Chapter 13 – On a Moonlit Night
Vira was screaming at Grelod. The headmistress had caught the girl and Fjornir kissing. Fjornir hid, and listened. He was frightened of the headmistress, but was worried she would hurt his friend, so he stayed close by. Grelod forbade Vira from ever kissing any boys again so long as she lived at Honorhall. Vira threatened to run away. Fjornir heard a loud smack and then a slamming door.
The young Fjornir was on the floor. He had slipped in something wet. Something dark. He stood and looked at his wet hands. Blood. He looked up at the sleeping Vira again. He finally saw it, the blood dripping from her bed. Fjornir held his breath. He walked closer. He hovered over Vira. Blood pooled around her neck. Her pale neck smiled at him. Her right hand grasped an old, rusty dagger. Blood stained the cuff of her favorite blue dress.
Fjornir saw Aela's grey-blue eyes flash across his vision. Her moss-green warpaint gave her a frightening appearance. Even as a teenager, she was strong, and a highly-capable hunter. She was sixteen, teaching the slightly older Fjornir how to hunt. The young man watched his arrow pierce the lungs of a doe, sending forth a burst of blood.
Aela, in her werewolf form, slit her wrist. Fjornir drank of her blood. He was then following Aela, both in beast form, hunting the wilds outside of Whiterun. After gorging on a goat, the two coupled as werewolves. Fjornir awoke, naked in human form, in a sunny field dotted by tundra cotton.
Snow. Thick, heavy snow floated down from the sky. Aela's arrow entered the eye of an elk. Under the protection of a rock overhang, Fjornir gorged on the animal's liver while Aela roasted its meat, wrapped in garlic leaves, over a spitfire. She was twenty-one years old, and today was his twenty-third birthday. It was not really his birthday—it was the day he arrived at the orphanage. The liver was Aela's gift to Fjornir. She still denied him what he truly desired.
Aela refused to speak. She refused to look at him. She felt the scar on her wrist left by the knife she used to give Fjornir her blood. He reached out to her. Aela slapped him across the face. She felt horrible. She cried. Fjornir hugged her. Aela did not want to be cured. Fjornir felt as if he were falling into the earth.
Eirin. Eirin was pulling Fjornir out of his past. She held his hand. Fjornir transformed into a werewolf. Still running forward, pulling were-Fjornir with her, Eirin laughed happily. Fjornir heard an infant's giggling echo around him. The giggling continued as a dragon roared somewhere above him and Eirin. Fjornir then heard loud, wicked laughter as a wooden staff cracked against his knees, turning him human again.
Haming landed with a thud on top of the sleeping Fjornir. The boy's quiet voice slowly became audible. "Birthday," Fjornir heard.
"What?" the Dragonborn asked as he yawned, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"It's Eirin's birthday today!" Haming said in a shouting whisper. He jumped off of Fjornir to his side. Eirin had already risen and was in the basement, bathing.
Fjornir realized that he was either slightly hung over, or still exhausted from his journey to and from Sovngarde. He sat up and smiled at Haming. "Thank you, little man. I'd forgotten what day it was."
"It's ok. You've been busy!" Haming smiled, and Fjornir chuckled.
"What should we do for Eirin, hmm?" Fjornir asked the boy.
"I'm going to make her a cake."
"A cake?"
"Yeah!" the boy said quietly. "Saadia taught me. She said I can use her kitchen so Eirin can be surprised."
"Well, that is a wonderful idea," Fjornir said.
"Did you buy her a gift?" Haming asked.
Fjornir smiled, then leaned over to open the drawer of his night table. Tucked into a folded linen cloth was a gold ring embellished by a single glistening diamond. Fjornir handed the ring to Haming. "Look inside the band," he said.
Haming turned the ring to inspect the inside curve. The symbols engraved by a delicate hand made no sense to the boy. Vertical, horizontal and diagonal lines were accented by a series of dots and shorter lines. "What does it mean?" he asked.
"Wah dii silliin," Fjornir said and smiled.
"What?" Haming asked.
Fjornir's smile turned into a wide grin. "How would you like to learn a little Dragonspeak?"
Lydia walked quietly down the hallway to the Dragonborn's bedroom. The dim indoor lighting aided her vision. Upon opening the door, she saw Fjornir splayed out on his stomach across the entirety of the large bed. His arms hugged a pillow below his head. The muscles of his bare backside occasionally flexed as the man dreamed. Apparently the Dragonborn sleeps in the nude, Lydia thought to herself.
Fjornir had returned home late. Lydia had stayed awake waiting for her Thane, but had grown too tired and had gone to bed. She awoke some time during the night, however, and found herself hungry for something more than supper.
The man's armor was strewn about the room. Lydia tip-toed around a maze of steel and leather until she reached the foot of the bed. She slowly, gently, crawled onto the bed. She straddled one of Fjornir's enormous thighs, each of her knees holding her body over the man. She slipped off her undershirt and removed the linen wrap that supported her ample breasts. The clothes landed silently to the side of the bed.
Lydia could hear Fjornir's soft, evenly-spaced breathing and knew he was in a deep slumber. When her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight of the bedroom, she could see the outline of Fjornir's genitalia against the white linen bedsheets. Even asleep, the Dragonborn was supernaturally large, Lydia thought, her mouth spreading in a wide grin. She wondered what Fjornir would do if she began to touch him, if he would wake immediately, attack her, throw her off the bed, or rather throw her onto the bed... Curiosity and the prospect of retaliation from the Dragonborn got the best of Lydia.
She lowered her mouth toward Fjornir's backside, and with her tongue traced the cleft between each round, muscular cheek, ending at the sensitive area just before Fjornir's large bulge. The man's muscles quivered instinctively, but Fjornir remained asleep. Lydia lowered her tongue and found the head of the man's shaft which pressed against the sheets toward his feet. She licked and sucked teasingly. In his sleep, Fjornir moaned. Lydia felt the blood begin to flow to the organ. Fjornir slightly shifted his lower legs. Lydia grabbed a hold of the man's thighs and pressed down as she sucked harder on Fjornir's manhood.
Sleepily, Fjornir grunted a word that sounded similar to "What?" Lydia ignored him and continued pleasuring the man. Fjornir found the weight of his body and the position of his stiffening shaft growing uncomfortable and lifted himself with his arms. His manhood sprung forward toward his torso. He turned to look behind him. In the dim light, Lydia's eyes glowed the color of the twilight sky. Her pupils were large from adjusting to the darkness as well as from her growing desire. A half-smile crossed her face.
Still half-asleep, Fjornir took a moment to realize what was happening. Lydia, his brand-new housecarl, was attempting to pleasure him in his sleep. The Dragonborn turned onto his back, grabbed a bedsheet and covered his body. "Lydia, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" Her voice was smooth, deep, and lustful. She lowered herself to her hands and knees and crawled closer. "Or can the Dragonborn not recognize a desirous woman even when she's crawling on top of him?" Lydia pressed her lips against the Dragonborn's. Her breasts hung low and brushed against the man's own thick, muscular chest.
Fjornir knew he should protest. He had just met Lydia one week ago. She was his employee. His guard. His housecarl. The inappropriateness was obvious to the man. He would have been blind, however, not to notice the woman's perfect body: young, tall, muscular, but full and round where it mattered. He felt Lydia's warm tongue caress his own, and felt his erection brush against the linen sheet above his waist.
Despite his better judgment, Fjornir gave in to Lydia's advances. His hands wrapped around the back of her head and held her mouth to his. Lydia moved one hand to the sheet that covered Fjornir. She found a stiffness, and ran her hand up and down over the fabric. Fjornir groaned, then tugged at the fabric, setting himself free. Lydia shifted her knees to sit behind each side of Fjornir's hips and her breasts hung in front of the man's face. Fjornir licked, nipped and sucked at each of Lydia's nipples, and his hands massaged her rear.
Lydia shifted her underwear to the side, then lowered herself onto Fjornir's erection. They moaned in sync. Their mouths found each other's again and continued their impassioned kiss. Lydia used her strong thighs to control her movement up and down. Between kisses and light nipping of each other's lips, their tongues danced in uneven circles. Lydia moved one of her hands behind her and began to massage Fjornir's bulge.
The Dragonborn moaned louder. He grabbed Lydia's hips and forced her down harder onto him. Lydia began to cry out loudly, breaking their kiss. She shifted her legs to stretch out behind the man, and Fjornir was able to move her faster, up and down. He lowered one hand and with his thumb he found Lydia's sensitive node. Her cries heightened in pitch as Fjornir's other hand continued to aid in her own thrusting. Lydia squeezed and tugged at Fjornir's bulge as her other hand squeezed one of her breasts.
Their moaning intensified. Within moments, Lydia was screaming with pleasure. Fjornir held back his own release. When Lydia's moans quieted, he lifted her body off of him and turned her around onto her hands and knees, then entered her again. Fjornir's hands held onto her hips as he pounded into her. His thrusting slid deeper now, and Lydia continued to moan loudly.
Fjornir's release caused his entire body to shake. His moans equaled that of Lydia's. His fingers dug into her fleshy backside and his hands smacked her fleshy cheeks lightly several times. Lydia's backward thrusting slowed as Fjornir's moans quieted, and then she pulled away from him.
Lydia fell on her back across the bed, panting. Fjornir kneeled, looking down at her glistening body.
"Wow," Lydia said. "That was exactly what I needed." In a moment, the woman left the bed and gathered her clothes from the floor, then turned back to Fjornir. She leaned forward and kissed the Dragonborn. With her free hand, she patted Fjornir's thigh. "Good job," she said, smiling, then walked out of the man's bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Lydia opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling as her dream came flooding into her waking memory. She dreamed of that night often; the memory of her first and last sexual encounter with the Dragonborn often plagued her mind. She had approached him soon after that night, on their way back from slaughtering a group of bandits north of Whiterun. They had been cleaning dried bandit blood off of their bodies and armor when Lydia had embraced Fjornir from behind, pressing her breasts against his back. The man had then swung around and glowered at her. When she asked what was wrong, Fjornir had told her to keep her hands to herself, and that their relationship was to stay on a professional level.
Lydia had felt dejected and used, angry and, she admitted to herself, even more turned on by the Dragonborn. Since then, Lydia was never fully satisfied by any sexual partner. She eventually found herself with the overly-willing Farkas, who shared an interest in Lydia's ever increasingly-violent sexual appetite. Their sexual play had escalated recently to even include his twin brother Vilkas, ending with each of them covered in bites, bruises, reddened skin, and scratches.
Vilkas! Lydia's memory came flooding back. She turned to her side and hoped to see the thick build and shoulder-length dark hair of Farkas, but instead found herself in the presence of the lean, shorter-haired Vilkas. The man snored softly. Lydia thought that he was actually smiling in his slumber.
She turned again onto her back and sighed. She should run. She should. Put on her clothes, escape this room, and lock herself in her bedroom at Fjornir's house. When she turned her head to look again at Vilkas's sleeping form, she wondered why she didn't.
Ulfric knocked on the door the way he always had. Ralof recognized the pattern immediately. He walked up to the door and opened it. Ulfric was wearing his ornate robe, and Ralof wore only his loincloth. Ralof stood back to let Ulfric inside the guestroom, then locked the door behind them.
The men stood facing one another in silence. Finally, Ralof spoke. "I heard you were made High King."
Ulfric grunted a yes.
"So... you finally have what you wanted." Ralof's arms crossed in front of his chest.
The Jarl took a small step toward Ralof, and then another. Ralof stood his ground. Soon Ulfric stood before Ralof, close enough for the men to feel the other's breath.
The pair stood in a stalemate, their gazes fixed upon one another, each unwilling to move or speak.
Ulfric lifted his chin, keeping his eyes locked onto Ralof's. And then, the man gave in. With only the slightest hint of a smile, the left corner of Ulfric's lips curved upward.
Ralof leapt forward and thrust his mouth onto Ulfric's. The force behind his attack pounded their bodies against the closed door. Ralof's hands held Ulfric's face to his own in an unrelenting grip. Ulfric's fingers grasped at Ralof's loincloth and struggled to unravel the incessant binding. Never parting his lips with Ralof's, Ulfric turned their bodies around and then it was Ralof's back that slammed against the door. Ulfric shrugged off his robe under which he wore nothing. Ralof nearly had to rip off his loincloth.
The men kissed, bit and suckled one another's lips. Ulfric walked backwards to the large bed, then threw Ralof down onto it. The man landed with a grunt. Ulfric jumped on top of Ralof, pinned him to the mattress with his body, and continued to kiss him fiercely. Their bodies ground against one another, aching for each other, feeling one another's growing desire.
Ulfric sat up and pulled Ralof with him, then leaned back onto the mattress. Ralof was sitting on Ulfric. In swift motions Ralof readied himself for Ulfric with his own spit, then mounted the man. Slowly, Ralof lowered himself onto Ulfric. The Jarl reached down and grasped Ralof's shaft. In moments Ralof accepted all of Ulfric into him. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out. Too soon, Ralof released onto Ulfric's chest, and Ulfric let himself go inside of Ralof. The pair rocked back and forth for a short while, then fell together once more in a painfully forceful kiss.
Ulfric shot up from his sleep with a gasp. His breath was quick and shallow. He quickly became aware of the sticky residue on his torso and hand. He used the bedsheet to clean himself. That dream again, Ulfric said to himself. He had dreamt of the reunion with Ralof about a dozen times since becoming High King. Ulfric lay back down next to the sleeping, pregnant Silda. Lustful, female Silda. In her pregnancy, her small breasts enlarged somewhat. Ulfric tried to ignore them.
His body ached for Ralof. His large hands clutched at his chest, wishing it was Ralof's hands that massaged him. He wondered if the man remembered anything about his past yet. Gerdur's last letter arrived three weeks ago with no different news. One more week and she would write to him again. Ulfric turned onto his side, facing away from the Queen, and cried.
[Ok, I lied. This story is STILL on a hiatus. I should not have stayed up so late finishing this chapter which took two nights to write. Oh well. Title and Ulfric dream inspired by Mental As Anything "Whole Wide World". I was going to call this chapter "Someone Like You" which is very much the theme of the feels, but I imagine a thousand other stories/chapters in the world also use that title from the Adele song, so... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the bits of backstory. I think they explain a few things, particularly regarding the Dragonborn. If you've read Part 1, that is. Ok, I'm going to bed now...!]