Encounter in the Woods

A grumble emitted from deep within him.  “She wants you dead.”

Her eyebrows raised but her voice remained even as she responded, “But you’d never allow that to happen, now would you?”

She watched as the werewolf took a deep breath, eyes closed, his nostrils flaring slightly as his Lycan senses took in the scent of her, creating the response the Breton had come to expect from him.  “You test my boundaries, wench.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” she purred, stretching to brush her lips against his cheek. 

His hand quickly shifted to grab ahold of her bottom jaw and turned her chin forcibly so that he was staring down into her face.  “There’s a special place in the Void for people like you.”

A seductive look played upon her lips as she replied in a lust filled voice.  “And you’ll be right there with me.”


She sifted through the chest of personal belongings looking for any clue as to what the Empire was up to; she found letters from home, letters from a lover, journals chronicling his time with the Legion, a coin purse that held a small amount of gold coins.  She pocketed the gold and closed the chest then made her way to the end tale next to the bed.  A copy of the Lusty Argonian and some dirty, crusty rags lay atop the piece of furniture in front of a strongbox.  The strongbox, she discovered, was unlocked and she began rummaging through it, finding only a couple items of value and worth taking.  Opening the drawer of the end table, she smiled.  A separate strongbox, smaller, flatter, sat in the drawer, and this one was locked securely.  Lifting it, she found it to be not as heavy as one might possibly have thought.  She took her lockpick set out and busied herself at her task.  A moment later she was rewarded with the sound of the lock disengaging and the strongbox was opened.  There, sitting all by itself, was a sheet of paper, a broken seal of the office of the Emperor upon it.  Takin git out, she opened it and read the contents within, her smile becoming broader the more she read.  Tucking the letter into her tunic, she returned the strongbox to the drawer, drank her invisibility potion and snuck out of the tent and out of camp.

Stenvar was waiting for her at the agreed upon location; she was pleased with his ability to stay on task when she was stealthily making her way through the Legion camps.  He had quickly picked up on her affinity for honey mead and always made sure there was one available to her when she’d return.  She didn’t mind his company, and he was a decent fighting partner.  “Time to head back to Windhelm,” she said as she took the bottle of honey mead from him.

“Good; I really don’t want to be captured by the Empire for fucking around their camps right now.”

“What? You don’t feel adventurous?” she teased.

“I like my head attached to my body, if you know what I mean,” he answered.

“Yeah,” she answered flatly, “I do.”  They gathered their belongings and began their journey back north.

It wasn’t long until Meliandra saw the dark of night slowly give way to the light of the morning sun, the hues of yellow and read setting the sky aflame.  She never grew tired of watching the sunset or the sunrise; she found it reassuring, a reminder that life goes on.  Soon the sun’s rays began to warm her skin, invigorating her as she walked along the road toward Windhelm.

It was some time before Stenvar started glancing around, searching the horizons nervously.  She merely smiled as the familiar smell grew stronger as they walked along.  Her heightened senses had already alerted her long before of his presence and was merely waiting until he was ready to come to her.  Soon she could see his form along the tree lines; she knew it was time.

“Hey, Stenvar,” she said in a nonchalant way, “I’m getting hungry.  Why don’t you go find us something to eat?  Maybe rabbit or some fish?”

“Are you sure?  I don’t think it’s a good time-“

“Stenvar,” she interrupted, “I’ll be fine, trust me.  Just…, just go find us some food.  And take your time.”

He grumbled as he walked off, but her attention was in front of her among the trees.  Patiently she waited until she saw the tall Nord emerge, a smile gracing her lips with a touch of seduction to her amber eyes.  His tattered clothes clung to his fibrous frame, the length of his gait accentuating the rippling of the muscles beneath the firmness of his Lycan skin.  There was a bridled, heated look in his eyes as he approached.

“Are you happy with your fucking games, bitch?” he snarled at her as his hand shot out to her neck, his fingers wrapping around her throat just tight enough to make her aware of her air supply.

She licked her lips with a smile.  “Well, hello to you, too, Arnbjorn.  Astrid let you of your leash again?”

She felt the tree upon her back as he pushed her up against it.  His face was mere inches from hers; she could hear his racing heartbeat.  “Why must you torment my wife so?”

“Oh, come on, Arn, you know she hasn’t considered herself married for years.  She has taken nearly every member of the Brotherhood to your bed and you know she has.  All the while you’re sitting at her feet wagging your tail, waiting for her to pay attention to you and your needs, the selfish bitch.”

His grip tightened as he glared at her.  “Watch you tongue, wench.”

“Watch it do what?” She ran he tongue along her lips. “You do seem to enjoy my flicking across the tip of your dick.  Is that it, Arn?  You want me to give your cock some attention?”

A grumble emitted from deep within him.  “She wants you dead.”

Her eyebrows raised but her voice remained even as she responded, “But you’d never allow that to happen, now would you?”

She watched as the werewolf took a deep breath, eyes closed, his nostrils flaring slightly as his Lycan senses took in the scent of her, creating the response the Breton had come to expect from him.  “You test my boundaries, wench.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” she purred, stretching to brush her lips against his cheek.

His hand quickly shifted to grab ahold of her bottom jaw and turned her chin forcibly so that he was staring down into her face.  “There’s a special place in the Void for people like you.”

A seductive look played upon her lips as she replied in a lust filled voice.  “And you’ll be right there with me.”

Arnbjorn’s agreement came by means of the crushing of his lips upon hers as he pushed against her, the hardness of him pressing against her.  He released his hold on her chin, bringing his hands to the waistline of the armor she wore and quickly loosening them.  Once they lay at her feet, he quickly removed his own tattered clothing, his erection now released from the confines of his pants.  Breaking his kiss, he stepped back, rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees.  Taking a hold of her head, he shoved his cock in her mouth, thrusting himself back and forth as she obediently began sucking his member.  His grunting was filled with pleasured sounds as she orally satisfied him; he felt the excitement building and pulled her head back, starting at those eyes looking up at him.

“Turn your ass around, whore,” he commanded.  She got to her feet and turned around.

“Hug it,” he ordered as he pushed her toward the tree.

She leaned on the tree, gripping its sides as he began rubbing her ass cheeks roughly, slapping them hard enough to leave large red marks on them.  His fingers found and explored her hole, finger fucking her as she rocked back and forth on his fingers.  “That’s it, you fucking slut, get yourself ready for my cock, get yourself nice and wet for me.”  His fingers pumped harder into her until he knew she was about to come, then he withdrew his fingers and quickly slammed his cock hard into her, eliciting a gasp from her.  He rode her and rode her hard, taking his frustrations out on the Breton who begged for more from him.

His release was fierce as his body went rigid, his seed exploding deep inside of her.  He stood there for a moment, immobile and with labored breath, his sweat rolling down his chest, glistening in the morning sun.  He slapped her ass as he pulled out of her, the scent of her own orgasm wafting to his Lycan heightened sense of smell.

He pulled his trousers on, cinching them closed.  “Watch yourself with Astrid, Tidbit.  She does want to be rid of you permanently.”  And with nothing else to say, the man walked off towards the woods before shifting into wolf form and running into the trees.

Love and Betrayal

The dragon was pushed back with her Shout, but more importantly, the force of her Shout had pushed her arrows further past the scales of the beast allowing the poison to be introduced to tis bloodstream.  Its wings slowed down, and the dragon began to descend as the paralyzing agent to the poison worked is way through the body.  It tried to work its jaws, to Shout at her, but the poison had done its job and had done it well in paralyzing the neck; the beast fell to the ground with a resounding crash.

She put her bow on her back, drew her sword and walked toward the grounded monstrosity, a wicked laugh rippling forth from her lips.  “I told you, dragon, I have taken many souls from your brethren.  Now I shall take yours as well.”  She rushed forward, leaping upon the head of the dragon.  She quickly turned her sword blade down and drove it through the thin part of its skull.   

She felt an arm slink around her waist, then the soft breathing against her neck as her Dunmer lover trailed soft kisses along her skin.  Coquettishly, she turned her head to meet the kisses, greeting them with kisses of her own.  A hand found its way to her breast while the Dunmer’s arm held her closer.  Breaking the kiss, Gabriella’s mouth found its way to Meliandra’s full bosom as she traced the Breton’s side lightly bringing pleasured moans from her.

The Dunmer sat up and looked upon her lover.  “The smell of murder on you is quite intoxicating.”  She ran her fingernails down her chest, scratching the skin just enough to bring blood to the surface.  Gabriella leaned down and licked the blood off, her eyes never leaving Meliandra’s.  “It is good to have you home, my love.”

Gabriella reached over to the end table and, opening it, removed something just out of Meliandra’s view.  She smiled at the woman beneath her as she said, “I think you deserve a welcome home fuck.”

Meliandra smiled as she saw the Dunmer reveal the Phallus of Dibella, anticipation beginning to make her wet as she watched the dark elf apply a lotion to the dildo before slipping it into the Breton’s slit.  Slowly, Gabriella fucked Meliandra with the phallic object, first softly, gently, lovingly but increasing the rhythm into hard, frenzied slamming until Meliandra arched her back, her orgasm flooding around her hand.  She pulled the dildo out of her, then, bringing it to her mouth, she sucked Meliandra’s cum off it.

Meliandra took the phallus from her, gently pushed the elf back, and began to kiss the dark skin of her thighs, making her way to the wetness of Gabriella.  Flicking her tongue into her, she teased the Dunmer, licking the wetness, sucking on her pussy lips, and thrusting her tongue into her, fucking her.  The dark elf moaned loudly, grabbing ahold of the Breton’s head as she grinded against her face.  Upon releasing her head, the Breton lifted her head and slipped the dildo into her lover and began fucking her with such a frenzy she was soon crying out as she climaxed.  Meliandra, with no hesitation, licked her lover dry.


Nazir ate his bowl of stew, ignoring the silence between Arnbjorn and Astrid as he spoke with Festus about the wizard’s latest job.  He knew what lay beneath the tension and that reason was the Breton Astrid had recruited.  It was no secret that Astrid’s lover now lay with the young Breton, yet few knew of Meliandra’s constant toying with the woman by tempting her husband consistently.  Meliandra’s return to the Sanctuary early this morning was heard by everyone, making Astrid’s already sour mood worse.  Festus was only too willing to try to ease the tension in the dining hall.  They had been doing somewhat well until Meliandra appeared at the top of the stairs.

The two women saw each other, and one could feel the tension spike.  A sly smirk appeared on the Breton’s lips as her eyes went from Astrid to Arnbjorn who refused to look up at her.  She sauntered down the steps to the table, stopping in front of Nazir.  She picked up an apple and took a bite as she poured herself a tankard of mead before addressing the Redguard.  “Have any contracts for me?”

“I do have a contract in Winterhold,” he answered and proceeded to give her the details of the job.  “Interested?”

“Sure, I’ll take it,” she answered.

Nazir watched her carefully waiting for one of the women to address the other, waiting for the storm that had been brewing for months.  But instead the Breton took the paper from him that contained more information the she was going to need and exited the room, presumably going to see Babette before heading out of the Sanctuary.  The Redguard glanced at Astrid to see the growing hatred on her face before glaring at her husband and storming out.


Meliandra exited the Sanctuary, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight.  The scent of nightshade was heavy in the air, the flowers flourishing in this heavily wooded hideaway.  She began walking toward town, her mind on nothing in particular except for her mental list of the things she needed to restock; a visit to both the apothecary for ingredients and potions as well as a visit to Solaf at the general store was in order.  She groaned at the thought of Bolund, the proudful Nord who worked at the mill and who was the brother of the storeowner, he always looked down at her simply because of her having Breton blood.  His brother, though, Solaf, he was kind to her, always giving her a better deal on her purchases and sales with him.

Suddenly a roar sounded around her, drawing her eyes skyward.  She sighed heavily as the dragon began to beat its wings above her.  She drew her bow as she sneered at the enormous beast.  “I’ve already killed many of your kind, dragon.  I will take your soul as well.  Do you really want to do this?”  She knew the beast would not answer her nor did it care how many of its kind she slew, yet she knew it understood her.

The dragon breathed a cold breath upon her; she could feel the cold set into her bones as she blocked her face from the brunt of the blast.  She slowly turned her head back to the dragon and smiled.  Taking a deep breath, she Shouted “Yol!” The air around her sizzled as the flames crashed into the ice particles still hanging in the air.  With an expert flick of her wrist, she cast a spell that created a heat shield around her, making the dragon’s frost breath attack ineffective, albeit for a short while.

Again, she Shouted.  “Yol!”  As the dragon fell back from her Shout, she nocked one of the arrows she had dipped in a paralytic poison strong enough to paralyze a dragon that Babette had helped her create and brew.  The arrow flew through the air and found its mark as it lodged itself in the beast’s throat.  Again, she nocked a poisoned arrow and took aim again, releasing it almost immediately.  This arrow also hit its intended mark, right in its chest.  Once again, she Shouted, this time “Fus!”

The dragon was pushed back with her Shout, but more importantly, the force of her Shout had pushed her arrows further past the scales of the beast allowing the poison to be introduced to tis bloodstream.  Its wings slowed down, and the dragon began to descend as the paralyzing agent to the poison worked is way through the body.  It tried to work its jaws, to Shout at her, but the poison had done its job and had done it well in paralyzing the neck; the beast fell to the ground with a resounding crash.

She put her bow on her back, drew her sword and walked toward the grounded monstrosity, a wicked laugh rippling forth from her lips.  “I told you, dragon, I have taken many souls from your brethren.  Now I shall take yours as well.”  She rushed forward, leaping upon the head of the dragon.  She quickly turned her sword blade down and drove it through the thin part of its skull.

She held onto the dragon as its death throes overpowered the poison and its gargantuan body began to convulse.  She closed her eyes as the dragon lost its fight to live, hearing its soul cry out to her as she slowly absorbed it.  Her own body began to tremble as she claimed the soul and memories of yet another dragon, growing even more powerful herself; the feeling was intoxicating.

She jumped down off the beast, straightened the clothing she wore, and, picking up her dropped pack, continued toward Falkreath.


Solaf listened to his brother complain as he pulled his boots on before heading back to the mill after eating a midday meal.  It was the same complaint as always, this damned war, the lack of support for the Stormcloaks, and the increasing amount of non-Nords moving into Falkreath.  He continued sweeping the floor, the dust and dirt having blown in with the winds.  He busied himself, waiting for his brother to leave.  A courier had arrived earlier in the day, a sealed letter with an accompanying letter ordering him to deliver the letter himself to the assassin Meliandra.  He had also heard the rumors at the inn of the recent killings of Legion officers in the Hold and knew this meant that the assassin who had aligned herself with the Stormcloaks was close to home again and that he’d be seeing her again soon.

He smiled as he recalled the last time he fucked her, just a couple weeks previous; she had been particularly feisty that day, insatiable in her lust for sex.  He had willingly obliged her, closing his shop early and screwing her for the rest of the evening.  His dick twitched as he thought of her lips wrapped around his member as she suckled him, coaxing his cum into her mouth, swallowing it obediently.  He had worn that pussy out that day, pounding it with the fervor of a wild man.

He nodded absent-mindedly as his brother walked by him, muttered his goodbye, and walked out of their shared home.  A moment later he smiled as he heard Bolund’s voice boom, “What are you doing here, you fucking Breton whore?”

“What’s wrong, Bolund?” he heard the woman respond, “jealous your brother gets a piece while you stand in the shadows stroking your dick wishing you had someone besides Rosie Palm and her five sisters?”

“I oughtta- “

“You oughtta what?” he heard her interrupt.  After a moment, he heard the heavy footfalls of his brother’s boots as he walked on the wooden planks away from the store and towards the mill followed by the smug laugh of the Breton.  The door then opened as the black-haired assassin walked into the store, a warm smile on her face.  His cock twitched again as he thought of her lips on him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said as he walked to the door, locking it.

“Hello, handsome,” she purred as she set her pack onto the counter then turned back to him.  “I trust you have some special deals to offer me?” She licked her lips as she walked toward him.

“I always have a good deal for you, darling,” he answered as he began to unfasten his pants, dropping them to his knees.  His erection was evident as he moved his loincloth out of the way.  “I was just thinking about you and that mouth of yours.”

“Oh, really?” she asked as she reached down and took his balls in her hand, massaging them as she met his eyes, a sparkle in  her eyes.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, enjoying the feeling of her fondling his sack.  “Something came in for you.”

She stopped short.  “Something came for me? Here?”

He opened his eyes.  “Yes, to both.”  He reached toward her, but she stepped back, letting go of him.  “What?  You’re gonna stop?”

“Who the fuck knows to send me anything here?”

He sighed as he pulled his pants back up and fastened them again.  “Should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut,” he grumbled, walking over to the other side of the counter and pulling out the sealed letter, setting it on the counter.

She stared at the seal that stared right back at her.  The blue wax embossed with the familiar seal that belonged to the Windhelm jarl.  “This is from Ulfric,” she stated matter-of-factly.


“How the fuck does he know to send this here?” she demanded again.  He began to answer when she cut him off.  “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Because he knows that the Dark Brotherhood makes their home on the outskirts of town and ordered me to keep an eye on you.”

“Ordered you?”

“Yes.  I’m a retired Stormcloak.”

Suddenly, she turned and grabbed her pack from off the counter.  She turned back to him, glaring at him, her eyes blazing hotly.  “You’ve been fucking spying on me.  This whole goddamn time.”

He folded his arms.  “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.  You swore your loyalty to Jarl Ulfric.  Don’t think that he’s going to let you go that easily, Meliandra.”

In The Dead of Night

The Nord thrust himself into the Breton once more, filling her with his length; he was insatiable with this raven-haired beauty beneath him, but his release was imminent.  His strokes became hurried and demanding; he needed to claim this woman as his and only his.  Her breasts, so creamy white, jiggled vigorously as his climax approached rapidly.  The sounds of her pleasure growing louder pushed him over the edge and with a final thrust, his seed erupted inside of her, the force of his orgasm spasmed through him as he collapsed onto the bed next to her.

“You know how to steal a man’s heart, darling,” he breathed heavily.

Meliandra smiled as she sat atop him, straddling him between her legs, her long, black hair draping across her breasts.  “It was never my intention to steal your heart.”

“But you did,” the blond responded.  “From the moment I laid eyes on you, you had me.”

She leaned down and kissed his lips.  “I find that I seem to have that affect on people.  Which is good, really,” she said sweetly as her hand found its way to the dagger she had secreted away when the Nord had not been paying attention.  As his eyes questioned her, she drew the edge of the blade across his neck, spraying the legate’s blood across her.

“Death to the Empire.”

Searching for Clues

He looked at her, his height imposing to her frame, short even for a Breton.  He could not deny to himself that every day he saw her, he found himself liking her more and more, his physical attraction causing him to take leave of his sense more often than not.  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up, looking into her eyes, a smile on his lips.  “Meliandra Valeria, you’re going to prove to be more valuable than I thought.”  With that, he released her chin and continued walking out of the arena.  

She went through the drawers in the room Susanna the Wicked had occupied during her time in Windhelm, looking for clues as to who this woman was, see if there was any connection between her and her killer.  She found bottles of elixirs in the box on her dresser; sniffing them cautiously, determining the contents to be somewhat harmless.  Noting the markings on the bottles, and knowing the lifestyle the woman had had, she came to the conclusion that the elixirs were to either prevent or terminate a pregnancy.  She rummaged through the drawers of the dresser and found only clothing.  Upon opening the door to an end table, she saw a stack of journals; something told her these were important as she took them out and sat at the table in the room.  Bringing the candle closer to her, she opened the first journal and began to read.  As she read in silence, her eyebrow rose and fell with both surprise and suspicion.

For a few hours, she sat reading, turning the pages in silence, stopping only occasionally to stretch.  By the time she had read the last page of the last leather-bound journal, she knew she had to bring them to Ulfric, what they contained would not calm his paranoia of conspirators, but it would prove to Ulfric that allowing her to look into this Butcher matter had been for his benefit in the long run.  She gathered them together, putting them in a small backpack and nudged the dozing Nord on the bed.  “Come on, you can get your beauty sleep later.  I need to get these to the jarl.”

“Ulfric?  Why him?” he asked, yawning as he got off the bed Susanna had once called hers.  She looked at him and he shook his head saying, “Yeah, never mind about that.  Stupid question.”

They made their way through the inn and out the doors into the cold winds.  She looked at the clouds gathering overhead, a shiver making its way through her Breton skin and she pulled her cloak closer to her body as she made her way across the stone boulders that made up the streets of Windhelm to the Palace of the Kings.  The guards at the palace were getting used to seeing her and held the door open for her and Vorstag; she barely inclined her head toward the tall Nord as they passed through, instead seeking out the jarl.

“What do you need, girl?” came Galmar’s gruff voice from beside her.

“Jarl Ulfric; I have information he needs to see.”

He glanced at the pack on her shoulder.  “Show him what?”

She met his eyes.  “It’s about Susanna the Wicked.”


She tilted her head and smiled.  “I think its best I show it directly to Ulfric; he is the one who gave me authority in this matter.”

He smirked.  “Have it your way, thief.  But know that I’ve got my eye on you.”

She watched as the older man walked to the barracks, a slight limp to his gait.  She spotted the steward and approached him as he reviewed a list handed to him by a servant.  He afforded her a glance as he addressed the maid, handing her the list back before turning his attention to Meliandra, a tired smile on his lips.  Asking where the jarl was, he directed her to the training arena in the east wing then proceeded to attend to his duties.

“Want me to go with you, Mel?”

“No,” she shook her head.  “Wait for me here,” she said as she headed toward the passageway Jorleif had indicated would lead her to the training arena.  Venturing in to the semi-darkened halls, she realized that she had traversed these halls the night she had been caught, but instead of going the same route, she was diverted in another direction.  Unlike last time, she walked in the light, taking a moment to look at the paintings and suits of armor along the walls.  Soon she came to a set of doors, slightly ajar; she hesitated before opening the door.

He wore only pants, no armor at all, his back to her as he held onto a bar secured into poles and pulled himself up, then lowered himself back down, then he repeated the action again and again.  His hair dripped sweat onto his glistening back as the muscles rippled with his exertion; she had not realized how broad his shoulder or how large his biceps were.  Her eyes lowered as she continued studying the jarl’s muscular body, paying attention to the fluidity of his movements.  She watched as he let go of the bar above his head, landing with a soft thud upon the ground.  Startled, she cleared her throat to announce her presence as she walked toward him.


He turned to see the Breton approaching him; he had been wondering how long she was going to be standing behind him, watching.  He glanced up at the greatsword hanging on the wall that had given him the view of her entrance, a slight grin tugging on his lips.  “Something I can help you with, Meliandra?”

She held a backpack out to him in her slender hand.  “In here you’ll find a set of journals I retrieved from Susanna the Wicked’s room at the inn,” she said, meeting his gaze.  “It appears that Susanna and Mila were acquainted, extremely well to be accurate.”

He took the offered pack, opened it and looked inside.  He counted the few volumes then looked at the Breton.  “You read all of these?” he asked flatly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do I need to read these then?” he asked.

She sighed.  “I’d say yes, but the decision is ultimately up to you.”

He nodded, closed the pack, and handed it back to her.  “Was Susanna part of Mila’s conspiracy?” he asked as he picked up a jug of water and poured it over his head, cooling himself off from the heat of his workout.

“Yes and no.  Yes, in that she made the connections for Mila.  No in that’s the extent of her dealings as far as I can tell.”

He nodded then said, “It appears that allowing you to look into this Butcher was a good thing.”

She smiled.  “Yes.  And because we’ve given Mila a day with no questioning, she should be well enough to question again starting tomorrow.”

“Good,” he replied, turning to retrieve his tunic and, pulling it over his head, continued speaking to the Breton.  “Does she know that Susanna is dead?”

“No,” she answered.

“Then use it to your advantage,” he said as he stood next to her.

She smiled broadly.  “Of course.”

He looked at her, his height imposing to her frame, short even for a Breton.  He could not deny to himself that every day he saw her, he found himself liking her more and more, his physical attraction causing him to take leave of his sense more often than not.  He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up, looking into her eyes, a smile on his lips.  “Meliandra Valeria, you’re going to prove to be more valuable than I thought.”  With that, he released her chin and continued walking out of the arena.


She stared after the Nord jarl, her blood simmering, but didn’t know if it was because she felt he was demeaning her or if because she thought he was going to kiss her, a thought she hated to admit excited her.  She caught up with him, falling two steps behind him.  “Do you want an update on the Butcher?”

“Do you know who it is?”

“No, but I- “

“Talk to me when you find out who it is.”

“But, sir- “

He stopped and looked her in the eye.  “If you need assistance about anything, go to my steward.  Is there something you don’t understand about that?”

Her eyes blazed back at him as she met his gaze and answered, “No, sir.  I’ll take my leave of you.”  And with that she stalked off to find Jorleif again.


He watched her stalk off with a smirk on his face, he had to admit to himself that he thought she was cute when she was mad, and his thoughts went to the many ways he would use to calm the fire behind her eyes.  He watched until she was out of his sight, slightly disappointed in seeing her leave, then headed to his chambers.  Perhaps Rory would be there waiting for him.


Jorleif had directed Meliandra to Viola, the elderly spinster of Windhelm about the flyer about the Butcher.  Meliandra got the impression that the woman was somewhat of a busybody, that she knew more about the people in this city than people realized; she made sure to make a mental note of this as she found the woman walking to the marketplace.  Upon showing the woman the necklace she had found, she was directed to Calixto, the proprietor of an oddity museum.

She recognized the Imperial as she walked into the shop as the man from the graveyard; he seemed to be agitated and distracted at her entrance, something she noted in the back of her mind.  She took the necklace from the pouch on her hip and showed it to him.  “I was wondering if you could tell me about this?”

The man took the amulet in his hand and examined it.  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of this.”  He cleared his throat then continued, taking on a lecturing tone.  “This, my dear, is the Wheelstone.  It’s really nothing, just a piece of ceremonial jewelry traditionally given to the court wizard of Windhelm.”

“You mean this belongs to Wuunferth the Unliving?”

He shrugged.  “One would suspect but I have never seen him wear it or even display it.  You know,” he said scratching his beard, “I’d be willing to buy it off you for a fair price if you’d like to sell it?”

“Shouldn’t I bring it to it’s rightful owner?”

The man’s eyes widened for a moment then calmly replied, “Like I said, I’ve never seen him with it, I don’t think he cares much for it.  Plus, one must be wary when they deal with that man; he is known to be a necromancer.”  He reached over and picked up a coin purse, and opening it, continued, “I’ll pay you five hundred gold for it.”

Meliandra gave thought to it then nodded her agreement.  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Minutes later she was heading back to the Palace, going over what she had uncovered in her mind, Vorstag silently following her.  Things seemingly added up, but she still felt like something wasn’t right with the entire situation at all.  She glanced behind her at Vorstag and asked for his thoughts.

He shrugged.  “Well, the old lady thinks it’s the wizard and then that guy at that curiosity museum reaffirmed her suspicions.  Sounds pretty cut and dry to me.  That wizard’s killing people.”

She nodded but remained silent, her thoughts churning as her gut told her that something was not right.


He stood upon the bridge looking down upon the city, watching the movements of the Breton thief below intently.  He knew she had a sexual relationship with Ralof, though it appeared that it was a mutual consent between the two that neither sought to further that relationship to anything more than fuck buddies.  His dick throbbed at the thought of her bent over on all fours, panting like a bitch in heat as she took his dick in that pussy of hers, pounding her hard as she gasped his name.  He imagined grabbing that raven hair of hers and pulling her had back with one hand as he fucked her, his other hand slapping her ass.

He lost sight of the woman and grunted, turning to head back to the Palace.  The image of the young thief letting Ralof have his way with her thrilled him, though he’d never admit to such a thing.  He smiled to himself; he did not trust this Breton, but he was beginning to enjoy having her around.

Hunting for a Killer

With a creaking, the paneling began to slip into the wall.  She crinkled her nose as the pungent scent of blood filled her nostrils as she stepped into the hidden room.  It was everywhere, the walls, the floor.  A bloodied effigy lay upon a pile of blood-soaked hay; it was obvious to her that some sort of magic had been done here.  Seeing a journal on the altar that had been constructed, she picked it up and looked through it.  A chill went through her when she realized what the clues were saying. 

“Fucking necromancers.”

Galmar stood at the door of the war room as he listened to Ulfric’s steward going over a list of the day’s events.  When he heard Jorleif mention Meliandra taking authority in the Butcher murders, he began to fume.  Waiting for the steward to leave, he went to the table and poured himself a tankard of mead and took a couple large swallows, staring at the table in angry disgust.  He listened as Jorleif left the room, the man’s smaller gait echoing through the passageway to the throne room.  Once the footsteps died away he turned to see the jarl watching him with an amused look on his face.  “You find something funny?”

“You disagree with me allowing the Breton to investigate these murders?”

“You gave that woman full authority?  She reports to you?  What the hell are you thinking, Ulfric?”

“I am thinking that my general is forgetting his place.”  He walked over, joining his friend, and, picking up a tankard, proceeded to pour himself some mead as well, while saying, “Is it not wise that whenever you are confronted with an opponent, you conquer him with love?”

Galmar snorted.  “There you go sounding like one of those monks on High Hrothgar again.”

“Watch your tongue; I was supposed to be one of ‘those monks’.”

Ignoring him, Galmar continued, “So, what do you intend on doing?  Wooing her until she pledges her loyalty to you?”

The jarl smiled.  “There was no need to woo her at all.”

“Wait… what?  You didn’t have to?  She’s already- “

“In exchange for the Butcher investigation,” Ulfric answered before Galmar could ask.  He took a swallow of his drink then continued saying, “Learn your enemy’s strengths, weaknesses, what you can use to your advantage, and how you can manipulate their next moves so that they play right into your hands.”

“What exactly do you want from this thief?”

An image of the Breton naked upon his bed flashed before him as he answered, “I’m not sure, Galmar, but something tells me that we want her on our side when the Empire comes knocking on our door again.”


She exited the Hall of the Dead and looked at Vorstag, her eyebrows raised in an amused look on her face.  “Was it just me or is that woman… off?”

Vorstag laughed then replied, “Come on, Mel, give the old gal a break.  She probably doesn’t get a whole lot of interaction with people.  I mean… living people.”

Meliandra stifled a laugh.  “You’re terrible, Vorstag.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one laughing.”

She balked at him.  “I am not.”  She pointed to the bloodstains on the stones heading toward the more affluent part of the city.  “You know, I’ve got a feeling that that’s from our victim…”

“Really?” he retorted sarcastically.  “So, what’s keeping us here, Mel?  I mean, besides looking for this murderer?”

She shook her head, her black locks swaying side to side slightly.  “Ulfric.”

“What do you mean, Ulfric?” he asked warily as they followed the trail of blood upon the stone path.

“The man is paranoid.  He trusts no one.  Well, he trusts Stone-Fist, but I don’t know anyone else.”  She shook her head exasperatedly.  “Because he’s been betrayed by people he did trust, he’s hesitant to trust me.  I think he still believes that I’m working for someone against him.”

“Well, let’s just find this guy and get out of this city.  Let’s get back to Riften.  Or better yet, let’s go back to Whiterun and spend some time at your house there.”

She laughed.  “Can’t wait to see Lydia again?”

He smiled at her, that lop-sided grin of his that made her laugh.  “I bought her a present.”

The Breton nodded as she pointed at the blood trail that led to the door of the house in the corner of the block.  “Seems to go to this house.  Look around, see if you can find anything amiss.”  She checked the door and found it locked, then she began checking the windows, only to discover they were dusty and unclear to see through.  She tried seeing if any windows were loose, and, finding none, swore under her breath.  She could try and pick the lock, but she was sure she’d be able to get permission to get into the house if she only knew who had the key.  Vorstag came back over to her and reported the same on his findings.

She shook her head as she glanced around.  Seeing an older guard making his rounds, she called him over.  She showed him the writ from the jarl and asked him who had the key to the house.

“Hjerim?  Tova Shatter-Shield has the key.  She lives next door, but I just saw her in the market, looking at the produce.”

Nodding, she dismissed the guard while signaling Vorstag to follow as she made her way back through the neighborhood and toward the marketplace just beyond the walls of the graveyard.  “I have a strange feeling about this whole situation.”

“What do you mean, Mel?”

Frowning, she shook her head.  “Just a feeling, nothing I can really put into words, just… something doesn’t feel right.”


He was disappointed and upset.  Susanna had seemed like the perfect choice, but still the magic had failed.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized he would need a pure source, and the harlot that now lay on a slab in the Hall of the Dead was nowhere near being pure.  The bodies were beginning to pile up; if he didn’t find a new donor next time, he was going to have to pack and leave for a while.  He paced his bedroom, his thoughts racing as he hurriedly came up with a plan.  He had possibly one more chance, but he would have to wait just a little bit longer.


The door made an audible click; turning the knob, she walked into the large house and looked around.  She coughed as she breathed in the stale, dusty air, the lack of a fire inside the home for so long made it cold enough to keep the chill in Meliandra’s Breton bones.  She saw a chest to the side against the wall; something was odd about it in this mostly empty house and walked up to it.  She squat on her launches and lifted the lid and looked inside.  Seeing multiple papers, she pulled one out, opening it and began to read; it was a flyer about the Butcher.  She tucked the notice into her pocket and stood up.  “Let’s look upstairs,” she said solemnly as she began to ascent the staircase.

Flecks of dust hung in the air, tiny beams of sunlight making their way through the long untouched windows.  She coughed softly, and an aggravated obscenity followed.  The landing was spacious and large; she could see there were rooms in the back and went to investigate further.  The first room held no clues; the second room, the main bedroom, it reaped the same result as the first room except the two of them were drawn to the bed that sat in the middle of the room with chairs stacked upon it.

They returned to the first level of the home, Vorstag looking in the kitchen while Meliandra searched the rest of the house.  In the back she found an end table with more of the pamphlets about the Butcher, obviously torn down from being posted by the looks of the rips in the papers.  She began to turn away when something caught her attention, making her look again.

The jade skull seemingly stared at her from its bone white setting; though it was obviously connected to the darker arts in magic, she could not deny the beauty of what lay in her hand.  She turned it over and over absent-mindedly as she looked around the room once more.  Checking the cabinets, she found only a few clothes as well as some odds and ends.  Opening the last cabinet, she immediately knew something was amiss; there were no shelves in this cabinet and the paneling on the back rattled when she opened the door.  Placing her hand on the back, she discovered as she had suspected, that the paneling hid something beyond.  Running her fingers along the sides, she sought the mechanism that would trigger the paneling to open.

With a creaking, the paneling began to slip into the wall.  She crinkled her nose as the pungent scent of blood filled her nostrils as she stepped into the hidden room.  It was everywhere, the walls, the floor.  A bloodied effigy lay upon a pile of blood-soaked hay; it was obvious to her that some sort of magic had been done here.  Seeing a journal on the altar that had been constructed, she picked it up and looked through it.  A chill went through her when she realized what the clues were saying.

“Fucking necromancers.”


He sat at his desk staring at the bed in the next room, his thoughts on the war raging throughout the land.  Reports of dragon attacks were becoming more frequent but there were no reports of any Dragonborn saving towns or people.  Despite all the stress, though, his mind kept returning to the dark-haired Breton thief with amber eyes who slept within the walls of his palace, just down the corridor from his own chambers.

What was it about her, this young Breton who captivated his thoughts, whose very presence both pleased him as well as irritated him?  Images of her played before him in his mind’s eye; he felt a yearning for her growing within him eliciting a deep sigh from the jarl.  The woman was a thief, an assassin, and she used methods of torture familiar to him from back when he had been held captive by the Thalmor during the Great War.  These were valid reasons for him to not trust her.  Yet for reasons he had yet to realize himself, he knew he could place his trust in her.

He saw Rory enter his room, dressed scantily as she usually did; he felt his cock twitch.  When she stood before him, he signaled to her that she should undress then he watched as her clothing came off.  He instructed her to touch herself, to pleasure herself then watched as she caressed herself.  She slipped her finger inside of herself and began to fuck her pussy slowly; his cock throbbed within his clothing.  He removed is pants, releasing his sex from its cloth prison, and began to rub himself.  The ginger watched him watch her as they each fucked themselves, her finger sliding in and out of her slit, noisily.  He watched as the wench worked herself into a frenzy, her orgasm flooding beneath her.

His cock was hard and completely erect as he ordered, “Suck me.”  She immediately obeyed him, kneeling before him and taking the length of him in her mouth.  He held her head as she bobbed up and down on him; his climax was fast approaching as he started to thrust against her face.  Crude vulgarities found their way out his mouth as she sucked his seed from him, a pleased look on the wench’s face for a job well done while he closed his eyes to see a raven-haired thief in her place.

An Unexpected Visitor

The Legate stared at the general in frustration.  It was bad enough that the Legion had sent an Imperial to Skyrim to deal with Ulfric’s uprising, but to send a man so callous, so apathetic as this aging general was adding insult to injury to those who had called Skyrim home.  He knew nothing of the Nords ways and walked all over their beliefs.  She saw quickly that he had underestimated the situation here, with him thinking that those loyal to Ulfric were slow in mind and acted without thought.  He had quickly realized his mistake at Darkwater Crossing when his carefully planned ambush did not go as smoothly as he had anticipated.  Both sides had suffered heavy casualties and despite the Legion had outnumbered the rebels three to one, the insurgents fought as if they had held the advantage.  Tullius had seen the power of Ulfric’s Thu’um firsthand that day as the jarl Shouted a group of Legion soldiers across the field.  It was only Ulfric’s surprising surrender that had prevented a massacre.  The blasted war would be over now if that damn dragon had not shown up at that very moment.

“And what about that traitor of yours?” the general grumbled.  “He’s hardly given us any meaningful information in nearly a year’s time!  Why am I wasting the Empire’s time and gold housing and feeding this man if he’s got nothing to give in return?”

Rikke forced herself to remain calm.  “Sir, Appius has promised me that he will have more pertinent information come the morning.”

“That skeever hasn’t given us any information of any value since Darkwater Crossing!  He better have something tomorrow or he’ll be moved from his sanctuary here in Castle Dour down to the cells!”

Rikke nodded as she watched the man storm out of the room.  Alone in the room, she shook her head.  She stared at the map before her, the multitude of flags marking territory held becoming a blur in her vision as memories of a time long past floated to the consciousness of her mind.  War does funny things to a person; it changes people, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.  Some people could go back to their lives with seemingly no effect at all, while for others they were never the same again.

War had molded her into the officer she was how, but the war they fought today was not the same as the war that had made her.  The war of yesteryear bore the seeds of the war they found themselves in now, the seeds flourishing by the constant deluge of xenophobia from those resentful of the Aldmeri Dominion.

Sighing she made her way out of the war room and toward her own quarters.  Long gone were the days of her youth when she fought alongside the men she now called her enemies, back when she trusted them with her life rather than knowing they’d strike her down dead as quickly as she would them.  She recalled the camaraderie she had felt with the future jarl and his best friend, the bonds that they had formed, and she remembered with clarity and pain the dissolution of those ties.

She had seen Ulfric slowly changing as the war had progressed, his soul hardening as each battle was fought and as more of his brothers and sisters fell to the magic of the elves.  His transformation into the iron-fisted ruler was complete when he escaped his imprisonment at the hands of the Thalmor.  Gone was any semblance to the playboy son of the jarl of Windhelm, gone was any hope of a peace between the Nords and the elves.  He was as cold as the frozen stone bricks that his city was built with, the blood that ran through his veins, ice cold as the waters that edged the city.

But Galmar, she had not seen his transformation into who he was now.  She had been too close to him to see it.  She had believed, foolishly, that her bedding him nightly was endearing him to her, that the words of love he had uttered to her all those lust filled nights were from his heart instead of his loins.  Her realization that his loyalty was to his friend and not the Empire was only one of many into who the man she had given her virtue to really was.  She had been able to salvage her career before Galmar and Ulfric’s actions had destroyed it and she swore from that point on that she would never let anyone close like that again.

Now, after all these years, she had to face her former friend and her former lover.  She dared not tell the general of her past with them; she wanted nothing more than to see the men in irons and made to pay for their crimes against the Empire but she wanted to leave that page of her past exactly where it was, in the past.

She entered her quarters; she began to unclasp her armor and remove it.  The fire in her quarters had been built up, making it warm on this particularly cold night.  An evening meal sat upon her table in the next room, a full jug of wine within reach; her stomach rumbled at the sight as she remembered that she had barely eaten this day.  She set her armor on a chair, removed her boots and left them by the chair then walked toward the table, intent on feeding her exhausted body.

She crossed the threshold of the room.  From the corner of her eye she saw the closed fist coming at her right before she felt the impact against her jaw.  She stumbled back a step, touched her lips with her fingertips and gazed at her bloody fingers.  She lifted her eyes at her assailant and smiled.


The Orc leered at the woman before him, the sight of her bloodied lip exciting him.  “Bitch,” he snarled as he backhanded her.  “You sent me to a fucking shithole!”

Rikke smiled at him even broader, licking the blood from her lip.  “So what if I did?”

“You just wanted to anger me, didn’t you, bitch?”

“Why send my best men when I can send in a barbarian like you?” she sneered.  “What does it matter to you?  You’re paid well for what you do, Orc.”

He grabbed ahold of her hair, twisting it hard in his grip as he pulled her to him.  “Is that what you call it?  I do your dirty work and you throw me some gold and tease me with that ass of yours?”  At her licking her lips, he smiled.  “You just want my Orc cock in you, don’t you, slut?” She licked her lips again, a smile on her face.  He let go of her hair and began to undo his pants.  “Yeah, you better believe you’re going to pay me good for that last job.  I’ve been looking forward to tapping that pretty little ass of yours again.”  He stood before her, his monstrous prick beginning to grow hard.  “Show me how much you love my Orc cock.”

She dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.  Even at a semi-flaccid state she struggled to fit him all beyond her moist lips.  She cupped his balls with one hand, massaging them as she sucked on his throbbing muscle, causing him to close his eyes, a guttural moan coming from his lips.  His hips slowly rocked back and forth as her oral ministrations hardened his dick.

After a few moments, he pulled her off him.  His dick stood fully erect and throbbed.  “Show me what a bitch you are,” he demanded.  She immediately bent down on all fours, her ass to him.  “Good girl,” he said as he stood behind her, his hands rubbing her ass cheeks roughly.  He grinned as he slammed his long, thick finger in her asshole ang began to finger fuck her sphincter.  She rocked back and forth, moaning as his finger kept plunging into her dark hole.  “You want me in your ass, don’t you, slut?”

Her head bobbed up and down.

“Prove it,” he ordered.

She slammed her ass against his hand harder, begging him, “Fill my hole with your cock.”

He pulled his finger out and spread her cheeks.  He spit on the hole and without hesitation slammed himself into her ass.  She cried out as his imposing size crammed its way up her ass.  She begged for more.  She begged for him to pound her harder.  She begged for him to fuck her faster.  Soon she was panting like a dog in heat as her climax neared and overcame her.  The floor beneath her suddenly became wet as her juices burst forth as the Orc buried his dick deeper in her with each stroke.

A low rumble came from his chest as he suddenly pulled out of her, flipped her violently onto her back and pumped his dick with his fist twice before he came over her naked breasts and down her stomach.  His cum was thick as it pooled on her body and he watched as she began to rub it into her skin, bringing her fingers to her lips every so often, sucking the sticky juices off her fingers.

Neither one of them saw the shadow moving along the ledge outside of her window as Meliandra crept quietly by as she sought the traitor Appius.


The room was dark, candlelight flickering against the walls as the wood in the hearth snapped as the flames licked it.  Appius sat at his table listening to his contact as she paced his room.  “this is the time to act, Appius,” she stated firmly.  “He hasn’t been the same since he was ambushed at Darkwater Crossing.  He has not left Windhelm since his return and he rarely ventures outside of the Palace.  His capture did something; he’s been so preoccupied with what happened he doesn’t even have any desire to fuck his favorite wenches.”

He snorted.  “What a shame.”

She glared at him, her green eyes narrowed to slits.  “I don’t see you debasing yourself for the cause.”

“What?  Staying locked in this castle day in and day out isn’t enough for you?”

“You’re taken care of, aren’t you?  Stop complaining, Appius.”

“When I agreed to this foolish plan of yours, it was with the understanding that I would be a free man and not locked up like some skeever in a cage.”

She smiled at him.  “Well, you’re not locked up in a cell, now are you?”  She flipped up the hood on her cloak, shielding her face.  “I have to return to Windhelm before I am missed.  You get that information to the general as soon as possible.  The Legion will end this war once we dispose of Ulfric and then we will have everything we ever dreamed of.”

He watched as the woman stalked out of his room and after a moment he threw a tankard against the door.  “Bitch,” he swore under his breath.

He stood up, intent on going to bed.  Rikke would come see him in the morning and he’d tell her the new information then.  Maybe he could plead with her for some freedoms, anything that would put an end to his monotonous days.

That’s when he saw the tankard rising off the ground.  He watched as it levitated through the air until it was in front of one of the windows and it crashed onto the floor.  He saw the woman on the windowsill but before he could raise the alarm, a ball of light hit him, causing him to fall back, his words frozen in his throat as the paralyze spell took effect.

A moment later he saw the young Breton smiling down at him as she said, “Your presence has been requested by the Jarl of Windhelm.”

When Tempers Flare

Upon finding out about Meliandra’s arrest, Brynjolf plans to rescue her. Despite his joy at finding out she was released, both of their tempers flare and fireworks ensue.

Brynjolf reviewed the weeks reports of how much gold they had added to the coffers as well as how many job requests they had gotten in.  Slowly their presence was being felt again, but not enough.  The war was taking a toll on everyone, jobs were scarce and the need for their services weren’t as in much demand as the demand for mercenaries were.  He picked up the stack of messages from his operatives and began reading through them.  He was pleased to see that some of them who had stepped away from the Guild were now willing to work with them again; it seems that many of the operatives had been taken advantage of by Mercer and tried to distance themselves from him.

After some time, he sat back in the chair, his gaze resting on the bed that at one time Meliandra would sleep in.  His thoughts went to the last time she was here and how what had started out as steps forward in fixing their relationship ended up blowing up before his eyes.  He had obviously misread her jovial mood that day that had made him believe that she was ready to talk and when he went to apologize again in the morning he had discovered that she had left sometime during the night.

He was beginning to understand now more than ever what it meant to not know what you’ve got until its gone. The feelings he felt for her were so intense and her absence from his life created such a void the likes of which he had never experienced in his life before.  He thought of the conversation he had had with Vekel the other day and how the bartender smiled at him, a look of knowing touching his eyes as he shook his head telling the second in charge that he had fallen in love with the Breton.  He knew the man was right.  But had he lost his one opportunity to be truly happy?

He noticed the courier making his way from the Flagon entrance toward him.  He recognized the boy as one employed by Niranye in Windhelm to ferret sensitive messages to the Guild and immediately became concerned.  He sat up as the boy approached him; an icy finger of fear traced down his spine for a reason unknown to him.  “Gaelock,” he said as the young Altmer came closer.  “Everything alright?  We usually don’t see you around here.”

The boy shook his head as he reached into his satchel and pulled out the sealed message from his employer.  “Niranye says this is urgent and for your eyes only.”

Brynjolf’s eyebrow rose as he accepted the letter.  He opened it and began to read, sitting straighter in his chair as he did so.  He let the paper fall to the desk once he finished and ran his hand through his hair.  “Shor’s Balls,” he swore.  He reached into the jar to the side, took out some gold and handed it to the young man.  “Tell Niranye thank you.  And make sure some of that gets to her, too.”

Gaelock nodded and smiled, “Of course.”  Then he turned and headed back into the Flagon.

“Shit,” Brynjolf swore under his breath, his thoughts returning to the message from the Altmer thief.  Meliandra had been seen getting arrested by Windhelm guards led by the jarl’s right-hand man.  He had remembered Delvin saying that a job had come in for Windhelm to be hit.  He immediately knew that it was Meli who took the job.

The Guild’s policy was to leave a captured thief be when and if one got caught.  But he would be damned if he was going to leave the Guild Master locked up and he began to form a rescue plan using Cynric’s jailbreaking skills.


She took a deep breath as she stepped into the Bee & Barb, the familiar aroma of fish cooking in the kitchen with a hint of saltiness in the air wafting through her nostrils, eliciting a slight rumble of hunger from her stomach.  She approached the bar where the Argonian innkeeper was busy serving the Snow-Shod son.  She noticed that Sapphire wasn’t in her usual spot near the door, scouting for possible marks so she could lighten their pockets.  She stood at the bar and cleared her throat, bringing the woman’s attention to her.

“Oh,” the Argonian said sourly, “it’s you.  Here to extort more gold from me?”

Meliandra narrowed her eyes as she responded, “Don’t tempt me, Keevara.  The Guild’s under new rules, new management.  I’m sure the new Guild Master would be more than willing to add some new fees to your monthly contribution to the betterment of our fair city.”

The Argonian snorted.  “New management?  Who would be psychotic enough to want to be the boss of your motley crew of thieves?”

The Breton leaned onto the counter and smiled at her.  “Me.  Now, shall we continue?”

The inn-keeper swallowed nervously before shaking her head.  “I was just joking, Meliandra.  What can I do for you?”

The Guild Master set a stack of gold on the counter.  “A room with privacy and absolutely no disturbances.”

The Argonian slid the coins off the counter quickly, her claws slightly scratching the wood.  She nodded, saying, “Of course.  If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

The trio followed her upstairs and into a room far off to the back.  Once they were alone amongst themselves, they began to settle in for the day.  Vorstag and Lydia were going to be going to the market and sell what junk they had while replenishing their supplies and have Balimund make any repairs needed to their armor and weapons.  In the meantime, Meliandra would be going down to handle business with the Thieves Guild.

The sun was beginning its descent past the horizon by the time Meliandra emerged from the inn.  She saw Modesi at his stall, just starting to close up shop for the night.  She walked over to him, delivering the chunk of gold ore he was looking for for an authentic Saxhleel piece of jewelry he was making.  After paying her generously for her help, she made her way to the Riften graveyard.  She absently noted the Shrine of Talos and thought about the stories of Tiber Septim she had read as a teen.  Once again, she remembered the feeling of the dragon soul coming over her, laying claim to her.  She could not fathom that she of all people could possibly be Dragonborn.  She shook her head as she opened the entrance to the Guild.


She entered the Cistern to see Delvin, Sapphire, Cynric, Vex and Brynjolf huddled around the desk, talking quietly amongst themselves.  She couldn’t make out what they were talking about but it seemed urgent.  The closer she got, the more visible Brynjolf’s face was and she could see concern written all over it.

Vex looked up and upon seeing her, smiled.  She nudged Brynjolf and pointed out the Guild Master to him.  His eyes went from irritated to surprise to happy as he got up from his chair and walked toward her.  He caught himself before drawing her into a hug.  “Meli,” he said, relief riding on his voice.  “We heard you’d been arrested.”

“I was,” she answered back.  She placed the stolen signet ring in front of Delvin.  “But I had a job to do.”

Delvin picked up the ring, letting out a whistle.  “Well, look at this little beauty,” he said in admiration.  “This is Ulfric’s?”

The Breton smirked.  “It is indeed.”  She shrugged nonchalantly.  “You said something that would make them know it was us.  I think that fits the bill.”

Delvin smiled broadly, chuckling.  “Good work, boss.  I’ll get you your coin by the end of the night.”

“No rush, Delvin.”  She took her seat and began to inquire as to the state of the Guild.  For the next couple hours, she listened to what her people reported to her and how the Guild was slowly regaining their foothold.  She listened intently and watched carefully at everyone’s interactions, how smoothly they all worked together.  Slowly, one by one, they left to retire for the night leaving only her and Brynjolf.

She stood, yawning.  “I need to get some sleep; it’s been a long couple of days.”

Brynjolf stood, nodding.  “I’ll walk with you to your room.”

She sighed but nodded back at him.  “Things seem to be looking up,” she said casually as they made their way out of the Cistern.

He nodded.  “Everyone saw the sacrifice that you made to expose Mercer.  They have a new outlook on their jobs.  You’ve made them strive to be better, lass.”

A sad laugh came from her.  “I hate to break it to you, Bryn, but I had ulterior motives for wanting to kill Mercer, let alone bring him down.”

He looked over at her; the whisper of sorrow in her voice shouted at him.  She walked into the room that the Guild had decided to make quarters strictly for the Guild Master and turned to face him.  “What I shared with Mercer was strictly a satisfaction of our mutual carnal desires, nothing more.” She sighed.  “I had no illusions about any kind of meaningful relationship with him.”  She shifted her eyes slightly away from him.  “The last time I thought I had one of those I ended up being hurt.”

Brynjolf felt the verbal slap and closed his eyes, knowing she meant him.  He opened his eyes again and looked at her, his eyes soft as he gazed at her.  “Lass, I’m sorry.  I really am.  I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”

She shook her head.  “You know, Bryn, right now I don’t even want to think about any of that, alright? I’ve got a lot more on my plate than dealing with you and I.”  She ran her hand through her ebony hair, sighing.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?  Or the Guild?”

She shook her head.  Her voice was flat as she answered, “No, I need to handle this myself, Bryn.”

“Meli, we can help you- “

“Damn it, Bryn!” she snapped.  “I don’t want nor need your damn help!  Why must you patronize me, acting like you care about me?”

“Acting like I care?” he snapped back.  “Are you fucking serious, Meliandra?”  He shook his head.  “Here I’ve been worried about you ever since I received word that you had been arrested, but no, I don’t fucking care about you!”

“Worried?”  she repeated sarcastically.  “That’s not what it looked like to me when I walked in.  In fact, you and Vex looked rather cozy sitting next to each other.  Hell, she even smiled at me, like she was gloating that she drove us apart.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” he cried out in exasperation.  “What in Oblivion do you fucking think we were doing when you walked in?  Having a tea party?” He stared at her, his anger quickly rising.  “Shor’s Balls, Meli.  We were planning on how to break you out of jail!”  He turned to walk out, stopped, turned and walked back to her.  His eyes burned hot with anger, the words, acid upon his tongue.  “Just how did you manage to get out of there with the jarl’s signet ring?  Wait, don’t tell me.”  His eyes narrowed as he spat his next words out.  “You fucked Ulfric for your freedom.”

Her eyes went wide, mirroring the anger that raged in his.  She brought her hand across his face, hard.  “How dare you!”  She raised her hand, posed to strike him again.

He caught her hand mere inches from his face. “How dare I?”  He snarled at her.  “You’re no better than a whore, Meliandra.  You’ll spread your legs for anyone if it benefits you.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with that when you were fucking me,” she snapped as she pulled her hand out of his grip.  “What’s wrong, Bryn?  Vex not giving it up anymore?”

Suddenly, with no warning, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, crushing his lips with hers, his tongue forced its way into her mouth and demanded ownership of it.  His grip around her was strong, holding her in his arms firmly as he gave into the overwhelming need to feel her in his arms, to kiss her with abandon like he had once done.  Breaking the kiss, he breathed heavily, “I don’t want Vex.  I want you.”

“You lost that chance, Brynjolf.”  She noticed that her voice was not as strong and forceful as she had intended it to be, but rather it was weak as she tried to reclaim the breath that he had just taken from her.

“I don’t think I did, lass,” he said as he kissed her again.

She tried to pull back, her hands finding their way to his chest, pushing at him as his kiss consumed her.  She tried to fight, not him, but her own desire to give in to his very touch.  Despite herself she found that she was returning his kiss with as much fervor and determination that he was giving.  Her hands went from pushing on him to frantically loosening his tunic and running her fingers down his bare skin, leaving red marks where her nails pressed into him.  “You’re a lying cheat,” she breathed at one point, kissing him again as his fingers worked the ties free on her clothing and quickly removed them from her body.

“And you’re a slut,” be breathed against her skin, his lips tracing their way down her neck and onto her shoulder.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  She tilted her head back, her hands finding their way through his hair, guiding him to her now naked breasts.  She gasped in pleasure as he took her breast in his mouth, his tongue flicking across her nipple before he did the same to the other.

“You are a bad girl that does bad things, Meliandra.”  His voice grew heavy with lust as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bed.  He laid her upon it, then, keeping to his knees, he climbed upon the bed, staying at the foot of it.  He stared at her before him as he removed his pants, his erection hard and throbbing.  “Did you enjoy fucking the Battle-Born son?” he asked as he slipped two fingers into her and began playing with her.  “What about that barmaid?  Did you enjoy having a woman do this to you?”  His fingers thrust faster and harder in her; his excitement was building.

“Yes,” she panted, “I liked her fucking me.”

“What about the Battle-Born kid?”  he fingered her faster still; she was dripping wet now.  “Did you like fucking him?”

She looked at him.  “No,” she admitted.  “I didn’t.  I hated it.”  She moaned and writhed against his hand then looked back at him.  “Please fuck me, Brynjolf, just fuck me.”

He smiled as he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself above her.  He stared at her as he asked, “Fuck you?  You really want me to fuck you?”  She nodded emphatically.  He stared at her for a moment longer then leaned forward, resting the tip of his shaft against her slit.  “This is what you want?”

“Yes!” she cried out.  “Please!”

He gave a hard thrust, slamming his entire length into her, causing her to cry out.  His thrusts were frantic; she clawed at his chest, drawing blood.  He was losing his control; she was crying out her quickly impending orgasm.  He thrust again, harder; her juices flowed as if a dam had burst forth, sending her body into spasms as she climaxed.  Brynjolf felt the flooding from her pooling around him and soon his own body went rigid as his cum exploded into her womb, filing her with his seed.  He collapsed next to her; his breathing accelerated but starting to return to normal.

She laid beside him, his arm wrapped around her and she remembered how secure that had always made her.  She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment.

Brynjolf held her, tracing her skin with his fingers.  He had not realized how much he missed the feel of her body against his, how they seemed to fit together perfectly.  He did not want this moment to end for in the here and now his world was perfect.  He had his Breton in his arms again.  That’s the only thing that mattered to him.

As he kissed the top of her head he whispered, “I love you, Meli.”