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.
Onmund and the Dragonborn had noticed a strange trend while they traveled across Skyrim saving the day and making it out by the skin of their teeth.
Most of the dark-minded enemies were obsessed with sacrifice. Wherever they wandered, someone had an altar with blood splattered over it, lifeless bodies of goats and sheep andpeople scattered everywhere.
"The demons of this earth are sick and twisted beings," Onmund remarked one day as they investigated the ceremonial chamber of an order of crazed mages. "Why you would ever choose to follow them is beyond me."
"You choose to follow those you connect with. Twisted minds identify with twisted minds," the Dovakhiin remarked with a frown as she cautiously picked up a bone. "Come. Let us bury these and clear the table. Settle these dark spirits once and for all."
Onmund was ahead of her, already gathering the remains in a large sack. She was right. He followed her because of the connection he felt, though he was fairly certain it was the exact opposite of evil identifying with evil. Then again, some bitter old men said love was the evilest thing of all.
"I can't even imagine what it feels like," Onmund murmured, voice low and solemn as he picked up a hand with some hesitation. "Being the sacrifice, either believing that this is the best way to please your chosen god or fearing for your life as the demented take it from you. I can't imagine."
Funny that he should say it.
Because the next week he didn't need to imagine the life of a sacrifice.
Because the next week he was the sacrifice.
"He's a young, strong, healthy mage. Surely that will please our dark master," a crackling voice whispered. Onmund wanted to open his eyes, identify the owner of such a voice, but found his eyelids now carried the weight of the world, and he simply couldn't control them.
"I doubt our dark master would fall for anything as petty and so painfully adequate as that," a smoother voice replied, seething.
Onmund almost had it in him to be offended, but everything was still murky in his brain.
"Oh, but there is more. He is the Dragonborn's lover," the voice added eagerly.
Evidently the fact that Onmund found her personality attractive and had sex with her behind closed doors suddenly changed things.
"You should have said that first, imbecile. Go, fetch Myell. She will need to prepare him for the ceremony. Tonight, we offer the dark master sufficient sacrifice."
Oh no. Oooooh no. Onmund had to open his eyes. He was not about to be a sacrifice! He still had so much to do! He needed to try that tongue trick on the Dragonborn that J'zargo had mentioned! He needed to pass his exams at the College and master the chain lightning spell! He needed to visit his family! He needed to see the Dragonborn wearing the Amulet of Mara to their wedding! It couldn't end like this!
As he ran through all the things on his suddenly never-ending list, someone approached.
Correction, there were two sets of footsteps.
Onmund finally pried his eyes open to observe his dark surroundings, a simple cell strewn with straw, nothing too fancy for a "sufficient" sacrifice. And then the door was opening, and two hooded figures entered, one staying near the door, the second tossing back her hood as she knelt before him.
His eyes were drawn to her abnormally green ones. They were… enchanting.
Enchanting.
He'd been fully conscious for all of two seconds and a spell had already been cast on him.
"That's it, sacrifice. Keep looking into my eyes."
He wanted to look away. He wanted to look away so badly as the woman with her pale skin and strange purple markings began to murmur foreboding words and trace his veins in orange paint. But despite his mental efforts, his eyes never left hers.
In the middle of her chanting, the hooded figure from behind cleared its throat.
"Oh, what is it Leina?" Mindlessly, the woman looked away, and the instant the eye-contact broke, Onmund suddenly felt free. Energized. But he couldn't let on. It appeared both of the figures were powerful mages, and he didn't want to reveal the sudden loss of his disadvantage so soon.
"Leina" said nothing, simply cleared her throat again and cocked her hooded head towards the hallway, where bellowing voices were starting to echo.
"Ah! They've already started? Leina you should have said something. Hoenstly, this whole day you've been off. I understand its your first sacrifice, but this is truly abnormal," Myell remarked before looking back at Onmund and continuing her work with newfound energy, murmuring her chant quicker and quicker as her paint-covered fingers trailed down his chest – where exactly were his robes? – to continue her painting.
She finished in what was evidently record time and, with a contented sigh, raised herself off the ground and lifted a hand to force him to his feet with some manipulation.
He shivered, missing the robes now that they were gone. They had left him the loincloth, but that did not keep at bay the feeling of being utterly exposed.
I guess it doesn't matter to them since I'm only a "sufficient" sacrifice. He had no intention of letting that comment go, not that it would matter to his captors.
The silent Leina took up position behind him as Myell lead them to the sacrificial chamber. He needed to be quick in his observations. He would only get one shot, and then he'd be food for some demonic god.
They entered into a cavernous room where everything echoed and each stone was graced with orange paint, mimicking veins identical to the ones on his skin.
More hooded figures. So many of them.
It was strange seeing a chamber meant for sacrifices before the sacrifice. There was no blood, no scattered bones or array of dirtied weapons and torture devices. No strange herbs were strewn about, and everything was pulsing with the constant, eerie humming of the figures lining the walls.
Myell and Leina approached two figures at a spotless altar of stone, and the way the mystery people murmured to the two, Onmund could only assume they were the ones who had been outside his chamber.
Then, the discussion done, Myell turned to him and tied his hands and feet together before being assisted onto the slab and then tied once more down to the surface. "Check him," she asked Leina, who's face remained in shadow as she leaned forward with nimble fingers to investigate each knot, pulling and tugging.
Somehow he felt much less confined than he expected to be, as if pulling on the ropes would set him free. But that was likely not the case. He'd probably have to rely on a flames spell to free himself from his current predicament. Now to just count how many figures he'd have to incapacitate to free himself and find his precious Dragonborn lover.
Speaking of which, where was she?
A yelp escaped him when Leina caressed his chest with her cold fingers, and a few of the hooded figures chuckled as Leina seemed to pull back with embarrassment, head bowed to hide her face more, as if someone could have seen it before.
Strange.
Then the chanting began over the humming, the desperate and angry pleas to the spectators and the dark god they all seemed to worship.
When was going to be a good time to escape? What was he going to do?
"And may our greenest hooded friend come forth, given the honor of drawing her first blood, the blood of the lover of the one with dragon's blood. May it please our dark master." A silver dagger, curved and sharpened to perfection, was passed to Leina, who took it gingerly, hands shaking at the unfamiliar feeling of a weapon in her grasp, and approached the table where Onmund was splayed.
His eyes focused on it, watching the blade. It occurred to him that with his hands tied above his head, he could only fire at the followers against the wall, and therefore couldn't stop the blade from slicing him open. Dammit.
And then he saw the shift. The girl's hand stopped trembling, and her fingers adjusted, holding the hilt as if she had held one her entire life, as if it was an old friend instead of a strange new instrument for a ritual.
Wait.
And then the dagger was flying, burying itself through a follower's neck, pinning their corpse to the wall.
There was a great uproar as Myell shot bolts of lightning at Onmund's sudden savior. But she raised one hand to create a lesser ward, and a second hand hurtled a fireball across the room, setting half the followers ablaze.
Realizing he needed to get off the table right then, Onmund desperately yanked at the ropes…
Only to find they fell away with ease.
No.
It couldn't be.
Shouts of outrage came from Myell and the other two leading figures as, due to the blast, Leina's hood fell.
It appeared Leina had not gone to the sacrificial ritual at all.
Onmund's jaw dropped in disbelief as he sat up and recognized his lover standing there in the strange garb. She shot him a demon's grin and, without pause, froze the remaining followers to the wall. He hauled himself off the table, barely finding the strength to stand, and summoned lightning to his hands, striking down any followers that her fireball had not destroyed.
The fight was over before it could really begin, leaving Onmund and his Dovakhiin in the same situation as usual: surrounded by the corpses of crazed religious fanatics. The difference was that there was no victim that they were too late to save.
"I'm glad there's no clean up this time," she whispered, turning to give him a soft smile before shedding the robe, revealing her armor beneath, and pressing her body to his.
"Yeah… about that… Love, you… you…"
"I would have saved you the moment I came to your cell but this seemed like much more fun… and besides, I had to dash my original plan the moment I saw your sacrificial garb," she explained, running an appreciative eye over his almost entirely bare figure.
Onmund wrapped his arms around his torso self-consciously and cleared his throat. "Right… I… um…"
"I can't say how they only deemed you sufficient. Did they even look at your muscles, or does handsome looks not matter?" she teased, running her fingers up his chest to his shoulders.
"I was only sufficient because of you! Can you believe that?" Onmund suddenly shouted, his pride evidently hurt.
She giggled into her free hand and shook her head. "Well if I were a dark goddess, I would have accepted you as a sacrifice over anything else they could have offered, who you were fucking be damned. So long as they didn't kill you, that is. No fun with a corpse."
"All I am is sex to you," he groaned, trying to fake his way into her sympathies.
"Yes," she agreed bluntly, though the sparkle in her eyes told him she only teased him again. "Come sacrifice, you're already mostly unclothed, and Breezehome isn't so far. It's fate, wouldn't you say?"
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