Hello people, The New Mandalord is here for now.
I thought I'd do a short-ish Skyrim fic... To close in the gap that Dawnguard isn't for the PS3 yet!
So I my Dragonborn is an Imperial who joined the Imperial faction, married Lydia, lives in Whiterun, became the head of the Companions and Thieves Guild, and destroyed the Dark Brotherhood. Any other questions? No. Good.
So read, review and enjoy.
Only yesterday, Lydia had been told that in this hostile land, for a girl to reach adulthood was a victory in itself. The day you turned eighteen, you could count yourself lucky to have got this far, knowing that so many children of Skyrim would never make it to such an age, having fallen to illness or accident or the harsh weather or acts of violence.
Eighteen years, they said. She should feel proud. It was an achievement.
Happy birthday, welcome to the world of Skyrim.
A day later, and those first eighteen years seemed relatively easy. Reaching eighteen years and one day old – at this point that seemed like it was going to be a real achievement.
Lydia was not like most girls who grew in the cloud district of Whiterun. Most girls played with dolls, became bards, and ogled over boys. Lydia was playing with swords when she learned how to walk, was studying ancient reading by the time she was ten, and spent her time tracking wolves to collect their pelts when most girls were getting married off.
Now, twenty-eight unregrettable years of her life had come and gone. She had experienced history firsthand, explored ancient Nordic crypts, fought off dragons, and wiped out the several anarchist factions that could easily destroy the continent of Tamriel.
But now it was different. Someone, or rather something was tracking her, and she did not like it one bit.
Balgruuf the Great, Jarl to Whiterun and her uncle, sent Lydia up into the mountains of the Pale. Word had come in that any passing caravans that were foolish enough to go through there completely disappeared. It seemed like the usual bandits, but when reports of Imperial scouts going missing came into light, it became a thing to look into. Not to mention, the ten-thousand coin reward was enough motivation.
So here Lydia was. Leaping over snow mounds, and looking for Divines only knew what.
She drew her armored great coat tighter around her body, tucked her gloved hands into its loose sleeves. She could have sworn that the temperature had dropped another two degrees in the past hour. Something was different here, and Lydia knew it.
She slowly brought her hand onto the hilt of her sword at her hip, but before she could pull it from its sheath, she was grabbed and tackled down. They rolled down the mountain side, until the two of them landed into a deep snow drift on the edge of a cliff.
Lydia managed to roll on top of her assailant, and bring her sword onto his throat.
The assailant was an Imperial male. Tan skin with black, raven hair. He was thin when compared to Nord, but he was quick enough to sneak up on Lydia. His name was Jericho, and he was her Thane, Dragonborn, and lover.
But as of right now, he had a sword threatening his throat as he had an arrow aimed at her stomach.
"Always a pleasure to see you, love." Jericho said, giving her a very charismatic smile as he withdrew his arrow.
"You're one to talk," said Lydia as she put her sword back. "What was that all about? You tackle me down, and we almost fall off a cliff."
"There is a Stormcloak encampment not far from here."
"So?"
"So, if you went any further, you would have been studded with arrows."
It made sense that the remnants of the Stormcloaks rebel group were responsible for the caravans' disappearances. After the death of Ulfric Stormcloak, their main army – if they could call it that – was reduced into remote splinter cells that hid in the hills. They would perform small guerrilla, hit-and-run attacks on Imperial caravans, but ever since the Empire started to strengthen the guards, the Stormcloaks decided to go after easier prey.
The Khajiits were the perfect targets. The Nords ran on their xenophobia, so not even the best Khajiit guard could hold out for long, plus being loaded with foreign, and sometime stolen goods, was always something to go after.
Lydia and Jericho crawled on their stomachs up to the ledge, which over looked the rebel campsite. Ten warriors worked the camp below, as they were the most trusted and capable to their late Jarl's dream. All served the Stormcloaks since the start of the war, and several were Ulfric's bastard children. The Empire referred to these bastard warriors as the First-Borns, no doubt mocking their usurper father.
"How do you want to handle this?" Lydia asked.
"Going in like a dimwitted barbarian is suicidal. Remember what we did in the Reach?"
"How could I forget?" the Nord growled. "My scars still ach just thinking about those attacks."
"I can take out the guards from here, and you can take rest."
"Sounds like a plan. But I get fifty percent of the loot." She said as she slid down the cliff side and disappeared into a bank below.
"Forty, if you do the job well."
Jericho aimed his ebony bow on the three First-born Stormcloaks below, and he let loose three steel arrows in quick succession, taking them down with a single shot each. None of the other First-born Stormcloaks noticed their dead half-sibling, which meant they would not notice Lydia until she ran a sword straight through them.
Lydia saw as the three rebels fell dead into the freshly fallen snow, and she had already taken four Stormcloak lives before the remaining three knew what to do. They came at Lydia, yelling and panting, wielding wicked daggers and swords with serrated blades. Their faces were twisted into leers of hatred and their masks of total fury as they charged.
The Stormcloaks hurled themselves at Lydia, leaping from their feet a few paces and descending with flashing blades. Lydia raised her Skyforge steel shield to ward off the blows and the clash of metal echoed dully throughout the spruce forest. Lydia's battle cry mixed with wails that praised Ulfric's name, both filled the air along with the chime of blades meeting and the strikes of death.
Jericho could not see clearly what was happening from his perch, but soon his concern was drawn directly ahead as the First-born's Storm-Blade came rushing from his tent. Jericho loaded another arrow and pulled the string back until the bow was taunt and on the verge of breaking.
Dodging a blade aimed for her face, Lydia parried another attack and drove the point of her sword into the throat of the third First-born Stormcloak. A moment later, the Storm-Blade's sword crashed into Lydia's shield, cracking it, and knocking her down.
Lydia did not know that kind of strength could reside in humans. She even fought Orcs weaker than this Nords attack. The Nord himself did not seem human himself. His face was a dark red, with bulging veins running up his neck and across his face. His eyes were blood shot red, even where white and black should be, and filled with rage. From her defensive position, Lydia could tell that several of Jericho's arrows had buried themselves into his back with more on the way.
In one final effort, Lydia thrust her blade deep into the demon Nord's stomach, and even that did was not enough. It took five more arrows to the back, plus a slice across the neck with a dagger that finally brought the man down.
Jericho jumped from his perch and rushed to Lydia's side. "Lydia! Are you all right?"
"Just a few face scraps, and a stressed arm, I am fine." said Lydia as she rubbed her sore shield arm. "What was wrong with him? Was he a Deadra?"
"No," Jericho started to look over the dead Storm-Blade as he extracted as many arrows as he could, as well as Lydia's sword. "Look at his skin."
Lydia took a better look. His skin was dry and scaly, like a lizard.
"Dragon's Blood," said Jericho. "Looks like this poor bastard had far too much."
Only a few people in Skyrim knew how to distil Dragon's Blood to be a powerful weapon to turn the tide of battle. One was Jericho, but he stopped after several Skeevers got into his surplus. The second was Delphine, head of the Skyrim Blades faction. Jericho and Lydia has had nothing but the respect for the Blades honorable faction, but Delphine is too brash. She goes into missions without questioning or compassion, and after Jericho decided to keep Paarthurnax alive and walk away from the order he help rebuild, she decided to make his life a living hell.
Too bad for her, those people that Jericho brought to her pledge allegiance to the Dragonborn first. So now she is a prisoner of her own guild. One false step and one of Jericho's many loyalists would happily kill her and mount her pretty little head on a pike.
"Shall we head back for home? Or spend the night at Dawnstar, and head out in the morning?"
Lydia looked at her broken shield, and her blade was no better. "Whatever loot these bastards have will have to go towards repairs."
"You know I can do it for free."
"I know," she said coyly. "But the last time I repaid you, I couldn't sit right for a week!"
"I did not hear you complain about it then. If my memory serves me right, your words were 'Harder! By the Nine, Jericho! Harder!"
Lydia, beet red with embarrassment, scowled at her husband. "I hate your Imperial memory."
"I love you too."
With the end of the Civil war in Skyrim, it launched all of Tamriel into the fifth area. Under the reign of the new Emperor – a legitimate heir of Tiber Septim – had the veterans train volunteers in order to fight off the Dominion and any home grown threat. As for the common people, they are going through a time of rebuilding what war took from them.
A cultural movement had spread throughout the continent. Its' fast moving influence fell in literature, philosophy, art, music, politics, science, religion, and other aspects of intellectual inquiry. Former commoners, who had nothing to their names, soon became employed scholars. They were employed in the Human, Khajiit, Argonian and Elfish method studies, and search for realism and raw emotion in art.
It is also no secret that the Aldmeri Dominion is not a fan of this. Fortunately Julius Septim has been keeping them on the Summerset Islands.
At the capital city of Whiterun, the wind had turned north and brought with it a chill of a long winter down from the mountains. Snow flurries drifted from the highest peaks in long, fluttering streamer of white. The furthest reaches of the rolling planes were dusted with snow as the bitter weather crept down the mountainsides day by exhausting day. Lydia was wrapped tight in a long cloak of wolf pelts as she stood just outside the lively Bannered Mare inn. Jericho came out and placed an arm around her and smiled.
"There's a warm fire, hot food, and good company inside, why are you standing out here in the cold?" he asked.
"Listen," she said. They both stood in silence, and the only sound to be heard was the sighing on the wind. Then, faintly, there was a call, the croak of a raven.
"A single raven in the winter," said Jericho. "An omen, do you think?"
"Yes," she replied. "It means a long winter. Hopefully, we don't have to resort to eating that crow."
"Not a lot of meat on them. It'll be a damn shame when we have to trap and eat them." He started to slowly rock them and Lydia gave off a small gasp as his hands started to travel south. "Why don't you come back inside? Karvaro is just dying to see you again."
Karvaro is one of the best warriors in the Blades Skyrim faction. Though he is undisputedly one of the most cunning individuals in the Blades, this cat is a referred to a trickster by his many, many comrades, because he will pull every trick high and low to get his way. Tall, rangy but not particularly broad compared to his Nordic comrades, Karvaro is known for the possession of an impish sense of humor, which is highly unusual for the usually grim Blades and for playing practical jokes upon his fellow warriors.
"I'm sure he is," Lydia purred. "But If I catch him staring at my chest one more time, I'm going to kill him!"
A-near-legendary figure amongst the Nordic womenfolk, Karvaro was once famous for sharing a dozen beds in a single night. But ever since his elevation to the ranks of the Blades that number had somehow tripled.
"Fair enough," Jericho said. "Let's go home."
Breezehome was located within Whiterun's Plane district and sat adjacent to Warmaidens' and the city's main gate. Physically, it resembles many of the other houses of Whiterun, with pale wooden walls, a few windows and a hay-thatched roof. It was not as luxurious or large as the manors he bought in Riften, Winterhold, Markarth, and Solitude, but it was inexpensive to buy and had a very humble feel to it.
They arrived at their home. Jericho led them to their bedroom and shut the door behind them. The fire was already lit, easily warming the entire small house.
Jericho led her up the stairs, to the bed and peeled her from his side. Gently, giving her a fox-like smile, he pushed her onto the furs and onto her back.
By Dibella, was she beautiful! Loose, long brown hair was sprawled all over the fur covers.
He found her lips with his, gently assaulting her mouth and receiving the same in return. As she'd known she would, she melted. She did not know what she would have done if he had denied her finding other fathers for future children. Even if he had, she would have been his. Aela was beautiful in a feral, huntress kind of way, and Lydia was good with her tongue, but Lydia knew Jericho far too well.
She freed her other hand so she could wrap both arms securely around his neck. Touching another had never been like this. Countless times, she had enjoyed the touch of a different male, but until she met Jericho she had never felt that compelling need. Not within her.
"Jericho, please," she rasped, pushing into him, unable to get close enough.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, crushing her against him as he stood. Easily, she wound her legs around him, steadying herself as he turned.
"Wait." He laughed, pulling his mouth from hers after a few goes. "I can't really see what I'm doing."
She giggled, transferring her lips to his neck and jaw. "Don't you have magic for that?"
He growled, a pleasant rumble against her breasts. "I haven't learned that kind of spell yet, darling."
"Distracted?" She nipped at his ear as they both crashed down on the bed.
"Extremely. I'm holding onto the deadliest, fiercest, most passionate and beautiful Nord in all of Skyrim."
She shivered, squeezing him tight. "The sugar coating is no longer necessary, my Thane." She murmured into his neck.
"I don't think so." He switched his hold as he knelt on the straw mattress. "As a Bard, I could spend a lifetime telling you about how I feel for you."
Their lips met for a slow, drawn-out kiss that could have lasted for a day or two as far as she was concerned. She let her hands slide over the warmth of her back, threading her finger through his black hair. It was pure simplicity for him to nudge the leather straps of her steel armor loose, letting the heavy metal and fur plating crash onto the wooden floor so his fingers could find her sex. She gave a deeper growl, sucking in his tongue and canting her hips so he could plunge those nimble fingers inside her. Her own, strong hands loosened the leather straps of his own steel armor, then slid around to dip beneath the waistband to cup his firm buttocks.
When it proved too difficult to wedge her hand between them to find his manhood, she pulled her head back so she could get a word in. "Jericho, my love, I need you naked. Now!"
Laughing, he nipped at her shoulder before pushing up to his knees. "How could I deny such a…. demanding, lovely request?"
Wanton, she spread her legs wide as he edged off the bed, giving him a good view of her clean sex so he'd hurry back. "It's simple, even for you. You can't."
His eyes followed her hand as she slid it down her belly and between her supple thighs. He managed to pull off his boots without even looking, and then shoved his trousers down and off.
He watched, eyes hooded, as she climbed to her knees, and then edged him forward. His mouth opened for her fingers, and she watched his lips purse as she sucked her digits clean. Before he was done, she reached with her free hand to palm his cock.
"Mmmmmm," she purred like a Khajiit in heat, licking her lips as well as her own wet fingers. "Thick and heavy." She twisted her grip as she slid her fist from base to tip.
His eyes closed the rest of the way, tongue teasing her dangerous fingertips. "Damn! Dibella! Mara! Why have you blessed me with this beautiful Nord?!"
She slipped her fingers from his mouth, continuing to pump his cock. "Think of someone else?"
"No. Never." He surprised her with a pinch to one nipple, eyes opening as she jumped. "I was just thinking of how jealous Dibella and Mara are right now."
"Mmmmm." She licked his lips. "No more sugared words! No more thoughts about the Nine either." She met his gaze seriously. "I want this time to just be between us."
He weighed her breast with his palms, squeezing gently. "Agreed."
Smiling, she scooted back, reluctantly releasing her handful. "Lie with me."
He followed her, stretching out on the soft fur and hay mattress. He lay on his back at her prompting and combed fingers through his hair as she kissed her way down his chest. She took her sweet time, over every scar, and every toned muscle. She lingered over the stitch-work scar etched over his chest, tracing it down until it disappeared but into his skin.
She crawled between her legs that he willingly spread for her. She wrapped both palms around his shaft, delighted that there was still a good mouthful left above both fists.
She pulled up on the shaft so she could play her tongue over the loose skin that bunched around the head. The dark, musky taste of him exploded over her tongue, prompting her to suck in so she could have more of it. She sucked hard, entranced by the music of his soft moans.
She wanted to do this forever. The strong body beneath her began to shake, the sounds he made timed to the pulls on his cock. She peeked up and nearly lost rhythm at the sight of his pleasure: head thrown aside, fingers clutching the furs beneath him. One hand peeled off the furs to reach down to find her hair, encouraging her to pick up speed. She did, sucking harder, recognizing impending release. She felt the desperation and knew she needed to let him come.
He exploded with a cry, the rich taste of him spilled down her throat, filling her mouth. She tried to swallow, but even as practiced as she was, she could not take it in fast enough. Heavy, white seed spilled from her lips, dripping down the shaft, and shivering in a small climax of her own. He collapsed, breathing hard, and she released his cock gently, delighted that it remained hard.
"Thanks," he purred, stretching his arms above his head. "I needed that."
She lapped at the splotches of cum on his groin and upper thighs while he regained his breath.
Once she was done Lydia rolled over and waited for her lover to bestow pleasure upon her.
It was her turn to purr as he laved at her jaw, then down her neck. She sank to her back, spreading arms and legs as he carefully arranged her among the furs for comfort. He proceeded to explore her with slow, exquisite precision, his lips and tongue on her silk soft skin. She watched through half-lidded eyes when he sat on his heels between her thighs, then lifted one leg to lavish attention from the tip of her toes to the bend of her groin. First one leg, then the other. Then his eyes watched hers as he lowered to his belly. Her eyes drifted shut as he traced the edges of her lower abdomen. She licked her lips, recalling the heat of his taste as his tongue finally delved into her wet folds. She relaxed into the full-body shivers that tickled her down to her bones as his tongue drew a wet path up to swirl her clit. Slowly, he built the fire within until the Nord could not keep her back from arching or from swallowing the aching moans that poured from her mouth. Not one climax ripped through her, but a series of small rolling ones until he had to pin her thighs to the bed to keep them apart.
"Jericho, please!" she begged, needing an end to her sweet torture.
With one last, long, savoring lick to her sex, he crawled up to her body, kissing key areas along the way, resisting her hands, which sought to quicken his pace by clutching at his shoulders, back, and arms.
Lydia did not give him a second chance to tease her further. As soon as his cock was within reach, it was in her gasp. Loving his moan, she guided him to her entrance, all the while wrapping her legs around his waist. With her heels just under the curves of his ass, she rocked her hips and pulled him inside in one long thrust.
They froze, his arms loosely about her, her forehead tucked into the bend of his neck. Her fingers dug into his nape as she tried to remain still, tried to memorize this one perfect moment. He bent to nuzzle her ear, his lips teasing one delicate pointed tip, and she could stay no longer.
"Fuck me," she whined, more than happy to beg. "By the Nine, please, Jericho, fuck me!"
By the Nine, he did. Instinct and skill took over, his hips finding just the right angles to hit every sensitive bit of her channel. He managed on many thrusts to push at her groin so that the bone right above his cock pressed her clit. His mouth found hers, and she poured whimpers down his throat, thrilled to hear the tightly controlled desperation in his own. She let his pleasure sink in, matching the sensation she fed back to him.
At this point she was screaming, arching before she realized it was her climax. Colorful fire burst behind her eyelids and raced through her limbs, making her clutch his hard body to anchor him as her soul shattered. His cries echoed hers just moments later, and she happily held him until he subsided.
They lay together, face-to-face, legs and arms entwined. He was still somewhat hard between them, and her pussy clenched, obviously ready for more, but they were content for the moment to simple touches, caressing, soft kisses, and acknowledging that they were alive and together.
This winter was going to bed a long and hard one, which only meant that the summer was going to be as equally long. They would need to really on each other to survive, and raise any little ones that came their way.
Jericho brushed wisps of hair from Lydia's face, gazing into her eyes. "I love you," he told her.
"And I love you," she told him, nuzzling into his neck. "Jericho, do you think we should leave for the winter?"
"Huh?"
"We could head out for Cyrodiil. You told me that the Imperial City is warm at all times of the year. Or Bruma, it's just over the Jerall Mountains, and you said that you still have connections there."
The way Lydia was acting told Jericho one thing, that she was scared. Not for herself, and not for Jericho, but for what would come. She did not want to raise a child in a long, hard and grueling winter. She wanted to raise them someplace she knew it would be safe, and she could put her mind at ease.
His fingers trailed her spine as he brushed a soft kiss on her. "We'll see. We'll leave as soon as the springs of Eastmarch are completely frozen over."
She sighed happily, trying to snug closer to his heat. "That would never happen."
Author's Notes:
Lydia: What's wrong with him?
*Me, frozen in a block of ice* So... cold...!
Jericho: He's been playing the game again, and spent some time up in the mountains.
Need... Warmth...!
Lydia, Cheetara, Lara-Su and Pumyra: We can help with that!
Thank you!