doing some degrading tasks for him and was given a plot of land in compensation.”

Elenwen took a small drink. “Did you see the land?”

“It’s quaint,” he remarked. “She’s building a homestead on it. The poor thing never seems to have any money since that Jarl of hers bleeds her dry but I did steal in when her housecarl was… distracted. She seems to be an alchemist and an enchanter. Not anything fantastic to report on it but I did witness her in battle. She seems to be a dual Fire and Ice mage.” He pursed his lips. “And she’s powerful.”

Elenwen waited for it.

“I think she might go to the college to get better which is exactly why-” he started up again and she put up her hand to silence him. She wasn’t in the mood to hear his long spiel about the mages of Winterhold. She contemplated the information she was given.

“So… You followed an Altmer mage who escaped Helgen and somehow turned from a criminal to being the Thane of Falkreath and who is close to the Jarl. Why should I deploy anyone to watch her?”

“Because… she’s… A bit too close with that Jarl,” he replied. “For someone who was nearly executed to now be right up with one of Skyrim’s nobles – and I say that loosely since the man is hardly noble – it’s suspicious. And she never leaves his side or does anything unless she’s instructed. I worry the little criminal and that stupid Nord may be up to something. I just haven’t found what.”

She said nothing for a moment. “Who is the other Altmer?”

Ancano sighed. “Her name is Nenya. She seems to be the steward to the Jarls of Falkreath. Seems the previous Jarl appointed her and she’s been there ever since. She’s pretty but plain. Uses her intelligence for the Hold and seems to have taken a liking to the other Nord in the court but she’s nothing special.”

She tapped her armchair, thinking. A young Altmer girl who was glued to the side of a Nord; she had a feeling it wasn’t out of anything sinister. She, as well as many other sister-kin she had spoken to had been foolish in their youth by… intermingling. Sneaking away for forbidden tumbles in the night with one of the human races. She reached up and rubbed a temple, sighing at her stupidity. She wasn’t proud of that part of herself, even after a hundred and some years. Still, she would like to confirm it for herself.

She put down her goblet. “Anything else?”

Red Book [3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

“No,” he said. “She spends most of her time in the Longhouse unless instructed to do something else.”

She stood up and walked forward to take the dossier from him, flipping through it herself while he watched. She shut the book and went back to her seat. “I’m not sending anyone to follow her.”

Ancano seemed relieved but a bit miffed. “She could turn out to be-”

“Ancano, if she arrives at the college then you may study her further but I will deal with her. That Jarl is to attend a party soon and I will extend it to both his Steward and Thane so I can witness them first hand,” she interrupted, watching him stand in shock at her previous sentence. “She does not sound like a threat to us or our plans. More or less it sounds like she’s a young girl who lost her mother and is holding on to whatever scraps of affection she can get.”

His voice shook. “Did… Did you just give me permission…?”

She sighed. “Yes, Ancano. You may go to the college.”

He tried not to look pleased beyond belief but his fidgeting fingers and the smile fighting on his lips made it obvious. He bowed and turned to go but Elenwen stopped him. “What are you doing?”

“Going to get ready?” he said, confused. She pointed where he had been standing making him stare.

“I did not give you permission to leave right now!” she snapped. “Get back in line!”

There was a fight over it, she could see in his eyes. How he wanted to defy her and she almost wished him to so she could knock him back down and deploy him to wallowing around Morthal but he relented. He took up standing next to Lorcalin who was trying not to laugh at his expense.

Elenwen turned to him. “Lorcalin. Grace us with your findings on… who was it?”

He looked at Ancano, then Ondolemar and he smirked. “The dragonborn, my lady.”

Elenwen took up her goblet again, drinking her wine. That was right; the dragonborn.

He stepped forward, pleased with himself as he opened the dossier in his hands. “Our dragonborn Eloine seems to be a young blonde Nord woman whose height barely reaches above a child’s and who is more fed than starved. She currently resides in Whiterun as a Thane but I have found her in every hold, doing numerous tasks. It seems she does not take up a side during the war.”

“Does she worship Talos?” Ondolemar asked from beside him and Lorcalin smirked.

“She uses all the Divines shrines, Talos included. I have managed to slip into her home when her and her little housecarl were away but she is a bit of a pig with her belongings. There were no amulets of Talos but she may have hidden it away like her kin likes to do,” he commented. “But these are merely my notes on her from a distance.”

Elenwen raised a brow. “What do you mean? You’ve spoken to her?”

He chuckled. “Quite the opposite. She came up to me. What is most amusing about her, being dragonborn and a supposed hero to these Nords, is that the girl is irrefutably… how do we say? A blundering idiot,” he smirked when he said it and Elenwen found herself scowling.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, my Lady, I’m sure you would have fun with her,” he said in an amused tone making Ancano give him a look. “The girl is as stupid as she looks. I wouldn’t be surprised if her intelligence matched her age.”

Red Book [4/?]

[(Anonymous)]

He turned to Ondolemar with a smirk. “She cannot read or write and seems to have this glossy view of the world as if everyone is happy and friends,” he said and Ondolemar scowled. He looked back to her and she found herself pursing her lips on the goblet. “In fact, she has no idea what we are doing. She didn’t know what a Thalmor was and when I explained to her in simple terms, she told me ‘that’s wonderful’.” He laughed again. “I mean, completely and pathetically dumb.”

Ondolemar smirked from his spot next to him. “How fitting for the Nords. Their hero being stupid.”

Ancano scowled at them. “How do you know that? She could have been playing you Lorcalin.”

“Oh I assure you, she wasn’t,” he shot back at him. “I followed her into Riften. A man approached her with a job doing a theft and she began shouting how wrong it was that he had to silence her with a right good punch. She seems to have a very black and white view of the world and when I asked her about the Stormcloaks, her little brain seemed not to understand if they were bad or not.”

“What did you do?” Elenwen asked.

He smiled at her. “I told them they were terrible people… which I may have embellished. Stories on killing children while they slept and kicking dogs. Needless to say she became very upset and told me that as my duty as a person who ‘Got rid of bad people’ that I should go after them,” he wiped a tear from his eye as he said it. “She would be charming if she wasn’t such a nitwit.”

“So then what is your findings?” Elenwen said, waiting. “Let the idiot do as she pleases?”

“Oh no,” he shook his head. “No. She is not the problem, persay. It’s everyone else. I found out your little pet has a deep interest in her.” He held up the dossier. “Seems Ulfric the Mighty frequently seeks her out, no doubt to try and win her to his side. I’m afraid that the girl, though mentally lacking, is fiercely loyal and can be a bit of a problem when enraged.”

He reached into the dossier, sifting through pages until he found a note. “Yes, here. I discovered she joined the Companions. It makes sense since the girl is stupid and violent… but it was what I found after she had cleared a crypt that confirmed that she could be a problem.”

“Which was?”

He stopped smiling a bit. “It was an utter massacre. Limbs of Dragur torn off, heads crushed. Delving in further I found a mix of humans and Dragur and it looked as if a wild animal had been unleashed on them. She carries a large battleaxe – Divines above only know how she wields it – but it seems to be stained with blood more often than not. It would be… disturbing to have her on the Stormcloaks side.”

“Furthermore,” he dropped the note back into the book. “She was at Helgen as well. Guess a blonde Nord bound with a bunch of them doesn’t stand out much but she escaped with a Stormcloak man named Ralof. She may see them as bad people but if Ulfric convinces her to join them and hate us…” He sighed. “We may have to call all of us trained to be battlemages to combat her. She has seen the greybeards up in their little temple but it doesn’t prevent her from using her Thu’um.”

Elenwen sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “So she could become a problem.”

“If Ulfric gets his way, then yes,” Lorcalin sighed. “If your General Tullius stopped being such a tactical hermit then maybe we could get her on the Empire’s side and have her work with us – she’s easy to manipulate. But I fear the time for that is running out the longer she is allowed out freely roaming.”

She said nothing as she thought it over. “You said she worships Talos?”

“I said she uses the blessings it gives. I’m unsure if the girl understands what it means to worship.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Elenwen sighed. “If she approaches another Talos shrine and you see her, kill her. If she joins the Stormcloaks then by all that is holy, you will kill her. If, somehow, she does come to join the Imperials then you will watch her and make sure she does nothing to help Ulfric, understand?”

Lorcalin said nothing but bowed. “By your command, my Lady.”

She didn’t like it but it had to be done. “Never underestimate those who are stupid, Lorcalin. She can either work with us or we will kill her, make that clear.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Red Book [5/?]

[(Anonymous)]

She turned to Ondolemar. “And you? What of the… what was it? Bosmer I had you look in to?”

“Yes, Elenwen,” he stepped forward, producing his dossier. “The soon-to-be-Thane of the Reach.”

“And what of her? Should we be concerned?”

“Very,” he stated. “The girl needs to be executed.”

“On what grounds?” she asked, impatient.

“On the grounds that she tried to have her way with me,” he said, unamused. Elenwen stared at Lorcalin gave him a look.

“Oh, come now Ondolemar. Don’t be a fool.”

“Yeah,” Ancano piped up but he glared at the both of them, his back straightening and his expression turning sour. Elenwen held up her hand at the other two agents and stared to her most senior member.

“Ondolemar, what are you talking about?”

He gritted his teeth. “Just as I said. She tried to assault me,” he threw his book to her and she caught it, opening it up. “The girl is mentally unstable, Elenwen. And she needs to be killed.”

She said nothing but began going through his notes. The Bosmer was named Aingi and seemed to have arrived in Markarth with the purpose of living there. His notes were scrawled with small observations on her, mostly the odd way she talked and for some curious reason, wore cylindrical pieces of glass on her face. There was a note about them being used to magnify the carvings on Dwemer ruins but Ondolemar seemed to think it false and thought they were used for something else.

She turned the pages, reading about her intentions. The girl was obsessed with the Dwemer and Falmer. She shuddered at the thought of the white demons who lay under the rocks. She recalled meeting one once on the road back to Solitude and her despite her magic, the damned being still came at her. Only a shot through the heart of ice stopped it and she remembered how disgusted she was when she came near it, its skin like leather and its eyes mere cuts in its face. How on earth someone could be interested in them baffled her but the face of an old Altmer came to mind and she sighed.

“She hangs around near that Calcemo a lot, does she?” she asked and Ondolemar snorted.

“Hardly. She doesn’t think him to be a proper scholar and he thinks the same of her. She steals herself away into those atrocious ruins of Nchuand-Zel doing… Who knows what,” he said in displeasure. Elenwen looked at him, seeing him holding back something.

“Doing what?”

He frowned. “Rumors, Elenwen. Rumors. Though, knowing the disgusting bitch, they could be true.”

“What rumors, Ondolemar?” she demanded and she sighed, not looking to any of them.

“They say she goes in there and… feeds.”

“Feeds?” Lorcalin said before she could but she didn’t chastise him as she was more than curious now. Ondolemar shuddered.

“Sexually… and physically,” he said. “I believe she is in there sating both her desires and her hunger.”

Ancano balked. “What makes you think that!?”

He turned on him and held up his hand. “Her ring, Ancano! She is a Daedric worshipping, cannibalistic whore! I have heard more than one account of her and her little follower feeding on Forsworn that they have killed and her sexual appetites are…” he shuddered once again and crossed his arms, staring at the wall. “I cannot even find where the demon came from. It’s like she crawled out from one of those horrible ruins herself. No mention in Valenwood, nothing across Skyrim. Though the only thing I found was she did have many meetings with some lunatic near Winterhold but trying to talk to him! Impossible!”

Elenwen pursed her lips. “What does this have to do with her assaulting you if she enjoys… other beings.”

He turned on her. “She’s not just interested in the Falmer, no. She hunts us, Elenwen. She told me in her disgustingly twisted words that her mission is to mate with me,” he threw his hands up in anger. “She wants me! Because I am a Thalmor and she’s interested in ‘Thalmor mating’. She needs to be executed!”

She would have laughed but somehow she didn’t have the stomach for it. She went back to the dossier, turning the pages to see what else and the list of disturbing finds seemed to follow the girl. She frowned when she read about him finding a pair of Thalmor boots. “What is this?”

“What?”

Red Book [6/6]

[(Anonymous)]

“You finding some boots along the road?”

He seemed upset. “That’s all I found, Elenwen. I don’t know if it was one of our patrols or if she stole them but… I just found some boots along the road that belonged to one of our wizards. And it was on a route she frequently takes so I noted it for later reference.”

She pursed her lips. “Has that Jarl in Markarth done nothing over this?”

“He doesn’t know!” he nearly shouted. “I bring forth evidence and he brushes it off since the damned mer kills Forsworn and found his stupid father’s shield! It’s as if the rumors of her devouring flesh is not a bother to him!” He was shaken and angry and Elenwen waited for him to calm down some before addressing him again.

“Is your life in danger, you believe?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “My body is. I do not doubt this girl would steal me away into those ruins to defile then feast on me once I am dead. She isn’t a supporter of the factions but she is a danger to Thalmor men.”

She took a moment. “You may execute her,” she began and she watched relief almost spread through his body but she held up a hand to stop it. “But you are not to do it openly. Follow her into the ruins and kill her there.”

He stiffened. “Surely, Elenwen, you are joking.”

“I am not,” she said. “I do not want this traced back to us. Make her death look like she befell something in the ruins. Then report back to me.”

He did not speak but his body language showed his relief and peace of mind were no longer there. With the three done she stood up, going to Lorcalin to take his dossier before she addressed them all. “So. Leave the Altmer in Falkreath be. Ancano, you may go to the college and work from there. I will write up a letter so the Arc-Mage will allow it. The dragonborn is to be killed if she approaches a Shrine of Talos or joins the Stormcloaks but if she can be brought to the Imperials, do it. She would make a better ally than be dead. And… Ondolemar, you may kill the Bosmer. But under my instruction.”

“Yes my Lady,” the all said in unison and she bowed to them before going back to her seat, sitting with her new journals to add to her bookshelf. They all bowed to her and one by one began to leave.

When she could no longer hear footsteps she took her wine and drank it down, hissing at the taste of it flooding her mouth before she picked up the mystery package she had received. She unwrapped it, letting the linen slip to the floor and was greeted by a fourth dossier. She opened it to see it was Agent Sanyon’s. She sighed but started to flip the pages to read.

He had few notes.

Zi’vah. Khajiit. Female, grey fur, quiet. No place of birth and no place of residence.

Possible thieves guild link. Wears dark armor sometimes and face is shrouded. Cannot be seen when in shadows.

Suspected to be an assassin.

She flipped through the book more but that was all that was written. She pursed her lips, going through every individual page to see if there was a hidden message left but it was only the few words at the beginning. She went out into the hall to call her guard.

“Who left this?” she asked and the guard gave a shrug.

“It was at the front gate. Ondolemar picked it up and when he came in, he gave it to me.”

She frowned. “There was nothing else with it? No instructions?”

“No Ma’am,” the guard regretfully said and Elenwen found herself feeling chilled, going back to her room. She stared at the journal, pondering whether to send some guards out but she thought against it. This was done deliberately, to send a message and it worked. Once some of her men became free she would utilize them to hunt down this… assassin. She did not doubt Sanyon was dead.

She picked up the journals, looking through them all before laying them on her desk. Troublesome was the only word that came to mind and she started with the first, pulling out some paper to pen a letter to the Jarl of Falkreath. She had a party to plan and couldn’t be worried with the rest.

But it sat in her mind as she wrote on the paper. Deifiers of the Thalmor. How they would pay.

Re: Give me your Dragonborns; Any/DB/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

I don't have a fill for you but I'd never miss a chance to ramble about my DB. He's a Khajiit rogue type named S'Karith and while has turned out to be honestly a total jerk.

He has an on-again, off-again, rather stormy open-ish marriage with Marcurio, due to my rampant abuse of console commands. He also had a three-way going on with Mjoll and Aerin because why the fuck else would you play on a PC but got sick of Mjoll's moralistic goody-goody bs. He's Guild, but somehow she never figured it out. Aerin just went on about Mjoll being "upset" all the time even after a weekend of hot three-way action so eventually S'Karith called it a day.

S'Karith built a few houses and acquired a couple of kids (Hroar, the one whose name he can remember, and the Breton kid who said she was good at doing chores) before fucking off to Solstheim, where he quested with the ravishing Teldryn Sero, long since relieved of that uncomfortable chitin gear (and his shirt) by creation kit mods. He hasn't looked back.
Officially he's still married to Marcurio, who has been lumped with the kids and presumably spends his days complaining about being "an apprentice wizard, not a pastry chef" but he does bake a mean pie.

S'Karith and Teldryn are totally doing it though.

OP

[(Anonymous)]

FFFFF more! I rarely hear of Khajiit Dragonborns! I mean, I tried playing as one my very first go and that went... badly. But I still want to one day and S'Karith sounds delightful!

Ohhh..... Asta anon is intrigued...

[(Anonymous)]

I may do some blurbs on the stuff that I know for a fact happened in Asta's life pre-Of Gods and Monsters (I'm not ashamed to say I'm still piecing her together as I go along). If that doesn't work, I'll just dork out my answers because idk I'm in a mental block and maybe this will loosen some things up.

Re: Ohhh..... Asta anon is intrigued...

[(Anonymous)]

Of Gods and Monsters OP would love to read that Asta anon! :)

About Asta 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Okay so I'm not sure if this qualifies as a fill since it's mostly just a quick type up, but in that case;
Tags: Nord, Asta (series tag)
Triggers: Mentions of miscarriage and character death! Bewarned!
Summary: A quick overview of Asta's life.

I just wanted to type something out to get the muses flowing for OGaM again- OGaM OP, you qualify for sainthood by putting up with me.

Also I'm praying there's no continuity errors but I don't ~think~ there is. I tried to see if there was a Haldor in-game but all Google pulled up was RP OCs.

Thirty five years ago, Asta and her twin sister were born to her seamstress mother and hunter father in Whiterun hold. At age three, her sister became ill and perished. Her childhood was a fairly quiet one, with just her parents and a stray dog, but as Asta knew no other way of life, she was a very happy child. While they lived a secluded distance away from the towns, the family was near by enough to bring in their kills to the meat vendors in town, as well as to get jobs for Asta's mother. Though she was taught how to make and mend clothing (from scratch if she had to), Asta preferred to go out hunting with her father instead, favoring the bow and arrow over the needle and thread.

At seventeen, she was with her father one day talking to one of the meat vendors they sold to when she noticed a young Nord man around her age. Nothing about him really warranted notice, but they made eye contact and over the several next trips into town there was some long distance flirting. It wasn't until Asta went into town on her own that the man actually approached her- likely for fear of his life as her father had been quick to catch on and just as quick to dish out death glares. His name was Haldor, he said, and a scholar. Though things were a bit tense at her house at the beginning of their courting (with her father being of the old school beliefs about strong Nord men, rather then magic-practicing scholars.), eventually tensions settled down and the pair were married shortly after her eighteenth birthday. Life was basically roses for Asta the next eleven years, as she and her husband made a home for themselves. He taught her basic magic, though it was like pulling teeth- this would be where she learned how to use fire and healing magic, though of course it is very low-level. There was, unfortunately, two major tragedies during their time together- At twenty three, Asta conceived a child. Three months away from her due date, a thief broke into the house. While Asta and Haldor fought him off Asta was thrown into their table, with the impact causing her to miscarry the child. She never conceived again and assumed the trauma of impact rendered her infertile, followed by the late-term miscarry.

At twenty nine, the second tragedy struck; while traveling, the pair were caught off guard by a bear. The bear knocked Asta to the ground and gave her the facial scar she has today. The only reason she survived was because Haldor made a last-ditch effort to save his wife, in which he took the brunt of the bear's blow before managing to finish the creature off himself. Asta desperately tried to save him using what little magic she could and the few potions they had, but his injuries were too catastrophic and he bled out. Asta stayed with her husband in the road until a group of guards her.

Traumatized by the loss of the love of her life, Asta essentially disappeared. The only time anyone saw her was when she came in to do trading with the vendors, and she was gone not long after that. At thirty, she bought a three year old horse named Rush.

The bordered became meaningless to Asta as she followed the herds, and several years later at thirty four she was arrested by the Imperials and sentenced to death, along with Ulfric Stormcloak. Escaping Helgen, she made her way to Riverwood and then Whiterun, where she established herself as Thane. Asta was fairly accepting of her role as Dragonborn, though slightly out of her depth being a simple hunter.

Smother 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

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."

Smother 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

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.

Smother 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

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?

Smother 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

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."

Smother 5/?

[(Anonymous)]

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.

Smother 6/7

[(Anonymous)]

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.'

Smother 7/7

[(Anonymous)]

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."