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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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Because the sexy Legate doesn't get enough love. I don't have a particular situation in mind for them, I just want fluff and maybe some smut :D bonus points if she is part of the Thieves Guild or de Dark Brotherhood.

Wtf, Anon are you spying on me? Because I literally am seven pages into writing a fanfic with him and then BAM! You request him and let me love you forever.

I can take a stab at this. The thought of our sweet Thalmor-hating Legate being with a Dunmer is actually super adorable. So give me some time and I'll attempt it.

Ignore the title. I play the iTunes game a lot and just pick whatever title from whatever song I get off shuffle. Sadly the song sort of fits what I wrote. A sort of... hm... fluff. I can't write smut just yet, apologies, but I hope this is just as well.

Characters: Legate Fasendil, Female Dragonborn
Genre: Fluff
Relationships: None
Summary: A nearby attack on bandits near the Imperial camp draws the Legate to investigate.

Tags: char:F!DB, char:legate_fasendil, race:dunmer, race:altmer, kink:humor/fluff, es:skyrim

I will freely admit, I have gone and annoyed our lovely Legate more times recently than I have my other in-game crushes. He's just so charming and an Altmer in uniform! I swear the Imperials will be the death of me...

He held up the blade, judging it against the sun, feeling the weight in his hand and he handed it back to the Quartermaster who looked almost nervous when he did. “Feels a little off.”

The blacksmith sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m just not feeling the blades like I used to.”

Fasendil frowned as he watched the Nord grab his hammer and stare at it almost lost. “You haven’t been taking your breaks. Have you contracted something?”

The blacksmith said nothing, as if he was contemplating on whether he had when a large explosion not far to the right of them drew their eyes up. One of the soldiers got up from his seat by the fire and pointed. Fasendil followed his aim.

“Bandits!” the soldier cried and the men who had been loitering around were soon up and grabbing their weapons, the horses tied to their posts rearing and snorting in stress when Fasendil caught sight of what he meant. A bandit was running from down the hill, staggering for a moment as he did when a large fireball engulfed him and he screamed. Fasendil drew his sword and snapped at his men to form a line, watching the landscape desperately for what was attacking. The Quartermaster behind him grabbed a weapon and stood back as he was in plain clothes.

If it was a dragon, he would have to deal with it and he knew and feared that. Some of his men were archers but their iron arrows couldn’t possibly penetrate the scales of such a beast. But in order for them to overwhelm it, it would have to be taken and grounded. He gripped his sword hard and scanned the air.

The sound of another fireball being let out drew his eyes towards a small set of ruins that lay not far from their camp. He had seen sacks and chests there on his patrol but there was never anyone around and he couldn’t afford to stay and guard the camp on the chance of whatever was there came back. He wondered if the bandits saw the supplies and decided to move in on whatever occupied the space when an explosion of fire hit a tree, lighting it up briefly in hot flames.

Out of the ruins, something moved. He wasn’t sure if he saw it correctly but before he could judge, he was distracted by his men. “Hey!” a soldier yelled from behind him and he turned to see a bandit running through their camp, crying as he did.

“L-Leave me be!” he shouted but it wasn’t directed at them. Fasendil still wouldn’t allow someone like that to cross foot into an Imperial camp.

“Archers!” he yelled and one already had his bow out, aiming for the bandit when a soft whistle interrupted them. A black arrow came and slammed into the back of the frantic bandit, effectively killing the man. He dropped in front of Fasendil’s tent, dead before he even hit the ground.

There was only silence after. The sounds of fire sweeping the ground soon dissipated and they were left with only the wind in the trees, leaves scattering across the earth floor. Fasendil gritted his teeth. Thank the Divines it was not a dragon as he was sure a dragon didn’t use arrows but whatever it was, it was still out there and he feared for his men.

“Get rid of that body. And stay here,” he commanded them and he went outside the barricades, ignoring a few protests for him to stay as it was dangerous. He focused on the ruins, quickly crossing the grassy plain to them and he could smell burnt flesh in the air. He covered his nose and pushed past the rope strung up with skeletal parts. They cracked against each other sending out a sound like many swords hitting a rock and he heard something move. He brought his sword up and desperately looked about for whatever was in the ruins when he noticed an unnatural black shape moving near a crate. He charged without thinking, his eyes only forward and if he didn’t stumble on a set of stairs, there would have been an arrow in his head. The black weapon sliced past his ear and he found his heart stopping at the feeling despite his legs still carrying him forward.

The black shape moved back, grabbing another arrow from the quiver and from what he could make out it was a person but in armor he had never seen. The body was completely concealed in darkness, even the eyes not being shown but their movements were quick and the bow was drawn without a second. He was closer though, thank the Divines, and with one swing, he hit the weapon making the person stagger.

He was about to go for another when they kicked at his legs, making him fall back. They got up, grabbing their bow but instead of pulling an arrow they turned to flee. He staggered up with a determination not to let them but the masked unknown gripped their side and fell. They stumbled, struggling to get back up but whatever pain they felt in their ribs prevented them. He watched, almost out of pity before going to grab the criminal. Whoever it was the Empire would deal with them.

As soon as he grabbed their arm, a cry came out that was high and feminine. He dropped them in shock; it sounded like a woman. They took no time in trying to get away but he took long strides and grabbed their arm again with a bruising strength, pulling them so they fell on their knees before him and there was another cry, a female voice.

“L-Let me go!”

He didn’t but he was curious, to say the least. He grabbed the dark hood and pulled, uncovering the head of the woman covered in darkness and he was shocked to see long black hair fall out, grey skin underneath. Red eyes stared back at him, in pain and he loosened his grip a bit. It was a Dunmer. She grabbed her side, hissing and he found himself at a bit of a loss.

“What are you doing out here?”

She said nothing.

“Sadaoni,” he said in a stern voice. “Answer me.”

“Let me go, Fasendil!” she begged. “Please!”

He did nothing but stare at her. He was not well-met with a lot of Dunmer and he found a lot of the ones he was introduced to looked the same but he never forgot the one female who had been brought to him recently. She had been at Legate Rikke’s side and she was in Imperial gear; Legate Rikke and she were scouting the Rift to see if it was too soon to take the Hold and she had been introduced as a fairy tale name. The Dragonborn. He recalled her being incredibly sheepish and embarrassed about it but he had been more shocked that a Dunmer was the embodiment of a Nord hero and not, well, a Nord.

She wasn’t in Imperial armor now, though, and he kneeled down beside her still gripping her arm as he did and he gently pulled her hand away from her side. It was hard to tell against her black armor but he could see some sort of puncture wound. He finally let go of her and she made no move to leave, more focused on breathing hard and trying to forget the pain.

“I have some potions back at the camp,” he said and she didn’t reply, her fingers moving back to the wound. “Can you walk?”

She shook her head, her breathing becoming worse. He pursed his lips and instead pulled from the dark recesses of his mind the words of a healing spell. It had been so long since he used it that he had to take a moment to remember, the words and feeling fuzzy, but his hands sparked with light and he placed them on her.

He healed himself and he muttered curses. She let out a small laugh which caused her to cough and grip herself harder.

“Oh, Oblivion be damned,” he growled and he grabbed her, making her cry out as he hauled her into his arms. She was light and he adjusted her in a bridal style making her flush and grip at his steel armor.

“F-Fasendil, this-! This is highly inappropriate!”

“Please. You’re a high-ranking soldier for the Empire. If anyone asks, I’m helping a fellow wounded Legionnaire… despite their choice of armor.”

She flushed and became quiet, gripping him as he started carrying her down the slope towards their camp. The sun above them was now beginning to wane, hiding behind the mountains and he tried not to trip as he carried her but the leaves that had been disturbed caused the ground to be slippery. She held on to his tight, her breath near his ear and he found himself blushing.

The men all came forward as he approached. “Legate,” one of them called and he ignored them, carrying her into the camp to a frenzy of leering stares. “Legate, are you alright?”

“Bring me some potions,” he commanded, walking past them to his personal tent. “A soldier is hurt.”

She hid her eyes when he said it and the men stood in place for a moment before dispersing, one grabbing a few potions while the others went back to pretending to work. Fasendil sighed and stepped into his tent, placing her gently on his bed. The whispers of his men drifted to his ears.

“What soldier? Who is that?”

“She isn’t wearing our uniforms. How does the boss know she’s one of us?”

“Somethin’ ain’t right.”

“Quiet! He’s looking this way!”

Fasendil glared at his men until one came forward with a large red bottle. He took it from him and dismissed the soldier before sitting on the side of the bed and handing it to Sadaoni. She took it with a delicate grip and struggled to get the top off before he reached over and did it.

“T-Thank you,” she softly said as she began to drink and he watched her, his eyes going to the wound. Her breathing stopped being so harsh once she had swallowed a small portion of it and when she had consumed past the halfway point, her body relaxed and she no longer seemed so bothered by the pain. It took her a few more tries to drink right to the bottom but once she had she seemed as if she had never been harmed at all.

He reached down to her side, feeling it and his fingers brushed against a foreign object. He pulled it and out came the broken end of an arrow, her skin closing up where it had been. He held it for her to see and she sighed, taking it from him. “I guess one of them had a better aim than I gave them credit for.”

He only stared at her and she shifted uncomfortably on his bed.

“Sadaoni, what are you doing out here?” he asked again. She rolled the arrowhead between her fingers, avoiding the question. “Why did you shoot at me? Why are you in this strange gear? Where’s Legate Rikke?”

“I didn’t mean to,” she breathed out. “I… didn’t recognize you. I thought you were a bandit who stole our Legion’s gear.”

He pressed his lips together. He recalled hearing about things like that on the roads. It disgusted him that there were criminals killing their men and exploiting travelers with such rouses but he had no way to control it. “Sadaoni, what are you doing out here?”

“Rikke is at Castle Dour,” she finally said, answering his previous question and ignoring his once again repeated one. “General Tullius decided not to take the Rift.”

Fasendil frowned. “Why not?”

She sighed. “Too few men right now, not enough funds, take your pick,” she said quietly. “He’s focused on Winterhold right now before taking something as large as the Rift. Thinks it will come in handy if Ulfric moves North.”

Fasendil said nothing but he contemplated what she said. They had taken Dawnstar months before as he recalled. A heroic effort which had cost the Empire more soldiers than they anticipated but it was secured for them now. He could almost feeling the Thalmor laughing from the shadows over it and he reached up and rubbed his temples. The General was probably right in his insight; taking the Rift now would be disastrous and helping the Thalmor and their dirty plans further than needed.

It still didn’t answer his question. “What are you doing here, Sadaoni?” There was a long stretch of silence between them and she placed the arrowhead on his bedside table before she attempted to get up. “Sadaoni!”

She stopped but she refused to meet his eyes. He found his heart sinking and he had to ask. “Have they expelled you from the Legion?”

Her head snapped up in almost horror. “No!”

He relaxed. That was a relief. “Then where is your armor?”

She gave him a defiant look before her shoulders fell and she looked to the boards covering the ground. “I don’t like it. I cannot move with it on so I am wearing the armor I need,” she said. “I have not been given orders to be deployed yet so I am allowed to do whatever business I wish until I am. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it will do.”

She didn’t seem pleased by his response.

“I’m worried about you,” he commented and he watched her blush, her hands tightening on his bed. He flushed himself. “N-Not… like that. I worry about all people of the Empire, especially those giving their lives to it. You mean more right now because-”

“I’m the dragonborn?” she interrupted in a bitter voice.

“Because you’re in odd armor chasing bandits and got hurt in doing so,” he cut in himself, offended she would even think such a thing. Her red eyes moved to see his and he gave her a sincere look. “Honestly, Sadaoni. What were you thinking? What if I didn’t come and you got worse?”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes still searching his before she got up off the bed and stood before him, her frame so small and petite compared to his. He heard the sounds of the Quartermaster stop hammering and he looked out towards his men who were all staring in anticipation. He felt his cheek twitch and he was about to yell at them when her soft fingers cupped his cheek and made him turn back.

She kissed him and he felt his heart stop. The sounds of his men gasping didn’t help either.

She pulled away, giving him a kind look before moving to leave, pulling out her hood as she did. “You’re a good Altmer, Fasendil. Not like some who I have met. I will see you when my orders are given to take the Rift. Please, take care of yourself until then.”

He continued to stare at the wall of his tent, his ears burning and his voice lost but he snapped back to reality and got up, ready to chase after her. She swiftly crossed the camp, ignoring the men and was already disappearing into the darkness of the forest beyond the clearing before he could even reach the edge of the barricade. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably as he did, confused on what had just transpired.

She didn’t even answer his questions properly, just gave him more to ask if they ever met up again. He turned to see his soldiers staring at him, some giving him a goofy grin and others solemn, nodding once in approval. His thoughts of her disappeared in his mind. “What are you all doing!? Get to work! I expect all of you to be in perfect battle form for tomorrow as you’re all performing a mock battle!”

They all stiffened, some groaning but they scattered like ants, going back to work and he found himself going to the Quartermaster who was hammering the same piece of steel he was earlier, his lips pressed together tight.

“Saul,” the Quartermaster looked up but did not speak. “Have you ever seen armor like that?”

He stopped hammering and contemplated it, quiet as he did before he shook his head. “Never before, Legate. But I’m only well versed in Imperial armor and some lower forms of smithing such as leather and hide.”

Fasendil sighed.

“But… there are rumors,” the Quartermaster said as he took the piece of steel and turned it over, his fingers running over the imperfections that littered the rough blade. “Of armor black as night. It is not made from ebony nor daedric but of material light as a feather and dark as a winter sky. Enchanted by Nocturnal and given to her protectors.”

He stepped forward, interested. “Protectors?”

“The Nightingales.”

--

Not OP, but I needed this like air.

Surprised this story doesn't have more comments. I really like it, especially all the hints of backstory woven through it. ("How does the boss know she's one of us?")

Damn, missed this one entirely, but a great read! Previous commenter's right, there's some great backstory hints in here, but they're very well placed and don't detract from the flow.

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