The young Breton breathed in. Then out. In, out, in, and out again. She tried counting to ten, but the sheet of paper, handwritten with care, remained where it was, fluttering cheekily in the wind as if to remind her that no matter how violently she got rid of it, the mere fact that someone had written it meant more would come. Just like this one.

The Dragonborn lay there, eyes alit with lust as the conjured creature knelt over her with predatory grace, bringing a hand down to spread her folds as if to show her Daedra lover the way to her pleasure. It grinned, sharp fangs gleaming dangerously in the fire's light, and started teasing her entrance with calculated patience, its monstrous girth pressing lightly against her without penetrating her, only granting her brief, gentle strokes she couldn't believe that fierce warrior was capable of. It was such maddening pleasure… her mind wandered to the possibility of being caught between two of such beings, and her lips quivered …

Before the filthy piece of work got to her head, she snapped it off the notice board, and stuffed the blasted thing into her bag. It had all started when the Bard's College had announced their decision to put up an anonymous board where anyone could write whatever they wished, to encourage the creativity of their young students. Even outsiders could write pieces and expose them, which could've been an interesting exercise, if the world wasn't so filled with gutter-minded individuals. Coupling that with the unhealthy interest people had taken in her personal life after she had been publicly addressed as the legendary Dragonborn… it shouldn't have come as a surprise that more than half the notes on that board were pornographic. And involved her as the main character.

At first some of the professors had protested, and tried to stop the offending pieces from being publicly displayed, but whatever they put down was put back on in a matter of days, and people had even started requesting increasingly perverted stories and poetry. Joie's lips thinned, and she tapped her foot nervously, scanning the sheets of paper for more. Some of them were even dangerously close to the truth…

She turned around, hoping the damned things would just stop existing if she stopped looking at them, only to see that Erik was staring at her, his whole rigid stance indicating that he was trying very, very hard not to burst out laughing, and that badly disguised grin was the best thing he could give her – if he wanted to stay alive, of course. He could always give up, but he suspected she would use him as target practice, and that wasn't something he looked forward to. Still, her anger didn't seem to be directed at him, for the moment, and she just shrugged, in a feeble attempt to appear calm and rational. "And that's one less of them."

Erik chose not to reply, fearing that any words from his mouth would sound dangerously like a chuckle, and nodded, trying not to picture the scenes written on those papers. But failing to. Hopefully she wouldn't look between his legs…

One had involved four Priestesses of Dibella teaching Joie of the ways of their goddess with a remarkably practical approach. Another showed her pleasuring a "fictional" Jarl whose name and appearance reminded them too much of Balgruuf to be a mere accident. A particularly badly written series of stories was all about her naughty, naughty adventures with a bunch of unnamed criminals in Riften, and, despite the ridiculous exaggerations, Joie had to admit that a couple of the things described in those were actually true, and the descriptions of the guild members were rather spot on. Except for a wildly unrecognizable Vipir, who would've been a gift to Tamriel had he really possessed half the talents the stories attributed him. She planned to kick him into the pool repeatedly once she got back – no arrows in the knee for him, though, since he'd had the decency to keep Brynjolf out of it. Although that had probably been only out of self-preservation.

"Do you realize what I have to come back to?! I even had to postpone my vengeance on Mer – on an unbelievable asshole to come here in Solitude and put an undead queen back to sleep before she ruined everyone's day! And this is what I find when I come back! I get no respect! No respect at all!" She complained, at first trying to keep her voice low, but frustration and anger quickly turned her mutters into a full blown tantrum, complete with gesturing and stomping her feet.

"It must be pretty hard for you", Erik tried, cautiously, even though all he wanted was to hold his stomach and start rolling on the floor laughing. Or find the nearest tavern room and spend some time with himself. One or the other.

"It is! Remember the one about me defeating all of the dragons in Tamriel by fucking them?"

"That was especially… creative…"

"I had nightmares for days after that! And then there was one with racy Dunmeri lingerie and me and Jarl whatshername – "

"Elisif, Joie, her name is Elisif, and it was actually Aldmeri…"

" – doing all sorts of oh Sweet Nocturnal Erik don't tell me you still remember them all?!l"

"… Oh, look, it seems you missed one!"

Some god or another had to be watching over him, he couldn't possibly be so lucky. The paper he had randomly pointed to was indeed of interest to her even though she had missed it on her first search. He saw her narrowing her eyes and examining the writing. Wide, angular, almost boastful, but elegant. There even was a title: To my Proud Pursuer. Odd.

"I swear I've seen this handwriting before…" He heard her whisper, and started to read the poem, a brow arched in curiosity.

As gently as a feather slides

Upon a lover's breast

In your hot flesh, as breath subsides

My lustful blade will rest

To chase you down in hunter's guise

Is not, in truth, my aim;

No, all I wish is the sweet prize

Of your defeat, to claim

I know you'll come to where the crown

Of my triumph awaits;

There you'll submit and you'll bow down

So don't delay our fates

As on your heart I mean to reign

With steel both cruel and warm

Come, with the strength of your disdain,

I swear I'll see you squirm

An M, written with cutting lines, rested on the bottom of the paper, along with several anonymous comments: "oh, my! That was so passionate!", "such dominating tone, such lust, I love it!", "I'll be in my bunk", and, last but not least, "wow, that was creepy". She would've agreed with the last, if she wasn't having trouble wrapping her mind around what she had just read.

"It can't be. Not him", she whispered, and as she sucked air in helplessly she realized she had actually stopped breathing for a while. "He's not the type to write bad poetry about… wanting to stick his blade in… wait, maybe he is, he did have a copy of the Lustful Argonian Maid in his hideout, Goddess help me…"

"Uhm, is that from the guy you're supposed to be taking revenge on?" Erik, for once, seemed as puzzled as she was.

"It can't be… but it has to be…" She shook her head, in a desperate attempt to get reality to start making sense; failing that, she snorted, grabbing the poem and leaving the blade that had been used to put it up. "Let's go, Erik. This can't wait anymore. Someone has to die."

While she stomped away and he hurried behind her, his shield clanging against his armor as he clumsily tried to find the right pace, the young man had to wonder whether the sudden homicidal urge was more due to whatever slights this person had committed against her or the poem they had written. Then his mind wandered back to the delightful little piece he'd read about Joie and a lovely farmer's daughter bathing together in the lake, by the moonlight, and a stupid smile took the place of the confused frown he had worn until a minute before. Good thing he had managed to save that one. Next time, he would request something even dirtier… maybe involving shackles and whips. So long as she doesn't find out…