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dalishthunder · 10 months

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Throw a Dart at the Map (p2)

Pairing: Nebarra/LDB (Gender Neutral Reader)

Rating: Mature

Words: 2260

Additional Info: Pining, yearning, fluff, drunk games

It had been over an hour since you'd hopped off the ship to see what the island had to offer, and the night only continued to grow colder, so being the sensible mer that he was, Nebarra had holed himself up in the ship's cabin. There really wasn't much in there, but he did strip the furs off of the bed and swaddle himself in them. It was too risky to start a fire, and he was starting to get a little anxious about letting you go out there alone... and he'd already drunk all of the wine.

It wasn't helping with the cold.

He had no idea how you did it. Probably stupid ancient dragon magic.

The door flew open, wind flooding the room with even more frigid air as you stepped inside.

"About time." Nebarra grumbled. "Close the godsdamned door."

"Awww, is somebody feeling a little nippy?" You grinned at him, face flushed from the elements. Shaking off the snow you muttered a quick, "Yol," and steam began to rise off you as it melted.

"Oh, stuff it. Did you find anything? Maybe an inn...?"

You shook your head. "Just an abandoned shack. But," Your pack clanged down on the table, and you rummaged through it, procuring a few bottles. I didn't come back completely empty handed."

He caught the bottle you tossed it to him. Flin. Well, it wasn't wine, but it would have to do. "Better than nothing."

"Stronger than wine." You said, nudging him to move over so you could sit next to him.

"Stronger than some wine." He popped the cork out, grabbing his straw from an empty wine bottle.

"Hey, I wanted some of that too!" You grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a large swig before he could do anything. The face you made as it went down was priceless, and he laughed, eyes drinking in the countours of your sour expression in the warm lamp light.

"Ladies and gentlemen, The Legendary Dragonborn, Defender of Skyrim, Drinker of Dragon Souls, Most Elligible Bacheloree of Tamriel, Savior of Nirn, Talos Reborn... allegedly, still doesn't know how to handle an itty bitty sip of alcohol."

You foisted the bottle back into his hands, smacking him on the shoulder. He played into it, swaying and falling back on the bed dramatically.

"Careful, this dragon has teeth, ahrk zu'u bahlok*."

"Don't I know it..." It was more a breath than a whisper as it left his lips.

You snapped your teeth with a grin, pulling out a bottle of mead instead. "But I think I'll stick to stuff that actually tastes good."

Nebarra sat up, jostling you with his shoulder as you took your first sip, snickering as it spilled down over your chin.

"Rude!" You smacked his shoulder again. "Now I'm going to be all sticky...."

His eyes certainly didn't catch on a droplet as it ran down your neck, wondering how it would taste on his tongue mixed with the salt of your skin. That was certainly not a thought on his mind as you wiped it away.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself, brigand?"

He sipped some of the flin up with his straw, trying to ignore the tremor of cold in his hands.

He was very much not one known for having a filter, and it was better he occupy his mouth than say something incriminating.

You stopped to look at him, annoyance fading to something more along the lines of concern. "You really are a little Nebsickle right now, aren't you...."

His eyes narrowed... not that you could see it. "Call me that again, and I'll gut you like a fish."

You just shook your head, putting down your mead. "Oh please...."

"The flin is doing a fine job of warming me up."

"It's opening up your capilaries so you may feel warmer but you're losing heat faster."

"So what, you want me to just burn down my nice new ship because I'm a little cold? Do you even hear yourself?" He hissed, sipping up some more flin.

"That's not what I was going to suggest."

He leaned back, licking his lips... there were several activities that he was stiffling thoughts of that he could think of that would warm him up very quickly. "I'm listening." His voice was little more than a wary rasp, and he took another sip.

"Take off your armor, we're sharing body warmth. I can't warm myself up in my sleep, and while you're the most pig-headed, stubborn ass I've ever met, I don't think your eternal flame of burning hatred or whatever is going to protect you from the cold all night." Your voice got less and less certain the longer you spoke, and your gaze shifted to the flickering lamp, "Or we could go look for firewood and set up camp outside."

His breath hitched in his throat, words jumbling for a moment before he replied, "I... understand the utilitarian purpose... but do we really have to take off all of our armor?"

"If you're worried about your helm, it's okay if you want to keep that on... I meant more... body stuff.... There's not a lot of furs here, and I didn't expect to be in... this sort of situation so I didn't really pack appropriately-" You let out an awkward huff, "And there's really only one bed. Xel and I usually-"

He was not about to be one upped by a lizard.

His guantlet clattered to the floor, and you jumped at the noise. "You'd better be warm."

"Don't worry, I run pretty hot."

He didn't comment, instead focusing on doffing down to his clothes. Thank the gods he'd bathed recently.

From the sounds of it, you were busy following his lead. He glanced over to where you were stacking your armor pieces. This didn't have to be weird. You did this with your other companions all the time. Definitely Xelzaz. Probably even Kaidan.

His blood boiled a little at that. Stupid, huge, attractive Akaviri... following you around like a lost mutt.... Nebarra wondered what you had said to him to convince him to stay on the mainland.

For a moment... just a moment he considered taking off his helm as well, but he'd already almost made a mistake earlier in the night, and somehow the idea of sharing a tiny bed all night didn't make him feel any safer on that front. So, he crawled under the furs, eyes trained on you as you finished, downing the last of his flin.

Perhaps his most grievous mistake of the night.

Back to him, you whispered something again before sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"Are you coming, or did I doff myself for nothing?" He asked after a moment, resting his head in his hand as he watched you.

"Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought for a moment." You flashed him a smile.

"Well, I'm getting colder by the minute, but sure whenever you want is fine." You flipped him off, worming your way under the covers next to him until your back was against his chest.

Gods you were like a little furnace.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and hoping you couldn't feel the way his heart was trying to pound its way out of his ribcage. He let out a little content sigh as you placed your hands over his.

"Wow, you're freezing."

"Sorry." He mumbled, tone far more awkward and unsure than he was used to.

You let out a breathy chuckle. "Don't be." Your fingers tangled with his. "Gives me a chance to practice this."

"Do not set my ship on fire."

You placed his hands over your heart, fingers still laced with his. "Graan Yol Krein**."

It wasn't a shout he was familiar with, but it was impossible to ignore the quick beats of your heart or the way warmth suffused through his veins. Rich and full like a hot bowl of stew, and between the balm of your hands and the stiffness of his drink, a soft moan escaped his throat. A dawning mortification gripped him.

You froze, letting go of his hands.

Well, there went not making things awkward.

He cleared his throat, voice just a touch too high, "Is that a new shout?"

That seemed to relax you a bit, and you settled against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Yeah, I'm thinking of calling it Hearthfire. It was inspired when I was studying fire salts with Xelzaz and how and if they could improve one of his mixtures-"

"What's... What's that whole situation?"

"Oh, it turned out that fire salts ran too hot, but if we mixed a pinch with some void sal-"

"No. No, I mean... what's the whole deal with you and Xelzaz? Are you two...?" Oh gods he needed to shut up....

How strong was that flin?

"What?"

"Y'know...."

As realization hit you, you buried your face in your palms. "No... it's not like that. No. He's um... he's not interested in me like that and-"

"Woah, woah, woah... I'm gonna need you to repeat that because I'm sure my hearing is acting up-"

"Nope, if you weren't listening, that's on you."

"How do you even know he's not-"

"Why do you care?" You turned to look at him, eyes wary. You were too close... too close.

"I just...." He let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

And then something passed over your eyes, the corners of your mouth turning upwards in an incredulous smile. "By Azura... you're in love with Xelzaz, aren't you?"

"What?"

"By the gods, how did I not figure this out sooner?" You put your hands over your mouth. "Oh, Honey, I'm so sorry.... I don't think-"

"I'm not in love with Xelzaz!"

"It's okay, I understand! He's my best friend, and you have my blessing, but I don't want to give you false hope for a future that probably will never happen."

He let out an exhasperated groan.

"Don't worry, I think everyone he meets wants to bone him a little bit-"

"Stop. Talking."

"I know your wedding would have been beautiful and practical. Obviously, I'd be the Attendee of Honor-"

"Xelzaz is very much Not My Type. Besides, I'm already supposed to be married to you remember?"

Your eyes widened.

"Xelzaz seems to think we're an old married couple, after all." He elaborated after a moment, very much appreciating his decision to keep his helmet on.

You snickered, settling down again, back pressed up against his chest. "Of course. How could I forget?"

At least that shut you up about your stupid Xelzaz theory.

Auri-El smite him the day that happens.

His fingers played idly with the fabric of your shirt, and he closed his eyes, debating whether or not to pull you in tighter.

"So... husband." You said after a while, and his eyes immediately opened. "What was our wedding like?"

He really shouldn't be playing along with your sick game.

But you were warm, and his blood was more alcohol than anything else at the moment, so he replied, "... Small. We eloped."

You nodded, "There would've been too many invitations to write otherwise. Xelzaz officiated obviously."

"Obviously." His arms tightened around you, pulling you in just a little bit further.

"How many kids did we have?"

He let out a low whistle, "Wow... a parent who doesn't even know how many kids we have. Why did I marry you?"

You snorted. "Two. We had two."

"Wrong! You are bad at this whole parenting thing." He grinned, basking in the warmth. "We had five."

You balked. "Five is way too many."

"I agree, we really should have stopped at one, but you insisted that we absolutely had to have a middle child with self-esteem issues."

Your laughter echoed off the walls of the cabin, belly rocking. "Okay, okay... we had three."

"Which of our children disappointed me the most?"

"Wow... what a cold father." He could still hear the laughter in your voice as you spoke, "Obviously it was our eldest."

"And what did he do that perturbed me so?"

"He wanted to be a bard."

Nebarra let out a snort of derision.

"I funded his way through the bard college, which is how we got divorced."

Affection tugged on his heart strings, "You know me too well."

"Our son was a phenomenal harpist, it's a shame you never stuck around for any of his recitals."

He scoffed, tucking his head to rest his chin on your shoulder. "Well at least he was talented. How about you? Why did you divorce me?"

For a moment, you were silent, and he could feel an uncomfortable twinge in his chest... waiting for your response.

"Because after five years of marriage, I still hadn't seen your face."

It was the flin. It was the flin, and the stupid warmth.

"It's really that important to you, huh?"

"I mean... hypothetically in that sort of situation. But don't ever feel that you have to do anything you don't want to do just because I'm curious."

It was the flin. It was the flin and this stupid, godsdamned game you two were playing.

He licked his lips, letting you go and sitting up a bit.

Your eyes were focused on him, expression curious, something in your eyes that he couldn't quite read. "Neb... you don't have to if you don't want to."

It was the flin.

His helm clattered to the ground with the rest of his armor.

* ahrk zu'u bahlok - and I hunger

**Graan Yol Krein - Warmth Fire Sun

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #x reader #skyrim #custom voiced followers #thunderous applesauce #odt #I love him so much #I want to scream #Throw a dart at the map

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captain-of-silvenar · 3 months

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1-5 for yera :)

Hehe, Yera time!

1. What is their background and backstory, summarised into a paragraph?

Yera is a blind Bosmer who left Valenwood because of the oppression of the Aldmeri Dominion had on her country and the powerless feeling she had to protect her home and friends from outside invaders. She meant to travel to Morrowind to be as far away from Thalmor influence as possible but ended up stuck in Skyrim because of destiny nonsense. There she very adamantly avoided anything to do with her prophesy because she didn't feel like getting caught up in another country's mess and because she thought she wasn't good enough to do the job. But after seeing the tragedy and horror of dragons plaguing the land she stepped up to the plate and embraced the title of Dragonborn and saved the land countless times against all manners of monsters and people. She might not be what people think a Hero of Destiny is, but she's the one chosen by the Elder Scrolls and she's doing her best job yet.

2. What “class” do they follow (i.e. warrior, archer, mage, thief, etc.)?

Archer Thief, the best (only) class in Skryim jkjk.

But no really she is an archer thief. Makes it interesting as how she aims while blind but she's had over 100 years of practice with a bow so half of the time it's intuitive shooting with muscle memory, and the other half is having Lydia make calls with specific distances that Yera remembers and just shoots for it.

3. How do they feel about being Dragonborn- does they identity feel right for them and did they embrace it immediately? Do they consider themselves a true dragon?

If you asked Yera when she just got to Skyrim, she would've denied it and asked how to get out of this damn country as fast as possible.

Yera was not interested in being in a spotlight position. She was leaving Valenwood to avoid that, so being some nameless face in the crowd was her goal. It was part of the reason she stayed in Riften when she went there to try and find a way past the mountains. Thieves Guild was mostly out of sight, she didn't need to be a face for the guild, and they had beds and coin to spare.

It was after a long while, maybe a couple of months, of living in Skyrim and seeing the destruction spreading across the land she began to reconsider. Maybe she could help out someone, if she really was the only solution to the problem. Maybe this time she could help instead of being powerless in the face of an opposing force. If she really was the linchpin to everything, it wasn't right for her to stand by on the side and watch everything burn to the ground.

After this realization, she embraced the title. She molded it to fit herself and herself to fit the Dragonborn title, utterly changed forever. How can you not be changed after eating countless immortal souls?

In my heacanon, the more dragon souls you eat the more you become like them. Behaviorally, Yera is more easy to temper, can actually breath fire in bouts of rage, and has an awful hoarding tendency that the Guild is NOT helping. Do NOT provide her with a vault to keep stuff in, she WILL FILL IT WITH JUNK.

4. At present, how are they perceived by the people of Skyrim? By the general population, and by different factions?

It depends on who you're speaking to with Yera.

In general, the people know that the Dragonborn is here in Skyrim and saved the land from the dragons and vampires and all sorts of dangers. Do they know what she looks like? No, most say it was a tall Nordic woman with a might sword and shield. Others will say no no, it absolutely was an elf, with a bow as tall as she was an shooting dragons down with one arrow.

Yera tries to keep a low profile still as the Dragonborn, and rumors help conceal her actual identity. But there will be some who recognize her on sight and speak of the good deeds she does to help the people out.

By Stormcloak and Imperial standards, she's a nuisance. During the Truce Negotiations in Hrothgar Yera had to reveal herself to the main forces in Skyrim with wonderful reactions. Stormcloaks balking at the idea of an elf as their legendary Dragonborn. Imperials balking at a small elf as the source of all these reports and rumors across the land.

Yera did not bend to any one side, personally disliking both sides of the war and refusing to give her name to any side. The peace talks were strictly to get them both to shut up for awhile before she killed Aludin. So neither of them think highly of her and wish to either persuade her to their side (Imperials) or discredit her achievements (Stormcloaks).

The Thieves Guild think she's the best thing to happen this era as the gold just keeps rolling into their pockets, and every Hold in the country now shutters at the idea of the Guild rising up again. Not everyone knows that the legendary Dragonborn is also the Guild Master for the Thieves Guild and she rather keep it that way. Someone has to fund her adventures, and it isn't always going to be cave diving.

5. How were they perceived before their Dragonborn identity became widely known?

A nobody, a small white haired elf. Pretty good huntress, but doesn't really share much of herself.

Stubborn as a mule, and extremely picky eater.

Yera did a good job keeping a low profile for the longest time before she embraced her title as Dragonborn. If she wasn't going to be a thief, she most likely was going to be a hunter to bring in meat for vendors and sleep in trees and meadows when possible.

If we're talking about back at home in Valenwood, she was the star of the town. Mother was Captain of the Guard and was trained possible to take after her if Yera wanted. I don't think Yera really wanted that kind of responsiblity, but she was an excellent provider for the town and would lead many hunts in the jungle for meat and goods.

Quite a number of suitors lining up asking for her hand in marriage, or to just have Yera acknowledge their existence. Yera never quite found the right one back at home, but maybe if she's lucky she'll find someone nice in Skyrim or maybe near by...

#yera oakvine #answered ask #i love talking about yera and her growth into the dragonborn title #and how that changed her for the better and the worst #skyrim #tesblr #scruut

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nejackdaw · 1 year

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Part of what I really like about Tesblr is the life we've all breathed into not only our characters, but the NPCs (especially ISQ and Argis :) So, I figured I'd share a couple thoughts I have on my obscure little favorite, Celann 💞 my Dawnguard blorbo (cut bc it's kind of long, not NSFW)

Part of what's interesting about him is that he's a follower with perks–not necessarily perks that are useful to him, but he's got them. He's proficient with heavy armor and one handed weapons, but has perks in light/2H. Guards in both Skyrim and High Rock (Daggerfall) wear light armor and use/can use two handed weapons; he also doesn't tolerate any crime, so it's fun to think he was a guard when he was younger. (Idk how he got to Skyrim, but I like to think he grew up in High Rock. I have a vague backstory for him but that's. Akxnajwiwnw)

Despite his proficiency in heavy armor, his default Dawnguard gear is the light variant. Considering Isran only ever hears what he wants to hear, it's likely that sometime during their joint service with the Vigil that he heard Celann used to be a guardsman (read: trained in combat and useful,) tuned everything else out, and had him fitted with light armor instead of the heavy he prefers. Celann didn't want to argue–they always argue, and he's tired of it–and didn't care to bother Gunmar about it, so he hangs out in light armor since he isn't sent out often, anyway.

Avoids Isran like the plague. Frankly, it's clear that no one is working with him because they like working with him, only because they have to, but Isran and Celann clearly have bad blood between them. They work together because they have to and tend to blow up at each other if they're left together for too long, so the Breton prefers to simply vanish whenever the Dawnguard leader is getting too close for comfort. Conversely, he doesn't quite mind Gunmar and Sorine; the blacksmith can work quietly and doesn't try to force conversation, and while Sorine may chatter at him for a while about whatever she's working on, she never expects a response. Celann is content to simply ignore her and let her figure out whatever the issue is.

If you ever go looking for him, he sits in the same three places, on his own, and either in the dark or facing away from the hearth. He has no interactions with the other Dawnguard members, sits by himself, and it's about 50/50 whether he greets you when you walk by or just stares at you. He is unwell. That is depression. In my head, where the Fort has more than five rooms in it, he tends to drift around so quietly through the dark when his mood gets low that it's not uncommon to hear other Dawnguard members refer to him as a ghost, haunting the halls. Alternatively, depression can manifest as an itching, burning, sourceless anger, and on the flip side his typically nonexistent presence can be heavy, weighty and dangerous. Whenever more mellow moods give way to fits of rage he tends to leave the fort entirely so he won't lose his temper over being asked a simple question or otherwise bothered. He yelled at Sorine once and felt guilty about it for weeks, because seeing her so quiet and knowing it was his fault was horrifying. He put in work to repair their relationship, and since has just left whenever he gets antsy to avoid a repeat.

He likes to cook, but rarely has the energy to deal with making enough for whoever hasn't been dispatched. (Rip Celann, your only interaction is the cooking pot once in a blue moon.) When he does cook, everyone makes sure to show up–even those prone to working through mealtime–because, no offense to Durak or Agmaer, but most people can only handle so much orcish cuisine and the farm boy could use some practice. Regardless, Celann is in charge of dessert whenever there's any excuse for celebration. (I read Talviel's Tes races holiday dessert post one time and now Bretons and Swiss Rolls are linked in my head.)

As a personal touch, he wears silver jewelry (especially earrings and a necklace) to ward off undead–especially vampiric–contact. Meant to prevent vampiric bites. (Vampires and silver aren't mythologically sound, but it's fun to me.) Wears small, Mara style earrings in each ear since she's seen as a protective figure in High Rock, in addition to her more common attributes. (Fun fact: in this file I hoard silver jewelry for him to level my enchanting on. It is, surprisingly, seemingly much rarer than gold out in the wild.)

I also HC that he occasionally has bouts of insomnia, because… well, have you seen him? Depression doesn't lend itself to good rest; he's very conscious of all his moving around when he can't sleep so he tends to leave the barracks and wander around inside the fort. Pet the dogs, sit out with anyone he's familiar with who happens to still be up, etc. If Serana joined the Dawnguard, after Harkon is dealt with and the vampire hunters trust her, I like to imagine that he has, at least once, quietly and wretchedly asked at some ungodly hour if she can make people fall asleep.

#skyrim #dawnguard #celann #yeah uhhh i like him (vanishes)#i also have. art. of him #anyway lets see if tumblr manages to mess with this one too lmao #i always forget to tag #writing

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chaoticcosmos666 · 1 year

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Alright. Let's get this goddamn Skyrim headcannon going shall we? For all my characters and my partners character... Let's get into it. Most of the beginning is at helgen but some are different. If I change it... I'll be updating. now this is for my own sanity but ik someone will enjoy it. And yes... I haven't removed dragon born status from most and the stormcloaks saw victory in this as all these characters are connected. This post is for our heroes (well... Some may be debated)

Ilnehm- The dunmer mage

Ilnehm is around 28-30 years old. She's around 5'9 and her eyes are a whitish color instead of the typical read due to the sheer power she has in Magicka. Follows Azura and her ways as well as hermaeus mora. Typically in the daedric plate armor or ebony plate. Is an honorary Telvanni mage due to the help with Neloth. Knows even the dragon shouts you can't learn in game. Ends up with Tiberius

Arriving at Helgen was something she never anticipated. On her way back from an ingredient run, she never thought she'd be taken into custody for just being at the wrong place at the wrong time. The man who was going thru the list didn't even have her name even felt sympathetic to her. Eventually landing in the line of the headsman to be killed, alduin attacked. She wasn't having this. She burned her binds amidst the chaos and escaped. Continuing her work as a mage and studying independently to working up to be the best Spell Sword she could be. Ending up helping the college, she ended up taking Savos Arens place as the Arch Mage. When the war started getting worse and seeing her dunmer people suffering in windhelm, she joined the imperial army. Having a custom helmet hiding her identity, she didn't want many to know bout her. The tide of war ended up in favor of the stormcloaks. She ended up hiding away at the college. But some unexpected things happened....

Ajani- the Sneaky Readguard

Ajani is about 5'10 in height and around 30 or so years old. He is known as "The Man with the Golden Eyes" and is a charmer. He is a follower of Nocturnal and is both an Assassin and a Thief. Married to Ysolda who isn't so innocent herself, he's able to get away with many things. He is duel bladed.

It was the end of the line. The law had finally caught up with him, well not in the way he'd thought but it did. The Imperial ambush wasn't pleasant but by the time he had reached the the town, he had accepted death. But like everyone that day, alduin had saved them all in a way. In the mess of the chaos, he was able to maneuver himself to get his binds to the front of him and have a sharp rock cut it. Man it felt good to be back. He had to be careful on the way back to riften... Guards were always patrolling these days. Back at the guild, issues were stirring... Mercer Frey... And on top same with the brotherhood. Both issues had him busy. but when both were resolved, he decided to play the hand of the war. There was legend of the mystical "Jagged Crown" that the imperials wanted and where preparing to get. Oh how it would look beautiful next to the crown of barenziah they had. So that was his job... Get the crown. That part was easy... But even then the brotherhood had one on top... Killing Titus mede. He was in for a challenge. He had to be methodical.... (I haven't fully fixed this one yet but here it is)

Uzoma- The Giant Of the Battlefield

Uzoma is tall. Like TALL. he's 7'1 and has custom weapons to compensate for this. He is a redguard and has been a captain in holds as well as accompanied Tullius And Rikke at the summit held by the Greybeards. He lost vision in his left eye due to a knife attack when he was just a regular soldier. Married to Mercurio

Helgen had reached uzoma late. The news was 4 days old to him. And in that time he was recalled back to castle dour to be put at a new fort for the new bloods joining... That is of course until he was to be reassigned again. However, how did he join the legion? Well... He had lost his family as a teen and ended up travito cyrodiil. Joining the guard, he met his brother in arms, Azireth. Both rose thru and joined the army. It was all quiet until torygg was killed. That's when he made it to Skyrim and continually rising the ranks to a legate. But to continue, he was based in fort Amol, then by Tullius and rikke's side. The war raged. Worrying his lover with the battles... The war has soon ended with a crushing defeat outside of solitude. Tullis and Rikke gone... He retired... Or so he had thought. Tiberius was a suspicious one to him. Only then finding out about his bloodline being royal, uzoma pledged allegiance and protection to Tiberius to retake Skyrim and bring it back.

Azireth- The all-rounder Captian

Azireth is definitely shorter than his brother in arms uzoma... Only at 5'11. But he is one to be feared with use of poisons and destruction magic paired with his sword craft. Married to the mercenary Jenassa, after the war until he was killed in another battle, he ran a farm and hunted.

Azireth was stationed in the gloomy falkwreath when he saw the notorious black dragon fly over. He knew things would be worse before they got better. When off from duty he would hunt and farm... And of course help Jenassa. Azireth and uzomas story are close. But azireth joined in the taking back of Skyrim later... And had an untimely demise with the last siege Tiberius had planned...

Fenrir Foxfang- Stormcloak with a Redemption arc

Strong devotions to Talos lead him down this path which only depressed him. But with Tiberius showing him mercy and helping him redeem himself, he changed and swore allegiance. Average height at about 6'1, he's your Nord man of the woods. Married to Breylyna.

Yea he probably shouldn't have started beating up those thalmor justiciar... But they were trying to take him in for Talos worship. That's how he ended up beside ralof and Ulfric himself. He didn't want to die. But seeing that bitch of a thalmor in helgen made him even madder. Maybe the Stormcloaks had a point. He should be free to worship who he wanted. When the alduin came, he escaped with ralof and made his way out with him and decided to get sign up with the stormcloaks as soon as he could. Quickly rising, he was a hardened warrior. But by the end, he saw Ulfric for who he was... But he couldn't just say it. Hell he was the one who beheaded Tullius with Ulfric and galmar egging him on. That's when he realized something wasn't right, especially what Tullius had said bout the thalmor. After that battle he settled out into his home in the swamp and tundra of morthal... Where he began to evaluate his life. He hung up his armor and thought deeply. He had decided to go to the college in winterhold and find some knowledge there... Since Ulfric was worried about the moot... He there met breylyna... Whom he then courted for awhile. And then married her. He had found some happiness. Then chaos... Ulfric was angered. The jagged crown had gone missing. It was originally in castle dour but now gone. Fenrir hid away. Weeks he stayed low-key, hunting and foraging... Until one day when he was chopping wood and breylyna milking the cow, Tiberius had approached. Fenrir wasn't happy about that and they fought shortly. Fenrir was then asked if he would fight again, this time against Ulfric...this was his second chance and by Talos he wasn't throwing it away...

Aesirya- The Plant

Average height of a high elf. Aesirya is the empires spy in the thalmor watch. She's been to both places and on patrol. She's able to sneak stuff out and in due to her trust amongst the thalmor.

Trained in espionage, she was originally going to be a mage at the guild in cyrodiil when the white gold concordat was put in place. With her loyalty to the Empire, she offered herself to infiltrate the ranks of the Thalmor. From there was able to rise up and be a justiciar and other things. They had tabs on everyone. When the war broke out in Skyrim, it was crucial for her to get info. The war was working in the thalmors eyes anyway... But when the news came f a problematic Nord halfling, she was on that. Tiberius sepim...or so he thought... No... He was the descendant of the septim dynasty. She had sent that to uzoma who made Tullius aware... They had to keep him safe at all costs.

Tiberius- the Lost Hier

I don't have too much on him as he is my partners character... But he is a descendant of the Septim Dynasty and the heir to the throne. He ends up leading two successful rebellions and brings back unity.

Antagonist list and bigger story in the future. I will make a masterpost for this.

#skyrim #skyrim original character #thalmor #nord #dunmer #high elf #redguard #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #tes v skyrim #stormcloak rebellion #stormcloaks #Imperial Legion #dark brotherhood #thieves guild #grey fox #nocturnal #college of winterhold

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abyssalpriest · 10 months

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30 Days of Them #4

Has there been a time where you feel They have sent something to appear to you on their behalf?

(link to post)

The things he sends most on his behalf are masks, things that seem so disparate and independent from him but, under the surface, tie to the same creature. When he presses against the fabric of this plane it forms new bodies around him, expansive and wild - still masks of a different and more literal sort. It's always masks for royalty.

I thought I saw myself stretched across the sky in a form I recognised so intimately, a great bird with wings of clouds and the presence within it of the Sun's light in summer. Why, then, were the feelings radiating off this self so contradictory to my own?

I loved my partner with all my heart. We would walk together, he in the Astral and I physically. The Sky Bird would make its appearance in all its glory, eclipsing any view into the star-heavens and stretching itself far over the land, and it would, with no uncertainty, be beaming down a disinterest at best, but mostly a brewing angered disappointment, distaste, towards my partner. He would beg and plead in religious words how he loved me and therefore the Sky, but the Sky Bird wouldn't budge. Its wordlessness and piercing stare would be unwaveringly cold.

II:

The Eye burns so fiercely in the sky when he shows up. The Sun is rounded by clouds, but overlaid across it in another dimension is so, so clearly not a coincidence in space and time just-so-happeningly making the clouds shaped like an eye. It's his eye, his presence, dwarfing reality before it. I can see him in all his radiance as the Sun itself poking a hole into reality, the physical Sun his iris and its core his pupil. It is a look that connects souls, the interplay of two different people when they realise and communicate through expression that they understand... Something. Whatever it is, I understand. In a world that doesn't look to the Sun anymore I understand who I am looking at. The Sun is his vessel for that.

III:

I was possessed by an older gentleman in the car; his emotions were withered and heavy, and the silence between my partner and I was suddenly host to a pale yet absolute sadness. Tired, melancholic to the highest degree, chalky blue and ghostly. I wondered why my partner adamantly called him "Blue", a marker for a colour in his mind like that of the opaque Day Sky.

My partner at the time moved uncomfortably. I was too busy focusing on this sudden change in my body's input and personality to such an undeniable and unrejectable degree to really watch my partner's reaction to the newcomer, but we both knew this was an older man spoken about in my partner's cult lore as "Damian", and to my partner he was... A sign, likely, that someone outside his cult knew what he was doing. A warning. I check now with tarot to make sure I remember right. "What did my ex think and feel when this man showed up in our car?" X of Swords, in this deck a sword is broken against nine swords now descending upon it. Exactly, I felt it even if I was preoccupied. This was a warning to him, to me a friend.

My phone's auto-suggest recommends I input a link instead of a word, which brings me to something I haven't seen nor copied the link of in at least a month: a video on why Alduin from Skyrim, a character I relate to Leviathan, "should have won".

IV:

The Sky would occasionally roost in our backyard or just over its fence. Often it would skirt metres away from us in a dreamlike haze, unthinking, inhuman to the highest degree, but undeniably present and big.

My partner at the time received a vision: He was cornered in a place filled with the dead bodies of all the children he had caught up in his cult, sat in his chair, submitting to what was about to come which was so unlike him. No more charismatic talking himself out of all danger, no more manipulation, he was resigned: And specifically resigned as the character he pretended to be in his cult. Through the door came the usually fragile form of the one we labelled as my incarnation in my cult's supposed off-plane reality, an alternate universe self if you will, Agnus, but he walked with confidence unlike me and held a scythe in his hands with the perfect poise of someone much stronger than I ever could've been.

He beheaded my partner. One swift movement and it was over. I never understood, but the message was read loud and clear, apparently, by my partner, who would only have another few years alive after this before he was actually killed for his sins.

VI:

The shift in air pressure is like a deluge of ocean water - paradoxically a soft one, but it swamps the land in the feeling of a huge presence of something that could never be seen by the physical eye.

Ahead of him, when the presence grows stronger and stronger, the rooks always fly like heralds.

It always happens, rooks fly literally... But they're a figurative thing too and a symbol for all of reality obeying its programming to fly ahead of him. He winds himself into reality and its programming obeys, like pheromones in the senses of an animal or a software update in the core of a machine.

The air and its spirits are sent ahead of him, the feelings of this plane shifting as it makes way for him. Electronics bend under the weight and start doing strange things and playing unskippable strange songs, televisions play things that match up exactly to things he is talking to you about, conversations of those you walk past speak his words, the clouds contort into clear images like sign language alongside what he's saying, the wind dances with his words as he speaks.

Reality is sent before him on his behalf; reality is, like so much else, the fabric to be used as his masks as he bends himself into the workings of the plane he rarely appears on physically.

#leviathan //#ramblings //#30 days of them #See if this was hermes id be giving literal like... the cat that is just used by him to get around on this plane that lives nearby #or literal birds or. that time he possessed my mother. god that was fucking hjbfdfjgjfjk something. stuff like that. but like.#no Leviathan Shows Up you just dont know its him #basically the inverse of what this question is asking but opposite=the same

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alexanderdragonborn · 10 months

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I've been on angst mood so I am pretty curious

why would your ocs become villans?

Villans? Let's see....

Anara: Built up anger

She became angry at the world for taking her sister away and the betrayal from her sister. She blamed herself all these years only for her to be alive but forced to put her down.

Xavier: Rejection

Once upon a time, he had his loving family, which changed when he joined House Redoran. No matter how much he accomplished, his family didn't care and shrugged it off.

Neko: Dragonborn

As the Dragonborn, everyone has expectations and demands. If things go wrong, he's to blame. Having enough, he decided to stop and help the enemies burn the world to the ground.

Milha-Ma: Saving a loved one

Milha can't hurt a fly. But after being ordered to destroy the Dark Brotherhood and meeting her brother for the first and last time. I think if she found a way to travel in the past and stop her mother from leaving. She wouldn't care who she hurt in the process.

Nightshade: Rejection

Nightshade never received any love or affection from her family. She couldn't go through with the arranged marriage and she hated working with Elenwen. However, no one in Skyrim would accept her as a hero because who would want a Thalmor as a hero? Nonsense. Can't go back home or be welcomed in Skyrim.

Anya: Sibling Rival?

So, theoretically, Dylan aborsed the first dragon soul. Instead, Whiterun fighting 1 dragon, they fought 2. Where Anya also absorbed the soul. I think she would have enough of people giving her brother credit or calling her "Dylans younger sister." She doesn't care for fame, but she would be sick of people belittling her. She's not fragile, and people would treat like she is.

Dylan: Revenge/Justice

Dylan does become angry with Kodlaks death. It didn't help that companions tried to blame his sister in front of him. The silver hand took away his father figure. Something in him snapped. He was angry that he couldn't hear anyone.

Aria: Finding some acceptance

Aria wasn't born in Valenwood. She was found and adopted by a couple who was looked after by a Khajiit caregiver. Not really accepted as a Bosmer, but people see her as one. I think she would just find a place where she belongs.

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blazehedgehog · 2 years

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Thoughts on the TLOU Part 1 Remake? I think the visuals look incredible compared to the original.

I bought The Last of Us Remastered when I got my PS4 in 2017 and that PS5 version makes me never want to play it. Not because I want to play it on the PS5 (should I ever end up with one), but because "The Cult of Naughty Dog" is starting to get creepy.

The PS5 version is totally, wholly unnecessary, and at best should be a free upgrade for people who already own the PS4 version. I would barely even classify it as a "remake" given they are just taking the existing assets and touching up the visuals.

Outside of the cutscenes, I'm not sure it's going to look that vastly different, either. Obviously side-by-side comparisons are going to prove me wrong, but nobody is actually going to be playing these games side-by-side, and unless you have the game memorized, I doubt most people will be able to pick out what's specifically different. Mostly it'll just be a general sense of "they said it was better, but I don't know the exact details."

And even if it is vastly different, maybe that's not even necessarily a good thing? Like we've had two Last of Us games. And this will be the third time they're asking people to re-buy that first game. The first game of two total. Is there really that much left of the original vision left to capture, or are they drinking the George Lucas juice?

I mean, even Square-Enix, known for over-charging for everything (the "Square Tax" as it was called), gave away Final Fantasy VII Intergrade for free if you already owned the PS4 version.

And Sony and Naughty Dog are out there like "That'll be $70, please. $100 if you're nasty."

Are they insane? I hope this crashes and burns. If you have that much disposable income, what are you doing buying another full-price version of a game that's already come out twice?

I have no sympathy, tolerance, or understanding of that. It is a world I am totally unfamiliar with.

At least with Skyrim, it makes sense. I have played 138 hours of Skyrim and I don't think I'm even halfway through the main quest yet. It would make more sense if Skyrim let you transfer your save between different versions, but with mods I assume that would be difficult to manage. Either way, there's this idea that you can play Skyrim for hundreds of hours and never see everything, so putting out new versions of that game makes more sense to me. And a lot of Skyrim remasters are pretty basic, too!

I don't think there's hundreds of hours of game in The Last of Us. I'm sure it's more open than Uncharted, but it's not a Skyrim. Naughty Dog, by their own admission, specializes in linear, "cinematic" type games. Not open world RPGs.

On top of that, I think the visuals in the original generally end up looking better, too. I guess the facial animation in the PS5 version is indisputably better but the material rendering seems to be... questionable.

Is this like Zombieland, but instead of being obsessed with finding the last remaining boxes of twinkies, Joel is obsessed with silk shirts now? For a zombie apocalypse where everyone is constantly sweaty and filthy, his shirt now looks incredibly soft and comfortable.

It's also the sort of thing I've touched on before -- giving people options they didn't think they wanted. Changing something for the sake of changing it and then opening up the door to pointless debates that didn't matter. People would have gone down saying how "The Last of Us Remastered on PS4 still looks incredible" but now there's this $70 option that muddies the waters for no good reason. Nobody would have cared, but now they've been told they need to care, because oh my gosh, there's 40 more polygons in Joel's right cheek you guys.

What it looks like doesn't matter to me when it represents such a waste of pretty much everything.

#questions #Anonymous #naughty dog #the last of us #playstation 5

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stephlynndrawings · 1 year

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Fulfillment of a prompt from the @nirnwrote discord server! (i forgot this was done for a week) Prompt: "I am fed up with half measures. I deserve better."

Trigger warnings: minor abuse and mentioning of abuse, terrible mothers, traditional family bullshit, minor manipulation/gaslighting (?)

Coming back to Elden root after over fifty years of being gone was a very hard and thought out plan for Elruin Rosegrass. She had been invited back so the King of Valenwood could thank her for saving the world and helping ease the tensions in Skyrim. Of course, being back in her hometown meant having to deal with her family. Luckily, Elegrin, Revyn, and her children were usually able to shield her from her parents’ cutting words at a party they had been forced to attend.

However, the last time she saw any of them was hours prior and she had a sinking feeling that her family lured them away to get her alone. Her fears were proven true when her parents approached her, both wearing forced smiles on their faces, each holding glass flutes with wine-infused jagga.

“Oh my darling Elruin, it’s so wonderful to see you alone.” Her mother crooned, the tone making the dragonborn’s skin itch. Her mother has never talked to her with such sweetness, it felt wrong after everything.

“Indeed, we’ve been wanting to talk to you for a few days, but your sister and your guests have made it very hard.” Her father chuckled, noticeably skipping over the relation he had with his daughter’ “guests”. Elruin’s displeasure must of shown, however.

“Oh come now, darling. You’ve always been so sensitive, your father is simply joking. You must know that we approve of your choice in spouse, yes?” Her mother said, sidling up against her and placed her hand on her shoulder, her grip just as firm and unyielding as she remembered.

Elruin took a deep breath, inwardly trying to keep her anxiety at bay, “Yes Mother. Sorry, Father. I’ve…Wanted to talk to you as well.” she ground out, keeping her voice even. She tried to crane her neck to look around for someone to help her out of the situation but found no one trustworthy.

“Come now, my little Ember, let’s go get some fresh air.” Her mother spoke, breaking her out of her search. The hand on her shoulder tightened it’s grip and sharp nails started to dig into her shoulder through the neckline of her dress. She was pulled out onto a balcony overlooking the capital city of Grahtwood, the lights shining a warm gold compared to the inky black of the night. Her parents shared a look, as if trying to make sure no one was watching or following, before a hand slammed itself into Elruin’s face, the woman letting out a gasp of surprise.

“Why is it you? Why isn’t it Elegrin? She deserves to be a hero more than you ever will!” Her mother seethed, her lips drawn back in a snarl. Glassy golden eyes locked with the cold eyes of her father and something broke inside. Her father never showed her love, but at least he normally stopped her mother from laying a hand on her. When something broke inside her, she thought it would feel cold, like it normally was, but instead, rather, she felt magma fill her viens.

Anger bubbled up inside her and she screwed her face up before firmly grabbing the hand that had hit her, holding it away in a tight grip, “What is wrong with you? Why have you never loved me? And don’t give me any kind of crap about the stupid fucking prophecy. It has been proven to be wrong.” She demanded, swiftly catching the other hand that was aiming for her face.

“You have no right to speak to me that way, young lady!” Her mother breathed angrily, her eyes burning with rage and something close to feral.

“You have no right to hit me! I am over sixty years old, Mother!” She refuted, spitting the term out as if it were a curse.

After several moments of the two women glaring at each other, Elruin’s father finally stepped in, a conflicted look on his face, “Elruin, we do love you, but you made it hard for us to show it when you were a child.” He tried, holding his hands out in a calming matter.

Both women whipped their heads to look at him, his wife wearing a look of betrayal and his daughter wearing one of pure rage.

“Mammoth shit! That’s a lie and you know it! You’ve never once tried to show me an ounce of love once I started showing signs of fire magic. You’ve believed that crazy old hag’s prophecy even thought she was high off of skooma when she said it! You chose to despise me and neglect me!” She cried, voice growing more brittle the longer she talked. She never rose her voice, if only to not embarrass herself.

“Take back those words, you stupid girl! We gave you everything you needed and more. We could have thrown you onto the streets the second you started playing with fire, but we didn’t!” her mother hissed, pointing a finger into the brunette’s face.

“You only gave me things because everyone around us looked up to you as holders of the Rosegrass name! If you completely ignored my needs you would have been the subject of rumors.” the daughter sneered, “But I guess that still happened when Elegrin tried to destroy the Orrery, huh?” She mocked harshly, raising her chin defiantly when her mother flinched back.

Her mother deflated, all of her fight seeming to leave her after that comment, “Don’t remind me of that day.” She uttered weakly.

“Have I hit a sore spot, Mother? Something to be ashamed of besides me?” Elruin said harshly, her eyes narrowed, though some of the fire had since left her. She stepped back just in case, fearing another hit, but otherwise kept her mouth shut so the elder could respond.

“...That day was terrible, Elruin. We hadn’t ever dreamed of either of you doing something so heinous, so to see it with our own eyes changed us.” She breathed after a few moments of silence, her fingers playing with the long-hanging amulet around her neck. “Not enough it seems.” Elruin replied coldly, the soft chime of bells filling the air as she started to heal the bruise forming on her face. Something seemed to break in her father, watching her heal herself.

“Elruin, you were never the one destined for ruin, we should of seen that earlier on.” “Father, the prophecy was untrue. I had an actual soothsayer look at Elegrin and I and she said that there was only a prophecy over my head, not both of us. Auntie was spouting bullshit.” She said wearily, the fight having left, leaving her tired.

Just as her parents were about to say something else, a shout of Elruin’s name had the three bosmer looking over at the entryway to the ballroom, Revyn and Elegrin standing there with looks of pure fury on their faces.

Revyn strode forward first, his long legs carrying him to his wife’s side quicker than his sister-in-law’s. He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, the hand warm and gentle, and glared down at his in-laws.

“You are to stay away from my wife for the rest of the time we are here, or so help me Divines I-” He was cut off by a hand on his chest, his wife smiling up at him with a tired but adoring look on her face.

“It’s fine, let’s just go back to the party.” She murmured, relaxing fully when he pulled her closer before escorting her past her parents.

Once the two were gone, Elegrin shot the two of them a nasty look, getting ready to give them her own choice words. The sound of the party washed over Elruin in a welcoming embrace and soon she was distracted from what had happened earlier.

Days later, just as Elruin and her household were in the middle of packing up their things into the carriage that brought them, Elruin’s parents approached, wearing matching shameful looks.

“Elruin, dear, we want to apologize for everything.” Her mother lamented, her husband nodding from over her shoulder.

The dragonborn, savior of Nirn, simply sighed a long tired sound before frowning, “I am fed up with half measures. I deserve better.”

#nirnwrote #skyrim #elder scrolls 5 #TESV #oc: elruin rosegrass #oc: elegrin rosegrass #tw abuse #tw mentioned neglect #tw terrible parents #tw parents #i got this prompt and thought of Elruin so i wrote angst

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fandomficsnstuff · 2 years

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A Chance Encounter -1

(Warnings: None except some fighting and a lot of Skyrim hints lol)

This is an OC from most of the games I play where I just adjust the character a little to fit the lore of the game, this Ruth is from ES: Skyrim. Also this is the first time I’m posting with an OC so… be nice to me lol.

Moodboard credit goes to the amazing @quantumlocked310

The dagger mentioned: https://www.pinterest.dk/pin/462885667944727140/

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He had met her a few times before, years ago in what he thought would be the last time, the one he hadn’t stopped thinking about for sixty years.

The first time he saw her, he had to admit, watching her dagger cut through one of the spiders, the way she moved without effort, almost like an Ellith, it was beautiful to watch. The fire red hair, burning green eyes as she moved swiftly, like a river, overcoming an obstacle without effort, clad in a black leather with a symbol on her chest that he couldn’t make out among her movements, the remains of a black cape hanging from her shoulders, torn and ripped off by her shoulders, leaving only a small amounts of cloth behind, attached to the top of her shoulders.

He finally got a proper look at those burning eyes when he had an arrow pointed at her face, her pale skin with freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, like small stars littered across the sky, a dark birthmark by her right cheekbone, far behind, almost by her ear, a mix of a dark red wine and brown, a scar going through it, like a scratch. Legolas almost lost focus when he finally got a proper look at her, warm and cold in equal measure. Her eyes were as green as the forest he lived in used to be, flecks of gold littered in them, like small stars had been trapped in her eyes. Pure beauty. That’s all he could think, even while he talked with Tauriel, his eyes lingering on her as she panted, coming down from adrenaline now that the fight was over, even through the dirt that littered her face he could see the beauty she held.

He looked over his shoulders every once in a while as he led her and the company she kept down the steps, towards the cells where he dreaded putting her. She was small for a human, but not a dwarf. She was elegant but not an elf. She held her head high as she was pushed into a cell, the door locking in place, placing this beauty behind bars, yet she merely stood in the cell, head high and as he passed by, there they were again, those eyes. Feral yet controlled. It was like looking into the eyes of a friendly wolf; never knowing when it’d strike, or if it’d strike, like something else was behind her eyes, waiting for her to allow it to slip free. Legolas found himself stopping, gaze still locked with hers as he stood outside her cage, taking his time admiring her, fooling himself into believing he was just studying her. He knew it couldn’t last. He knew he couldn’t stand there forever, staring at her, admiring her as she held his gaze confidently yet never said a single word; so he forced himself to look away, his feet picking up, putting him back on the track he should have stayed on, instead of straying away to look at what was his prisoner. He twirled the dagger she had used in his hands, frowning as he studied it, it appeared that the blade itself was made entirely out of bone, so sharp that he cut his finger by simply turning it in his hands, a dark metal encasing the sharp bone, running through the middle of the dagger itself as it turned into the handle, a mark on the frame itself before it led to the handle. He had never seen such a weapon before, it only served to pique his curiosity further.

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The second time was just as beautiful, she had a sword this time, of dwarven make, undoubtedly one left in the ruins of Erebor, this one piercing one orc after another, cutting them down, effortlessly removing heads and dodging attacks in equal measure. Her fiery red hair was braided now, only the fronts of it, pulled away from her face, showing off the pale, scar littered face, showing him the battles she had fought in, the stories they undoubtedly could tell. One went across her left jaw, running from her ear to the edge of her chin, like she had been held down and cut, going through the birthmark that was more visible with her hair tied back. The other was across her left eye, it was smaller and less brutal, like she had dodged at the last minute, avoiding losing her eye in the process. Legolas almost forgot about the battle, about the orc that had it’s weapon raised at his head, about to cut into him when a small knife flew past him, landing in the orc’s forehead, killing it. Legolas stared at the orc, looking back at the person who had saved his life, seeing that same fiery red hair, whipping around her as she turned and cut down another orc, not even sparing him another glance. Why would she? A creature so beautiful, so elegant, why should she waste time saving him?

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The third time was sixty years after she had saved his life. She was sitting next to Gandalf, silent. Hair as red as fire, just as he remembered, forest green eyes flecked with gold, locked on the old wizard she was talking to, she looked as young as he remembered her, she hadn’t aged a day in those sixty years. She had acquired a few new scars, or maybe he hadn’t noticed them before, the scars peeked out over the top of her chest, to the left side and disappeared into the silky clothes she was wearing, going towards her chest. All dirt and grime had been removed from her face, her skin had gotten a bit darker, as though she had been under the blistering sun for weeks, but her freckles were still visible, like littered stars across her nose and cheeks, just as he remembered them the first time he saw them. Her red hair was pulled back from her face in intricate braids, braids he knew to be elvish in origin, as were her clothes, the silk covering her as though it was a second skin.

He couldn’t recall a time he had ever heard her voice, while everyone else argued over who should take the ring to Mordor, she stayed in her seat, quiet as a mouse. Her gaze was much softer when Frodo volunteered, as though she understood him in a way no one else at this gathering did; the burden the little hobbit had to feel. When he finally heard her voice, it was nothing like he had imagined, soft and gentle as she kneeled down in front of Frodo, one of her hands, the right hand, on his shoulders and he noticed yet another scar across her hand, like gash, a single white ring on her forefinger, carved into something he couldn’t quite make out.

“My dear friend, you will never have to carry this burden alone, not while I am with you” she promised, seeing Frodo smile nervously.

As Legolas volunteered, he stood next to her, his eyes briefly glancing at her face, desperate to see if it was really her, perhaps she had a child, or grandchild. But the second he saw those green eyes, flecked with gold as she looked at Elrond while he spoke, the freckles resting on her cheeks, the birthmark on her right cheek, her eyelashes kissing her freckles each time she blinked, he knew, he knew it was her. The same fiery woman who had saved his life sixty years ago, she stood next to him, as beautiful as he remembered, her hair as red as the last time he saw her, on the battlefield, at the Battle of the Five Armies.

He found himself staring at her, forgetting to look away from that one glance he had allowed himself. He watched her as she turned to walk away with Gandalf, as if she had been unaware of his presence, of the longing look he unknowingly cast her. The only thing that brought him out of it was Aragorn, a steady hand being placed on his shoulder was enough for his gaze to reluctantly leave her form.

“My friend, is she the woman you told me of?” Aragorn asked softly. Legolas looked back, his eyes searching for her but she had vanished, like smoke he desperately wanted to catch with bare hands. His gaze returned to his friend once more “yes… though I’m not sure how she hasn’t aged” Legolas admitted, Aragorn thinking it over before patting his friend’s shoulder.

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Legolas couldn’t stop watching her as she was sharpening her daggers, daggers that looked exactly like the bone dagger he took from her sixty years ago, her leather armor just like the one she had worn sixty years ago, only now the cape was fully restored, resting peacefully over her shoulders as she sat quietly on the rock. She did not look up as she was talking with Gandalf, murmuring amongst themselves as though they didn’t want the others to hear what they were talking about, hear what they were saying, as though it was strictly on a need-to-know basis, instead of information they’d share with everyone.

The only time he looked away was when he saw what appeared to be a dark cloud moving towards them, against the wind, everything happening in a blur as they all began to hide, everyone except her. He couldn’t see her anywhere, not hiding under a rock, behind bushes, anything. It was as though she was never there to begin with, and he wasn't the only one to notice. As they all came out of hiding, mentally making a headcount to make sure everyone was there, Boromir of Gondor spoke up “where’s the woman?” His voice sounded annoyed, like he dreaded having to look for her, but he didn’t get the chance to, a voice speaking up right behind him. “The woman has a name, Boromir of Gondor, you’d do well to remember that” Legolas still couldn’t attach the voice to the small yet fierce woman, the voice was soft, gentle, patient, as though she had lived more than a lifetime, as though she had the patience of an ancient generation.

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Legolas tried to concentrate on seeing through the snow storm to scout ahead, being the only one who could walk on top of the snow, but his mind kept returning to those forest green eyes, flecks of gold that reminded him of a dragon’s eyes, of the horde it guarded as long as it lived. The fire he occasionally saw burning within, like a caged flame, licking at it’s bars, begging to be set free, to allow it to wreck the havoc it was meant to create, to consume everything in it’s path except the strongest of the strongest, the only things that could withstand it’s devastating power. And yet, when he looked over his shoulder, he saw that fire as nothing more than a dim light, just enough to light the path ahead without destroying everything around it. He watched her as she took off one of her spare cloaks and put it around the little ring bearer, trying to make sure he stayed warm as she helped him and the other hobbits through the snow, even Gimli, despite his protests. Not even as the foul voice of Saruman tainted the air, not even then did he see a devastating display of power that reckless fire held. Instead he saw her eyes glow, just a tiny bit, like dragon fire, ready to burst from the belly of a real dragon, but as soon as he had seen it, it was gone, as though something almost slipped through but she caught it just in time.

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He had been waiting to see her fight again, a longing he didn’t know he had, but when he finally witnessed it again, he saw that look he had seen sixty years ago, in the cell she was kept in. A feral look in her eyes as she cut into the creature holding Frodo, just as elegant and effortless yet with a hint of brutality, exactly as he remembered. It almost distracted Legolas enough for him to miss his shots. Almost.

Her movements were fluid as she dragged Frodo out of the water and into the mines, placing him behind her as she turned to face the giant creature, no fear or hesitation in her eyes, in fact it seemed as though they glowed, as though the golden flecks in her eyes came to life, replacing the forest green comfort of his home, like flames being fanned, poked and stirred by hot iron, brought to life. The mine entrance collapsed before she could fight the creature further, darkness encasing all of them but if he looked her way. It was as though he could see her eyes, shining in the darkness, like a beacon, begging him to follow it to safety. As Gandalf lit up his staff, the golden eyes vanished, replaced by the green eyes, flecked with gold, that he remembered so fondly, and then it happened. For the first time in sixty years, since he locked her in a cell in Mirkwood, she looked at him. He wanted to look away in embarrassment, but it was as though her gaze drew him in, locked him in place, chained him to her, and he was fine with it. Finally she was the one to break the trance, looking away as she turned to one of the Hobbits, giving them a caring smile he yearned to have aimed at him.

As they traversed further into the mines, it was as though her eyes shone in the darkness, every time he glanced towards her it was as though he could see the fleck of gold in her eyes, showing him her location even though she kept behind the group, in the darkness, as though she prefered it over the light Over the tight presence of the group, she prefered to be the one in the back, a line of defense should anything attack from behind. Legolas fell back in step with her, walking side by side with her in silence until he could no longer bear it, his lips parting to speak when he heard that voice once more, a voice he still could not get used to hearing when it came from such a small and elegant woman “Ruth” was all she said, her eyes still locked on the rest of the group in front of them as she continued to walk. “I-”

“You wanted to ask for my name, my name is Ruth Telvanni, though my Master calls me Sayla” she informed quietly, glancing in his direction, briefly, before looking ahead again. Legolas nodded softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the realization that she was talking to him, “I’m Legolas Greenleaf, o-”

“Of the Woodland Realm, Mirkwood. Your father is King Thranduil, he imprisoned me and my friends, as did you, if I remember correctly” she stated calmly, taking Legolas by surprise, his eyes locked on her smaller figure as she continued to walk beside him, hands clasped behind her back neatly, almost in a formal way. “I-... forgive me, I-”

“You’re forgiven” was all she said once more, only this time she looked up at him while walking, those green eyes staring into his soul, taking him by surprise with how brazen she was, but how could he have expected anything else? Her hair was kissed by fire, a destructive, powerful force. Her eyes flecked with gold, like a powerful dragon’s eyes. Her skin pale despite the tan she had gotten over the sixty years since he last saw her, reminding him of cold mornings and snow. Legolas decided to pluck up his courage, smiling softly at her as she looked ahead again “you’re very brazen, Lady Telvanni” he stated confidently. For the first time he saw her lips pull up in a small smirk that she quickly forced away, but not quickly enough to avoid him seeing it.

“I like to get straight to the point of things. You’ve been staring at me since we left Rivendell but haven’t talked to me, now that we’ve gotten the introductions out of the way, perhaps we could back to saving your world, and please, Lady Telvanni is too formal, despite my Master’s attempts, formality was never my strong suit” she stated with a joking tone, giving him another smirk that she allowed him to glance at before it was gone, momentarily making him forget she said ‘your world’ and not ‘the world’ or ‘our world’, furthermore leaving him unsure if she was serious, about not being called Lady Telvanni, or if that was meant as a joke.

As they entered the tomb of Balin, Legolas once again found his eyes drifting to her as she slowly approached the tomb itself, ignoring Gimli’s cries as she let her hand almost float over the surface, too scared to actually touch the stone, yet yearning to. She tilted her head ever so slightly at the words on the tomb, her eyes glancing over them far too quickly for her to be reading them. After a second or two while Gandlaf read from the journal, she kneeled down by the side of the stone coffin, where Balin’s head would be in it, a hint of sadness in her eyes as she thought no one could see her face. “Praan Nu, Balin Fin Kril, Arhk Fun Thorin Rok Los Ni Vohdamin” her whispered words didn’t go unnoticed by the company around her, a frown on everyone’s faces but Gandalf’s, Gimli getting up and gripping his ax tightly “what’re ya sayin’?” Gimli’s voice held a certain level of animosity to it, he opened his mouth to speak again but Gandalf spoke up first “‘Rest now, Balin the Brave, and tell Thorin he is not forgotten’” Gandalf translated, Gimli’s face softening as he looked back at her, her attention still on the grave until the sound of a falling bucket and the rotten body following it down the well caught her attention, green eyes wide as she stared at the Hobbit while Gandalf scolded him. Ruth got out two daggers from behind her back before the sound of orcs approaching even reached his ears, making him wonder how she knew before he did.

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She was as graceful as ever as she cut down another orc, using her environment and size to her advantage, sliding in between the legs of one orc to attack it from behind and kill another behind her in one swift movement with a dagger in each hand, red hair flying around her as she turned, it was mesmerizing and every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of that golden light from her eyes, the light bouncing off of them like a mirror while giving off their own light. Her technique was flawless as she cut down orc after orc. The only time it wavered was when Frodo was stabbed by the spear, her eyes wide with worry as she looked in his direction, not seeing the orc that plunged his sword through her chest, her eyes moving to the blade as it stuck out through her body, her hands dropping her swords to clutch her chest as the orc drew it’s blade back, watching her fall limp to the ground with a twisted smile before continuing it’s assault on the rest of the fellowship.

Legolas was frozen as he stared at her body; green eyes wide open and unmoving, blood pooling around her body. After the troll was slain and everyone checked on Frodo, seeing him unharmed, their eyes turned to the red haired body on the floor amongst the dead orcs, eyes still open and staring, much paler than before, her body completely still as Gandalf pushed past everyone to get to her, dropping his staff and sword as he kneeled by her side and turned her to lay on her back, studying the wound where the blade had gone through her chest. Her cheek was caked in her own blood from it pooling around her, painted over her birthmark, the blood having an odd, golden shimmer to it that no one noticed at the time, her red hair stained with it as she was still in Gandalf’s arms. “Ruth? Ruth??” Gandalf’s voice was desperate as he turned her cold cheek, taking a proper look at her cold eyes, the eyes Legolas had seen his home in, though had he not been in shock, he would have noticed the golden flecks in her eyes still shining, something Gandalf noticed as well.

Gandalf hesitantly looked at all the others, they expected him to confirm her death, saying that they had to leave her body behind, but he didn’t. Gandalf placed his hand over her eyes, closing his own as whispered words left his lips, inaudible to the others and finally, she gasped. She rolled out of Gandalf’s arms onto the blood stained floor, coughing and groaning as she clutched her chest in pain, pain that soon faded as Gandalf helped her stand. As she stood up, the hole in her chest was nothing more than a gash that could easily be treated, although it would take a while to heal.

Ruth and Gandalf ignored the stunned looks of everyone, instead opting to actively avoid the silent question in the air by gathering up Ruth’s weapons once more and only then facing the others. “More are on their way, we need to move” Ruth’s voice was rough, as though she had been strangled and her throat crushed only a second earlier. She pushed past the others, one of her hands on Frodo’s shoulder as she hurried him out of the tomb that was littered with dead foes that had tried to take down her company just minutes ago. The others followed despite the unanswered question following them through the tall halls of Moria.

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She seemed much weaker as she walked through the forest with the others, keeping a distance, gaze locked ahead of her, her face void of emotion but her eyes betrayed the facade she tried to hold on to. Legolas found himself straying towards her, ending up walking by her side, his eyes briefly on the hole in her leather armor, where she had been pierced by an orc sword, a wound that should have her remaining on the ground, blood surrounding her for eternity as they couldn’t have escaped with her body without joining her. Yet here she was, walking, perfectly fine despite the small amount of pain the wound caused her every now and then.

“‘Your world’...” Legolas spoke up, catching her attention, her head tilting ever so slightly in his direction but she never looked directly at him. “That’s what you said, in the mines, ‘your world’... not ‘our world’, ‘my world’ or ‘the world’... ‘your world’” Legolas added, seeing her sigh softly, wincing briefly because of the gash in the center of her chest. “So you picked up on that… I’m assuming you’re going to ask me why?” she finally muttered, her voice still slightly rough but it had gotten better, it almost sounded as soft and patient as it had before. “And I assume you already know the answer to that question” Legolas added, keeping his eyes locked on her, her facade seemingly breaking ever so slightly, her brows furrowing as she looked down at the grass beneath her feet, pondering, wondering, and Legolas took the opportunity to study her, she was more pale than before but it must have been from exhaustion, her eyes conveying a wave of emotions, all at once, it overwhelmed Legolas when he tried to decipher them all at once.

“I’m not used to casual conversation, Prince Legolas, so forgive me if I seem a bit… stiff” she admitted, finally daring a glance at him, only to look away when she met his gaze, keeping her head high once more. “Perhaps when we finally have a chance to rest, you could teach me the art of casual conversations. Gandalf tried his best, but perhaps you could have better luck,” she added, casting a rare smirk his way before stopping dead in her tracks and raising her hands in surrender, elves showing up out of the woods briefly after, arrows pointed at her face.

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Legolas barely heard her feet as she approached him in silence, he only noticed her when she sat down on the grass beside him, his blue eyes finding her pale face as she stared at the trees overhead, listening to the elves lamenting over Gandalf’s death. “Where are you from?” Legolas finally asked, seeing the ghost of a smile on her lips at the question “you wouldn’t know of it…” she muttered, looking down at the soft grass below her “I’m the only one of my kind here…” she added before looking ahead again, closing her eyes and listening to the faint words she didn’t understand.

“You’re human…” it was more of a question really, but it caught her attention, a sigh escaping her lips as though it reminded her of a fond memory. “I suppose… though I stopped feeling like it, long ago…” she admitted before turning to look at him, a sadness blanketing her face despite it being seemingly expressionless “you don’t want to know more, if you could trust me on one thing, trust me on that” her voice was wavering as she looked ahead again, expecting him to get up and leave, take her word for it.

“I do” Legolas murmured, his blue eyes still locked on her as she sighed softly at his words. Ruth tilted her head at him before getting up, extending her hand to him which he hesitantly took her. Her hand was much warmer than he imagined, like fire burning under her skin, not enough to burn him but enough to warm his entire body, a small shiver running down his spine as she led him away from the others. Once they were far enough away, hidden away from prying eyes and out of ear shot, she sat down on the grass, patting the space beside her which he took, sitting down next to her.

“I see no point in hiding it. Have you ever heard of someone born with the soul of a dragon? Human in everything but soul and blood?” she asked quietly and Legolas’ frown was enough of a response for her. She hummed quietly and looked ahead, closing her eyes as she laid down on her back on the grass, seemingly getting comfortable enough to sleep. “They’re called Dovahkiin, Dragonborn. The dragon souls are a gift from one of my Gods, the chief divine, Akatosh. My father” she stated casually, her eyes still closed as she let Legolas take the information in. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it “you should rest, Legolas of Mirkwood, we have a long journey ahead tomorrow” she noted, finally opening her eyes again when she was met with silence, her green eyes moving to look into his blue ones, flecks of gold shining, almost shimmering within the pools of green “you’re quite the curious person, you know” she muttered after a while, opting to stare up at the starry sky instead, Legolas hesitantly laying down beside her.

“So… you’re a-”

“Dovahkiin, yes… my soul is not human” she admitted quietly, a frown forming on her face at having to talk more about it, but Legolas had turned his gaze to the sky, so he didn’t see it. “But your body…” it was a silent question and Ruth sighed softly “is very much human. I will die at some point, I can only hope it will be in battle… I’ve been to Sovngarde once and it was beautiful…” she admitted, Legolas turning his head to look at her, seeing a small smile on her lips at the supposedly fond memory. “Sovngarde?” Legolas’ voice made her turn her head, that small smile still present as she nodded quietly

“Sovngarde… a beautiful place where dead nords will forever drink and eat and be merry… I’ve seen it once… It was so… serene… there were these huge cloaked statues, watching my every move, but only when I wasn't looking, there was a bridge of whalebones leading to the Hall itself, in front of it was Tsun, an ancient god of trials… you have to beat him in a fight to enter the Hall of Valor itself, but if you do… it’s glorious… golden goblets, cups and jugs everywhere, tables stacked with food, meat roasted over the fires that are lit in the hall. Tables for everyone, and in the middle of it all, the High Chair, for Shor himself… how I wished I could have seen him… I met so many nordic heroes, Olaf One-Eye, Hakon One-Eye, Jurgen Windcaller, Felldir the Old… so many heroes, I would do anything to visit it again, to see Kodlak Whitemane once more, he was always to patient with me…” she admitted breathlessly, her gaze having returned to the sky, a grin on her lips as she looked dreamily up at the stars.

Legolas had to admit, he had no idea what she was talking about, but he saw a new side of her, he saw the passion as she spoke of this ‘Sovngarde’ and of the heroes she had met, of it’s golden cups and goblets and jugs, of the fires that kept the hall warm, of the statues that littered the high walls all the way up to the ceiling, it made him smile just a tiny bit as he allowed himself to admire her. “With the fog gone, even Torygg will make his way to the hall… the High King deserves his spot at the table, he died honorably, I only wish I could have seen his soul at it’s best, and not while he was in distress with fear of Alduin” she added with a sad smile to her lips, turning her head at the utter silence, her pale cheeks growing bright red as she realized she had rambled. “We should get some sleep” she muttered, her grin and excitement gone as she got up and walked back to the others, avoiding his gaze the second he joined her.

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Legolas was brought out of his trance as Aragorn put his hand on his shoulder, forcing him to pry his eyes away from her form as she was talking with one of the hobbits while putting supplies in the boats. Just as Legolas thought he might put everything behind him, his eyes were drawn to her once more, his eyes locked on the way her fiery red hair fell in front of her face as she bent down to pick up a sack to place in the boat. As she looked up, her green eyes caught his and he swore he saw a brief blush across her pale cheeks before she forced it away, looking anywhere but at him.

“I saw you two sneak off together last night” Aragorn noted in a quiet voice, Legolas’ eyes still locked on her as she continued to talk with the little hobbits she seemed to adore so much, a soft smile on her lips whenever she talked with them. “Did something happen?” Aragorn asked when he was met with his friend’s silence, his eyes following Legolas’, spotting her with her feet casually in the water as she helped the hobbits get in the boat without getting themselves wet, she clearly didn’t mind it, even though it must have felt uncomfortable with wet boots. “We talked…” finally Legolas spoke up, Aragorn drawing his eyes back to him “talked? That’s good, about what?” Aragorn asked casually as he got back to packing the boats, Legolas still staring at Ruth who seemed to be ignoring his gaze.

“Dragons… and a place called Sovngarde” Legolas admitted in a quiet murmur, finally drawing his eyes away from her as he got into one of the boats himself, Aragorn in front of him and Gimli behind him. “Will yer two start makin’ sense?! Difficult enough to understand yer when you’re not speaking that elvish” Gimli grunted and Legolas couldn’t help but scoff quietly, amused, a soft smile on his lips as his eyes found you once again. “So, what’re we talking about?” Gimli asked and Aragorn chuckled quietly.

“Our mysterious traveling companion, Lady Telvanni” Aragorn noted in a tone of voice that Gimli could hear, but not the others. “Oh, have wondered about her myself…” Gimli admitted in a quiet grunt, Legolas’ face still carrying a soft smile as he thought of her, forest green eyes with those flecks of gold, her fiery red hair splayed around her head as she were laying on the grass, he wanted to see that sight again one day. “She prefers Ruth, not Lady Telvanni” Legolas piped up and Aragorn cast a smirk over his shoulder, aimed at the elf, before continuing down the river.

By now all the boats were within earshot of each other, and Legolas could hear a soft chuckle that sounded heavenly to his elven ears, his head turning and seeing her with a grin on her lips as she smiled at Frodo, occasionally casting a glance over her shoulder whenever Sam spoke up, which he mostly did, Frodo was quiet most of the way down the river. “So, the bridge blew up? Boom?” Sam asked in a chuckle and she nodded “boom” she confirmed with a smirk, another chuckle escaping Sam “and what’d ya Master say to that?” Sam asked with curiosity and she laughed full on this time, making Legolas smirk slightly as he watched her. “Master Neloth? He had me scraping plants off of the walls of his tower, from outside, a whole week of it” she said through her laughter, Sam joining in and even Frodo chuckled lightly.

The rest of the way to the shore was mostly quiet on Ruth’s end, her green eyes scanning the area, both enjoying the scenery and keeping an eye out. As the boats were docked by the shore, Ruth jumped out of it into the swallow water, helping Sam out before dragging it to shore with him and Frodo. It didn’t take long for her to vanish off somewhere, mumbling something about firewood even though Boromir was already on that task, and Legolas found himself following her, not entirely sure what for but suddenly he found himself a few feet away from her, watching her as she sat on a fallen log, a leather bound journal in her hands as she sat across from a fallen statue with overgrown flowers covering it. As Legolas cautiously stepped closer, he got a better look at what she was doing with that journal, seeing a rough sketch of the scenery in front of her, a small smile forming on his lips at the realization that she was drawing.

“You can come closer” her voice nearly scared the skin off of him, but he recovered quickly and did as she said, taking a step closer, then another, and another, getting a better look at the drawing. “I’m no professional but I’d like to be able to bring this with me in some way when I go home” she added, finally looking away from her journal and the scenery, looking up at Legolas with those beautiful green eyes, making him almost turn to stone as he watched her move further away from him on the log, then patting the space next to her, as she had done in Lothlorien. Legolas hesitantly took a seat, watching her as she went back to drawing, occasionally glancing at the scenery to make sure she got it right. “I heard you mention someone, someone you called Master Neloth, is he-”

“Yes, my Master. Not the compassionate kind but he’s a great wizard, which is expected of him, he is a Telvanni after all” she added the last part in a mumble, Legolas smiling softly as he continued to watch her. “Telvanni… like you?” he asked out of curiosity and she couldn’t help but smile a bit “yes, like me. He found me as a young girl, no more than four I believe, I was begging, sleeping on the streets and stealing what I could to survive, using what he called my ‘power of innocence’ to get away with it, get out of slippery situations” Ruth muttered in a chuckle. “I of course can’t remember it anymore but he took me in, named me Sayla Telvanni, though sometimes I doubt it was out of compassion… Master Telvanni is a calculated man, he’s logical, don’t have much need for emotions, he’s practical. It’s why I never really got used to small talk. He was either ordering me, teaching me or lecturing me, otherwise we never really talked” Ruth admitted with a soft smile despite how harsh it sounded. “How long ago was it since he took you in?” Legolas asked with confusion, hearing her chuckle lightly as though the question amused her “he taught me life extending magic when I was about fifteen, of course it took a long while to perfect but I mastered it when I was almost twenty, about nineteen I believe. It was years ago now” she added with a smirk, finishing the drawing and taking a final look at it before closing the journal and looking at Legolas. “How old are you then?” he asked with a tilt of his head, his eyes wide in disbelief at her answer “about ninety-two, I stopped counting when I turned ninety” she said with a chuckle before getting up and walking back to the others. Legolas hurried after her, almost tripping over himself, if you can believe it. “You-... Ninety-two?!” he asked with shock, hearing that beautiful sound as she chuckled again “about, as I said I stopped counting a while ago… but I have seen about ninety-two winters, yes” she answered with a small smirk, casting a glance with those beautiful eyes over her shoulder at him, chuckling at his shocked state. “You look beautiful for your age” Legolas blurted out before he could stop himself, his eyes wide at the realization of what he had just said, almost as wide as hers. Her green eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head, cheeks flaming red as she looked down shyly “thank you” she muttered shyly before hurrying over to Sam and Frodo, sitting down next to them, Merry and Pippin joining soon after to continue the retelling of their pranks and stories.

#Legolas x OC #Legolas x Ruth #A Chance Encounter #LOTR #Lord Of The Rings FanFic #Skyrim character #Skyrim #Elder Scrolls V

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apricotzel · 3 years

Text

“IT’S NOT A ROPE!” Gordon yells at the familiar cry of ‘Help me, Gordon!’ Dr. Coomer lets out.

The entire Science Team makes quick work of the…whatever it was on the ceiling. Barnacle. Sure. They’re called that now.

Coomer drops to the floor, peering upwards at the barnacles in front of them.

“Look, Gordon!” Coomer explains cheerily, walking towards them, “Ropes! We can-“

“Stop!” Gordon shouts, grabbing the older man’s arm and pulling him back. “Stop it!”

“What’s the matter, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy questions, yellow eyes wide and head tilted.

Gordon makes a strangled noise, almost feeling his sanity thin like a frayed piece of yarn about to snap.

“Let’s take a rest,” They say instead, dropping to their knees.

“Right here?” Coomer asks.

“Yes,” Gordon replies shortly.

“But we just got moving you lazy slouch,” Bubby complains, “At least-“

“I DON’T CARE!” Gordon yells, then immediately lowers his voice, “I don’t care.”

Bubby pauses, and Gordon half expects to be set on fire. But instead the scientist just grumbles something and stalks to the side of the hallway, sliding down on the wall. Tommy and Coomer hesitantly follow Bubby’s lead, until it’s Gordon on one side of the hallway and all the rest sitting on the other.

Well, almost all the rest.

Benrey stands there right next to Gordon, staring down at them.

“You good? Little baby man? Gordon Madman a little stressed out?” Benrey teases.

Gordon, almost on instinct, tunes it out. Their hands are shaking- their whole body is trembling like a leaf- and his breath is short. He can’t deal with getting into an argument with Benrey right now.

Benrey is saying some more stuff, but it all fuzzes in Gordon’s head like static as he rests there on his knees, staring blankly into nothing.

They wonder, briefly, if this will be the end. If he dies in Black Mesa, like he is so sure he will, he’ll be forgotten. Just like all the other people down here.

Right when they begin to wonder what the point in even trying was, they become aware that Benrey’s crouching in front of them, one hand placed to steady itself and the other waving as if trying to get Gordon’s attention.

“-don. Gordon. Gordon,” Benrey is repeating in a monotone voice, gray eyes burning into Gordon’s brown ones.

“What?” Gordon hisses, irritation filing in, replacing his existential dread.

“Are you good, bro?” Benrey repeats. This time the question seems less mocking and more…genuine, if Gordon could believe that Benrey could actually care about someone else. “You’re no fun if you just stare off into space. Like someone hit pause on you. You lagging?”

Gordon shakes his head, “No, I’m not lagging, Benrey. I’m traumatized. And fucking tired.”

Their voice breaks on the last word and they brace for Benrey to mock them. Instead he smacks his lips awkwardly, eyes flitting around like he was looking for a hint.

In one swift motion, before Gordon could even begin to react, Benrey slips from its crouch to mimicking Gordon’s position and reaches forward, cupping Gordon’s face with one hand.

Gordon tenses at first, ready to pull back. He reaches his arm up to yank Benrey away before he’s hit with a sudden realization.

Benrey’s warm.

Somewhere along the lines Gordon had just assumed that Benrey’s skin would be freezing. Chalk it up to being immortal or something. Having Benrey’s skin touch his in a way that allowed him to actually feel the heat from the guard…

Benrey’s eyes widen in surprise as Gordon grabs his arm to press him closer, leaning into the touch.

Gordon’s eyes slide close and for a blissful moment the entirety of Black Mesa just fades away. It’s just Benrey’s warmth and him.

That moment is broken by Benrey’s own monotone voice.

“Wanna kiss?”

——-

“IT’S NOT A ROPE!”

Benrey feels a small twinge of amusement hearing the physician scream. It doesn’t move an inch as Gordon and company rain hell onto the Barnacle until Coomer is released from it, dropping to the floor with surprising agility.

Like clockwork, Coomer immediately begins walking to more of the dangerous things, reciting off his tip about ropes.

Gordon cuts him off this time, screeching at him to stop as he physically drags the scientist away.

Benrey raises one eyebrow subtly, this being the first time Gordon physically stopped Coomer from doing something.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks, head tilting.

Gordon makes a noise like this is physically causing him pain and Benrey fixes him with a stare, wondering when a good time for him to jump in and tease his friend would be.

He watches with a bit of surprise as Gordon suddenly drops to their knees. “Let’s take a rest,” They decree.

“Right here?” Dr. Coomer asks, fixing Gordon with a concerned stare that Gordon misses. Oblivious as always.

“Yes.”

Gordon’s reply is clipped and curt, and Benrey is wondering if their somehow infinite patience was coming to an end.

“But we just got moving you lazy slouch, at least-“ Bubby starts, insulting as always.

Gordon suddenly explodes- and it’s not an unfamiliar sight- it’s just for once not directed at Benrey.

“I DON’T CARE!” They scream, and then for emphasis repeat, “I don’t care.”

Benrey presses its lips together in worry, meeting Bubby’s gaze. It gives a gentle shake of its head. No. Don’t do anything. That would totally ruin the prank later.

Bubby huffs and grumbles instead, Benrey staring him down until the clone slides down the wall. The rest of the team follows, until it’s just Benrey and Gordon.

Benrey fixes his friend with a stare, as it casually leans against the wall.

“You good?” Benrey starts. “Little baby man? Gordon Madman a little stressed out?”

Gordon, for once, ignores him entirely.

Benrey blinks, because that’s not right. Their friendship was built on going back and forth- why wasn’t Gordon firing back?

“Whuh? You too scared to even talk to me? Lame. Lame-o physician man. Couldn’t last a day in a COD lobby. Probably got freaked out playing Skyrim. You can’t…you can’t even hear me right now?” Benrey’s monotone voice dips into something more concern-like, noticing how Gordon was being completely unresponsive.

Throwing a glance at the rest of the Science Team, who seemed to be caught up in a discussion, Benrey pours more focus into Gordon. His friend was shaking head to toe, eyes completely blank as he stared at the wall.

“Gordon?” Benrey prompted. It didn’t know what to do in this situation, and decided the best thing would be to break the silent staring contest they were having with the wall.

“Gordon,” Benrey says again as he leans down in front of his friend. Calling someone’s name gets their attention, right? He waves his hand in front of Gordon’s face, trying to snap them out of their stupor.

“Gordon. Gordon. Gordon. Gordon,” Benrey repeats until Gordon’s eyes finally focus on him.

“What?” They ask in irritation.

Oh, good. They’re getting back to playing around. But just in case…

“Are you good, bro?” Benrey stresses again, searching Gordon’s eyes despite hating the direct eye contact. Benrey never understood the phrase that the eyes were the windows to the soul. All windows just lead to more testing rooms.

“You’re no fun if you just stare off into space. Like someone hit pause on you. You lagging?” Benrey clarifies, still trying to scan Gordon.

Gordon shakes his head, “No, I’m not lagging, Benrey. I’m traumatized. And fucking tired.”

Their voice cracks and something in Benrey’s chest tugs at how utterly…defeated they sound. Something sad but also angry, wanting to grow big and promise Gordon that it was okay, Benrey can just get them all out of here.

But it can’t do that, so instead it looks around for help. What was something it could do to comfort? What was comforting?

Benrey remembers seeing people grab other people’s faces when they were upset. Is that good? Would that be a nice friend thing to do?

Gordon seems too upset to bare, so its the thing Benrey goes with, pressing his face gently against his face.

Gordon tenses, and Benrey feels like it fucked up. When they reach up to yank Benrey’s arm away Benrey feels like it really fucked up.

Then Gordon’s eyes close as he brings Benreys hand closer to his face, leaning into the touch.

Benrey’s throat suddenly feels tight with the need to sing Sweet Voice, and he swallows hard. An unfamiliar feeling, not unlike the one before, stirs and Benrey can’t place it. A protective feeling, a warm feeling, a- a very much not-a-friend feeling.

Benrey’s mouth has always moved faster than his brain, and before he can even think about his mouth opens, wanting to sing and profess this newfound thing he discovered.

“Wanna kiss?”

#hlvrai #hlvrai fanfic #frenrey #my writing #he/they pronouns for gordon #he/it pronouns for benrey #if you wanna add on you can btw!!#i didnt proofread this #hope you enjoy anyways:]

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numbaoneflaya · 3 years

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Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

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its-sixxers · 3 years

Text

Dragonsoul

To be dovahkiin does not come without cost. Tandreth reaches his limit. A little bit before Elder Knowledge.

It wasn’t infrequent that Idunn wondered how many dragons her predecessors had slain. Surely dozens - the creatures were all but wiped from the face of Tamriel, fallen so far from a race that once ruled earth and sky.

Then why, she wondered, did her head feel as if it was about to burst after killing her twelfth?

With each soul absorbed the pounding against her skull worsened, as if the dovah were trying to physically escape her mind. After the last two kills, the pain overrode the euphoria that came with another ancient spirit entangled with her own.

Perhaps she was weak, she thought. Perhaps the potency of Akatosh’s blood worsened with each generation. Perhaps she’d displeased Kyne in some way. Idunn didn’t know. All she knew was that it hurt - and she didn’t dare let anyone see it.

Tandreth had been unusually quiet since she’d lodged her warhammer into the dragon’s skull. That had been midday, just south of Dragon Bridge - the last thing he said to her was to remark on how conveniently the place was named. They’d made camp well into the Reach’s border, the river Karth flowing behind them - it was twilight, and still Tandreth hadn’t said a thing.

Usually he’d have rambled on until she was at the point of exhaustion - she’d congratulated him on his effectiveness as a sleep aid once, and by the way he grinned she realized that was precisely his point. Until her headaches had begun, she had to admit she slept better in his presence than she’d ever had alone.

Now the silence felt dangerous.

Tandreth’s eyes caught the firelight, reflected it in a way that seemed to make it brighter. His gaze was focused on the flames, he made no move to begin cooking them their dinner (a duty he’d taken upon himself, declaring her cooking filling but boring). Idunn found herself watching him. It soothed the pang in her skull.

His eyes raised from the fire, and met hers. Idunn tried not to visibly startle when he spoke.

“Have you ever thought of letting someone else kill the dragons?”

It wasn’t the question she’d expected, after a whole day of silence. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

“No.” she answered truthfully. “Others can kill them, but not the right way. They’ll come back. It’s just buying time, while Alduin flies.” It was her turn to cast her gaze to the fire - so gentle, compared to the heat expelled from the beasts’ throats. She rubbed her hands together and held them out to the flames, suddenly tempted to thrust her palms into the coals.

Tandreth didn’t look convinced, soldiering on. “There can be more than one dragonborn at a time, you said so yourself. It doesn’t follow bloodline. Maybe there’s someone else out there.”

“If there is, they’re far away or hiding.” Idunn shook her head - the motion making her wince. “It’s me. For now. Maybe until I die.” The thought that had been glimmering in her mind since the pain had become too intense to ignore surfaced once again, and for the first time she put voice to it. “What if I’m the last?”

“Then you’ll have to live forever.” Tandreth replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m being serious.” Idunn sighed, letting her head fall into her hands to keep herself from placing them into the flame. “No one’s killed a dragon for centuries. No one’s killed more than one for… I don’t know. Much longer. I’ve killed twelve. You don’t see many old warriors for a reason.”

“You’re not a warrior, though.” he corrected her. “You don’t fight because you enjoy it. You do it because you have to.”

“You don’t hear of old heroes either.”

His smile faded. “You’re not allowed to die. It’d be a colossal waste of time.”

Idunn lifted her head and stared at him incredulously. “What?”

“You heard me.” Tandreth fetched a stick from the ground next to him and started prodding at the coals, sending more sparks flying into the air. “If you die, all the things I’ve bothered to remember won’t have been for anything. They’ll take up space in my head. Space I could use.” He was enunciating his words with the clarity Idunn had begun to associate with his being fearful - as if subconsciously trying to talk his way out of whatever plagued him.

She felt heat rise to her cheeks, indignant. “What things have you bothered to remember?”

Tandreth looked at her with equal anger. “Your favorite thing to eat is smoked salmon, and you hate horker loaf. The scar on your eye was from when you tripped in the bush and caught a briar thorn. You cover the other one with your hair because it makes you uncomfortable when people look you in the eye. You keep trying to braid your hair the way I did once, and I can’t show you how because you’ll feel guilty for not remembering.” He rattled them off in a flurry, and each new fact about herself had Idunn’s posture growing stiffer. “You snore like a kitten and sneeze like an old man. You’re absolutely useless when you’re ill, and the only thing that helps is herbal tea your mother taught you to make.” Tandreth snapped the stick in two in his hands. “That’s not even a tenth of it. If you keep trying to kill those beasts -”

Somehow she found her voice in time to interrupt him, dumbstruck as she was. “I have to. There’s no one else.”

“There’s never anyone else!” Tandreth nearly shouted, rising to his feet and hurling the broken stick into the flames. A log collapsed from the impact, sending a shower of sparks upward. “What has this world done for you? What has Skyrim done for you?” He swept his hand to the east, over the river and the highlands. “The jarl so many of them follow killed your kin. Killing demigods doesn’t stop their scorn. Why should you die for them?”

Idunn tried not to wince as he shouted, her head giving another painful throb. “Because if I don’t try the world ends.”

“Says a mural on a wall. Prophecy isn’t concrete, Idunn.” Tandreth clenched his hands. “These people - the Blades we’re going to see, they’ve got you on the sacrificial altar. Have any of them ever asked you how you are? Do any of them notice?”

The question stung, for he knew the answer as well as she did - but she couldn’t dwell on it, for another question presented itself to her. “... notice what?”

Tandreth’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and soon his body followed. He sat down heavily onto the rock he’d perched himself on earlier. “You haven’t slept through the night in weeks.” he murmured, gaze now downcast. “You talk in your sleep, in that awful tongue. Your armor fits looser than it used to.”

“I’m fine, Tandreth.”

“No. Don’t you dare try to lie to me. Not after I’ve been honest.” Tandreth visibly swallowed, trying to douse his anger. “You’re terrible at it, besides.”

Idunn inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Alright. No, I’m not fine. My skull feels like it’s about to split open. Sometimes I see things that aren’t there.” It was her turn to stand - with her feet on the ground she felt firmer in her words. “But none of it matters. I can’t stop, Tandreth. I can’t have innocent blood on my hands.”

Slowly he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “And I can’t watch you die in front of me.” His voice was a whisper, now - a plea. “Idunn. Please don’t make me. If the Blades won’t help you, if the Greybeards can’t, perhaps the daedra -”

“I won’t taint a gift from Kyne by consorting with daedra.”

“Then Sheogorath’s the one you should talk to, since you’re willing to let it rot in a grave instead.”

“You don’t have to watch.” Idunn snapped, the pain in her head rising to a fever pitch - ringing like a struck bell. All she wanted was for it to stop, and that night Tandreth was only making it worse. “Go, then, if I’m so terrible to look at.”

That ignited his temper once more - but instead of the blazing inferno she’d expected, Tandreth’s reply was icy. “If what I say means so little, perhaps I will.”

All it did was make her angrier, and at last she lost her thread of composure. “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?” she shouted. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to dread every time a shadow crosses the sun, I hate having lives depending on me, but the world doesn’t give us what we want, and somehow I know what you can’t get through your bloody, stupid, selfish skull after decades. Go! Leave! You’ve been dying to do it for weeks.”

He looked as if she’d stabbed him - she recognized the initial flinch, then the slow look down at the wound though he had none. Then without a word he stood and lifted the flap to his tent, disappearing within.

All at once the cacophony in her mind stilled. Idunn sat by the fire until it burned down to embers, glaring expectantly at Tandreth’s tent every so often and certain he’d come forth to apologize. But he didn’t. The radiant heat grew colder, the night grew darker, and eventually she had to pour a bucket of river water over the dimmed coals before retiring to her own tent.

Somewhere in the dark, sleep found her.

When she awoke and stepped out into the dawn, Tandreth’s tent was gone - and with it, its owner.

The ringing in her head returned, rippling like laughter.

#fanfic #comfort ship: angst edition #the girls are fightingggggggg #oc: idunn / dragonborn #oc: tandreth

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foulserpent · 4 years

Text

The Palace of Kings was near unrecognizable from the last time Delphine had stepped foot within.

For a start, it no longer had doors. Its occupant was far too large for that.

The throne had been converted into one gigantic dais, lined with furs and pillows and white feathers. It was ringed by guards sporting a unique scaled armor, and a scattering of servants and attendants. They moved amongst a pile of offerings to the king that lined the platform. Furs, worn war axes, armor and gold collected into piles. Lain in reverence, or perhaps fear fear. Atop it lounged the reigning high king of skyrim. Ysmir, Dragon of the North.

She was gigantic. She was barely recognizable as having ever been anything but a dragon, instead long necked and longer-tailed, and far too top-heavy to stand on two legs. Her feathers had lost their tan mottling, and now shone bone white in the firelight. She wore no crown but her horns, and a pillar of flame over her head that burned a royal blue.

Delphine had known her by a different name, and different title. There was a time in her life where she was sworn to her, fought alongside her. There was a time that she even loved her. This all had long since passed with the years, as the world around her transformed out of recognition, with this dragonborn emperor-pretender being the weight at the very center of it.

The Blades were dead. Esbern had been taken by age three years before. Sky Haven had been taken by some dragon as a roost, and may as well have been destroyed. He had smashed the outside relics of Akaviri architecture with his voice and his tail, and now his sheep grazed among the mountain scrub that grew in its place.

Whether she lived or died, she was already merely a relic of a world that was long dead. And so she approached the throne.

Ysmir turned to look at the visitor.

Delphine froze under the weight of those fiery eyes. The gaze was hollow, mere pinpricks under the towering blue flame. No, not hollow. Far too full.

She felt the same sensation she had experienced all those years ago, as the shadow of the World-Eater blocked out the sun over Kynesgrove. He had, ever so briefly, looked upon her- and in that moment she was tiny and naked and frail under the talons of his mere glance. He had seen her and acknowledged her, and in the same moment had written her off as something far too tiny and trifling to be bothered with.

This was much the same.

"Greetings, Ysmir." she said, and she cursed her wavering voice.

The dragon did not blink. Her tail- and by Talos, it was the size of an oak tree - twitched its tip in a feline languor.

"I take it you did not just come to stare?" She said. This voice was familiar. Strangely soft, deep, and sporting the thick-tongued accent sported by only the northernmost Nords. This familiar voice now shook the stone with each flick of the tongue, more like the distant rumble of thunder than anything that would come out of a living creature.

Delphine's grip on the sword tightened, and Ysmir seemed not to care. She steadied herself, and met her steady gaze.

"We have unfinished business, don't we? Solvej?"

Ysmir lifted her barbed chin in irritation.

"I doubt it." She rumbled. "And it is quite presumptuous on your part to think I would be interested in resolving anything with your little group of spies.”

“It’s not about that.” Delphine said. “I just wanted to ask you something, before I lose my chance.”

Ysmir raised her head even higher than before, looming pillarlike above the woman.

“Speak.”

"Could you just tell me why you've done this? All of it. Everything since we last spoke."

Ysmir gazed down unblinking for a moment, then leaned in until the tip of her snout was inches from Delphine’s face. Her hot breath singed the air between them.

"The gods are dead, or being killed as we speak, or turned to stone." She said softly. "Do you understand?"

Delphine raised an eyebrow.

Ysmir lifted a massive hand. Its terminal digits had stretched and warped outwards into the bud of a wing, complete with the delicate barbs that were yet to be flight feathers. Delphine allowed herself a moment of amusement; it was naked and gray, not unlike a baby bird's wing.

"Everything lies on a knife's-edge of destruction." She brought two hooked talons together, showing the tiny void between to the woman before her. "The Thalmor of course. You know the Empire has been too thoroughly declawed to stand a chance. But this is more than just the trifling wars of mortals. That will only be a means to an end.”

Ysmir now looked into the distance, ignoring Delphine entirely. “I can save us all. I have done it before, and now I will do it again. Is it so wrong that I try to hold balance in place?"

Delphine shook her head in disbelief.

"What in the goddamn hell are you talking about?" She threw her arms out. "No- Do you realize how insane this all is? What you've done to yourself? How the fuck is this god-king nonsense helping anyone?!"

There was passing moment where something resembling indignation breezed across Ysmir's face. It quickly passed, returning to a distant placidity.

"Unfortunate." Ysmir said, pulling away from the woman to lay back on her throne. "I am not unaccustomed to mortals being ungrateful. And I suppose I should expect that much from you. But it's still quite unfortunate."

Delphine deflated. Her hand returned to her sword. She had lost her touch for subtlety with age, it seemed.

"May I at least pay homage?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"Do as you will. I have nothing more to say to you." Ysmir huffed, and lay back down, baring her massive breast to the woman before her.

Delphine approached the dais, white down feathers kicking up around her feet with each step. She had heard of those loyal to Ysmir doing as such. They would be allowed to approach, lay hands on their king, prove to themselves that she is as physical as she is divine.

Delphine now did as such, lifting a lithe hand and placing it amid the feathers. She was as warm as she had ever been, skin a wrinkled velvet under the soft down. Delphine felt the heart beating between the ribs. It must have been the size of her torso, the way it thundered slowly against her palm. It made what was to come far easier.

Delphine swore a quiet oath on the grave of her order.

The dragon did not react as Delphine drew the sword. She thought she saw the slightest ruffling of brow-feathers, a raised eyebrow over eyes that had already long-since lost interest in what the little human had to say or do, but there was nothing more.

The dragon did not react as Delphine took aim in one fluid motion, praying her age not betray her, that the strength in her now wiry arms would not fail her. A guard shouted something.

The dragon did not even stir as the blade slid through her thick hide and slicked its way between her ribs. Several people around her cried out in shock. Delphine gritted her teeth, and pushed until the hilt met flesh and blood welled up to kiss her trembling hands.

The chest heaved in a massive gasp.

Ysmir let out a strangled roar. Delphine stumbled backwards, leaving her blade behind as the dragon began to thrash against the pain. Two braziers were snuffed with a swing of her tail. One attendant was crushed as the great dragon crashed off of the dais, and the rest scattered away from the dying king.

Garbled words tore from her massive throat, and they begged fire and death into the uncaring air, then pleaded everlasting life and healing against a rapidly collapsing body. Delphine had stood transfixed for too long, and one of the Words caught the edge of her and sent her reeling against a stone brazier. Something in her body made an awful crunching noise, and she crumpled to the ground.

Ysmir's flailing had now quieted, and now she lay sprawled across the hall. Her legs twitched pitifully. Heavy slabs of muscle were caught in spasm underneath feathers that seemed to bristle and flatten outside of her control. Her head flopped to the stone with a thud, bare of its flame.

Her eyes fell towards Delphine, but they were distant, wide and so very Mortal with terror. Delphine held them where she lay, body broken against the hard stone and fighting with consciousness herself. The guards and attendants and stewards were now crowding in on their king, some fruitlessly casting healing magic, some just staring in awe. Delphine stared as well, face taut with pain and a grim satisfaction. Whether she was taken dead or alive, whether this was the right thing to do or not, this was the end.

There was an irony to it all. The last of the Blades and the Last Dragonborn. Delphine was too tired to worry about what it all meant. Whatever would be, would be.

Ysmir took in a shuddering gasp through a foaming mouth. She looked somewhere far away yet, eternally transfixed and small under something only she could see. It looked back at her across all that distance, and she was gone.

Delphine took a breath, and let her own eyes slide shut.

#this was written in one go so its noyt fantastic but w/e #also AUTHORS NOTE: ysmir is solvej its just the name shes taken at that point and names are important in the elder scrolssb #authors note 2: yes solvej pretty much just goes 'heres my vital organs please stab me'. she doesnt think she can die at that point #my writing #solvej

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