You're Going Places I Can't Follow

Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Female Dragonborn/Sanguine

A/N: Decided to branch off from my usual Bioware driven fanfiction, and dabble into TES writing. And of course I pick one of the strangest pairings. This follows the "A Night To Remember" questline in Skyrim.

Mother of all hangovers...

The Nordic woman squinted accusingly at the nearly blinding sun and cursed again. Unfortunately, a mother and her young child were still nearby while Rakel damned every god she could think of. Mother Dearest glared at her while her pride and joy started repeating Rakel's less than courteous word choices. Rakel snickered while the mother smacked her child and led them away, glaring behind her all the while. As if Rakel cared. She was the Dragonborn; her job was to slay dragons, not act as a damned example for the children to look up to. She had definitely proven that last night with Sam.

Sam. That fucking arsehole. Thanks to his brilliant little drinking contest at the Bannered Mare she had been spending the majority of her day stealing goats back from giants and apologizing to priests for feeling up statues. And now she was heading back to Whiterun, her ass sore from riding her horse all damn day.

This staff Sam promised me better be worth it. Rakel had been retracing Sam and her own's steps from the previous night. From what she gathered the two of the them had had one hell of a night. And she was the only one paying the consequences.

Now she'd been led to Ysolda, the Divine must have known why because she certainly didn't. "Hope I didn't steal your goat, too," Rakel muttered as she approached the Whiterun woman. She liked Ysolda, though they could hardly be any more different. Rakel, her face always painted for battle and the sides of her head shaved with the rest of her pale hair braided down her back, was a stark contrast with the proper, always polite Ysolda. Regardless, Rakel was not looking forward to finding out how she and Sam had fucked up Ysolda's night.

Relaxing and trying not to look neither guilty nor hungover as she spoke to the woman, Rakel addressed her, "Ysolda. Might I have a word?"

"Harbinger!" Ysolda dropped the basket she was carrying and threw her arms around the dragonborn's waist, the highest the much shorter woman could reach. "I'm so happy for you!"

It definitely wasn't the reaction Rakel had anticipated. "Thanks?" she finished uncertainly.

Ysolda pulled away, to Rakel's relief, and smiled up at her. "We didn't think it was ever going to happen, our Thane getting married! And imagine me getting to be the one to supply the rings!"

"Married?" Rakel was terrified at how high pitched her voice had become. Then she looked down at her hand and saw the plain gold wedding band on her finger and became even more terrified; she screamed.

"My Thane?" Ysolda asked, taking a few cautionary steps back.

Rakel quickly calmed herself. "I am fine. I'm simply confused. Uh, I hate to ask this, but who did I marry?" Or was it whom?

Ah. She knew that look. Ysolda was eying her incredulously. Rakel had received that look so many times before. How could you forget where you hid those dragon bones? And how could you possibly forget where you threw your pants? And how in Oblivion did you forget who you married?

Ysolda spoke again. "You never said their name, only that you met someone in some place called Misty Grove." Rakel had no idea where that was. "And you were to be married in Morvunskar." Rakel still had no idea where any of these places were. "But the Companions are saying you and your spouse-to-be invited them to Riften to be married in the temple of Mara. From what I hear, the two of you had quite the reception."

She had been hopeful when Ysolda had said she was to be married in a run down fort. It would have been easier that way to convince the temple of Mara to annul the whole damn marriage. But if the affair was done officially and under Mara's priest's direct supervision...she may be stuck being married to...whoever the hell she was married to.

Rakel thanked Ysolda for her time (and promised to pay her back from the rings at a later time—preferably after she beat the gold out of Sam) and headed for the stables outside Whiterun. She had considered walking to Jorrvaskr and just asking the Companions what had happened the previous night, but she couldn't stand the thought of Vilkas looking down on her or Farkas laughing his hairy ass off. What was Sam's angle here? Trashing a temple, selling a giant someone else's goat...that was funny, but marrying her off when she vowed never to do so? That was less funny.

Not wanting to face her brothers and sisters in Jorrvaskr or the Mara priests, Rakel headed to Morvunskar, the only place she might get answers without embarrassing herself.

If this was the place she had first intended to be married at, she had certainly picked a shithole. A witch infested shithole. Rakel was less prejudice against magic users than her fellow Nord countrymen, but that didn't mean she appreciated being set on fire.

The inside of Morvunskar was as pleasant as the outside; it wasn't at all. Why in the name of Talos would I want to be married here?

Better question. Why would I want to be married at all?

Not certain what she had expected to find here, Rakel searched the inside thoroughly for any sign of Sam or her new husband or wife. She found nothing. Nothing until a dark blue and black portal opened in one corner of the ruin, waiting for her to walk through it.

Hesitating for a moment, Rakel approached the force carefully.

Don't touch it, she thought.

She touched it.

Her vision was slightly obscured by a thin, moving mist. Rakel turned in circles, examining her surroundings. The only things she could see clearly were a few hanging lanterns and she tentatively walked towards those.

The lanterns led her to a small clearing. There was a table further in, filled with people drinking and talking, but the only person Rakel was paying attention to was the smug son of a bitch right in front of her.

"Guevenne! You're a drunken bastard!"

"And you're not wrong," the man replied jovially. He hadn't changed since their first meeting; still wearing that stupid grin on his stupid Breton face.

Suddenly infuriated with him, Rakel stomped up to him and grabbed a fistful of his collar. "Dammit, man! About what happened last night...it's all fun and games until somebody gets married!" He was still smirking so Rakel pushed at his chest with on hand, while hanging onto him with the other. "Now, tell me. Who in Oblivion did I get hitched to?"

"Who in Oblivion, indeed."

Just as she was about to ask (demand) what that had meant, there was a dark flash and standing in Sam Guevenne's place was a blighted dremora.

The first thing Rakel did was let go of what had previously been Sam. Next she attempted to apologize profusely. The dremora just laughed at her, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight. "You obviously don't remember much of anything if you're surprised to see me!"

Rakel stepped back. "Last night's festivities involved me hanging out with a dremora."

"To be specific, you hung out with," his voice dropped an octave, turning sinister, "Sanguine, deadric prince of debauchery." Sanguine's voice returned to it's usual, upbeat and slightly inebriated tone, "Also, I'm not sure if 'hung out with' is the correct term either."

Rakel stared at him. "We stole a goat together, I don't think there is a term for that."

"There is." Sanguine held up one of his hands, letting her see the shining gold band that fit over his gauntlet. "It's called marriage."