F I N A
Fina found Ulfric as he was leaving the throne room, the same advisor in tow. He waved for her to join them, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
"Where has Mejel ran off to?" He asked, checking around to see if he had hung back.
"Official guard business." Fina grinned, and her Uncle laughed. "It is strange to see him grown and captain of the guard, no less!"
Fina nodded. "He has done well."
When they reached Ulfric's guest chambers, the advisor excused himself to head to the Inn for a meal. Inside, Fina was alone with her Uncle and she could not have been more relieved. She sat at the table across from him, and could see that a meal had been prepared and laid out.
"So," He began, ripping a chunk of bread from the loaf and chewing it. "Tell me everything. How are the Greybeards?"
"They are well. Grey, bearded, old. Everything they should be." Fina poked at a roasted potato on her plate, trying to decide if she wanted to eat or not. Ulfric chuckled.
"Things have been...interesting." She sighed and gave up on the food, pushing her plate back. She launched into her tale, starting with her climb of the Steps, the frost troll, her hallucination, her training. Fina carefully excluded any mentions of Arik from her story, not wanting to breach that topic quite yet.
Ulfric listened patiently, only stopping her a few times to ask questions. When she told him about the note she found in place of Jurgen Windcaller's horn, he leaned forward, tense. His food was long forgotten.
"And it was the Blades?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I thought them finished!"
"There are only two of them left, Esbern and Delphine."
Ulfric scratched his beard, leaning back and looking as though he were trying to remember something. Finally he shook his head. "The names are unfamiliar to me, and I have not heard of Alduin's Wall before now."
"The Blades and the Greybeards seem to have entirely different takes on the dragons rising. The Greybeards favour the old ways. Using your Voice only for the glory of the Divines, and nothing more. The Blades are different. They are more modern, but also have such anger in them. The Greybeards warned me of their anger. They think them reckless." Fina frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"The Greybeards are wise." Ulfric sighed. "But anger can be a powerful tool, if wielded correctly. Times are changing, Fina. Perhaps some of the old ways need to be left behind."
"Perhaps."
"I will trust your instincts in this, niece. But know that perhaps the Greybeards are not all they seem - it appears that they have kept much from you. Much that would help the whole of Tamriel to prosper."
"I feel as though I'm being torn in half." She huffed.
"Such is the life of a leader, Norfina." He laughed easily and reached across the table to take her hand. "My best advice would be to lean towards the Blades. Allegiance with them would be beneficial not just against dragons, but also against the Imperials. The Greybeards have no army."
Fina nodded her agreement, but inside she didn't feel any less conflicted. She wondered that if she had never met Arik, would her opinion of the Greybeards still be so high?
"In fact, if it suits you - send one of Mejel's guards to Delphine with a message. Tell her to write me should she seek the possibility of an alliance. I would be happy to receive her in Windhelm."
"That is a good idea." Fina couldn't help but smile at her Uncle. Perhaps this will be good. She thought. The Dragonborn and the Blades? This could tip the scale in my Uncle's direction.
"How goes the war, Uncle?"
Ulfric jumped right into the thick of it, relaying back to her victories and losses. They stayed up until the small hours, talking about everything from Fina's childhood up to wondering if Mejel would soon take a wife. They both agreed that he would make a fine husband.
When they lapsed into silence, Ulfric fell asleep in the chair, snoring loudly as he slouched. Fina smiled fondly at him, and stood to take his fur cloak and drape it over him.
She kissed his forehead, brushing some silver-blonde hair from his forehead. "Sleep well, Uncle."
S Y R A
No one spoke of the wounds that Cicero wore so blatantly across his endlessly smiling face. None of them held much esteem for the Keeper and, truth be told, she imagined many of them had secretly wanted him dead. Had it not been for his seniority and protection of the Night Mother, he very well might be.
Two weeks passed, and even though Syra had made peace with Astrid, the Speaker had not given her another contract.
On the night that marked the second week, Syra had a strange dream.
She dreamt that she was lost in the woods. Fog hung low through the trees, and the sun had vanished from the sky. Syra wandered through, not so much frightened as curious about her surroundings. Her golden hair cascaded freely down her back, and she wore a humble but beautiful white woolen gown.
She could hear a distant voice, calling her name. As she made her way towards the voice, she could see the outline of a giant black throne. The closer she got, the closer together the trees grew, until the place was thick with thorn bushes. As she pushed her way through, the thorns snagged on her dress and made small cuts on her face and neck, drawing blood.
None of this seemed important, as she drew closer her sense of urgency to reach the throne increased. Without warning, she broke free of the thorns into a circular clearing.
The throne sat in the middle, and now that she was close she could see the entire thing was woven from thorn branches. Sitting on the throne, was the most beautiful woman Syra had ever seen.
She was Dunmer, with skin the colour of a stormy sky and deep red eyes like pools of blood. The woman wore a dress of elegant black fabric with a long train spilling down the steps before the throne. Her hair was waist length, and the colour of purest snow, braided in such intricacy that it was a work of art in itself.
She lounged on the throne, stroking her braid absently. When Syra arrived, a graceful smile brightened her face and she stood, making her way down the steps.
"Syra," Her voice was older than she appeared. No lines or wrinkles marred her face, but there was a wisdom to her eyes that made Syra feel as though she were ancient. "You have finally arrived."
"Where am I?" Syra's brain told her she should back away from the woman, but her instincts told her that she was safe.
"In a dream, my sweet." The woman reached out, long fingers carefully wiping a bead of blood from Syra's cheek.
"Who are you?" Syra nearly swooned at the touch, something about the woman was so intoxicating that all she could think of was being closer to her.
"I am the Blood Flower, Lady Death, Bride of Sithis...But you know me by a different name." She walked slowly around Syra as she spoke, as if inspecting her.
Syra swallowed. "Then that would make you...the Night Mother?"
"Yes." The word was whispered into Syra's ear, and she shivered, not having known that the woman had gotten so close. She felt soft fingers on her shoulders, and then the Night Mother moved Syra's hair, brushing it over her shoulder and exposing her back.
Syra shivered, but the touches were not unpleasant. The Night Mother pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and then continued her inspection until she stood before her again.
"Such beauty." The Night Mother sighed contentedly. "You are far too exquisite a treasure to hide away. I would have you fight bare, if you did not need the anonymity of your shroud."
Syra felt herself blush at the compliment but was embarrassed by the idea of fighting naked. "Why have you brought me here?"
"You came to me, did you not?" The Night Mother lifted her skirts and walked back to her throne, settling herself before her eyes turned inquisitively back to Syra.
"I…" She wasn't sure how to respond. She had been the one to find the Night Mother in this forest, that much was true.
The woman smiled knowingly at her, and gestured for Syra to approach her. "Come, sit with me."
Syra moved forwards without hesitation, coming to sit on the step at the Night Mother's feet. She looked up, and the Mother stroked her cheek, brushing Syra's hair from her face.
"I have a job for you, Syra."
She found herself leaning into the Night Mother's touch, unable to draw her eyes away. "Why me?"
"You are my Listener, little one." She responded as if it were obvious. "And I would have you Listen."
Syra nodded, feeling pride swell in her chest. She was the Listener, she was chosen by the Night Mother. She was special.
"I have listened to my children's prayers, and from them have selected a Mark." The Night Mother dragged her nails lightly through Syra's hair, causing a chill to run down her spine.
"You will go to Riften, and there you will find a woman called Florine. She has a room at the local inn. Find her, and she will give you your next contract."
"Yes, Lady Death."
"I have every faith in you." The Night Mother's fingers left her hair, and Syra nearly whimpered at the loss of contact.
"Now," She leaned in, taking Syra's chin and tilting it up. The Night Mother pressed her lips against Syra's in a soft kiss. "Wake up."
Syra jolted up in bed, finding herself back in her room. She panted, pressing a hand over her eyes.
A dream, Syra. It was just a dream. I could not be the Listener. Not me. She told herself over and over. "It was just a dream."
"Nightmare?"
Syra's eyes flew open, and she looked towards her door. Nazir stood there, arms crossed against his chest.
She nodded, swallowing back her fear. "Is it late?"
"Midday." He confirmed, grinning at her. "You look rather rough, Sister."
"I feel it." Syra stretched, her joints popping and groaning in protest. She had overdone it in practise with Veezara the day before and worked herself to exhaustion.
"I will cook you something." He nodded decidedly. Syra had to smile at him. Nazir had appointed himself the official cook, and she suspected that perhaps if he had not joined the Brotherhood, he would have had a job as a chef in a noble household. It was a running joke among the others that if the Brotherhood ever were entirely penniless, they could hire Nazir out as a personal chef to turn a profit.
"But first, Astrid wants to see you." Nazir raised his eyebrows, turning to go. "I hope that you haven't given her reason for anger."
Despite Syra's fears, Astrid seemed to be in high spirits.
"Ah, there you are." She said as Syra entered. "I have a contract for you."
It had been awhile, and the prospect cheered her. She was itching for a job.
Astrid handed her a piece of paper. "Think you could handle this one?"
Syra's eyes widened as she read it, and her heart hammered in her ears.
Florine Ingun
The Bee and Barb Inn, Riften
One mark, 500 gold
"Is there a problem, Sister?"
"No…" Syra cleared her throat, composing herself. "Not at all. Thank you."
She turned and left the room, the paper clutched tightly in her hand. It was just a dream. She told herself firmly again. A dream.
F I N A
In the morning, Fina met with Mejel. He was happy to supply her with a guard to travel to Sky Haven Temple with the message. It wasn't very far away, and so this made sense.
Fina penned a quick letter for Delphine, and explained to the guard where to go. He left at once, and Fina felt relieved. She had been trapped between two difficult decisions - now that she had made progress towards one side, she felt much less helpless than she had before coming to Markarth.
She gave a reluctant goodbye to both Ulfric and Mejel, promising them both that she would keep in touch as often as she could.
When she set out for High Hrothgar, she was brimming with a sense of purpose. This time, the Steps did not cause her any problems, besides the exhaustion.
Even so, when the towers began to appear on the horizon, she also felt a sense of dread. She had done what the Greybeards asked of her, but part of her almost felt that she had betrayed them. It was a small part, and she was able to suppress it when her thoughts of Arik resurfaced.
She wondered how things would be between them. Would he be cut off from her? Would he even want to see her?
"Ah, Fina!" Arngeir shook her hand warmly as she arrived, gesturing for Borri to go and make some tea. "You have returned at last. Have you completed the final test?"
Fina dropped her pack to the ground, and then knelt to dig through it. When she pulled out the horn, Arngeir could barely control his excitement.
"Well done! Well done!"
She followed him into the kitchen, where he settled her at the table with tea and a bowl of soup.
"Once you are ready, we will perform the ceremony."
"Ceremony?"
"Yes, we will officially swear you in as Dragonborn. All of Skyrim will hear it and know it to be true."
Fina swallowed nervously and finished the rest of the soup. "What is required of me?"
"No more than your presence."
She nodded, focusing on her tea. Fina was not sure whether or not to mention the Blades to Arngeir. She had a feeling it would anger him, and what difference did it truly make? No, she decided. She would not tell them for now, not until she was more sure of the path she would take.
Later, the Elders joined in the main hall. Fina stood in their midst, nervous. They raised their hands to the sky and all at once, began to chant in the Dragon tongue. Although it sounded foreign, Fina found that she understood every word.
"Long has the Storm Crown Languished with no worthy brow to sit upon.
By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of old.
You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it."
Their Voices were so loud that Fina covered her ears, and the entire mountain shook around them. Dust and crumbling bits of stone gave way, bouncing down the walls and ceiling and clouding the room as if it were filled with fog.
When it stopped, she almost felt as if her whole body was still vibrating.
"It is done. We place our trust in you, Dovahkiin. Tamriel's future lies in your hands."
She smiled at Arngeir, but felt a fresh wave of guilt churn in her gut.
"We would have you meet with our leader tomorrow." He told her.
Fina started. "Your leader? What leader?"
"Paarthurnax. He lives alone at the very top of the mountain. The Throat of the World. He would like to speak with you."
"Of course." Fina was puzzled, wondering why they had not mentioned this to her previously. "I would be honoured."
He patted her arm. "Sleep well."
"You also."
Arngeir smiled and turned to follow the other Elders out of the room.
A R I K
Arik had told himself that when Fina returned, he would stay away. If he didn't put himself in a situation where he could be tempted, then there would be no temptation and therefore no room for weakness. It would be best for both of them.
In the weeks she had been gone, he had utterly thrown himself into his meditation and learning. Arngeir was pleased with his progress, and had even gone as far as to tell Arik he was proud of him. Such words had never been spoken to Arik before, and they had nearly moved him to tears.
Still, there was an emptiness in his chest that no amount of meditation or praise could fill. It was red and raw like an open wound that his body refused to heal.
When he heard Fina had returned, he made sure to stay in his room. He only came out when they began the ceremony, standing back in the shadows and out of sight. He was not yet fully trained, and therefore his Voice was not strong enough to participate.
As the others left for bed, Arik turned to go as well. However, as Fina drew closer, she had spotted him.
"Arik!" She called. He looked at her, rough from the roads, hair a fiery tangle, and eyes full of hope. The eager expression on her face killed him, and he smiled at her sadly.
Before she could say another word, he left the hall and stepped into his room.
That night, she came to him. He awoke to someone entering his room and she stood in his doorway, wearing nothing but her tunic. Arik stared at the curve of her thighs as she closed the door behind her and walked towards him. She slid beneath the furs, curling her body against his.
Arik was too shocked to protest, and he didn't even want to as her lips pressed against his. He kissed her back, snaking an arm around her and holding her tightly to him.
So much for staying away.
"Arik…" She breathed against his neck, teeth biting down gently on his ear. He felt himself harden almost instantly, shivering as she kissed her way down his neck. Arik tugged gently at her hair, pulling her lips to his again and he took them hungrily. Fina whimpered in the back of her throat.
They both sat up, and Arik made quick work of removing his sleeping shift and then Fina's tunic. They sat before each other, completely naked, and he marvelled at the sight. Her breasts bobbed with each breath she took, round and smooth and perfect to his eyes.
When she kissed him again, the feeling of her seeped through him until he was ringing with it. He wasted no time, hoisting her up and over his lap. She straddled him, reaching between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his manhood.
He gasped against her mouth, never having felt the touch of another on that region of his body - especially not like this. She kissed him fiercely to keep him silent, and then did something he hadn't truly been expecting.
Fina guided him with her hand, lowering herself so that he was up to the hilt inside of her. The feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced before. He had never been with a woman and feared he wouldn't know what to do, but once he was within her his body moved on its own.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, moving herself up and down. Arik grabbed her hips, helping her keep up the rhythm she had started until they were both out of breath and panting. She whispered his name over and over again, into his mouth, his neck, his ear.
The feeling of her breasts against his chest only added to his arousal, and it wasn't long before he had to muffle his cries in her shoulder, as his seed spilled within her. She kept her pace for a few more strokes, until his entire body was trembling so much that she stopped.
Then, there came a knock at the door. Arik felt his stomach sink, staring in fear at the door, unsure of what to do.
When the knock came again, louder this time, Arik awoke. He was alone in the room. There was no Fina. He was not naked. He had, however, had his hand up his sleeping shift, and his fingers were coated in the evidence of his dream.
He had never felt shame like this before. As the knock came a third time, he hastily reached for the corner of his blanket and wiped his hand clean. He stood, shaking, and went to open the door a crack.
Arngeir stood in the hall, his eyebrows raised. Arik hoped he couldn't see the guilt on his face.
"You have overslept." The Elder told him. "The Dovahkiin has just left to speak with Paarthurnax. I expect you dressed and in the temple in the next ten minutes."
Arik nodded his understanding, and the old man left. He closed the door again, resting his forehead against the coolness of it and steadying his breathing. He felt so sick that he wanted to cry. But, Divines, it had felt so good. More than good.
I am cursed. Arik stripped off his shift, pretending he didn't notice the damp patch he'd left in its folds. Absolutely cursed.
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