This was one of the prompts for Fandom February. I had meant to do the others, but as my friend bestowed upon me Dragon Age, I soon became enraptured and lost my inspiration to finish out the month with my Onmund/Dovakhiin fics. But I know there has to be some Onmund fans out there, so I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

The Dovakhiin is left nameless so that you can pretend she's yours. For the most part. My portrayal of the Dovakhiin tends to have magical preferences.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series.

All the greatest heroes had songs. You weren't truly memorable unless a bard knew of a song that told of your great achievements. At least, that was what most people said.

The song rule of thumb seemed to work for the most part, except for the fact that there were not any songs about the Dragonborn. At least not the Dragonborn that Onmund had come to know and love, to follow around and guard her back and take arrows for. The songs always spoke of the older Dragonborn, the ones of before. Once while at an inn, the Dovakhiin purchasing a room for them, he had overheard a single short verse of her, but it was brief and it was general and it was cold to her personality. What was a too-fast quest of epiphany for who she was and the first dragon slaying of the dozens that were to come in her life time, what was the first scar of the thousands she would endure, the beginning of the unraveling of her normal life, became nothing more than a large skeleton by the destroyed tower, a silhouette of a figure walking back to Dragonsreach.

"J'zargo hasn't heard any songs about her. Why do you ask?" the Khajit Destruction apprentice inquired as they studied for an exam.

"He's obviously frustrated that the love of his life is not being acknowledged for the full depth of her character," Brelyna tactlessly observed while flipping through a lesser ward spell tome.

"Brelyna," Onmund hissed in warning.

"Untwist your loin cloth. I'm only speaking the truth. Unlike us, the rest of the world rarely gets a glimpse of who she is. They're like that in most cases. They don't care to extol the virtues of most anybody who doesn't politically benefit them." Bitterness dripped from the dark elf's tongue as she found the page she was looking for and allowed it to fall open into her lap.

Onmund frowned and J'zargo gave a growl of agreement as they continued their work in silence for a few minutes more.

Mirabelle was softly singing outside.

"How can we honor lucky drunkards with a sword and we can't even write a decent song for our Dovakhiin? How does this not bother her?" Onmund finally burst and threw down his quill and parchment.

Brelyna sighed, realizing work wasn't about to get done with this topic on the Nord's mind, and she shut her tome. "You're the one wanting songs about all her good points. Wouldn't you say one of them is that she doesn't give a damn about fame? Besides, she's not much of a people person outside of quests. So long as she's helping she's happy to keep her distance, so I doubt she's even noticed there aren't any songs about her, and if she has I would bet my tuition she's more comfortable that they don't exist. You're the one lip-locked with her every night. You tell me I'm lying."

But she wasn't. Onmund knew she wasn't.

He wasn't even sure why it bothered him. Maybe because he was tired of her not always getting the thanks she deserved.

"I'm going to bed."

"And you're going to fail your exams. Don't forget," Brelyna offered as he got up stiffly and walked off to his dorm.

He fell into his bed, not even bothering to get under the covers, and sleep took him even as the cold nipped away at his skin.

Until suddenly it didn't.

Onmund's eyes popped open later that night to find a smaller body had wrapped around him. He knew before he rolled over who it was, but he did so anyway, just to see the Dragonborn's sleeping face.

It wasn't exactly angelic. She slept with her mouth slightly open and hair all over her face, but it was fine with him. He felt his eyes grow soft and a smile appear on his face at the fact that she was there, keeping him warm despite the blizzard outside.

"I'll write you a song," he suddenly promised. He could reach the ink and quill on his bed side table. It'd be fine.

She woke an hour later when the mage started blowing against her wrists. "Onmund…?" she murmured, her recent slumber evident in her voice.

He glanced up at her from his work, and in the dark she worked out the grin on his face. "Hello, Love."

"What are you doing?"

He didn't answer as she took her arm out of his grasp and held it up to observe. Alas, the writing was upside down to her, but as her gaze scanned both her arms and, from what she could tell, found the words wove over her clavicle and up her neck, she found she could take a guess that he'd written her something.

"What is this?"

Onmund obviously hadn't expected her to actually be able to see what was on her skin seeing as it was still dark and she was still tired, but evidently luck was not on his side. He cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing that perhaps he had not thought his plan through. She would, of course, find out he'd written all over her skin. "I… it's a song."

"A song?"

"For you… I know people singing about you in pubs isn't exactly what you want… but songs are written for heroes, people who have earned gratitude and utter respect and true love… so I thought…"

"You thought I deserved a song…" she finished, sitting up fully to meet his dimly lit gaze.

"Yeah," he murmured back.

"Sing it for me."

It wasn't a request. With a sharp inhale he cleared his throat again and nodded hurriedly. "Ah, right, well, um…" Each disjointed movement brought his hands closer to her neck until his fingers caressed the lines of her jaw and titled her head upward. Bringing his face close so as to read what he'd written, his chapped lips began to move, and a low and melodic voice came out as his eyes traced the writing over the curve of her neck.

She could feel his breathing, now short and ragged as he struggled to sing while dealing with his sudden nerves, his intimate proximity to her. They had been together a few weeks now, but this closeness was foreign territory.

She didn't think about it, but he did as he wove the tale of a compassionate and instinctual girl, wild as the fire she wielded, mind as cool as the ice she fired, words as shocking as the lightning that pulsed from her fingers, and yet restrained and gentle and introverted around those she sought to help and support.

His fingers moved down to her clavicle as he continued the verses, voice rough but perfect to the Dragonborn's ears. He moved down one arm, then the other, until his eyes fell upon the final words on the wrist, just above her pulse.

"For all she's done in our concern, I try to love her in return."

As the words left his mouth, Onmund found his eyes being drawn upwards to hers, and realized her soft fingers had coaxed his head up and near her. She gently pressed her lips to his, almost innocently.

"Tomorrow morning… when the bath must take these words from my skin, you must do me a favor," she began, to which he eagerly nodded as she kissed him a second time, far more fiery than the last. "As you wash these words off my skin, you must sing it to me once more."

And while he may have blushed at the implication, he had to agree. Not because she requested, but because he loved her, loved to sing about her, even if he did not fancy himself the greatest. He would sing until his voice grew raw so long as she requested it.

Because all he wanted was to try and love her. If anything, she deserved that. Unconditional love.

And every time he sang, she felt it more than she had before.

I have now done my part, contributing to the dismal amount of Onmund/Dovakhiin fanfiction. Reviews, critiques, and comments are much appreciated. Thank you very much for reading!

Sivo