Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.
Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...
Genre: Adventure/Humour
A/N: Wow, I actually managed to get work done and write. The chapter's not finished but if I hadn't split it, it would have been enormous. Hence, the early update. Ehm, this particular chapter deals with some adult-type touching but not enough to warrant an M rating, so just be warned. Also, I would really like to hear from you, because I've been putting off this moment forever, and now that it's here, tell me what you think? Please?
Ny'kly: Thanks! And also for leaving a review. I appreciate it. :) Julie5: Why, thank you for being so generous with your comments, and for the details about what you liked! It really made my day to read your review. TruthDawnsinFire: Yes, he is awesome! I change my avatar because I like change and because in the name of research, I horde hot Loki pics and well, good things should be shared.*L* Duesal10: Aw, thanks! I enjoy writing and it's lovely to have people let me know they enjoyed reading it. Both parts are what make fanfiction so much fun and quite unique actually. As for Freyja's lack of memory, I am considering two different scenarios. It will be dealt with, more or less, towards the end of the story. I think I may be subconsciously leaving some room for a sequel or spinoff. It's a possibility. ServantofAgape: I was having Tolkienesque feels when I wrote that. I think I fell short though. But nevertheless , thank you. I hope you enjoy this particular development. :) WornSteel7: I actually went to listen to that song. I like it, I love Owl City! As for theme songs though, I actually kind of picked two already but never mentioned it. Now though, would seem appropriate. It's "Without You Here" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Taylor Swift's "State of Grace" comes in a very close second. Sparkybones: Erm, not exactly the chapter I thought it would be; the plot sort of ran away. I hope it's still alright though? Zute: Trust you to sum everything up about that chapter in one sentence! You are so right; she is a reluctant dragon and he, a reluctant human. Well, I wish it were a series too, if only to see Tom Hiddleston onscreen more often. *G* And yup, I am having an absolute ball here. But once I am done with this, I think I am going to spend some time on an original story that has been stewing for awhile now. WishingNova: Well, they are both in a way, concealing the truth. But that's dragons for you. As for when he finds out...that's a couple of chapters away. Thanks for sticking with this story! PintsizedSheBear: I'll confess, I liked that dialogue too. :P MetaLucario: Well, if I had a nickel for every time I made a Loki or Jaime reference...*L* Somewhat different ship but definitely the same boat. AssassinEzioAuditore: Please, no apologies needed. I can't even type that much on a phone. And it was a lovely review to read. Thank you for all the wonderful details you included. Seriously, reviews like these make my Muse jump up and get ready to go. And then I write. So yes, it certainly helped!
DRAGONREND
XXXV.
It is not a fact that most mortals would know, even the priests that served him and catered to his every whim, him and those strong enough to take servants of their own.
Dragons dream.
They dream of tides and currents, of oceans of timeless stars that burn with Aedra fire, of the rise and fall of eternity that fluctuates and flows, that spins in a circle that moves ever on. In his dreams, Alduin has seen pasts that never were, futures that have been. Once he thought he might have seen through Time itself.
'The great empires are but a drop in these vast seas of being, mortal creatures the tiniest of sparks swallowed in the greatest of lights.' The words are as fresh in his mind as they were when he had spoken them to Parthurnaax, once his brother and closest confidante.
"And yet you wish to make a kingdom of your own and have them serve you." The skies were strange that day, thunderclouds woven with bright beams of sunlight, the air heavy with unshed lightning, the storm holding back its roars out of deference for the two gods perched on the mountain. Or so he had imagined. In the strange weather, Parthurnaax gleamed like a pale emerald.
"What is made by mortals must fall. It is in their nature. But we are dragons, and gods to them."
"And you a god to us."
Well, his kingdom had not stood. And mortals, in spite of their temporal victory over him, are still immeasurably frail in his sight. They are weak, worthy of scorn, all too easily dismissed. Their bodies perish and even their souls are unsaved from his reach.
He has never thought it would be possible to hold one of these in his arms, touch one of them with mortal hands and not fall into madness.
The hours have passed and Time itself has moved on as it always must. But here on the floor of this cellar, he can almost believe that it has stood still. Freyja lies in his arms, back pressed against his front, her face pillowed on an arm that has gone quietly numb because he does not want to wake her. He feels the length of her legs cradled against his with an acuteness that borders on agony, yet it pleases him sometimes to think that it is hard to know where he begins and she ends.
When she trembles lightly, he draws her tighter against him, as though he would anchor her through whatever flights the dream has taken her on.
He falls asleep to the feel of her hair against his cheek, to the disconcerting awareness that the weight and warmth of her in his arms is satisfying in a way that is new to one as old as he is. He wakes again, sleeps again, and through it all he dreams, as dragons do.
Too soon...
Beneath the song of the north wind, and the thunder of my wings, I could hear the people speaking, pointing. Some fell in worship as my shadow passed. All looked.
But the sun was too warm and as I rounded a tower and caught the wings of a stone dragon, the coils of my tail lashed the statue that felt softer than it ought to have been.
Not yet...
The temples that I had yet to explore beckoned, the smoke of the incense that burned day and night spiralling up to the sky and a sun so bright that only dragon eyes could truly see it.
I stretched my neck, spread my wings and caught the wind, let the earth drop away as I was lifted above the city of cities. Bromjunaar of the many jewels, the crown of the land, nest of dragons...
Just awhile more...
But even then the cold currents of the air turned warm, solid and what carried with invisible fingers became dense, confining. I could not fly...
No.
"No."
The sound of my voice was agony; it took the dream and brought the world in like a sharp bitter blade that had already started to fall. My fingers flexed but instead of muscle and skin, there was nothing but the harsh scratch of stone beneath fingertips that felt too much, too much—
"I have you."
I knew that voice. A hand engulfed both of mine, pinning them at the wrists—where were my wings— and pressed them against my chest. "Peace, Dovahkiin. Be still."
Alduin.
Strong arms shifted around me, holding me imprisoned against a body whose warmth seemed to burn right through into mine. My breath hitched, a reaction beyond my control even as the last vestiges of the dream dissolved and I felt the dampness on my cheek only when his fingers touched my tears. I hadn't known how much the soul in me yearned again for flight until I had tasted the skies once more. I had conversed with dragons in tongues now lost on mine. There had been books, scrolls, pillars of silver and white and gold, vast and great enough to contain the spread of wings... A beautiful city, an island of gems, and dragon mists and fire... No snowstorms, not a cold barren wasteland. If no one else wept for the destruction of Bromjunaar, at least the land seemed to.
"I have you."
We were both lying side by side on the ground and the bear pelt beneath me felt itchy against the thin cotton of my shirt. I should have pushed him off. I should have gotten away. Instead, I let him hold me, and wipe the tears from my face, and breathed in the comfort he was offering.
"Do you dream like this every night?" My throat was dry, my voice scratchy and rough from sleep and tears. I wanted water. But I needed him more.
His grip around my wrists tightened before relaxing. Slowly, he stroked his fingers over the tops of my hands, tracing each contour with a gentleness that branded me with the memory of his touch. "Most nights I do. I remember."
"How do you bear it?" I knew why he did it; he lived for the hope of being returned to his rightful form. I slept without fear in his presence because I knew he would never harm me on account of that. But to wake up everyday and feel loss so intimately, to come back to a life that had been forced upon him, a life so different from the one he had always known—
"Because I must. You know this, for you too have done it. To build a life from nothing."
I knew what he was doing. It was the truth but dragons were dragons and words were power in their mouths. I just hoped I knew what I was doing. In order to receive, one had to give. That was how a plant worked to get the job done. "With the biggest heists come the greatest risks. Sometimes, you pay the highest price." Karliah's wisdom, wrapped in tender grief and spoken at Gallus' grave.
But how I felt my heart when I reached for his hand. The way it throbbed, like a beating wing, as our fingers slid instinctively together. I still remembered why I was doing this. What was frightening was knowing—all too well— that it was not the only reason.
Maybe it is madness, after all.
Her touch kindles a thousand senses. He is being lit from within; there are no words.
Like the first light that glimmered into existence. Like the pale newborn greens wrapped with intricate webs of blue that came out of the darkness into creation. The first time he had ever looked upon a world and secretly called it his. Wild, rebellious delights and dark riotous joy.
She is all this and more as she lies coiled like tempered steel against him, and he has to be careful, so careful lest she runs and wounds them both. It is with a delicacy made possible in the absence of his dragon form that Alduin leans up, surveys his prize and keeps her tucked against his body, with her back still to him. Let her feel safe, he thinks as he lowers the parted seam of his mouth, feels the soft slide of golden hair against his lips, lets his breath linger on the curve of her ear when he reaches it. It pleases him immensely to smell his scent mingled with hers and tentatively, he strokes her fragile human skin with chaste kisses. Freyja's sharp sighs fall like blows in the dark. They threaten to sunder his control and Alduin cannot quite contain himself as he rocks gently against her, pressing her deeper into the cradle of his hips. He still rues the thin parchment of human skin and flesh he is wrapped in; it is a poor substitute for dragon scale that puts the strongest steel and brass to shame. But by all that exists, it has its merits, he thinks when she reaches back and threads her fingers in his hair as he follows the slope of her neck down, flicking only the tip of his tongue occasionally against it. And so he finds a familiar spot, that healing wound he left behind, one of two remnants of their forced wedding at Sanguine's hands.
Her undoing is also his. When she returns the press of his hips, he growls and sinks his teeth into tender flesh, revels in the sharp keening cry it draws from her. Her grip on his hair turns painful, but it does nothing to gain her release as he looms over her possessively. Dragons, Freyja will soon learn, do not let their prizes go.
"Alduin," she mutters, warns, and it sounds as sweet as worship to his ears. It is only after he tastes faint copper on his tongue, worries her wound tenderly with it, lifts his eyes to see her biting her lip, and feels the frantic thrum of her life's blood against their twined hands that are pressed against her heart that he stops. The wound is a bloody flower against the pale snow of her neck. The sight of it makes him want to roll her over on her front, lift her by the hips and rut her in the manner most familiar to him. He drags their joined hands down to her waist, reaching.
Only to find that she has beaten him to it. She turns in his arms, and for the longest moment, he is rendered perfectly still by something as simple as a searching look. He cannot quite contain his dissatisfied growl when she does not kiss him, opting instead to brush her lips against the corners of his mouth, careful nips designed to tease. He lets her know what he thinks of it when he has her flat on her back in less time than she takes to draw her next breath. Alarm and desire war on her face when he pushes a thigh between hers, then another, settling down on her body in a way that instinct tells him is perfectly right.
She could try to force him off. Instead, she accepts his weight, the stiff lines of her body softening as she relaxes, hesitantly drawing her thighs up to frame his hips. Alduin lowers his face to hers only to taste utter frustration when she winces and turns away, a hand on her neck. "Is that the dragon equivalent of a kiss?" For a moment, he wishes he had a cupful of Daedric brew. Then, he pushes the thought away and reaches for the hand that she is looking at with wide eyes. "That's... blood." Her voice is noticeably higher. Whether it is the fact that she is startled or a reaction to him lacing their fingers together as he presses her hand into the ground, right next to her head, he does not know. Neither does he care.
"You have an amazing gift for stating the blatantly obvious."
"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."
He chuckles softly. "By the way, Freyja..."
She looks up inquisitively at him.
"Dragons do not kiss. We claim." And with that, he swoops in for the kill.
Her mouth is soft and pliant beneath his; she tastes as wonderful as he remembers. But there is no mistaking the difference this time. The hesitance, the way he has to persuade her to open her mouth to his, the press of her free hand against his shoulder as though to slow him down when nothing else in the world will. Alduin pulls back slightly, close enough for him to nudge his nose gently against hers. Then he waits.
She is trying to control her breathing and not quite succeeding. It really is a delightful sight, he realises. "I... I don't know how to—to... I mean, it doesn't mean I have never but..." She turns several shades of crimson, each redder by succession. "I don't remember how to kiss. Or if I've ever kissed."
He smiles. Widely. Freyja scowls.
"Don't you dare laugh at me. I am sick of people teas—"
His kiss is hard; he knows it will bruise her. There are no words to explain how pleased he is with this. Beyond pleased. He is the first, her first. And this time, she is with him to experience it. Drawing back, he takes in her slightly dazed look, her reddened lips and the gathering embers of hunger that are flickering to life in her eyes. His dragon is somewhere inside there, the same dragon that claimed him like a whirlwind does all that lie in its path. She just has to be coaxed out. "Mine," he murmurs, and he can see her bristle slightly at his arrogance. The next time he bends down, she leans up to meet him and he feels more than a spark of pride at this.
Somehow, she wrests her hand free and Alduin learns that there is sweetness to be found in the tentative way she touches him, in the inexperience that even her show of assertiveness is unable to hide. She traces his shoulders, runs questing fingers up and down the muscles of his arms; her touch is a call, a tangible jolt to the very marrow in his bones as she slides the span of her hands over his waist, traces the length of his spine and follows it back down to his hipbones, and he takes the opportunity to arch up hard against her. Nails dig into his flesh, her thighs clench against his sides; he thrusts once more and then again when she responds in like manner.
It takes some time to find a rhythm they can both move to but by the time they do, desire is a conflagration that is eating him alive. He burns and aches and his body is tightening into a knot of pressure, hot, heavy and urgent. He needs release. Now. As he slides a hand between them, Narri's explanations, the pages of the book, the pictures become a hot jumble of thoughts that run ragged and spill over themselves; it is hard to think because Freyja has just gotten bolder and now it is not just her lips and tongue she is running over the sensitive arch of his neck. She is nibbling at the swell of his throat that moves as he swallows hard. He hisses when she nicks his collarbone, taking it between her teeth and applying light pressure.
By the time she realises what he is up to, it is too late. She locks a hand around his wrist but his fingers have already found what he has been looking for. Long fingers press down, rubbing firmly against the soft cloth that shields her from him and beneath his body, she cries out, arching into the palm of his hand. He pins her down with his weight, keeps her legs spread when she tries to press her thighs together, sliding her calves futilely, restlessly against his. She bites down on the slope between his neck and shoulder; a hand claws at his back, her body roils against his as she tries to flip him over and Alduin hisses at the sharp mix of pleasure-pain that does nothing to deter him. With dragons, it is always a dance for dominance.
Freyja's head falls back on the pelt, her pale hair strewn like an abundance of stars over the sky. She writhes beautifully, caged by his body. Then suddenly, her movements slow and ebb to a halt. Blue eyes open to meet his. Above the unison of their harsh breathing, Alduin hears what has to be the most terrible thing in the world.
Hoofbeats. And in spite of the thunderously loud galloping that is heading straight in their direction, he can tell that it is a single horse.
"Shadowmere," Freyja whispers. He can already see the heat in her gaze retreating, the beginning flare of a mortified blush on her cheek.
Alduin does not bother to even try. He sinks his forehead down onto Freyja's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. One day. One fine day, he is going to kill that horse, he swears.
"We need to...we should get up now." I could barely recognise my own voice. As common sense returned in a cold humiliating rush, I could barely recognise even myself. What had I done? 'This was certainly not part of the plan,' I thought miserably even as Alduin showed no signs of wanting to move. Truth be told, I didn't want to either.
"Alduin?" I was keenly aware that my hands were curiously immobile. I had an arm draped over his waist. The other was still latched around his wrist, resting with his hand that was currently burning its print through my shirt and onto my belly. And I hadn't even been the one to move it; he'd done that all on his own. Bloody Void, I had practically held him in place while he had been... 'No, no. You can't think about that.' It was an utterly futile and foolish effort. I could feel my face getting hotter by the minute as vivid recollections of what had stopped barely minutes ago flooded my mind and tugged at my body. I wanted to tell him I needed to go and see what it was that had brought Shadowmere back earlier by a full day and a half. The irony was that in spite of the intimate proximity, because of it, I couldn't move because I didn't know what to do with myself, or how to get out of this embrace without worsening the horrible sense of awkwardness that was quickly setting in with a vengeance.
'That was stupid. You set a trap and got yourself caught in it.' It had happened so fast, I had wanted too much. I wanted to knock my head against any of the cellar walls, or all of them, for allowing myself to be carried away.
Then, he lifted his face and gave me a long, hard look. I actually shivered. "This is not over, Freyja." And with that, he got off me. I didn't bother waiting for him to help me up. In spite of my shaking knees, which I blamed entirely on Alduin, I was climbing up that ladder almost before I knew it.
It was most certainly over. He just didn't know it. Still, I thought it only wise to hold my tongue. After all, it was extremely unlikely that he would believe me, given that said tongue had been down his throat very recently. 'You can't sleep with him.' I pushed at the hatch and winced at the bright light of day. Outside, Shadowmere stamped impatiently. 'You're not ready.' Bryn had been right; with me, it would never just be about sex. I was already putting my heart out on a limb here. There was a huge chance that it was going to be bruised again, and badly too. Always leave yourself a means of escape. There must always be a backdoor. I could practically hear Vex lecturing me. Maybe there was no way of escape, and probably whether I slept with him or not, I would get my heart crushed if I didn't succeed. But we all needed illusions sometimes and this was mine.
Unfortunately, Shadowmere was under no illusions when he set eyes on me. His ears went completely flat against his head and that heavy black tail lashed the air angrily. "Shadowmere, what—" He stepped away from me, and stamped his feet again, hard enough to throw up bits of soil and grass. "Oh."
Damn it all to Oblivion. I should have checked my appearance. The ties of my shirt were unfastened, the neckline left gaping wide open. 'Alduin, you sneaky bastard.' And too late, I recalled the bite on my neck. A side braid might have concealed it. Armour certainly would have. 'If only you'd been thinking straight...' Unfortunately, I hadn't been.
"What does that beast want?"
There might have been some consolation in knowing that I was not the only one failing to use my brains. If only Shadowmere had not gone from furious to utterly enraged at the sight of Alduin.
I had a split second to choose. So I launched myself at Shadowmere and caught his halter on both sides just before he darted past me. It took all my strength to pull his head to the side, forcing him to falter in his attempt to possibly trample Alduin on the spot. In turn, Shadowmere nearly yanked me off my feet as he reared back, his deafening outraged neigh ringing in my ears. Hot breath blasted my face and the snapping of his teeth sounded like whip cracks.
"Get back in the cellar!" I yelled, struggling to keep myself between my fellow assassin and his prey. It was entirely possible that Shadowmere had forgotten that hurting Alduin would in turn hurt me. The prospect of dying of a crushed skull or sustaining broken bones gave me additional strength as I dug in my heels and wrapped my hands so tightly around the leather that it hurt.
"Your horse has gone mad—"
"Because of you! Now move!"
I almost missed the sound of the hatch slamming as I struggled with Shadowmere, skidding on the grass as he dragged me along with him. "Sithis and the Void, will you calm down? If you crack open his head you'll kill me."
His only response was to bare his teeth at me and whip his head from side to side so quickly I felt my own teeth rattle. "Cease this behaviour at once!" The indignant Listener in me came roaring to the surface.
If looks could have killed... Shadowmere's crimson gaze bore into me. I glared back.
And he stopped, going completely still beneath my hands. The change was so immediate that it was almost eerie. Not even his tail flickered. The only evidence of his earlier exertions was the heaving of those muscular flanks.
It would be awhile before I was forgiven. Unclamping my hands from his bridle, I stepped back, briefly eyeing the white-red welts on my palms. "What's happened? It's only the second day."
For a moment, I thought that he was going to bite me. But all he did was take my hand in his mouth and tug. "We have to go now?" He whickered in response, nodding his head up and down. "Alright, give me ten minutes."
His whicker petered off into an inhuman growl.
"Five minutes."
When there was no further protest, I breathed an inward sigh of relief. One down, one more to go. High above, the sun was only midway in its arc across a cloudless, bright blue sea.
I already had a bad feeling that this was not going to be my day.