Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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Re: Innocent DB/Hadvar - "Useless" 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

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