What Dreams May Come

They sat beneath the rowan tree, Meliandra and Brynjolf, his arms wrapped around her lovingly as he held her to his chest, her head resting just below his chin.  No more did they have their own guilts hang above their heads, their futures the only thing on their minds.  Content with one another, they forgot the troubles of the world around them.  That was until the fighting came to them, Stormcloaks against Imperials, each demanding Meliandra fight for their side, the Thalmor watching from a distance.  Angered, Brynjolf removed his cloak and threw it in the air, blanketing her from the attacks.

When she came out from under his cloak, a great bear stood in her path, roaring loudly for all to hear.  When the bear saw Meliandra, it charged her violently, its claws ripping open her chest. She Shouted at the bear; the bear roared at her in return, sending her to her knees.  A fight ensued between her and this golden furred bear, and while both fought well, neither gained higher ground on the other, tiring one another out.  Bloodied, Meliandra retreated, seeking out her lover and finding him in a cemetery.

Horrified, she saw the tombstones marking the graves of her friends as she walked through the mist.  As the tears streamed down her face, the cry of a dragon pierced the skies and soon the giant black creature blocked out the sun above her.  Swearing, she tried to cast her bound swords but found she could not cast the spell.  Desperately she looked for shelter as the beast rained fire upon her, trying in vain to Shout at the creature but found no strength in her voice.  Upon seeing a cave, she ran forward, dodging the assault from above.

The bear roared as the Breton came into its den and charged at her, its mighty claws slashing through her skin.  Meliandra fought to escape the den but found herself between a seemingly continuous fiery assault beyond the opening of the cave and the aggressive battery of sharp clawed attacks from this bear before her.

Meliandra sat up in bed, sweat beaded on her face, her hair, damp.  Her breath, ragged and short from the intensity of her nightmare, pounded in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the dim light in her room.  Eventually the sound of Brynjolf’s light snores replaced the pounding in her ears and Meliandra’s heart slowed to its normal pace.  Shaken by the imagery of her sleep, she laid back and turned to lay against her lover, his arm draping across her and pulling her close in his sleep, she lay awake like this until sleep left Brynjolf and rose him for the day.

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Author: AisleenHaus

Leaving the real world for one of my own making.

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