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elder-dragon-reposes · 3 months

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Kynadora- The Wheel Turns, Chapter 1

Summary: Julia Kynadora Lastblood had only intended to come to Skyrim as a healer and help whoever she could. Instead, she finds herself front and center in the Dragon Crisis and being drawn into the Civil War. Between that and trying to find her place in Skyrim while still managing to do what she came to Skyrim for originally, the internal turmoil she’s been struggling with since her childhood becoming worse shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Being Dragonborn certainly is though.

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've been working on getting this out for a bit now and Chapter 1 is now ready to post. I'd really like to thank @nerevar-quote-and-star for all the support as well as for acting as a beta reader for me!

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The first thing that her mind can register is the sounds of nature and the roll of a cart along a bumpy stone road. One hard bump along the road shoots pain through her head and shoulders, forcing her eyes open, and yet not a sound of pain out of her. The pain subsided slightly, but she could still feel her head throb and her eyes still took a moment to go from still seeing black to seeing only in a fuzzy haze, to finally allowing her to see the world around her enough to make out the details of the world around her. The first thing her eyes truly notice is the landscape around her, mountains and snow, and nothing familiar to her. The second thing is the blond man sitting on the cart before her. His focus is somewhere off in the distance, and his attention doesn’t shift until another bump of the cart causes her to hiss in pain.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” She nods, which her body registers as a mistake for her as soon as she follows through with the motion. Her head throbs in pain again harshly, before slowly easing off into something more manageable. It gives her the confidence to finally pull herself up into a sitting position so that the harsh bumps of the road don’t dig into her neck and bother her injury. Injuries? She’s not quite sure of what exactly is wrong with her yet. “You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

It was too much information all at once. Imperial ambush? Thief? The blond man’s armor wasn’t the type that just any bandit would wear. Or just any mercenary. And as she looked around, others in the carts in front of them wore similar garb. Why would the Imperials have ambushed them? And how did she get in the middle of it? She tried to focus on the questions, looking for the answers in her mind, but the memories surrounding the event weren’t coming to her. But it was causing more hurt. The blond’s eyes softened, a concern dancing across his features and she wished that it didn’t hurt a bit more than the physical pain dancing around her.

“Damn, you Stormcloaks.” She knew that name. How? Wait. Stormcloaks. The Civil War that had broken out in Skyrim months ago. The thing that she’d sworn to her uncle that she would avoid to the best of her abilities. That she of course had already gotten caught up in.

Wait. Where was she? She’d been heading towards a town, tiredness had been seeping into her bones and she’d been excited to finally be in Skyrim. Then noises of distress, and she’d gone to help and the world had gone dark. Her attention drifts from the conversation and onto the world around them. Things looked familiar and yet not. She didn’t know Skyrim well enough to try and even attempt to figure out where she was.

A gentle wind pushes through and her shoulders settle in a way. She’d still done it. Even if she had no idea where she was right now. She’d crossed the border into Skyrim. This was still it, the place that she’d wanted to see since she was a child and her father had told her stories that had been passed to him from his father. She was the first of her line to be in Skyrim since her great-grandfather had left for Cyrodiil. It was still more beautiful than she’d expected it to be, and she’d been expecting so much.

Her study and focus on the landscape rolling past them was interrupted by the man sitting on the left side of the blond calling out to her, dragging her attention back to the people sharing the cart with her. “You there. You and me – we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.” That was true enough. She’d never done anything herself to warrant being arrested, no matter what the Empire and the Thalmor said about her family history. And she’d never left Cyrodiil until now. So it wasn’t even possible for her to be a Stormcloak, or really any other manner of criminal in Skyrim.

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” Unfortunately, also true. After all, the fact that she was also currently a prisoner of the Empire would be why she couldn’t heal her head wound, and whatever else was wrong with her, the binds blocked magicka to try and circumvent any potential escapees. Or property damage. After all, a mage who doesn’t know anything beyond flames is just as dangerous as a mage who knows many spells beyond conjuring fire. Sometimes more if they couldn’t control the flames beyond conjuring them up. From what she could tell though, she seemed to still have her armor on. Her hood was missing and so was her pack and sword, but the rest of her armor seemed to still be attached to her.

As the dark-haired man was about to respond, the soldier driving the cart turned around and smacked the wood of the cart. “Shut up back there!” He turned back to the road, and the two men looked at one another before choosing to look away completely. Her own eyes drifted to the blond and then to the landscape around her.

The dark-haired man was ultimately the one to break the silence once more after their shared moment of silence. “And what’s wrong with him?” Her brows furrow and she turns her head as far as it will go without another shot of pain to her right. Finally noticing the man who had been sitting there this whole time and whose eyes had been on her for who knew how long. He was gagged and wearing a level of finery that no one else she’d seen was. He wasn’t a normal prisoner, and a hint of danger settled in her chest.

“Watch your tongue!” The blond man’s temper pulled her attention away from the gagged man, a shock as he had been nothing but calm in the minutes she’d been lucid enough to take note of what was around her. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.” Her heart dropped. He really wasn’t a normal prisoner. This wasn’t a normal group of prisoners being transported Stuhn knows where. The dark-haired man seemed to be catching up to her thoughts as his next words registered in her pounding skull. Where were they taking them? Once more the conversation in the cart stalled. The blond mentioned Sovngarde, and all her focus went there for a moment. Had she earned a place there? Earned the ability to see her father again? Or would she join her mother in Aetherius, with the rest of her Imperial ancestors?

This time, it’s the blond who drags her out of her thoughts. He speaks softly once more, the anger he’d held before having dissipated. “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?”

“Why do you care?” The thief’s hands were shaking, and when she looked down at her own for a moment she saw that her own were as well. It was getting more difficult to breathe, and her head hurt more from the accidental clenching and grinding of her jaw joining the head wound.

The blonde looks ahead for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before continuing down the path of discussion he wished to. “A Nord’s last thoughts-” his eyes drift to her and he seems to correct himself, “anyone’s last thoughts should be of home.” He was right of course. She thought of many things. Of the castle and shops of Skingrad that she’d grown up in and around. Of rolling hills and smiling faces that she’d left behind. And of the little home in Rivercrest that she’d grown up in. The home that no longer existed, but lived on in memories. She wished that she might have seen the town once more before now though.

The thief’s own eyes glazed over for a moment, his focus far away from this cart and the road beneath it. Likely on what he had left behind for this potential fate too. “Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.” She heard of that village. She wasn’t sure where, but she’d heard of it. A song perhaps? One her father had sung? The blond nods and his attention turns back to her.

“And you?” His eyes are tired and for a moment she’s not quite sure how to answer him when the answer feels so large to such a small question.

She thinks of kind smiles once more. Of graves that had yet to be dug when she was taken from Rivercrest. Of open arms and strawberry treats. Of friends that she may never see again. She hopes that Baura will not blame herself for whatever may occur at the end of the road that they are all on. And that her uncle wouldn’t cause too much trouble for those responsible. Her voice is rough as she speaks, like when she would get sick as a child. “Skingrad. This is my first time in Skyrim if you’ll believe it.” The soldier driving makes a noise. Of realization or recognition, she couldn’t be sure. The Jarl sitting next to her made one of clear frustration, which drew her eyes back to him. He looked away when they finally landed back on him.

“Oh. What brought you to Skyrim then?” The blond was good at this. Calming people down and distracting them from their situation. She’d had to do the same for some of her patients and appreciated being on the other side of it for right now.

“I’m a healer. I needed to be out of Cyrodiil for some time, and Skyrim seemed like as good as any place to start helping.” The blond nodded and the man next to her made another muffled noise from behind his gag. She couldn’t decipher what it meant this time though. “And you? Where are you from?”

He seemed to be surprised at the question as if he hadn’t expected another of his cart mates to ask him anything in return. “Riverwood. It’s a small logging town not far from here.” She nods and tries her best to smile reassuringly at him. When this ended, she swore to find her way to Riverwood and find his family. Tell them of his kindness in the face of an upcoming execution. If she herself was not killed as well, that is.

The conversation stalled once more and with it came the view of a walled town covered in the banners of the Empire. From the view at the top of the hill, she could see homes and what appeared to be a keep. Likely a town that was being used as a command post by the military. It was a good spot, especially since she couldn’t imagine that it was too far from the Pale Pass. At least not if she’d gotten her geographical bearings right. It was especially hard to tell since she wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been out. Hours? Days? It was hard to tell.

As they passed through the entrance, a soldier shouted out to General Tullius that the headsman was ready and waiting. She’d met him once before now. Her uncle had been called to the Imperial City for some business or another, and he’d been at the gathering. From her view of his back, it didn’t seem that he’d changed that much. She’d spoken to him about something that seemed important at the time but had been ushered away from him by her uncle shortly after.

The thief begins praying to the Imperial Divines, and she can’t stop herself from sending her own prayers off. She focuses on Kyne and Stuhn. Her action drew the attention of both the blond man and the Jarl. It made sense. She doubted that they’d run into many Imperials that worshiped the Old Nord pantheon.

It isn’t until the blond mentions the Thalmor that she notices them over by Tullius. A chill runs down her spine, and she tries to control her breathing. Her eyes slam back down to her hands, sending a shock of pain through the area of her head most near them. For a moment she looks to her right and notices that the Jarl’s position now nearly matches hers.

“This is Helgen.” Her attention is drawn away from her panic, anxiety crawling up her throat, at the sound of his voice once more. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here.” His distraction works. It gives her more questions though. Was that girl here? Would she watch him lose his head? “Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in.” He laughs bitterly. “Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.” She wondered what that was like. Even before the killing of her parents, Imperial soldiers and walls had never equaled safety for her. She imagined that that was likely due to how her father had been the one truly caring for Rivercrest though, and not some strange commentary on the failure of the Empire and its soldiers. After all, she’d never really interacted with or seen many before Skingrad. Even though her interactions there didn’t necessarily prove very helpful in giving her a positive view of them.

She turns as much as she can to get a look at the town. At the very least before this ends, she wants to know the town as well as she can. She watches as a father orders his son inside their home, not wanting him to see the death that the soldiers he seemed fascinated by would be dealing with his own eyes just yet. She respected it. The boy seemed far too young to watch an execution, no matter how his family may feel one way or the other about the Civil War. Death wasn’t something that you could ignore once you’d been confronted with it. And it was hard to forget the memory of the first death, the first body, that you saw.

The carts all come to a stop and she releases a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding. Her heart drops, and nausea rises in her stomach. “Why are they stopping?” The thief’s voice is quiet, and she doubted that she would’ve heard it had it not been for being in such close quarters with him.

“Why do you think? End of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” She prays silently as they begin to stand and move to the edge of the cart. She ignores the exchange between the blond and the thief as she does so, focused on keeping her feet straight. Standing had caused darkness to cloud her vision once more, the wound once more rearing its ugly head. As she made it to the edge, she lost her balance and slipped clumsily off of the cart causing her leg to catch wrong on the cobblestone ground. The soldier who had been driving the cart helped her to her feet, and she walked it off, continuing to where the soldiers were grouping them.

As she walks, who she assumes is the Captain gives them instructions to step to the block when they hear their name. What was she going to do when they didn’t call it though? Would they finally realize that she didn’t belong here in this group? Or would she be sent to the block anyhow? While wrong, and technically against Imperial law, she didn’t imagine that it would matter much to them. She didn’t trust the Empire to do the “right thing” here. Its citizens didn’t matter quite as much as it pretended that they did.

Darkness clouds her vision once more as she comes to a stop, and she has to put more weight on one leg over the other to prevent her legs from buckling underneath her. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” The Jarl stalks off to the block, making more muffled sounds from behind the gag.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” The blond’s voice is sure in this. The Empire could say a lot of things about the Stormcloaks, but the idea that they weren’t loyal to him would be a complete lie.

The soldier holding the list continues, “Ralof of Riverwood.” The blond walks off to the block with that and a look to the list maker. Or Ralof. Ralof walks off to the block. He was sure in his steps, and she couldn’t help but admire him for his confidence, even as he walked to his death.

As the soldier moves on, a look thrown at Ralof’s back, the thief –Lokir– bolts upon his name being called. “Halt!” calls the Captain, but he keeps going. She calls for the archers, and he is downed nearly as quickly as he took off running. “Anyone else feel like running?” The Baura that lives in her mind says yes.

“Wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you?” She wasn’t on the list. She was expecting this, but something about it still felt strange. The fact that they’d just loaded her up with the rest of the prisoners, though she’d had her armor donned. And it certainly didn’t look like the Stormcloak’s armor or the Empire’s armor.

She remembers her uncle’s words. Hold your head high and look them in the eye when you introduce yourself. You have reason to be proud of your name. Your heritage. “Julia Lastblood. Of Skingrad.” If the soldier could look more confused, he likely would. She’d gotten many weird looks over the years as an Imperial with Nord’s surname.

He turns, “Captain, what do we do? She’s not on the list?” Here it was. A moment of truth for the place she’d lived all her life. Would she be sent to the block? Killed mercilessly like her parents? Or be spared

“Forget the list. She goes to the block.” Disappointed, but not surprised. Julia had known that this was a possibility from the very beginning, but the venom in the Captain’s voice drove the dagger of betrayal deeper into her heart.

The soldier seems surprised though, then disappointed that he will have to follow those orders. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Skingrad.” Hopefully, they would go to Rivercrest after. She liked the idea of being buried next to her parents, even if she would only see one of them in the afterlife. Whichever one she was going to.

As she walks to the block, she prays under her breath. All of the gods her father taught her to worship, from Kyne and the Hearth gods to the Dead ones and even to Alduin. Praying that the world’s end would come far in the future, in the hopes that her family that she had left behind would have long lives after her. She stands by the other prisoners and meets Ralof’s eyes. There is anger there that she hopes will disappear before his head is removed.

Tullius addresses the leader of the rebellion, trying and succeeding at making himself look taller while he does so. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” Stormcloak grunts in protest, but the gag does not let him get out whatever words would be his last. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.” Julia would laugh if it weren’t for the circumstances. She’d been born after the Great War, and Cyrodiil had never been peaceful in her lifetime. Besides, they may as well be declaring Ulfric a martyr themselves.

Whatever Stormcloak was going to grunt in response was interrupted by a sound coming from the mountains above them. A screech. It felt wrong in a way. Like something had broken. Had torn. “What was that?” The soldier’s words echoed her thoughts. What kind of creature could sound like that? It had to be large. She didn’t know enough of the creatures in Skyrim to make a guess though.

“It’s nothing. Carry on.” Tullius’ voice brings her eyes back down from the mountains, and back to the Headsman’s block. Back to her execution, and not the mystery that was above them.

The Captain calls for the Priestess to begin her prayer, and Julia prays soundlessly once more. For herself? For those she loves? She’s not quite sure anymore. One of the Stormcloaks walks forward, interrupting both prayers. “For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with.” She could respect that. They hadn’t been allowed their complete last rites, though she doubted that they would be executed twice if one of them had prayed to Talos. “Come on, I haven’t got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” She knew that she was likely not included in that sentiment, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Could she?

After the headsman’s axe falls, some of the bystanders made their thoughts known; there were those calling him traitor, and those like Ralof that called him fearless. “Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!” The renegade? The renegade? Julia doubted that anyone had ever referred to her as such, and it distracted her from the situation for a moment. It is interrupted once more though. The sound comes from the mountainside once more. But closer. It was louder. Whatever was making that sound was coming closer to Helgen. The soldier once more draws attention to it, but the Captain calls her forward.

“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.” She moves forward, and Ralof once more meets her eyes. As she lowers herself down, her vision darkens once more. The leg she’d landed on ached as well. Neither pain would last much longer though. She closes her eyes as she sets her head on the block, and tries to empty her mind of every thought that was running through it.

Before the axe could fall and connect with her neck, the execution falls into chaos. A large, black creature lands on the tower that looms above her. It seemingly called down a storm of fire and meteors from the heavens, hitting the ground and the people around them. One of them hits the headsman, and another lands next to the block, causing it to rise and knock her on the head. She rolls off of it and regrets the movement. Her head screams in pain and it takes her a moment to orient herself.

“Hey, you! Julia! Get up! Come one, the gods won’t give us another chance!” Ralof was suddenly by her side, leading her into another tower across from the one that the dragon had landed on. Her ears ring, and it makes it hard to hear the chaos around them as they rush in, Stormcloak closing the heavy door behind them. “Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages. We need to move, now!” As they discuss the plans moving forward, one of the soldiers comes up and cuts the binds holding Julia’s hands. As the binds break and fall to the ground, she can feel her Magicka regenerate and flood her body. Thanking the soldier, her hands raised to her head, and she cast a simple healing spell on the source of her head wound. As the spell worked itself, the world stopped spinning around her and the ringing in her ears halted. She blinked and looked around the entrance room of the tower that they’d entered.

Her eyes landed on two of the soldiers lying injured on the ground and she made her way over to them. As they argued about the next steps, Julia could help here. Her bag had been taken, so she didn’t have any healing potions she could supply, but she could use her magic to help them get back on their feet for the time being.

The same soldier that had cut her binds came up to her with scavenged bandages and other supplies, and assisted her in applying them to the injured. It would be nice not to have to drain her Magicka completely while trying to help, especially since they may need to throw spells at the thing flying around the skies. The dragon? It was a terrifying thought. Julia pushed it to the back of her mind, she could follow that thought process later when everyone was out of immediate danger.

Almost as if she’d summoned the thing, the ground shook and they could hear another one of the spine-chilling sounds coming from what felt like every direction. Ralof looked around the tower, panic clear on his face. Even after his outburst earlier, it was the least calm that she’d seen him through this whole ordeal. His eyes landed on her for a moment and his brows furled as he took in what she was doing.

His attention went to the stairs and several emotions crossed his face. “Up through the tower! Let’s go! This way, Julia! Move!” The soldier and her helped the injured to their feet and began making their way up the stairs. Before they reached them though, her place was taken by one of their fellow Stormcloaks and she made her way to Ralof’s side.

“We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!” Ralof and her rushed forward up the stairs to try and help, but they were interrupted by something crashing through the wall. The rocks that came down crushed the soldier, and the dragon’s face came into the tower through the hole that it’d created.

Julia could barely hear Ralof over the sound of outside and the dragon seemed to speak, and then fire rained from its mouth. “Get back!” She threw up a ward just in time, shielding them as best she could, but they could still feel the heat coming from the fire it spat. It flew off nearly as quickly as it came. Ralof looked at her and a small smile came to his face. “Thank you.”

She claps his shoulder, returning his smile. “Of course.” They made their way to the hole in the wall, looking down at the town surrounding the foot of the tower and the destruction that had been waged on top of it. She turns to Ralof for whatever step he felt was best to take next.

“See the inn on the other side?” She could, it would be quite a drop, but they could make it. “Jump through the roof and keep going!” Julia turned to Ralof and shook her head. She wasn’t just going to leave them. Not when they’d helped her. “Go! We’ll follow you when we can!” He nearly pushed her through the hole in the stone wall, but she jumped before he could.

She rolls as she hits the floor of the top floor and looks back up at the tower. Fire and smoke obscure her view of where she has jumped from, and she waits for the next person to come crashing through into the building next to her. They do not come, and the ground shakes the building in a way that demands her to keep going. They’ll follow when they can. Ralof promised. The least she can do is try to make sure that the path is safe for them too.

Julia climbs down the building through the large hole in the floor and exits it out the hole in the siding of the building. She takes in her surroundings, the destruction of Helgen had been hard and fast even with soldiers trying to kill the thing flying through the air and raining fire and meteors and other hell down on them from the heavens. A screech coming from the sky pushes her forward through the destruction.

As the smoke grows thicker and thicker, she can only hope that she’s moving forward and not back towards the tower that she’d jumped from. Can only hope that she won’t come across the dragon as it swoops through the town raining down destruction.

“Haming! Haming!” Voices flicker louder and louder as she moves ever closer, and the scene that unfolds from the smoke as she does makes her heart stop in her chest. The child she’d seen earlier speaking with his father was standing over what she could only assume was his father, clearly frozen in fear. The dragon’s shadow comes overhead, and Julia acts before she can even think to, running for the child and grabbing him into her arms in just enough time for the beast to land in front of them.

Her eyes meet the dragon’s, and a shiver runs down her spine. The red of its eyes feeling like death had come for them all. And it might have. She runs with the boy, crying now into her neck, throwing up another ward just in time for the dragon to throw more fire at them. Arms grab her, pulling her behind a destroyed building, and she drops the ward once the dragon takes off again.

“Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want it to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy.” She nearly drops the boy as he shakes.

“No! I wanna stay with you!” The boy, Haming her mind supplies, clutches her shoulders tighter in a way that she can’t be good for his hands pushing into the metal of her armor.

“It might be best for us to stay together. At least until we can find somewhere safer.” The man who’d been crouched in the corner, Gunnar nods and gets up to follow along.

The list maker sighs, looking at the three of them, and turns to look where the dragon has left behind. “Alright. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense. You can figure out where best to go after that.” Julia nods and pats the poor boy on the back. She focuses on shielding his face from the corpse of his father as they pass. He’d seen enough of it for his lifetime. Aetherius knows that she had at his age.

Their little group follows after the soldier, taking cover by a wall as the dragon descends again, raining more fire at them. “Quickly! Follow me!” They duck through another destroyed building and come out to where most of the Imperial soldiers must have been firing arrows and spells at the thing as it flew through Helgen. Ahead of them, near the front and center of the fighting is General Tullius.

“Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we’re leaving!” For a moment his eyes meet hers and then go to the child she’s carrying and the man following after them. He nods her in that direction too, as if she is one of his soldiers to command and not a woman he’d almost executed mere minutes ago. She follows the command though, following Hadvar through the rubble and into the courtyard of the Keep, eyes scanning for any of the Stormcloaks she’d seen before, hoping that any one of them would appear. And almost as if a prayer had been answered, Ralof appears from the other side.

“Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!” The venom in Hadvar’s voice is clear, adding only to what is a small amount of context of their relationship that she can only assume would fill in pages of a book.

Her friend is quick to return that venom though, “We’re escaping Hadvar! You’re not stopping us this time!” Ralof’s brows furl at her arms holding Haming and over her shoulder where Gunnar is standing.

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Wait, what does Hadvar mean by that? Splitting up now would mean death for them. She adjusts Haming in her grip, shoving his weight entirely onto one arm.

“Julia, come on! Into the keep!” They’re both insane. Or stupid. Or both.

“With me, prisoner! Let’s go! Come on! We need to get inside!”

“Are you both insane?” Julia’s voice comes out far stronger than she’d thought it would, given the circumstances. “The dragon currently circling above us circumvents the damned war. Get in the keep!”

She heads for the door to the left of the building that Hadvar had been heading towards, grabbing Ralof’s shoulder with her open hand on the way there. Ralof looks at her confusedly as he opens the door for her, allowing himself to be pushed inside what she can only hope is a safe harbor. She hears Gunnar chuckle slightly, smoke inhalation making it rougher, and he pushes Hadvar in behind them.

Julia can only hope that getting them to work together becomes easier from here as she hears the large door shut loudly behind them.

#julia kynadora lastblood #kynadora #skyrim #helgen

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elder-dragon-reposes · 1 year

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The Very First Night (Spent In Your Arms)

Pairing: Kynadora/Miraak, Pre-Relationship

Summary: A night at Candlehearth Hall has the potential to change everything, but will it?

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46654078

Notes: Thank you to everyone that helped convince me to post this! Let me know if anyone wants to be added to a tag list!

She was going to kill him, and the worst part of it was that he doubted that she was even trying to. This was just her. The small smiles and touches, the way she looked at him to get his opinion about a decision before she made it. But by Aetherius itself did they make his heart flutter when she interacted with him like that. And he sees it with other people, the way that she seems to influence everyone she meets in some life-altering way, and the eyes which follow after her in the same way that he imagines his do.

Which is exactly why this set of pajamas would actually be what kills him. Not a dragon, not Mora, not anything else. The barely knee-length shift that she is currently wearing to sleep next to him. For the first time. In a completely platonic fashion. May one of the gods choose to strike him down now so that he doesn’t have to accidentally wake up sleeping next to her and confess to something he knows that she would never accept.

“I can hear you thinking Miraak.” He hopes not. He really, truly hopes that she cannot hear his thoughts at this moment. The wall of blankets and clothes he built wasn’t enough. Would never be enough to make both this moment and the morning less awkward. Less like his heart would beat out from beneath the skin of his chest.

“Oh, really Little Dovah? What am I thinking of then?” She chuckles and from the sounds that follow flops over onto her back. He held back a gasp as her knee appeared, the material slipping down due to her position. She had too much power over him. She could ask him for anything and the only question he would have for her was about any time constraints.

“Hmm… clearly you’re thinking about that stew we had for dinner.” Good. She can’t read minds. Yet, a part of his mind supplies. He doesn’t like that part of his mind. That part of his mind is giving him very bad ideas that he should not act out on at this moment in time. Like how nice it would be to lean over the wall he built between them and kiss her. Or just touch her. Her hands were soft. Her lips and skin had to be too.

No. “Not quite, try again?” She flops more, and then her hand comes over the wall. She invades his side. And grabs his hand. And then pulls it towards her side. This is dangerous. He built the wall to avoid this. But he’s not taking it back now. She can have it as long as she wants it, longer if she’ll allow it.

A giggle, her voice is soft and something he can only describe as sleepy. Good. She’s never gotten enough sleep as long as he’s known her. “Is it some kind of secret knowledge? Something you’re hiding?” Fuck she’s good. His Little Dovah is dangerous. But her voice is tired. And he can use that.

“Maybe. If you sleep now I’ll tell you about it sometime.” Never. He will never tell her about it. She wouldn’t accept it anyhow, and this way- he can keep her here. Keep her next to him. Touching him. Laughing at him. Shining those flame-blue eyes at him.

She drops his hand and he almost dies. It lands fairly dramatically on the soft satin that is her slip and he’s almost certain that it’s her stomach, and it takes all of his self-control to pull his hand back over the wall and back to his side. And not further up to rest on her neck or her arms. Fuck he wants her to touch him more. “Fine, you can keep your secrets for now.” Her leg disappears next as she flops back on her side and he only now realizes he’d been staring at it the whole time.

“Goodnight Little Dovah.” He could get used to saying that, here in her bed. And not at dinner when they say their goodnights. Maybe, maybe, if they both sleep better than they have in most of their lives she’ll agree to do this again. But that’s dangerous, a far smarter side of his brain supplies. She laughs again.

“Goodnight Miraak.” The magelight spell she cast is dropped, and he is left in the dark. Listening to her breathing as it evens out. Once she is letting out little sounds, so soft, that indicate she’s asleep, he finally closes his eyes and far faster than he has in centuries, falls asleep.

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Light is shining through the small window and sounds are beginning to come from the upstairs of the inn when Miraak awakens. He’s not used to that, and the pillow he’s on is far softer and more comfortable than he remembers it being. He moves slightly, adjusting to try and begin getting ready for the day when he realizes her arm is around his head. And that his pillow is no pillow.

His head is on her chest. Fuck. This is what he was trying to avoid. This is a bad idea. His eyes open and look around. The soft light is enough to take in the surroundings and his heart rate picks up when he looks at their legs. At his arms. Her arms. Their legs are entangled. Under the sheets, he can’t quite tell where his legs begin and her legs end. His arms are wrapped around her, and he can’t help but take in just how soft this all feels. It’s almost too much, makes him want to scream. But he can’t. She’s still sleeping. He can hear her heart’s beat from where his head rests and it’s… steady. Lulling him to just go back to sleep. To forget this. He wants to listen, eyes drooping back closed. It can just be a problem for later.

And then she stirs, one of her hands moving from his shoulder and into his hair. She scratches his head, and if he were a cat he was certain he would purr. She adjusts one of her legs, her ankle rubbing against one of his calves and he lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

Her voice is quiet and still sleepy. For a moment he isn’t sure she spoke at all. But she does, “Go back to sleep ‘Raak.” He can do that. Will do that. He falls back under the spell of sleep with her heart under his head, not noticing the sleepy smile that had been plastered on her face.

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When Kynadora awakens, it's far later in the morning than she is used to. They’re still entangled, legs and arms wrapped around each other and Miraak has returned to his back. The wall is gone, and it seems that both had migrated to the middle of the bed sometime in the night. The sun is shining through the window and she’s surprised that the noise from outside didn’t wake them earlier. Candlehearth Hall had been full of noise last night, and it appeared that it would be full of noise tonight as well.

She adjusts her head, looking up at his still-sleeping face. She fights the urge to move her hand from his chest to cup his face, the soft smile present on his face making it even harder. His breathing is still steady, and Kynadora could probably fall back to sleep now but she’s far more well-rested than she remembers ever being. And today has to start eventually. Maybe they can not talk about this. And just continue it. Sleep had been rare and hard for her since childhood, but here she was. Well-rested and having slept through the night.

She’s memorized his face at this point, but this is a version of it that she is not yet used to. There is none of that worry or stress that decorates it on a normal day, no lines on his face from glaring at the world. Part of her misses those eyes on her. They always feel like they’re on her, following after her in a way that causes her face to redden when she catches him watching. His breathing is steady, and if it were not for the fact that they will need to pull themselves from this bed eventually, she would allow those steady breaths to lull her back to sleep. Her heart picks up its pace when he shifts, arms pulling her tighter to his chest. He’s soft and strong and he probably could envelop her in his robes and his arms if he wanted. She wants him to.

As if he can read that she is thinking of him, Miraak finally stirs, his eyebrows coming together and eyes squeezing tighter. The calmness from his face drops and she wishes she could call it back. Keep him in this place of safety and quiet forever. But that’s just not possible for them. His breathing changes and Kynadora is met with the dark brown of his eyes. They’re an almost inky black, and they are still sleepy-soft. He’s not awake yet, and a plan formulates. The gears of her mind turn, and it might be in a rather dangerous fashion. But she doesn’t think she could survive without waking up like this again.

“Good morning Miraak.” She has to work quickly. If they don’t talk about it then there can’t be an agreement to find separate beds. So she just won’t. She begins to untangle herself from him, careful not to jostle him too much.

“Good morning?” He sounds confused, still lost to sleep in a way. She’s out from under the covers and adjusts to finish crawling out of bed. Due to her rush, she slips slightly. Her hand catches on Miraak’s thigh and the sharp intake of breath and the way his whole body tenses shocks her so thoroughly she vows never to do it again. Even if it was an accident. She hears him curse under his breath and nearly runs out of the room to change into her day clothes.

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Miraak has only just woken and has already gone through more emotions than he did during most of his stay in Apocrypha. And he isn’t quite sure what emotion he’s on right now. Right now his brain was still stuck on the fact that she’d just touched his thigh. Fuck. And then she’d nearly teleported from the room and the bed. Well, at least she didn’t mention the position that they’d woken up in. Again. Memories of the point in the night when he’d awoken come running back. At least he hadn’t said anything damning. Hadn’t confessed anything that could ruin them, ruin her. His Little Dovah had not mentioned it, and he took that to mean that everything was fine. She’d never avoided speaking if she was uncomfortable before, and he doubted that she would avoid it this time. Maybe if they continued to not talk about it, they could do it again. Miraak pulled himself out of bed and went to change into his traveling clothes. The road ahead of them was still long, and the bed was cooling.

#kynadora #tes #skyrim #julia kynadora lastblood #my fanfiction #miraak #miradora #snippet #pre relationship

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