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>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.
F!Listener/Arnbjorn "Prey" 1/5
Date: 2013-12-15 01:49 am (UTC)He glares at the black door set into the edge of a small cliff. It’s all that keeps him from tearing the little jester’s throat out. If only he knew the password - but he doesn’t know it, and he isn’t certain if anyone other than Cicero knows it. So all he can do is cower in pain like a helpless pup and wait, hoping his wife either comes herself or sends someone halfway competent to aid him.
Damn that jester.
+++++
It is dark, and while the air around him is cool, he is burning hot. A prickling, clawing heat seems to radiate from the cut in his side. He lifts his hand, which takes more effort than he expects, and runs his fingers across his sweat-slicked brow. He drags in breath after breath, panic finally clawing up his spine when he realizes the jester has poisoned him. Figures.
There is a thunderous pounding in the distance, and deliriously he thinks a storm is blowing in from the sea, but the air is still and his sluggish mind finally recognizes the steady rhythm of hooves. These are not the hoofbeats of a normal horse, but the deep, resonant pounding of a daedric steed. Arnbjorn relaxes then, knowing help is on the way, but his respite is short-lived when he sees who his wife sent to help him.
Of course Astrid would send her. Though, for the life of him, he cannot understand why. Just a month ago the Bosmer was claiming the Night Mother spoke to her. Whether it is true or not is irrelevant to Arnbjorn. The only thing that matters is that the entire situation had deeply upset his beautiful wife. If he thought Astrid was paranoid before, it was nothing compared to how paranoid she became after the fact.
Lumen tugs Shadowmere’s reigns, slowing the horse to a stop. “Arnbjorn!” she calls out, sliding from the saddle and running over to him. "Are you all right?"
"Of course I'm all right, Bit. I'm alive, aren't I?" he snaps, swallowing hard when Lumen kneels beside him to inspect his wound. He feels uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, and even more so beneath the touch of her hands. Something about her always sets his teeth on edge.
“Can you stand? I can’t heal you here, we need to get to the inn.”
“I’ll be fine. Just go kill that damn clown.”
She is silent for a moment, and through his blurred vision, he can see her turn to stare at the black door. “No,” she says calmly, and turns back to him. “Astrid sent me to get you first, and Cicero second. She’ll kill me if you die.”
“I’m not going to die,” he says. But he can feel Lumen’s arms slipping around him, her voice murmuring gentle encouragements - like he needs them. If standing is what it takes to make the annoying elf leave him alone, so be it. Arnbjorn pushes up to his feet, but he cries out when a bolt of excruciating pain zips through him and he falls to his knees.
His vision swims, then fades to black as unconsciousness claims him once again.
+++++
Arnbjorn slowly wakes to the sensation of gentle hands caressing his sides. He wonders if he’s home and in bed with his wife, and that Cicero has been nothing but a terribly annoying dream. But when the small, calloused fingers begin to trace every scar along his torso, both old and new, he remembers where he is. His wife hasn’t bothered to explore his scars for a long, long time. Arnbjorn’s eyes snap open and he grabs the curious hands, halting Lumen’s study of his body.
“Oh, good. You’re finally awake.” she says softly. “I was worried.”
“Not worried enough, Bit.” He growls.
Lumen shrugs, completely unrepentant. “What can I say? I’m an opportunist.”
Arnbjorn glares at her. “Where am I?”
“Does it matter? You’re warm, dry, and very much alive,” she says. A mockery of the first thing Astrid said to her after he’d brought the elf to his wife. “The same cannot be said for Cicero.”
“So, you killed him?”
“He’s been dealt with,” she murmurs, “and if it isn’t obvious, you’re at the Windpeak Inn.”