Warning(s): Sexual content. Relationships are het, slash, or femslash (up to the reader to decide).
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- I -
Even through the limited visual capabilities of my helmet, I detected the draw of eyes around me as I walked along the cobblestone road leading to the Blue Palace. I doubted the full Daedric set I wore served as the primary target of the squints and leers, the indiscreet whispers that drifted to my ears. Despite my status as a Thane of Solitude, most citizens continued to give me a wide berth. The blame fell partly on me, for I admit I never made the effort to reach out. I kept my business in each city quick, such as this instance where I hoped to answer Jarl Elisif's summons and then depart within the hour.
Of course, such brusque dealings never won the people's hearts. They conveyed their opinion of me through their distance and skeptical remarks. For the most part, their words no longer fazed me, but the weight of their distrust never lifted from my chest.
Is it truly the Dragonborn?
Why doesn't it ever show its face?
Exactly what IS it?
The term "it" was all they could use to describe me. I understood. Choosing to conceal everything of myself also meant choosing to forfeit some semblance of my humanity, the very aspect that fit me into their definition of a person. For all they knew, I could be a thrall or a dremora. After all, I traversed the regions of Skyrim like this, garbed in Daedric armor and rarely speaking. Still, I would have liked a little more faith in my intentions. I sought to liberate these people from Alduin's fury.
But until I succeeded or died in this endeavor, they'd never believe it.
My Dunmer companion kept in step at my side as he, too, brushed off the relentless gawking. I suppose we did make an odd pair: a shrouded individual of indeterminate identity traveling with a priest of Mara. Not only that, said priest wore the robes that once belonged to the previous Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Were it not for the Amulet of Mara swinging permanently from his neck, Erandur may have been mistaken for the late Savos Aren himself.
I still thought bestowing him with the robes had been a good move since I possessed little magical aptitude, even when the rank of Arch-Mage had passed to me. I studied Erandur now as we approached the palace doors, noting the fitting bearing with which he carried himself. A connection of solidarity had forged between us the instant we'd met, one that carried us both through times too dark for the comfort of words. He noticed my attention and faced me fully, crimson eyes supportive and kind. My mouth quirked into an unseen smile, and I lifted a hand to clap him on the shoulder as we entered the abode of Jarl Elisif the Fair.
As soon as I strode two steps inside the elaborate palace, the steward, Falk Firebeard, called to me from the balcony of the court.
"Kressun. There you are. Elisif has been waiting," he declared. "She has a matter to discuss with you and requests your presence in her quarters."
I nodded, gesturing to Erandur to wait for me near the entrance. He did so as I ascended the winding staircase on the left and moved past the watchful court members in silence. They, at least, trusted me enough to let me meet with the Jarl alone, even with a Daedric warhammer strapped to my back. Then again, I'd had to bend over backwards to prove myself, an effort I wasn't keen on repeating for seven other Holds offering me the title of Thane.
The guards allowed my entry into the rear wing of the palace, where the High King's widow resided by herself. Her crystal-pitched voice answered when I knocked on her door, and I let myself in, shutting it behind me as she turned from the sunlit window by the canopy bed. Once again, I found myself struck by her beauty. Blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders, she represented the standard of elegance throughout the province, unmatched in the perfect combination of her grace and allure. I bowed my head in the slightest, never missing a chance to show my respect.
"I'm glad you showed up after all," she began cuttingly. "I've received disturbing news about your recent associations, Kressun."
I read the look on her face and realized at once where this conversation was headed.
"Thane of Windhelm? Are you testing me?" Elisif demanded in a hard tone she never revealed to anyone else.
I accepted her displeasure, but explained, "I told you from the start I wouldn't choose sides in this civil war, my Jarl. I do what I must to gain resources in my fight against the dragons." My voice rang from behind my helm, naturally husky in its quality, and I saw how it incited a peculiar glint in her eye.
Regardless, a frown marred her delicate features as she placed a hand on her hip. "But you know I can't allow you free reign in my court when you're sympathetic to my enemy. To the Empire's enemy. And I don't suppose you would be willing to work espionage on my behalf?"
I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm completely neutral to this conflict."
The atmosphere grew strained in the space as she pressed her lips together. I stood, unmoving, and anticipated her response. Neither calm nor anxiety influenced my temperance, and merely I waited, ready to receive whatever retort she had.
She peered at me for a long while and then sighed. "Very well. I recognize the truth in your words. You may keep your position here, and I'm holding you to your statement that you are not politically aligned with either Ulfric or myself."
It was the most I could hope for. "Thank you. I appreciate your good faith, my Jarl."
"Please," she said with a sharp note, "remember to call me Elisif when it is just the two of us."
"Elisif."
Her name rolled off my tongue in a way that altered her expression. Wistfulness and fire flitted across her visage as she ran her gaze over me. I felt it sear through my breastplate, cut into the core I kept hidden from the world.
"That ambiguous armor again. I've stopped inquiring, but my curiosity only grows," Elisif told me. "As does my longing for you. Come here."
I approached at her beckoning, as I had countless times in the past. When I halted a few inches away, she reached out and ran her palms over the sharp spikes of my epaulets before traveling to my neck and collar. I watched, enamored as always by her elegant demeanor. And then my breath caught when the sight openings of my helm were no longer aligned with my eyes.
My hands shot up at once and clamped over her small wrists as she tried to lift the Daedric headpiece, shoving them away from my face. She whimpered at my roughness, and the sound stirred something within me, entwined with my burgeoning anger. I pulled her forward, pressing her soft frame against the unyielding material of my armor. Using one hand to pin her wrists behind her back, I gripped her chin with the fingers of my other and forced her to look at me.
"Who is testing whom, Elisif?" I rumbled, witnessing her shudder from the low pitch of my timbre.
Wanton desire entered the blue irises that stared up at me, and breathlessly, she answered, "I only wish to learn the true nature of this enigma that sets my blood aflame." A dainty leg rose and slid out from under the hem of her skirt, rubbing up along my outer thigh. "You, known only as the Dragonborn…" She wrapped her leg around my waist as her manner shifted from proper lady to sultry minx. "…Possessing this strong, slender, ambiguous body…" Her hips rolled against mine, challenging my willpower. "…Will you ever show me what you are?"
I released her, but she clung to me, seizing my collar to keep me close. This side of her reminded me why I always returned at her beck and call. Despite her incessant hope to see the form beneath my armor, I never stayed cross for long. It was a pattern I'd engaged in ever since we'd come to this arrangement. Although she tried each time to catch a glimpse of my face, I knew what it was she actually wanted.
"My name is sufficient."
I lifted her with ease and sat her atop a nearby dresser, prying her leg from my waist but spreading her knees further apart. I stood between them and hitched up her skirt while she seized the gauntlet of my dominant hand. Slowly, and ensuring my acquiescence, she removed the only piece of attire I was willing to take off. Tanned skin wrought with jagged scars came into view, and I stroked my callused fingers across the length of her thigh, eliciting a small sound from her throat as my fingertips brushed against the curls over her moistening entrance.
"My services… are enough."
She offered no argument, only threw her arms around my neck and moaned when I slid a finger into her. The warmth that enclosed over my digit sent heat straight to my loins, but I kept myself in check and focused on my task. Holding her against me, I retracted my hand and then plunged back into her with two rough fingers. She stifled a cry next to my ear, and I grinned to myself as the young and lovely Jarl of Solitude surrendered her composure to become a trembling mess in my arms.
"My touch… is already yours."
"Kressun."
My name left her mouth in a sharp exhale, begging, wanting. I obliged, invading her again and again in a consistent rhythm, using every technique, every angle I knew to bring her closer to the edge. She was tight, having taken no lover except what I could offer. The intrigue surrounding me was enough to satisfy her, she'd once alleged, though I found that difficult to believe. And so I sought to draw out the truth from her sweetest region, for her most honest state manifested in her arousal.
"Tell me, Elisif… how this," I flexed my arm muscles and thrust hard into her, "is enough to satiate that burning lust you have for me."
"Secrets, Kressun," she panted, tightening her hold around my neck. "I have them as well. But please… don't stop."
As my fingers delved deeper inside her, I obeyed the request.
Minutes later, after she had arched into me and climaxed around my hand, she showed me her gratitude by raising her face and pressing an intimate kiss to the front of my helm, right where my lips yearned for her on the other side.
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I sensed Erandur's persistent gaze on me as we passed through the front gates of Solitude on our way to the stables.
"What is it?" I asked, adjusting my gauntlets.
"Ah, nothing."
I sent him a brief look, but refrained from pursuing the question. The overcast sky hid the late afternoon sun and stretched out above us in a blanket of gloom. I quickened my pace toward our horses, not keen on getting caught by sleet and rain on the journey to Falkreath.
"Well," Erandur piped up halfway along the route to Katla's farm, "I've just observed something. Mind you, I'm only a bystander and may be completely off the mark."
That caught my attention, and I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. "Share your thoughts with me."
He stopped a few paces ahead and fixed me with a probing stare. "Your dealings with people in power. Namely, the two Jarls leading the opposing sides of the war."
A muscle twitched in my temple as I stepped toward him. "And what about them have you observed, Erandur?"
"It just seems a dangerous game you're playing. Involving yourself with both, yet maintaining your neutrality on what they each stand for."
I stiffened at the assessment, glaring at him through my helm before attempting to shoulder past. "You are indeed off the mark, my friend."
With surprising speed, his arm shot out to block my path. It thumped against my abdomen, keeping me in place. I was about to demand that he move when I noticed the intensity of his eyes. They flashed with an aggression I hadn't seen since Nightcaller Temple, the gentle priest of Mara nowhere to be found in their depths.
"Let me finish. That was my first thought," he stated testily. "My second was that it isn't a game, but something driven more by… want of flesh."
In the stifling confines of my armor, my body heat rose to an uncomfortable temperature. I hadn't exactly been… discreet about these summons, but I hadn't thought my well-mannered follower would actually bring it up and confront me. Still, the natural defensive reflex surged up, and I shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to endure a theistic lecture from one of Mara's sheep.
"Elisif and I were discussing politics. Nothing more," I declared in a harsher tone than I'd intended.
His fingers suddenly drifted toward my face, but before I could recoil, they dipped toward my collar to pluck something out. I saw the strand of long blonde hair reflect the fading light, and for once I had no response as he released it into the wind.
"As you say, Kressun. Politics, indeed."
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A/N: This was originally written for the kink meme, but due to the lack of response, I reworked most of it and turned it into a proper fic. Many aspects of this short story are left vague on purpose, but if you're looking for some ambiguous smutty action, romance on the side, and a mysterious protagonist with a hidden agenda, you'll find it all here. Be aware that the premise of this story lacks an intricate plot, as it centers on the issue of Kressun's identity. Thanks for checking this out, and I'm always glad to receive feedback!