I do not own any rights to The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim. That joy goes to the creators at Betheseda.
He watched the lithe figure of the Breton jump from the tower to the burning town below. He knew nothing about her but her name, Meliandra. She was already on the wagon when his men and himself were loaded onto the wagons. She was young, about fifteen years his junior; a child still, except her eyes said differently. He would have been intrigued then if he hadn’t believed that he was on his way to his own death. Now as he watched her jump out the side of the wall he found himself wishing he’d see her again.
I do not own any rights to The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim. That joy goes to the creators at Betheseda.
The three of them walked into the city of Windhelm during a fierce winter snowstorm, their cloaks pulled close to their bodies. Meliandra was thankful that the inn was directly in front of them as they headed inside, grateful at the thought of a warm fire, some mulled wine and local gossip. The sound of a lyre and the ballad of Ragnar the Red greeted their ears as the door opened. A middle-aged blonde looked up from her sweeping as they walked in, a sour look seemingly etched on her face. “Come on in, just stoked the fire. Got some fresh baked bread, how about a bowl of stew with some bread and fresh churned butter?”
Meliandra looked to Vorstag and Lydia; she could swear she heard the housecarl’s stomach rumble at the mention of food. She looked back to the innkeeper and nodded, “There some seating around the fire?”
The blonde nodded, “Aye, upstairs. Get yourselves warm. Shall I bring you something?”
Lydia piped up, “Some of that stew and bread and a jug of mead. Don’t forget that butter either.”
Vorstag chimed in and added to the order, then headed up the stairs while Meliandra and Lydia stood at the foot of the stairs. The Breton looked at her housecarl and asked her why she hesitated to join Vorstag.
Meliandra interrupted her saying, “My name is not ‘My Thane’. Call me Meliandra. I don’t really want to be reminded of my thanehood.”
Lydia frowned. “I’m sorry, Meliandra. It’s just…, I’m sworn to protect you. I should remain by your side.”
Meliandra looked at her wide-eyed. “You know, you take your job way too seriously. Live it up some, Lydia. Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll be up there shortly; I’m going to get us a room for the night and leave my stuff in there first, alright?” She watched as the Nord grudgingly agreed and climbed up the stairs. She approached the woman, studying her as she did. Once she secured the room and paid for everything, she went to the rented room and shut the door.”
She began going through her pack and located her satchel that held her burglary tools and enchanted jewelry. She slipped her rings on her fingers, placed her enchanted necklace on and changed into her boots that were enchanted with muffling but she stayed in her traveling clothes. She set her bag in the wardrobe and exited the room, making her way upstairs.
Vorstag sat at a small table by the fire, a tankard of ale in his hand as he spoke with a man clad in steel armor, a sellsword by the appearance of him. Lydia sat not far away, looking uncomfortable among the grouping of Stormcloak soldiers. Meliandra made her way to the empty chair and sat down, noticing her own bowl of stew with a chunk of bread. She hadn’t realized how hungry she actually was until the aroma of the stew assailed her nose making her mouth water. Soon, she found herself using her bread to clean the sides of the bowl she ate from, sopping up every bit of broth she could. She was slightly disappointed when she was finished but the fullness of her stomach was evidence of her satisfaction.
While Lydia and Meliandra spoke idly about random subjects, the Breton paid attention to the talk of the townspeople, listening for any gossip that would be of benefit for her and the Guild. It wasn’t the loud voices that got her attention but the hushed whispers of the old women speaking of the chanting coming out of the old Aretino place. She listened with interest how they spoke of how the husband had been a Stormcloak soldier and was dead three winters now and then how last winter the wife was taken in death, leaving the boy orphaned. Apparently, the boy had been sent to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften after that. Some months later people had started reporting seeing the flickering of lights from within as well as ominous chanting, yet the house was locked up as tight as it was the day the jarl’s men locked it up.
Meliandra arched an eyebrow as she finished her drink. ‘Maybe,’ she thought to herself, ‘I’ll just have to go check out this ghost.”
The door shut softly, the clicking of the latch barely audible. She slipped her hood off her head and onto her shoulders as she walked around, gazing in awe at the assortment of weapons in glass cases and ganging on the walls. Delvin had instructed her to steal enough things of value that they’d know that only the Thieves Guild would be brazen enough to steal it. She had a feeling that stealing something from the jarl’s personal armory would be exactly the thing to make the people of Windhelm remember the Thieves Guild and let them know that they were very much alive and well.
The jarl of Windhelm had an interesting collection of both armor and weaponry. There were mannequins in Ancient Nord Armor with ancient Nord weapons on the racks next to them. She approached one mannequin that stood alone from all the others, eyeing the armor that dressed it, a worn, beat up shield attached to its hand. But it was the rings on its fingers that caught her attention. The gems were flawless, perfect. And the gold and silver were gleaming brightly as if they had just been made.
Smiling, she removed the rings and slipped them into her satchel. She glanced around the room, her eyes quickly scanning the room for anything else of value. Seeing nothing, she slipped the hood back on and made her way out of the armory before drinking the potion of invisibility she had taken out. She thought she heard a footstep just down the hall, but she saw nothing. Not wanting to break the effect of the potion, she decided not to cast a detect life spell and made her way out of the palace.
She didn’t have much trouble finding the Aretino house. She saw no one around and worked the lock with her pick, finding success in just a few tries. The home was dimly lit by a few small candles. She heard a young boy’s voice up the stairs but couldn’t make out the words. As she got closer she could him more clearly.
“Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.” Over and over she heard these words as she climbed the stairs, following the voice to candle-lit room.
It seemed like she had walked in on some kind of ritual; there was a skeleton on the floor, along with a human heart and rotting flesh encircled by candles. She watched as the child rubbed the blade of an old, rusty dagger with petals of Nightshade, his voice filled with exhaustion as he lamented, “How long must I do this? I keep praying. Please, Night Mother, why won’t you answer me?” He dropped the petals and began to chant again as he repeatedly stabbed the effigy on the floor.
She steeped on a board that creaked loudly, startling the boy. The dagger fell to the floor with a clang as he fell backward, a look of shock on his face. He worked his lips but no sound came forth for a moment as he stared at her.
“You okay, kid?” she asked, slightly concerned.
“It worked!” he cried out, jumping to his feet. “I knew you’d come! I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body, and the…things.” He motioned toward the bloody mess on the floor. “And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!”
Meliandra’s mouth opened. “You’ve been trying to get the Dark Brotherhood? Why in Oblivion would a child be in need of an assassin?”
The boy looked down. “My mother died and I’m all alone now. The jarl had me sent to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften. It was terrible there!” He looked back up at her, his eyes lit by the flames of his anger. “the headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she’s not kind. She’s terrible. To all of us.” He shrugged and ran his foot from side to side in a small spot. “So, I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament.” He smiled as he looked at her. “Now you’re here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!”
She walked out of the Aretino house and headed back to the inn; she thought about the boy and his situation. She had heard mixed stories of the old woman who ran the orphanage. She couldn’t just take the boy at his word and even if what he had said was true, as the leader of the Thieves Guild, she could not risk getting caught in Riften for committing a murder. Yet the pain in the kid’s eyes spoke to her; she had seen that same look reflected in her own eyes when she was a young child. She remembered how she had felt when so much had been taken from her at such a young age. Part of her wanted to help him.
She turned the corner, the inn a short walk away. Her thoughts went to the warm room she had rented and the bed within. She was tired and her mind was heavy with thoughts of Brynjolf and now weighed down even more as she thought of the Aretino boy. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wanted to help the boy, her only concern was how would she get away with it? Slightly shaking her head, she decided she’d give it more thought the next day on their return to Riften.
She stopped abruptly. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, the unmistakable feeling of someone watching her tingling up her spine. She listened carefully for any sound as she studied the shadows, relying heavily upon the heightened senses she possessed, a genetic gift from her father. She started reaching for her dagger when a pair of soldiers stepped out of the darkness, both having their swords drawn.
She took a step back, then turned and headed toward the city gate. She could easily take two guards on at once, but she did not want to draw attention to herself. She’d have to find a way to get a message to Vorstag and Lydia inside the inn, but she could not afford to get herself arrested.
Once again, she stopped short as the guards by the city’s entrance drew their swords and stepped in middle of her path. She turned in the direction of the docks, dreading the idea of an escape through the icy waters but saw no other option. Mid-step she realized escape was not feasible as more guards appeared.
“Shor’s balls,” she said exasperatedly. She watched as an older man walked toward her. He wore a Stormcloak officer’s uniform, but one she had only seen in passing on her travels. He held no weapon, though a Warhammer was strapped to his back. The look in his eyes told her that trying to run would not bode well for her. He stopped an arm’s length away from her.
“You got a big set on you, don’t you, girl?”
She arched her eyebrow, a smirk appearing on her face. “You have no idea, old-timer.”
“Why don’t you give me one then?” he responded.
She glanced at the guards then back at him. “Maybe another time, Gramps, when it’s not so…crowded.”
“If you ever get the chance.” He motioned to a couple of the guards. “Get her in irons and take her down to the cells. Make sure she doesn’t have anything on her and double up the guard on her.” He looked at her dead in the eyes as he said, “I don’t know how you managed to get into Ulfric’s personal armory without anyone noticing you, but you sure the fuck won’t be sneaking out of your cell anytime soon, thief.”
She stood hunched over the map of dragon burial mounds, studying them. Every so often she’d pick up a book and flip through the pages, looking for an answer. The tablet she had paid Farengar to get for her was helping but she felt like she was missing something. What she would do to have that crazy old man here with her to help her decipher all the signs.
She heard a commotion upstairs; checking to ensure that her dagger was in the folds of her dress, she headed upstairs closing the false back panel then the wardrobe door, she made sure nothing was amiss before opening the door of her room. A pair of traveling Imperials were speaking hurriedly about a dragon attack outside of Whiterun, but it was what they said about what happened after the dragon was slain that had caught her attention. As they described the sight of the dragon’s soul being absorbed by an unknown warrior she realized that this was the reason that she had heard the Greybeards some days ago.
A thought occurred to her and she smiled. She had a little adventure to begin.
He laid in bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. He had opted to sleep in one of the rooms instead of out with the others. With so much on his mind as of late he had very little desire to join them in his down time. They were slowly refilling the vault but they had a long way to go until they regained the former glory that they had once known. Mercer had effectively dismantled the Guild’s connections from within. The more Brynjolf had reached out to all their old connections, the more he realized just how much Mercer had screwed them over.
Brynjolf ran his hand down his face, slowly preparing himself to face the day. He had slept little that night, nor the night before, nor the night before that. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure when the last night he had not had any trouble sleeping was but he was very sure that it was when Meliandra had laid beside him.
That was something else that Mercer had destroyed, the ebb and flow of the internal workings of the Guild by sowing seeds of distrust and jealousy among its members. Everyone felt the tension between Vex and Brynjolf and avoided being around when the two of them had to have dealings with each other. He sighed, wishing things would just get back to normal.
He climbed out of bed, silently groaning at the increasing need to relieve himself. A few minutes later he was pulling on his boots, intending to go up to the market and looking for some easy marks. He walked down the passageway and into the Cistern. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of Vipir’s snores echoing off the stone walls and shook his head as he thought about the irony of such a noisy sleeper being as quiet as a mouse when he was sneaking through a mark’s house.
He stopped short as he saw the raven-haired woman sitting at the desk, her head bent down as she read through the Guild’s ledger. He stood there, not believing his own eyes as he watched her run her fingers through her hair, pulling it to the back as she did so, showing her face. She looked deep in thought, every so often taking the quill, dipping it into the inkwell and writing something on a piece of paper, tapping her thumb against the desk every so often. He smiled when he saw her biting her lip the way she did whenever she was thinking a problem through.
As much as he wanted to stand there and watch her from afar, he knew that he could not. Business needed to be attended to and he was the one with the task of showing Meliandra the ropes of running this hodgepodge of thieves. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards her.
She looked up when her ears picked up footsteps approaching. She sighed as she laid her eyes upon Brynjolf. One of the moments she had been dreading was finally here. She sat back in the chair, her eyes set in a firm gaze as she prepared herself for whatever her former lover had to say. “Yes, Brynjolf? Something I can help you with?”
“When’d you get in, lass?” he asked, smiling.
She sighed. “A couple hours ago I guess it was. It was quite the trip from Whiterun.” She paused to see what kind of reaction would appear on his face; his jaw set suddenly, his eyes got hooded and when he spoke, his voice was flat and strained.
She smiled to herself as she answered, “Picked up a job for the jarl there. Well, to be more exact, for his court wizard.”
Brynjolf arched his eyebrow. “Really? A job for the court wizard?” He raised his eyebrow. “And what was that?”
She heard the light-heartedness in his voice and took it as a good sign; she began to relax. “He wanted some old artifact up in Bleak Falls Barrow.”
He nodded. “Hope you were paid well.” He pulled a chair up to the desk and sat across from Meliandra.
She studied him for a moment. His green eyes stared back at her, his smile touching them. His voice was light, the way it would be when they would talk before… before Vex. She reminded herself of that as she answered, saying, “Yes, I received a good amount of gold in payment.” She smiled as she picked up the bottle of mead that sat next to the ledger and took a drink. She swirled the contents of the bottle around, staring at the bottle before looking back at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve already put a portion of that in the vault; Delvin was still awake when I got here and we opened it up.”
“So,” he started as he leaned back in the chair, “are you ready to accept that you’re the new Guild Master now?”
She sighed. A hint of resentment rode her voice as she replied to him, “You know, Bryn, I still don’t understand why none of you have stepped up to the position instead. I don’t have the experience that any of you guys do. For fuck’s sake, I’m still a padfoot.”
He chuckled. “Lass, this organization needs a fresh face at the helm, one with young ideas. You’ve proven yourself, Meli, more than any padfoot ever did. There’s absolutely no one more deserving than you, love.”
“I guess it’s something I will have to get used to.” She tapped the ledger with her index finger. “I see we’ve been getting some jobs done still between Delvin and” she hesitated for half a breath “Vex. What’s the word through Tonila and Vekel’s connections.”
“Just the regular news. The war going on isn’t helping us any. More and more patrols, increased guards in the major cities, and it doesn’t matter which side is doing the checking. And we don’t dare align ourselves with either side”
She shook her head, agreeing with him. “No, we don’t. We’ve got enough problems on our hands; we don’t need any war profiteering to be added into the mix.”
He leaned forward, a twinkle in his eye. “So, what do you propose we do to start bringing in more gold to the Guild, Boss?”
There was a loud rapping on his door that brought him out of his sleep. He threw his cloak on, walked to the door and threw it open, his eyes ablaze with heated anger. The guard just on the other side wore a full faced helmet, but his discomfort was noticeable in his voice as he reported that a scout had returned to the palace early, and that he had some information to tell the jarl and the jarl alone. Ulfric sighed deeply as he looked at the man crossly before turning around and put his pant and a tunic on. A scout in the middle of the night that refused to speak to anyone but him made him slightly uneasy. He started to exit his room when he decided to take his axe from its place on the wall, just in case. He proceeded to head down the stairs, his thoughts scattered.
He entered the war room, a young man who had probably not yet seen twenty winters sat at the table by the entrance. When he saw Ulfric coming through the door, he stood very quickly, his back ramrod straight and his arms at his side. “You have something you want to tell me?” came Ulfric’s calm, commanding and authoritative voice.
The scout nodded, his voice rushed. “I was in Whiterun Hold, approaching the Western Watchtower when a dragon attacked it. The dragon was killed but it’s what happened after the beast was slain that made me turn around and return here, my Lord. The dragon’s soul… it was taken by one of the fighters.”
Ulfric’s eyebrow rose. “Its soul was…taken? Like the stories of old?”
The man nodded his head fervently. “Just like the stories of the Dragonborn, sir.”
“Were you able to get a look at this person?”
He shook his head, a frown on his face. “I’m sorry, my Lord, not a good one. All I could tell was that it was a woman.”
The older man nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Get yourself down to the barracks, get some food and rest. You can set back out tomorrow, but come see my steward before you leave.” With that, he dismissed the scout. He began pacing the room, his thought churning as he realized what this meant. Helgen’s destruction by a dragon had been a blessing, if it hadn’t have been for the beast all of them would be a head shorter.
Suddenly the thoughts flowed through his mind like a stream which burst its banks after a winter storm. A warrior such as the Dragonborn would make a formidable ally, one that would make the Empire take a step back and rethink continuing this unnecessary bloodshed. But he had to ensure that the Dragonborn would ally herself to him. He needed to find the Dragonborn and convince them to join his fight.
The day had been long; Meliandra was tired. She had started to turn in using the bed she often had slept in by herself when Brynjolf had stopped her. “No, lass. You should have some privacy tonight,” he had said softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. She had protested but he was insistent on ignoring them. They had had a good day, finding themselves able to be at ease together enough that they had spent part of the evening laughing at each other’s joke and light-hearted jabs. And protest as much as she did, she knew that he was right, she needed some privacy so she could have a decent night’s sleep.
She was quiet as they walked to a room in the back where she could sleep without being disturbed; Brynjolf wondered what was on her mind but respected her silence. He opened the door for Meliandra then followed her in, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Meli,” he spoke softly “we need to talk about us, about what happened.”
She looked at him, her eyes darkened as her voice went cold. “Why did you have to go and bring that up?” She paused. “And there is no ‘us’.”
He sighed; he had feared she would react like this. “Meli, we can’t go on ignoring what happened. You’ve got to give me a chance to explain.”
“What do you need to explain?” she snapped. “I don’t care what you have to say. You made the choice to fuck her. You betrayed me, Bryn. End of story.”
“You’re right,” he snapped back at her. “I had the choice and I made the wrong decision. Oh boy, did I ever make the wrong decision. I wasn’t thinking too clearly at that point in time, I’d like to add in my defense, not that it’s gonna matter to you; I can tell that already. But dammit, lass. I never wanted to hurt you.” He reached up to stroke her cheek, but she pulled away; he let his hand drop with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Meliandra. If I could erase the hurt I caused, I would do so without hesitation. All I ask is for a chance to make things right.”
She looked at him, a look of confused astonishment upon her face. “Make things right?” she repeated, incredulously. “You were ready to kill me because of Mercer and his lies. You believed those lies, Brynjolf. How are you going to make things right with me about that?”
“How was I supposed to know that Mercer had lied? That he had tried to kill you to save his own skin? That he had set you up? Shor’s Balls, Meli, for twenty-five years we all thought that Karliah had murdered Gallus. And we were all ready to kill her.” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry I brought it up, lass. Forget I said anything.” He turned to walk out of the room before stopping at the door. He turned to look at her, a sadness touching his eyes. “I hope one day we can get past this.”
He walked out, shutting the door behind him. As he looked up he saw Vex just steps away, a look of remorse shadowing on her face. Before he could say anything, she turned and walked away.
The skies above the city thundered with a deafening roar that shouted “Dovahkiin!” Balgruuf was standing on the Great Porch when he heard it and looked at his younger brother. Their faces were full of curiosity, the two of them being well taught in the stories of old. Balgruuf looked toward the area of the Western Watchtower but the only thing he saw was the rising smoke from the destruction. “do you think that’s connected, brother?” he heard Hrongar ask. He shrugged. “Possibly. The dragons have returned, is it too much to consider that the Dragonborn would be seen again as well?”
Hrongar walked toward his brother. “What do you think this means?”
“I don’t know, but one thing I am sure of is that nothing will ever be the same.”
Meliandra took a deep breath, then opened the door to Dragonsreach. It was quieter than she had expected it to be with her footfalls echoing off the walls. She glanced around and saw the hall nearly empty. She caught sight of Proventus exiting the kitchen and heading for the stairs next to the throne. Just as she was about to call out to him, he turned to look at her.
“Ah, you’re back. Good. The jarl’s been waiting for your return. Come with me; I’ll take you to him.”
They followed the older man up the stairs and out the giant doors off to the side. She saw Balgruuf and his brother sitting at the table far off in the sun. They seemed deep in conversation, almost unaware of the Breton approaching. She glanced at Vorstag and mouthed to him, “Not a word.” Then looked back toward the jarl.
“You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards…” Balgruuf trailed off as he turned to see Meliandra approaching. Something in his eyes told her that he knew something had happened. Hrongar, turning to see what had gotten a hold of his brother’s attention, began to smile as Meliandra approached the two of them. “My brother and I were just talking about you.”
“I’m sure it was pure exaggeration,” she said flatly as she stared at Balgruuf.
The blond jarl eyed her. “What happened at the Watchtower?” he asked. “Was the dragon there?”
“Yeah, there was a dragon there. I dealt the deathblow. I think I deserve a reward.”
“there’s no question about that, Meliandra. Killing a dragon, that was a mighty deed. You’ve earned a place of honor among the heroes of Whiterun.” He leaned closer to her from his seat at the table. “But there must be more to it than that. Did something…strange…happen when the dragon died?”
The look in her eyes grew cold and hard as she realized she would have to tell the jarl what had happened at the watchtower. “when the dragon died I absorbed some kind of power from it. The men started to call me ‘Dragonborn’.”
He sat back, his arms in front of him. “So, it’s true. The Greybeards seem to think you’re Dragonborn as well, that was them summoning you.”
She shook her head. “Greybeards? Who are they?”
“they’re masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World.”
“What do they want with me?” she asked annoyedly.
He sighed as he ran his hand down his beard. “The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice – the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu’um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift.”
“Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?” the younger brother asked. “that was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn’t happened in… centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora.”
The steward scolded the Thane. “Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don’t see any signs of her being this, what, ‘Dragonborn’.”
“Nord nonsense? Why you puffed-up ignorant…” Hrongar moved to get up from his seat, only the jarl’s out-stretched hand stayed the man. “These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the Empire!”
“Hrongar,” Balgruuf chided, resting his chin upon his hand, “don’t be so hard on Avenicci.”
The steward spoke up, “I meant no disrespect, of course. It’s just… what do these Greybeards want with her?”
Balgruuf shook his head at his steward. “that’s the Greybeard’s business, not ours.” He looked at her, pausing a moment before saying, “Come with me, Meliandra. I wish to speak to you alone.”
She motioned to Vorstag that she was fine then followed the man to his personal quarters. He was quiet on the walk there, for which she was grateful for but at the same time found herself uneasy at his silence. He shut the doors behind her, his hand resting on the wood for a moment, hesitating before turning to face her.
He looked upon her with new eyes, this young Breton he had bedded with lust in his heart and who he had claimed forcibly. He held her eyes as he asked, “Are you familiar with the stories of the Dragonborn by chance?”
“Only a little,” she answered, unsure of the direction he was going.
“The Dragonborn heroes of old would use the power of their voice to defeat the enemies of Skyrim. In the very oldest of tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power.” He slowly approached her as he continued, “Wulfharth was Dragonborn. Talos, too – the founder of the Empire, back in the good old days.” He stood before her, reaching out and gently holding her arms, continued, “With the return of the dragons, what this land needs the most is a hero, like the Dragonborn.” He took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting her head up to him. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think that you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue?” He leaned in to kiss her lips.
She returned the kiss but it lacked any feeling for her. She would respond to him but only because the fight wasn’t worth it. She felt him pull her into an embrace; he held her gently, almost lovingly. She found herself giving into his desire despite herself. His hands eventually found their way to the lacing on her clothing, his fingers quickly loosening them adeptly. His want grew within and built up hotly as he undressed her, his tongue taking possession of her mouth. His murmurs o adoration against her body took the form of apologies as he kissed her bruised skin, slowly building up her own desire until she was clawing at his back, begging him to fuck her.
Brynjolf sat on the edge of the docks, the night sky darker than normal with heavy cloud cover, the perfect type of night for burglary. But instead of working he sat here with his thoughts on Meliandra. He had never felt so alone, had never felt like he was on a desolate road that he’d walk forever alone. He had never realized how empty he had felt until Meliandra left his side. He realized too late what she had truly meant to him; how he wished he could go back in time and have a chance to make different decisions. He just wanted the chance to make things right with her.
He heard the creaking of the board and glanced behind him to see Delvin walking up to him. The older man had always come across as an uncle figure to him, full of fatherly advice, willing to put you in your place if you needed it and always the one you wanted to sit back and enjoy a night of drinking with. “What can I do you for, Delvin?” he asked once the man was a few steps behind him.
“Thought I’d check on you. You’ve been quiet as of late, and you’re often seen sitting outside the city, watching the roads.” He sat down beside him. “Waiting for her to get back isn’t going to make her get here any sooner, Bryn.”
The redhead looked at him. “That obvious, eh?”
Delvin nodded. “Yeah, the entire crew is getting concerned about you.”
“I had the most valuable prize anyone could ever want and I lost it because I didn’t realize just what exactly I had until it was too late.” He shrugged. “How does one pick up and move on knowing that they will never had that one beautiful person in their life again, especially when they work together?”
“How do you know that you’ll never have her back?” He pulled out a couple bottles of mead from the pack that he had brought out with him and handed one to Bryn. “You gotta prove to her that you want to be with her, that what happened with Vex was truly an accident and that it will never happen again. You need to prove to her that she can trust you again and the best way to do that is to be by her side, have her back, be supportive of her.”
Brynjolf opened his bottle and took a long pull off it. “I know this, Delvin, and I will be supportive of her. I just don’t think there’s any chance of her ever forgiving me.” He took another long pull off the bottle. “And I honestly don’t blame her either.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself, kid. Meliandra is a smart girl, she’s going to come around eventually. What you and she have,” he shook his head, “ain’t too many people who get that kind of love.”
“Love?” Brynjolf echoed. “I haven’t even admitted that to myself, old man.”
Delvin laughed. “This old man has seen it enough times to know what it is when it appears. And that’s what you got for Meliandra. Now you just have to man up and be patient while she learns to put her faith in you again, you dirty scoundrel.”
Balgruuf watched as Meliandra dressed, enjoying the curves of her frame. He appetite was sated for now, but the more he watched her nakedness move around his room, the more he wanted to indulge in her again. He sighed knowing that he could not. He sat up and began to dress, saying, “You’ve done a great service for me and my city, Meliandra. I promised you a reward for all that you’ve done for Whiterun.” He topped and looked at her, a serious look on his face. “There’s only one reward that is fitting for all that you have done for this city and that is to grant you thane hood. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant. I’m assigning Lydia to you as your own personal Housecarl. I’ll introduce you two before you leave for High Hrothgar.”
“What do you mean, ‘excuse me’? The Greybeards have summoned you. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It is a tremendous honor.” He paused a moment, a distant look in his eyes. “I envy you, Meliandra. To climb the 7000 Steps again…” He shook his head with a smile playing on his lips. “I made the pilgrimage once. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very…disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what’s going on down here. They haven’t seemed to care before.” He stood in front of her now, pulling her close to him. “No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. Then come home to Dragonsreach.” He leaned in and kissed her once more, unsure of when he would see her again.
The Imperial couple hid behind rocks, praying to the Divines the flying monstrosity didn’t see them and roast them alive as it made its multiple flyovers above the watchtower. The beating of its powerful wings fanned the flames of what it had already ignited, flaming ash blowing across the field. They watched the guards from Whiterun try to fight the dragon, but they feared it was all in vain.
The Khajiit traders had their goods and their tents packed and were quickly headed to the east of Whiterun when the word came about a dragon being seen headed towards this area. They saw the beast circling overhead, they could see the smoke rising from the area of the watchtower. Bandits they could handle. Wild animals were one thing. The civil war between the rebels and the Empire they withstood. But this talk of dragons and then seeing them, that was something that they wanted no part of.
The guards fired arrow after arrow toward the dragon, praying to whatever deity that they prayed to that their arrows found their marks. They had already watched as two of their brothers in arms were snatched up in the sharp maws of the creature. Now they saw Irileth and another contingency of soldiers rushing to join the fight. They tried to warn them but suddenly the dragon was on top of them again. The guards feared this was their last day alive.
Meliandra swore as she saw the giant best rising above the watchtower. “Fuck me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Damn thing haunts my dreams and now I get to play with its ugly ass cousin. And all I want is to get the fuck out of here and back to Riften.”
The air got hot around her as the dragon breathed fire beside her. She found herself cursing the day she met Balgruuf more and more and vowed that she would find a way to make him pay for this. She looked in the sky as the dragon flew overhead again. Shaking her head, she growled, “I will not die this day, dragon!”
Vorstag held his shield up against the blast of heat from the dragon. “Mel!” he shouted through the roar of the noise around him. He saw her aiming an arrow toward the flying beast. He looked for the best spot that he could cover her from, and, finding none, ran to her side, determined to protect this woman.
The dragon watched the people below run like scared little skeevers; his laugh erupted forth as a blast of flame. They scattered every which way as he toyed with them. Every so often he’d land and let them strike him with their puny swords; he looked forward to tasting one and every once in a while, he’d snatch one up in his jaws. How he relished the sound of their bones crumbling as he snapped his mouth shut on their bodies, and the taste of the blood of these creatures, it was so rich with the variety of foods they ate. He dove again, intent on snatching up another when he saw the raven-haired female of the species. Something about her whet his appetite. He wanted her.
Meliandra drew her swords as she stared down the dragon as it hovered just paces away from her. It spoke a dialect she wasn’t familiar with, yet a part of her felt like she should know it. She saw Vorstag rushing toward her, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and ready. Guards were converging on this flying beast, their arrows soaring through the air. Slowly the creature touched the ground.
The throng of the fighters rushed forward to strike the dragon; Meliandra looked for an opening to strike the creature. She felt braver than she probably should, but her adrenaline moved her right now.
Vorstag could not believe what he was seeing. One moment Meliandra was striking the dragon from its side, the net thing he knew she had sheathed one of her swords, grabbed the side of its head and leaped upon the neck. While the beast shook its head violently in an effort to dislodge its unwelcome rider. He watched as she slashed at the beast’s head from above.
“By the Nine, Mel!” he breathed. “How the hell am I supposed to protect your ass up there?”
The guards watched in amazement as the Breton thrust her sword through the beast’s eye, spraying them all in ocular fluid. The dragon’s pain shook the ground, but the woman held on, continuing her assault. Blood sprayed everywhere as she drove her sword into the side of the creature’s head, a death spasm rolling through it’d dying body.
He realized too late what was happening. He felt his life quickly slipping away while his soul was being ripped from his body. He had been prepared for anything, anything but this. His body shuddered again as he cried out, “Dovahkiin! No!” Then he ceased to be.
She jumped off the beast, bathed in its blood. She went to take a step when suddenly a wave of vertigo hit; she fell to her knees, clutching her head. She felt an intense pounding in her head, a vibration that grew louder and louder, drowning out the sounds of the birds and all those around her in a deafening drum.
“Mel!” Vorstag shouted as he sprinted toward her. Fear gripped him as he prepared to find his friend close to death if not already dead. For the first time in a long time he felt like he had a place to be, that he wasn’t just some sell-sword. He did not want to lose this chance to be a part of something again.
A guard watched in amazement as a visible red haze lifted from the corpse. “What in the name of the Divines?” It hung above the body for a moment and it seemed like the world around them came to an abrupt halt, as if the very next breath was dependent on this very moment.
Vorstag came to a sudden stop when the haze moved beyond the dragon and drifted toward Meliandra. The air around them grew dry and hot. The haze grew brighter as it began to swirl around the Breton. He began to watch not in fear, but in amazement and wonder, somehow knowing that what he was witnessing was something of vast importance. He just didn’t know what.
Suddenly the cacophony of drumming began to sort itself out and she began to hear one word over and over in her mind. “Fus.” The word flashed in front of her eyes. She had seen it on the wall when she got the Dragonstone. She saw it as it was written, in the ancient markings unknown to her, but she knew which one read ‘Fus’.
Suddenly her eyes flew open.
The dragon burst into flames, the sudden rush of heat causing everyone to raise their shields to block it as best they could. The grass ignited around the growing pyre, but soon put themselves out as quickly as they had appeared, leaving bits of bones and scale.
The guards stared as the haze grew stronger in intensity around the young Breton, frozen in awe at the sight that was unraveling before them.
It was a thousand voices screaming in her head as she heard conversations with dragons in what seemed like a time long ago while images of events long past flashed before her eyes. The vertigo returned with a ferocity as her mind was assailed with countless images and an untold amount of knowledge passed on from dragon to Breton.
Vorstag watched as Meliandra collapsed on the ground, bracing herself before she fell face first in the grass. She was visibly shaken and her face was aglow. Her eyes were wide
with excitement as she tried to stand up on shaky legs. He ran forward, grabbing a hold of her side to support her. “Steady, I got you,” he said as he held her. She looked at him with a quizzical look on her face. “You alright, Mel?”
She merely stared back at him.
One of the guards looked at her in amazement as he said, “I can’t believe it… You’re… Dragonborn.”
“Dragonborn?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
Vorstag spoke up. “In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power.”
The guard nodded then looked back at the Breton. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“There’s only one way to find out. Try to shout.” At her confused look, he continued on, saying, “According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do.”
Another guard approached and, overhearing, interrupted, “Dragonborn? What are you talking about?”
“That’s right!” came the voice of another guard. “My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in ‘em. Like old Tiber Septim himself.”
“I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons,” quipped the other guard.
“There weren’t any dragons then, idiot. They’re just coming back now for the first time in… forever. But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!”
Irileth approached the group, staring at the Breton. “Hmph.” She looked at the men and continued. “Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don’t know anything about.” She motioned to the corpse and said, “Here’s a dead dragon, and that’s something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them.” She looked back at the Breton. “but I don’t need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Housecarl. You ain’t a Nord.”
The Dunmer stared witheringly at the guard. “I’ve been all across Tamriel. I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this.” She got a stern tone to her voice. “I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends.” She turned to the Breton. “You need to get back to Whiterun and report this to the jarl immediately.”
Meliandra watched the dark elf walk away. “I really don’t like her,” she grumbled.
The traveling Nord watched in awe at the sight before him at the Western Watchtower. He too knew the old stories of the Dragonborn, he knew the importance of what he was seeing. He followed from a distance the woman who took the dragon soul for a bit. It wasn’t long before he heard her Shout, toppling her companion. He knew he had to return home. Galmar wasn’t going to like that he was disobeying orders, but he was sure the jarl would be willing to overlook this. The Stormcloak scout hastily turned around and hurried back to Windhelm.
Meliandra helped Vorstag to his feet, an embarrassed look on her face. He looked at her and laughed. “I asked for it, didn’t I?” He stood there a moment, catching his breath. “I think my rib is bruised,” he chuckled. When he saw the healing glow upon her hands, he waved her off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Save that magic for yourself. Nords don’t need magic, remember? Plus, it makes for a good story, being Shouted at by the Dragonborn and all that.”
“Don’t you dare breath a word of this to anyone!”
“What?” He looked at her, confused. “But, Mel, don’t you get how important this is? You’re the Dragonborn! You’re the only one who can make those things run in fear!”
“I don’t want anyone to know, damn it!” she snapped.
He reluctantly nodded his head. “Sure, whatever you say.” He looked down, not sure why she reacted this way, no explanations given, but the look in her eyes was enough to make him back off. “You’re the boss,” he said as he headed in the direction of Whiterun.
She nodded, saying, “Consider it a bonus for this last job. Let’s get out of here. I want to get back to Riften as soon as we can.” They began to walk toward the carriage just beyond the stables. She could almost smell the musky stagnant waters below the city and for a moment she felt homesick. She approached the carriage driver and began to speak to him when she heard a guard holler, “Meliandra! By order of the jarl, I order you to stop!”
She picked the lock and let herself into the room on the top of the Bannered Mare; she gently shut the door behind her and relocked it before making her way to the bed. Ever the thief, she opened the drawer to the end table beside her and began rummaging through it. Picking up a journal, she thumbed through, skimming the entries, entries that backed up Kematu’s story of espionage and betrayal. She put the journal back in the drawer and, finding nothing else of interest nor anything of value, she closed the drawer. She sat on the side of the bed, waiting.
Meliandra was not in a patient mood today. She discovered that Balgruuf revealed the true nature of the beast within him easily once he slipped out from behind the mask of normalcy he wore for all to see. She had seen behavior like his before, but she had not been the target of such behavior back then, merely a frightened observer hurdled in a darkened corner of the room, praying to the Divines for it to be over.
She had watched men who craved power become drunk with it and the drunker they became the more pervasive they grew. Often the ones who bore the brunt of such gross misconduct were the most innocent of all, and they bore scars no one ever saw. Meliandra had long since grown a thick skin that grew over the scars of her childhood, but Balgruuf had been successful in ripping it open, letting all the hurt and pain that had long been in remission come rushing to the forefront of her soul.
She had made up her mind that she was leaving Whiterun as soon as she was done with Kematu and had told Vorstag to be discreetly waiting for her by the Khajiit camp outside the city walls; he had looked relieved to be leaving Whiterun and started to gather their gear as she had headed out of the quarters Balgruuf had Proventus put the Nord in.
She heard steps outside the door then a key being laced into the keyhole followed by the sound of the lock disengaging. She stood up as the door opened and the Redguard stepped through, her head down and unaware of her unexpected visitor. Meliandra thought how easily she cold dispatch this woman; it would resolve so many things, yet Kematu was adamant that she must not be harmed.
A look of surprise appeared on Saadia’s face when she looked up to see the Breton standing there. “Meliandra? What are you doing here? And how’d you get in here?”
Shaking her head, she walked toward her. “Never mind that. You’ve got to get out of Whiterun, Saadia.”
“What?” she cried out. “Are you crazy? This is the only place I’ve been able to hide!”
“And they know that you’re here.” She looked into the woman’s eyes. “I overheard a group of Alik’r talking about a wanted Redguard woman inside Whiterun Hold that they have been hired to bring home. They described you down to your scar,” she responded, running her fingers over Saadia’s scarred cheek. “They’re on their way to arrest you.”
“But, they can’t get into Whiterun! They’re not allowed here!” Her eyes were wide with fear as she tried to comprehend what was being said.
“They found a way in, but I’ve arranged for you to get out of here.”
“But… I’ve nowhere to go!”
“I’ve got a place for you, don’t worry. But I’ve got to get you out of here. There’s a horse I’ve had readied for you down at the stables. Grab what things you cannot go without and let’s go.” She tossed the woman a knapsack and said, “We don’t have much time.”
Saadia took the knapsack and started throwing things in it, including the journal Meliandra had read through earlier; Meliandra made a mental note of everything of value that was being packed, fully intending to relieve her of those possessions once Kematu had custody of her. The look on her face was harried, stressed with a glimpse of fear; Meliandra felt a rush of excitement coursing through her knowing that she was betraying this woman’s trust.
A short time later the two women were walking toward the gates of the city, Meliandra telling her that she was going to join up with her soon. Saadia kept surreptitiously looking around, staying close to the Breton, sure of her protection. Meliandra did everything to assure her that she was safe.
When the stable sign came into view, Meliandra’s heart began to beat faster again, she could feel the adrenaline building as the stables grew larger and larger. She fell a half step behind Saadia, discreetly with drawing her dagger, keeping her hand hidden in the folds of her cloak.
Saadia turned the corner, stopping a few steps later when Kematu turned around and stepped out of the shadows. A smirk appeared on his face as he said, “Sow, we meet at last, my dear lady.”
Saadia took a step back; she felt the blade against her back and looked at Meliandra. “What have you done?”
Meliandra merely smiled and echoed the words of Mercer Frey, “Business is business.”
“I trusted you!” she snapped at the Breton.
“And you trusted the wrong person,” she said matter-of-factly.
Kematu chuckled. “Oh, come now. You didn’t really expect to manipulate people forever, did you?” He said, approaching her and then stroking her cheek when he stood before her. “Your luck had to run out sometime.”
She spat on him.
Meliandra moved to strike her but Kematu stayed her hand. “Keep that rebellious spirit up, traitor. The houses will take it into consideration.” With that he cast a spell upon her, paralyzing her as she collapsed onto the ground. “Now,” he said as he gave the signal for his warriors to emerge from their hiding places, “time to take our friend here back to Hammerfell where she will pay the price for her treason.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a coin purse, heavy with gold. “As for you, sweet girl. I owe you a portion of the reward, don’t I?”
He approached Meliandra, the coin purse in his outstretched hand. As she took it from him he reached out and pulled her to him. “Spend it wisely. And, Meliandra, don’t allow yourself to be fooled by a pretty face. You’re better than that.” He kissed her deeply before letting her go and walking off to join the others, never looking back.
She picked up the bag Saadia dropped then headed towards the tents off to the side. She approached Vorstag to see that he was haggling the price of a new sword with the feline trader. She listened to the two go back and forth until she finally spoke up asking what the Khajiit was wanting for it. Upon hearing the price, she opened her coin purse and dumped a handful onto the rug next to the trader. “We good?”
“Khajiit accepts your gold. May you walk on warm soil.”
She nodded and began to walk back toward the road to wait for Vorstag. She shook off the disgust she felt over Kematu’s kiss, his words cutting her as she knew that he had taken full advantage of her, putting her on the spot and reminding her that his father had given her and her mother sanctuary all those years before.
The crunching of rock behind her spoke of Vorstag’s approach and Meliandra turned to face him. She was beginning to appreciate his companionship, not just because he was a decent fighter but because she was beginning to consider him a friend. “You ready to get out of here?” she asked, a faint smile on her lips.
“More than ready,” he answered. He tapped the scabbard on his hip, the shine of the new sword, dwarven in design, glinting in the sun. “Thanks for this.”
She nodded, saying, “Consider it a bonus for this last job. Let’s get out of here. I want to get back to Riften as soon as we can.” They began to walk toward the carriage just beyond the stables. She could almost smell the musky stagnant waters below the city and for a moment she felt homesick. She approached the carriage driver and began to speak to him when she heard a guard holler, “Meliandra! By order of the jarl, I order you to stop!”
Balgruuf paced the floor above the throne room, his anxiety and fear evident in his face. The look of terror on his guard’s face spoke of the nightmare he had seen before he had begun to run as fast as he could to Whiterun to warn the jarl. Balgruuf had feared something like this ever since Meliandra had brought the news of Helgen. Now he only hoped that his city would be spared and not laid to a fiery waste like the small little wooded town was.
“Sir,” came a deep voice from the stairwell just beyond him.
He turned to see the young Breton standing beside one of his guards, a look of anger on her face. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.” The guard turned, leaving while Balgruuf walked toward the woman, a look determination on his face. He began to speak but was cut off by Meliandra.
“This had better be goddamned important, Balgruuf! On what grounds do you detain me?!”
“Don’t make me remind you how easy it is for me to notify the Legion of an escaped criminal,” he snapped at her in an authoritative voice.
She sneered at him. “What are you detaining me for?” she repeated through clenched teeth.
“I am not detaining you!” he yelled at her. “You survived Helgen. You are the only person in this entire city who has any kind of experience with a dragon attack.”
She arched her eyebrow suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”
He took a breath and stared at her. “A dragon has attacked the Western Watchtower. A guard managed to make his way here during the attack to warn us. Irileth is mustering a contingent of soldiers to assess the situation and, if need be, engage the dragon.”
Meliandra stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I need you to join Irileth and her men. You and you alone are the most knowledgeable of dragon attacks.”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” she cried? “I only survived Helgen due to luck! All I did was find my way beneath the own and escape! I didn’t do anything that the other survivors didn’t do!”
“This is not a request, Meliandra,” he demanded. “You’re going to help Irileth. End of discussion.”
“Holy shit,” Vorstag breathed as they entered the hidden cavern. Through the darkness, he could see a glowing ahead; a cloud of startled bats flew around their heads as they walked ahead. “What the hell is that?” he said, pointing to the giant wall with strange markings on it.
“I’ve seen one like that before,” she said, remembering the strange wall in Snow Veil Sanctum. “I don’t know what it is. Weird though. I swear it hums.”
“It hums?” he repeated light-heartedly.
She glanced at him to see the quizzical, but joking, look on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious.”
“Okay,” he shook his head. “So, do we know where to find this thing?”
“No. We get to be adventurers.”
“Great,” he sighed. He pointed towards something. “Is that a sarcophagus?”
She nodded. “Are you afraid?”
“Hell no. Just…” he paused then continued, “unprepared.”
She chuckled as they crossed a stone bridge. “That wall is imposing,” she muttered. “Gives me the creeps.”
“You? Weirded out?” It was his turn to chuckle. “Mel, I do believe that that is a first.” He looked at the wall and then back at her a couple of times before finally saying, “I have to see for myself.” He walked ahead of Meliandra toward the wall. As he neared it he could tell what she had meant about the humming. There was a sense of something pulsating and he turned to mention it to her.
Meliandra was bracing herself against the wall, a blank look to her eyes. A moment passed before her eyes cleared, a bead of sweat appearing on her brow. She dropped to her knees and clutched at her head, a silent cry upon her lips. She looked up at Vorstag, visibly shaking. She moved her lips as if to speak, but nothing came forth.
Suddenly there was a loud cracking sound as a cloud of dust and crumbled stoned filled the air. There was a rumbling as the two looked toward the stone sarcophagi to see a draugr climbing out of it. It turned its head toward them, an eerie light emitting from its long empty eye sockets.
“Fuck me!” Vorstag cried out, grabbing his sword. “Mel, whatever the fuck that has gotten a hold of you, you better shake it off and quick-like! I’m not gonna be able to fight this thing by myself!”
The draugr shouted at them, knocking them back. Meliandra climbed to her feet, shaking her head. She drew her sword, snarling. “Well that got me up and moving. Let’s play.”
She charged forward, slashing at the undead once she was within reach. Suddenly Vorstag was in the middle of the fray, attacking the creature with a fierceness. They were relentless in their assault until the draugr crumpled at their feet.
Vorstag looked at her. “What the fuck happened before?”
“I don’t know but it happened last time too. I just thought I was sick.” She shook her head. “Let’s find that tablet and get out of here.”
They began searching through the sarcophagus then the chest. “Hey, Mel,” Vorstag said after a moment of digging around, “this what we’re after?”
She looked over to see him holding a stone tablet with chiseled characters on it. She nodded. “Looks like it.” Taking it from him, she tucked it safely away in her sack and slung that on her shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. We can stay the night in Riverwood; Gerdur will give us lodging.”
They approached the stables outside, weary from the trek north to Whiterun. Her thoughts were on a thick cut of steak and a never-ending supply of mead so when she saw Kematu leaning against the stable wall she was taken by surprise. She stopped, looked at Vorstag and said, “Meet me at Dragonsreach.” He nodded, then continued, leaving Meliandra to speak to the Redguard. She walked over to him, an exhausted look on her face.
“My sweet girl, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to see you or not,” he said as he stroked her cheek. “Don’t forget your promise.”
“I would never forget the oath I made to you, Kematu,” she replied, turning her face into his hand. “I had to fulfill my obligations to Balgruuf. I am still going to bring her to you.”
He leaned forward, lightly placing a kiss on her lips. “Good. See you soon then?”
“I can’t promise how soon; I still have to go give this thing to the court wizard and I’m sure the jarl is going to take his time in forking out the gold for this little venture I made for him. But I promise, you’ll have her.”
He smiled at her, his hand resting along her neck. “I know I will, my sweet girl. Just don’t make me wait much longer.”
She smiled. “Of course not.” She excused herself and headed up the path, her temper beginning to flare. She thought back to the morning after their tryst and how he had managed to get her to do his bidding. She resented being manipulated the way she had been but she saw this as an opportunity to alleviate a problem of her own.
As she made her way to the gates of the city she thought about returning to Riften; she knew that she had to get back to the Guild, there was plenty more that needed to be done to get the Guild on its feet again. She just wanted to avoid having to deal with Vex or Brynjolf. After having to deal with this promise to Kematu, having to deal with that betrayal was not something she was ready to deal with.
She sighed heavily as she approached the gate; her uneasiness seemed to grow with every step she took. Once again, she thought of a little farm that she could call her won, a place to work on her alchemy and be left alone in peace, but that dream was beginning to look just like that, and one that would elude her for the rest of her life. It was beginning to upset her greatly but she boxed it up inside to deal with another day, just like so many other thing she’d already experienced in her short life.
She decided that once Balgruuf paid her and Vorstag for retrieving this tablet and once she lured Saadia out to Kematu, she would hire the carriage and go back to Riften. Once she got the Guild back on their feet, she was going to get on with her life and get as far away from Riften as she could.
A dragon had been sighted outside Windhelm. His troops had been delivered a devastating blow when Imperial troops ambushed another detail on their way to strengthen their border. He was considering hiring an assassin to eliminate Appius inside of Castle Dour but knew he needed to find out if anyone else was in on his betrayal and if so, who? What had started as a cause turned into a rebellion and that was having the very lie choked out of it.
Ulfric picked up his tankard and downed its contents, a frown on his face. He looked at his bed at Mila who was sprawled up on it, her naked body entwined with Rory’s once more. He had watched them play again, the two of them indulging every desire they had shamelessly. Rory took a dominant role in their sex-play, often putting the brunette in binds to restrain her as she playfully punished her for some invented slight against her. He would find that his dick got the hardest when one of them was punishing the other, bringing him to the bed to join in the fun. He had attempted to be a part of that fun this past night, but his cock had remained flaccid even when Rory was giving it attention orally. Disgruntled, he had sat back down and began drinking.
His thoughts started to turn dark as they dwelt on the misfortunes he and his men had been experiencing. This darkness was familiar to him, he had known it since he was sent to live among the Greybeards. It was a darkness that had visited him when he received word that his father had died during his imprisonment. It was a darkness that never truly left him, for it lived on the edges of his heart and mind, engulfing him on a whim.
He stood up and walked out of his quarters, leaving the two girls asleep in his bed. He made his way down the passageway and into the main hall of the palace. The flames cast eerie shadows that danced along the walls as he walked to the doors that led outside, the footfalls of his boots echoing throughout the quiet hall. The guards by the doors stood at attention as he exited the palace, and sensing his mood, stood back.
He found his way to Candlehearth, intent on getting his mind off current events. He could hear the drunken voice of Rolff Stone-Fist, Galmar’s good for nothing kid brother harassing one of the elves. As little as he cared about any of the Mer peoples, he did not wish to deal with a ruckus this night. He clapped the younger man on the back, saying, “Rolff! So good to see you! Come, let’s get a tankard at the inn and catch up.” He eyed the elf as Rolff laughed and clapped him on the shoulder in return. Laughing, the jarl continued, “No need to ruin the night with any of this ugliness.”
She hadn’t even had the chance to bring the tablet to Farengar before Balgruuf was out of his throne and quickly by her side, sweeping her out of the throne room and into his personal quarters. His hands were quickly removing the clothing that she wore, his lips caressing her neck as his hands found their way around her waist, bringing her body to his. She could feel his erection hard against her body, his kissing igniting a fire of desire within her. The man was proficient in ways that she had not even dreamed possible.
His lips laid feathery kisses down her neck and down her chest, slowly making his way to her stomach; she was leaning back against the wall now as he began to kneel before her, kissing every part of her he could, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath his hands. He wanted to taste the nectar of her and brought his face to the nest of her womanhood.
He stopped and sat back, staring at her hips; the bruises were the perfect imprint of large hands, masculine by the size of them. His eyes burned hotly as he looked up at her. “Who touched you? Who dares touch what is mine?!” he roared.
“Yours?!” she repeated, equally as loud. “You think that because you bedded me that that makes me yours? I belong to no man.” She went to grab her clothes, anger written on her face. She glared at him when he grabbed her wrist; his grip was strong, causing her pain.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped. “I’m not down with you yet.” He spun her around so she was facing him.
“I’m done here,” she snapped back at him, trying to pull her arm away but finding his grip firmer than she had expected.
“You’re done when I say you’re done.” He pulled her to him and glared into her eyes. “While in my city, you belong to me. You will not deny me what you so freely give to others.”
“I give freely to those of my choosing, not those who demand it from me.”
He reached up and grabbed a handful of hair and leaned into her face. “I am the jarl of Whiterun. I don’t have to demand it. I expect it from you.” He paused a moment then continued, “Especially if you don’t want Commander Caius to find out that you were at Helgen not as a passing traveler like you told us but as a prisoner of the Legion.”
Her face paled as she stared back at him. “You know that?”
He frowned at her. “So Irileth was right; you have been lying the entire time.” At her confused look he said, “I didn’t know. But Irileth knew something wasn’t as it appeared with you. Well now I know what it is.”
“So you’re going to blackmail me?”
He stroked her cheek again. “I’d hate to see you taken from my city in chains.”
She looked away for a moment, then returned a resigned look at him. “Fine.”
He smiled, but all warmth from his eyes was gone as he pressed his lips on hers, kissing her roughly. “Good,” he breathed harshly against her face. “Now since you want to be a little slut and fuck whoever, I’m going to treat you just like I would a barwench.” He forced her to her knees then pulled her head back to look up at him. “I’m going to fuck your mouth first for lying to me. Then I’m going to fuck that pussy of yours so hard that it knows who it belongs to even if you refuse to.”