Hello, world. This has been a long time coming. My laptop broke over a year ago, but luckily I had everything backed up on a flash drive. Which I promptly lost. If you've been over at the Kink Meme, you may have known I've been searching for this drive for the whole year, with especial franticness since MarchI just found it, oh an hour ago? In a box in my sister's room. So yeah, I've made copies of the story and e-mailed them to myself. I decided if I didn't find the drive today, I'd discontinue the story, but now that I have found it I feel like I have to keep going. I still haven't written very far so there won't be any scheduled or frequent updates, but hopefully it will still interest enough people. I do have a soft spot for this story, even if it's old and slow and unfinished. My plot has expanded from a simple, dark PWP one shot purely about Alduin and the DB, into a multichapter Second Dragon War. Alduin and the DB are centric, as is their relationship, but the focus will be on the DB and her role in the war, meaning there will be a few OCs and other events that don't include Alduin. He will always return and be a dominating force as their relationship is the major point of the story. I just didn't want to write a romance this time around to practice other themes.
This chapter is background that will be needed for future chapters. Some of the nearest chapters may have some odd additions in them that are not canon. I guess nothing is postgame. You'll see what I mean when I get there, so just ride along with me and let me do the crazy things I want to do, okay? J Nothing important will change, but I'm creating some situations as plot points. Enjoy.
The gentle rocking of her sobs eventually awakens the Dragonborn. Her skin is flushed in sweat, her body trembling, a heavy coldness descends from her belly and holds her leaden limbs paralyzed to the bed. Her eyes take in the darkness of the room until she catches a dim light slipping from beneath the canopy ahead. Fear is still a thick, bubbling knot in her throat. She knows she should get up, sprint across the stone and into the hallway, into the safe brightness. But her thudding heart has no such will, and so she rolls over, tears drying as she stares blankly. She feels empty, ruined, hopeless, and alone. What point is there to hide from shadows? They may have this worthless husk.
She lies like this for many hours, the imagined brush of Alduin's grimy hands ensures a clammy feeling on her skin, but her heart calms and her muscles relax. Her eyes close and she must constantly fight back flashes. His lips trace her shoulders. His nails lightly scratch. He fucks her.
She whimpers and winces at how pathetic she truly sounds.
It is another few hours before she has relived the nightmare so many times the visions fade away, unable to insight the terror and suffering. She breathes deeply, steady, burrowed under the thin blanket. She whispers to herself quietly, "Think of Paarthurnax. Think of your friends in Whiterun," and their soft images bring some meager peace. She chides herself, "It was only a dream. If you get this worked up over make believe frights, how can you ever hope to face the real monster?" The logic appeals to her recovering mind and she shakes away the last of the scaly shadows stalking around her bed. She finally falls asleep, and does not rise for two days.
When she does wake up, the Dragonborn can smell cinnamon and egg. Her stomach growls before she can even roll over or open her eyes. She is starving. The sweet scents waft through the room, calling her attention until she jolts from the covers and looks desperately around. The small servant boy drops the tray at the foot of her bed and scurries away before she can even finish her "Thank you." She brushed it off just as she did with the elf. It is not their fault she has fallen so low.
She gulps the small glass of warm milk and gathers the steaming bread knots, carries them to her bedside chest, munching away and stretching in the light from the clothed doorway. The meal is invigorating. As she eats, the breakfast flavors take away the bitter taste of Alduin's tongue. As she hums, the comforting song takes away the sound of his labored groans. As she rocks back and forth, the brush of the blankets take away the grasping of his clawed hands. As she sits and waits and pushes down the nightmare's last stand against her sanity, she relaxes and then hardens, pulling herself tightly inside where he cannot reach her.
Today, she declares, will be a better one.
When she's finished off the eggs and bread, she gently stacks her dishes. Unsure of where to leave them, she walks outside the dim room and places them by the entry way. Perhaps this may make some poor servant's day easier. They do not seem to appreciate her presence. The thought makes her sigh. It is a strange thing indeed to no longer cause cheering and hope in the streets, but to incite fear and disappointment. It is no matter, she has earned the disgrace, but she will earn their love again. She will defeat the disillusioned, arrogant animal that dares to call himself a king.
She strides down the hallways absentmindedly, content to just have woken up alone and unbothered. She still mumbles old tunes, nurseries her mother once sang, the ballads of boasting bards. Perhaps one day they will boast of her conquests. Perhaps on day statues will be erected of the Dragonborn with the dragon's head beneath her feet. She allows herself to fantasize, defeating the images of rape and torture with the images of death and victory. A contented smirk settles on her face as Alduin and all his guard fall to her again and again. Her Thu'um roars from her throat, just as powerful as theirs and from a body so many times smaller. Her blade slices through the bones and tendons and flesh of their wings, guided by the force in her bicep just as equal as theirs. Her armor dings as their teeth are deflected, for her body is as fortified as theirs. Her soul dances upon theirs as they swirl up from the corpses, for it is exactly the same as theirs. She is Dragonborn, cursed and yet just as powerful.
But the thing that pleases her the most, that splits her dry lips in the first smile she's had since staring down Alduin in Sovngarde with the true belief that she would prevail, is the thought that soon she will be able to see Paarthurnax again. Her friend, her friend, she must see him.
Brother, they called each other, but the Dragonborn can see no resemblance between the two dragons. Alduin is black, his scales gnarled and long, like the thorns of a rose. His eyes an empty flame of orange, only capable of one thing: destruction. Of innocents, of heroes, of friends, of the world, and most importantly, of himself. Paarthurnax is a soft silver, his scales wide and smooth along his throat. They are strong just by being, an armor crafted so well it has no need for the grandiose spears that thrust stiffly from Alduin's hide. His eyes are a brilliant blue, a sea of knowledge, wisdom, humility, a silent strength that doesn't have to be proven. Paarthurnax just is. Alduin is desperate to show that he is something more than that, and she finds it funny that a thousand year old inhuman monster could have some insecurity like a little boy.
But as she walks down the winding corridors with her chest puffed out by the airy comparison, the nagging voice in her mind reminds her she is not so different, weak in her own pride. She scoffs, asking where such a though could come from, and brushes it off just as she turns a corner into a brightly lit stone tunnel. This pathway is significant somehow, the floor covered in a thin, sleek quartz that shines with the dancing lives of the torches hugging the walls yards above her head.
Another dirty servant child is obliviously skipping down the hall, her calloused, cut feet delicately spinning in the air just over the cracks in the quartz. The Dragonborn stops mid-step. The display is beautiful, young, sweet, and elegant but also disgusting that the girl suffers so. It is a strange combination within the Nord, joy and rage. The girl's potato sack of a dress twirls out like a budding flower and her thin legs flex with a unique power as she lands upon her toes and takes a bow. It is wrong, so entirely wrong, that this wonderful soul is imprisoned here. She could mesmerize any bard or Jarl with her skill. When she rises, her greasy blonde hair parts to reveal her big green eyes and the freckles that curve over her button nose. She is older, sixteen? Seventeen? Her breasts swell under the tattered brown material. She could be a princess.
The fear that clutches her face into a tight wide-eyed grimace makes the Dragonborn wince. The teen's eyes begin to fill with tears, her lip trembles as she stutters, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't know you were awake. Please don't tell him, I was going to get you in just a few minutes, please." The way she speaks is so terribly unnerving. Does she not know that she isn't a dragon?
She steps forward and kneels as the girl stares desperately at the rock below her feet. "Its fine, I won't tell him anything. I hate him, don't you know that?" She doesn't answer, just shakes her head as the tears begin to fall, cutting streams through the grime on her toes. "Hey, it's okay," she tries to reassure, reaching out to pat the servant's shoulder. She flinches from the touch, and so the hand drops awkwardly to the side. "Nothing will happen to you. Please, don't cry. I'm not your enemy, I won't hurt you. I won't let him hurt you."
Her backbone stops quivering like a tautly pulled bow string, her tears dry just as quickly as they came. There is still a shuddering hiccup in her voice as she responds, "He won't hurt me as long as I bring you outside."
"Outside?"
"Yes, I was tasked to stay with you until you were up," she wipes her eyes on her sleeve, sniffling into the torn fabric, "then I was supposed to take you out to the gardens."
"Why would you need to do that? Are they having a meeting? Am I to be strung up for a public whipping?" The last question is a little harsh, and she regrets is as the slave flinches, but she doesn't apologize.
"No, Commander Beinvedgraan said they were orders from Alduin. A… gift." The Dragonborn prickles at this. Mercy and gifts. What does he think he can do, woo her into submission? She is not so disenchanted. Or stupid. "I'm just to watch you walk around. If you'd like to go…" The meek whisper trails off. The woman smiles and stands, ready to see the world.
"Of course we can go to the gardens… I never turn away presents from my adoring fans." The slave stiffens as though Alduin may hear the mockery and swallow them whole. "What is your name, child?"
"I am called Gogil." The harshness is entirely Dov, but she does not recognize the word. She would ask, demand to know why they're renaming children as if they have any right, but she will never allow him to know she spoke so freely with the girl. Just as the elf and boy ran, this girl is staying, trusting in her. Giving her a chance. She will not risk her life to chide Krosis, the resident King and no doubt overseer of the servants. Of everyone in this twisted mockery of a kingdom.
"And what is your real name? Who were you before this happened?"
Gogil stalls as the pair begins to walk towards the source of the light, a huge archway that displays a "garden" of statues and above the mountains-high stone walls there is the bright blue sky. Red banners skim the gentle breeze. There is no smoke today, no bustle of building. Do they have holidays here? The thought makes her shake her head. As they step across the invisible threshold and onto the soft, wet grass, the teenager relaxes. She has fulfilled her duty, no punishment can come.
"I was Selvia."
"Selvia?" The Dragonborn questions with mirth. That is a much better name. The girl stays at the door way, an alert chaperone. How ironic to be baby sitted by a child. Still, she walks out into the garden and twists around, eyes darting towards all corners. She does not know why Alduin has summoned her here, but she will make use of his mistake. She will find a way out, one she can take in the dead of night when this poor girl is not burdened with her keeping. "You are Selvia now." She is rewarded a small smile. Where are you from, Selvia?"
The girl rustles behind her, but stays silent. The walls are tall and smooth. She may be able to shout them down, but she has no idea how thick they are. She would look rather silly trying to topple a mountain when all the dragons came to the beacon of "Here I am! I'm trying to escape, come get me!" She would have to find a better way. Perhaps she should have joined the Thieves Guild in Riften. Vilkas was a great instructor, but hacking away even with seven blades would do her no good here.
"I was born in Cyrodiil, did you know that? Your name reminds me of one of my childhood friends, Fralvia. She had strong cheeks like your own. She couldn't dance so prettily, though."
She can hear the girl exhale, wanting to speak but held back by that fear of dragons. She once suffered the same, but that was before their flesh dripped from her blade. Now there was only a bitter anger, a hatred of dragons. A hatred of him.
"My mother was from Cyrodiil. I did not know you were an Imperial."
"Ah, that is because I am not! My parents travelled across the border when I was but a thought. My father had trouble with his business is Skyrim, too many competitors for a woodworker. People here are resourceful, independent for the most part. They would just make their own furniture. In Cyrodiil there was a demand from lazy nobles, and my father was able to fulfill it."
The girl giggles, the sound catching the Dragonborn's attention. She turns with a mock face of insult and luckily the girl doesn't pull away. She is blushing, is it from the dancing comment? How long has she been trapped here, kept away from warmth and comfort. From her mother and father. Her friends and all the boys that would have sent her flowers and love letters. It has only been a half hour together. Perhaps she can gain a friend. Perhaps they both can. "What's funny?"
"It's just… you're the Dragonborn."
"Really?"
This jest the girl frowns at. She makes note not to be so misbehaved. "You kill things. It's just strange to hear your father made chairs."
At this the woman grins and turns, walking further into the garden for better scrutiny. "I'll have you know he made the very best. A throne, once, with emeralds and pretty swirls."
"I guess you had to have parents. Sometimes people forget."
This statement brings a pause in the warrior's gate. Of course they did. Sometimes she forgot herself. Who was that girl, that kid that looked for gemstones in caves for her Papa? Who was she now? Did it matter, really, who she was? She was Dragonborn, fighter, the people's hope and protector. She would be Alduin's doom. That is the role life gave her; that was all that mattered.
"You did, too. Where are your parents?" The garden paths curve in all directions in an attempt to cover the dozens of acres kept here. A few flowers bud sporadically, but the point of the garden is not beauty and aromatics. Weeds and muddy puddles cover most of the land. They are from footprints she could sit inside. She looks again towards the sky, scans the top of the walls. Where are the dragons?
Selvia is following now as she steps further. They take the left most path so she can walk along the wall, inspecting for holes, tunnels, poorly matched blocks. Surely somewhere there is some mistake, after all these structures were built by slaves, untrained, working only from fear and not a love of craftsmanship. They cannot be perfect like her father's, surely there must be something. Somewhere.
Although the teen trails behind her, she can feel her disapproving, worried gaze. She does not want to be seen with the Dragonborn obviously looking for ways out. Why did Beinvedgraan give her such responsibility? When had she ever proven herself? When had she ever tried to stand out? "My parents are gone. There were many small villages here, once. It was many months ago that they were torn down and razed to create this city. They did not make it. I was given only this option," Selvia responds. The last sentence is deadpanned, as though it were obvious.
They turn the corner, the Dragonborn running her hand along the wall, squatting and tiptoeing, looking up and down and rapping her knuckles against the stone. There is no hollowness. These walls are thick, sturdy. Perhaps impenetrable.
"You won't find a way out," Selvia answers her silent question. "Trust me, we have all looked. Hundreds of times. The only door out in the whole palace is the front one. If you can walk down the stairs unnoticed, then you can escape. That is the only way, and so it is no way at all."
"Ha!" She scoffs. "There are always ways. If I have to kill Alduin-"
Suddenly she feels hands clutching her arms, desperately. She turns and see the look in Selvia's eyes. It's terrified, but even more so, it is angry. "Don't you ever say such a thing," she demands, shaking the older woman. Though she could shake her off and to the ground with a flick of her wrist, she allows this child to correct her. She is surprised, and frankly impressed, by her audacity. "You may not care for your life, but I will keep mine. You cannot see him, cannot hear him, but he is always near. Whether in Krosis, or some surveying dragon, or the eyes of a servant trying to climb to the top. If you threaten him, he will know. I will not allow you to be a fool."
"I know sometimes I may look it," she rolls her shoulders and Selvia lets go immediately. Her hands fall to her side and her head tilts to the ground like an obedient slave. "But I assure you, I am anything but a fool. I am not weak, I will not lay down. I understand you are strong in your own way, in the boundaries he has wrongly trapped you within," she assures, holding the girl's chin, as she is a foot shorter, and pressing her for eye contact. "But I will fulfill my destiny. You don't have to believe that, I know how this seems, how it looks, how it sounds. I came here in bondage, flocked by undead, beaten and triumphed over. But that is temporary. Battles can be lost and wars still be won."
The girl shakes her off and faces the palace. "Is that what this is now? A war?" The Dragonborn faces the high walls, staring up into the sky and wishing so much that she didn't just have a dragon's soul, but also a dragon's wings. Wishing she had Paarthurnax to lift her above these insurmountable slabs.
"Child, it always was. There are just more soldiers now."
Selvia shudders and walks away from the woman. She never asked for a war, and she will not fight one. She was a dancer, not long ago. She had a family. She had friends. She had a boy she could sit in fields with at night and hold hands. She had a future where she could cross the trade routes between holds and gain the attention of some important woman who could teach her more. One day, she would make her way to Solitude and settle down in all the hustle and bustle of the capital city. That was where she belonged, but here is where she stayed. Where she worked in fear of the only sanction ever given to a servant: death.
"Come, Dragonborn, we must step away from the walls at the very least. If someone sees you looking for nooks and crannies to take off in, we'd both be punished. And I will take no whippings for you."
"If they ever tried, you can believe I would not let them," she replies, but still heads towards the center of the garden. There are huge chunks of stone in the center. They must have been left by the now suspiciously missing workers. One will clearly become a dragon, its horns reaching up from the rock and into the sky. She sits atop this one and grabs hold of the horns as though they were the reigns of a stallion she rode into battle. Once she topped Alduin, perhaps she could ride him around his wretched followers. Wouldn't that be a sight?
Her chaperone stands vigilant beside her. The flow of conversation has been dammed by her grand declarations of war. They just exist, silent, for several minutes. The Dragonborn grapples for conversation starters.
"So, who is Beinvedgraan? You called him chief, right?"
Selvia shakes her head. "Commander. He is leading on of Alduin's newest divisions."
"Divisions?"
This time the girl scoffs. "You were the one talking of war. Isn't war fought by armies?"
The Nord rests her cheek against one of the carved spires. "I must have been dead for quite some time if he's already erected an army."
Selvia shuffles awkwardly away. "You were 'dead' for weeks. But now here you are, and there must be a reason for it."
"Alduin tells me it is his mercy," she laughs but it is a bit too bitter. "I think it is my second chance to be what I was always meant to become. Selvia, I know we have just met. It's been only an hour. You know nothing of me other than I have lost, terribly. You have no reason to put your faith in me. No reason to risk your own life. But you are the first soul to speak to me without condescension or terror. If I could win, if I could prove it to you, would you help me?" At this the girl spins around, arm flying out in front of her in bewilderment.
"Do I look like a militant to you?!" She shouts, voice tipped in accusation.
"I would never ask you to fight for me." She chews her lip thoughtfully and a dot of blood appears there. She licks it away absentmindedly. "Never mind, it was a silly question." Selvia just nods and finally takes a seat on the block across the path. "So he has commanders? How many dragons do you think now pervade your skies?"
"Hundreds. More than I have ever seen in all the books and heard in all the songs from my childhood."
"And how many does he name Commander?"
"I only know of Beinvedgraan, but I know there are more. He is the only one that stays close to the palace." They both look towards the walls again, speaking freely but ready for the dark wings to descend upon them at any moment.
"I see." Silence comes between them again. Pillowy clouds float over the black barricades. Shadows are cast on the garden. She feels the question rise in her throat, but she pushes it back over and over. Selvia picks at a weed by her bare feet. "Does he… Alduin, I mean, stay at the palace?"
"Loan Dovah." The command comes like a whisper on the wind. The women are coated in a thick blackness not from any cloud. Selvia jumps from her seat and smooths out her dress as though Alduin cared about presentation. Not at all unless, of course, it was the presentation of himself. She opens her mouth to speak, to apologize vehemently for whatever she can think of, but she is stopped by the elder woman's hand.
The Dragonborn stands and faces the demon perched delicately atop the slabs of stone. The sun is eclipsed by his jagged form. Presenting. Pretentious. "Hi los ni het," she states simply, shrugging.
His wings unfurl and he glides to the garden, one wing grasping a statue as his other claws come to dig into the soft earth. "Zu'u fen daal fah hi. Mahfaeraak." It sounds like something a lover might say, but drips with a sickening poison that turns her stomach and thrashes against her rib cage. His head lowers, tilting, the expression like an expectant dog who has weighed the thing before it as no threat. Selvia feels the tension in the air, looks from Dragonborn to Dovah, and slowly lowers herself into the seat hoping with a racing heart and sweating brow that neither will notice her. They don't.
Just as she settles against the stone, the Nord woman stands, body shaking with pure rage. "Mahfaeraak? Mahfaeraak los zah. Ol zah ol hin laas!" And she strides right across the yards between them until her hair whips in the foul breaths he releases. As she approaches he sits back onto his haunches, not from nervousness or avoidance. His head rises straight into the clouds, his wings cut through the air. He is showing how much he towers over her. She cranes her neck up and keeps her glare focused on his huge, bright eye. The nictitating membrane slithers over, giving it a hazy appearance as he equally regards her. What a daring little female to put on such a show for the slave girl.
"Nii los folaas wah tinvaark voth thu'um. Zul, Joor. Tell me you haven't forgotten your own tongue trying to play with mine?" She would rather stay with the Dovs' language than expose such petty tongue lashings to the girl behind her. But she will not back down from Alduin. Even in Sovngarde he had to utterly tear her apart, rip her hand almost from its wrist and her spine from her back just to get her to sit down. And die. That part she is still not used to.
She places her hands on her hips, a leg kicked out casually to one side. It's a stance she might have taken with her nagging mother as a rebellious teen, but the pose of utter indifference is enough of a mocking answer for now. She stares him down, forgets the girl is even behind her. The show they put on is like two quarreling children, and her response is just as foolish. "I would never play with your tongue, Alduin." The double meaning is immediately understood. Selvia gasps in horror. He lurches forward. Upper body crashing down into the dirt and mud below, a quake sounds through the garden, small stones scattering as far away from his intimidating form as they can.
"But I will play with you on it as I drain the blood from your corpse!" He roars, giant gaping maw discharging a tornado of fetid air and spittle. She crosses her arms but refuses to step down. "I thought I would give you a nice warm day to explore the world in, to see what you have allowed to happen. I give you this opportunity and you have no appreciation?" His massive head swings from side to side and she can feel the whoosh of the air he casts from this simple action. He is large, it is true. He is powerful. But he is conquerable all the same. They all are.
She swivels on her heel to turn away from him, to disregard him with another cocky remark, but she is immediately halted as he steps forward, suddenly crossing any space between them, and lowers his head until his chin brushes her shoulder. She shudders and freezes, unsure of his, and therefore her, next move.
He answers at once. "You there, slave child." The girl's eyes are so wide they might tear and her body seizes in tremors of pure fright. Her dangerously thin arms are limp but her fingers clutch her dress with such force the knuckles are bright white against her tan skin tone. "I see Beinvedgraan chose you for this duty, and he apparently made the proper choice." The compliment stills her shaking just barely. The Dragonborn's own chest is rising and falling dramatically, her breathing ragged, her head unturned but from the corner of her eyes she focuses on the black scales brushing her ear. He cannot, he must not, he will not…
"But, you would understand if I had to eat you, yes, to punish this insolent, disobedient, childish woman?"
And then her hands are on him. Her mind is empty except for the need to do something right now. She ducks under his strong jaw, her arms widen as far as they possible can and she grabs either side of his face. He is taken aback but he does not show it. This creature dares to touch me?
What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing. "You will not kill her, Alduin. Your commander tasked her to come here; that is no fault of her own. You can punish me in other ways, worse ways," the girl recoils, "I assure you." Alduin flings his head and the Dragonborn flies backward, landing on the beaten ground, her back slamming against a stone statue that topples over and becomes a dozen jagged pieces. She sees Sovngarde's swirling rainbow sky as his teeth grow ever closer, hears the dying screams of her comrades as the girl begins to sob.
"And I will use them, Kulaas." His snout digs into her stomach and chest: pressing, crushing, suffocating. She cannot see his eyes, they are above her. He is huge, he is dangerous, he is powerful, he is King. Selvia is trying desperately to stifle her cries, she is standing on the other side of the stone as if it might somehow protect her from him. The Dragonborn must be quick. And accepting.
Her hands come up to his scales again, rest gingerly on the hard, coarse plates. She doesn't know why she feels compelled to do so, she just does. His hot, acrid breaths rush against her, hair and dress flying, her eyes closing tight as they dry out instantly. She has to redirect him, has to get him to leave or to let the girl go before she is so horrified she will never be able to help. And she needs her to help.
"I know, Alduin," she presses her forehead against the broad flat surface of his snout. "I am brash and angry, and I am strong so do not forget after one victory. But I am not stupid. You have reign here, I accept that. For now. Let the girl go." Though she urges in words, her voice remains calm and emotionless. She will not beg. She will not demand. She will just state and see how he responds.
"Ru, Kiir. Leave!" His voice is a blast that would carry her away if she were not caged under his own jaw. The whole world rattles beneath it. She hears the girl's tiny, graceful feet slosh wildly across the garden as she darts for the archway, the eventual pattering making clear she has made it safely inside. Away from him. From them.
An electricity comes to life between them once more, shocking and crackling in the heavy air, thin tendrils of hot energy lashing against their bodies. It seems to consume her, jolting her soul into the swirling, frenzied dance. It presses fiercely against her flesh, looking for a way out, a way to the soul bared before her. She wants to claim it so terribly she leans even further into Alduin.
He pulls away then, the scales slowly sliding beneath her skin as he does. The texture of them is oddly satisfying, like rubbing your hands against a tree's bark. Her skin tingles and so she places them on her knees, willing the sensation away as she gets to her feet again. The static fades, her soul goes back to sleep. Her back is sore, but not in pain. The humiliation is a firmer prickling. The anger, it is even worse.
She does not have to think of something to say. He speaks first. "You test me, Zaam. But I will not give up a worthy servant." She cannot tell which he is speaking of, so she does not bother to fight his haughty displays of dominion. Not yet can she defeat him, but one day she will be able to cut that thick neck from his shoulders. To succeed, she must last till that day.
But that doesn't mean she has to live a groveling life to do so. "What is it you came for, Alduin?" He leans low onto his wings, digs up the earth as he presses further down.
"I only wished to see how my charge was enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. You had not risen in days." He tsks and looks out to the sky. She does not follow his gaze. She looks at him. He turns back to her then, the eyes alight with a halo of blue fire. "I missed you."
She snorts incredulously. "Wasn't enough spying on me in the baths, hmm?"
He scowls. "As Krosis said, there is no interest in you. You are weak, small, squishy, already dominated. Do not be so narcissistic. You must know, yes, that I am always watching. You should not think that I care."
She cannot tell the game he is trying to play. He misses her, he mocks her. He does not care, he thinks that will wound her? Is he just not certain which path, the deceitful warmth or harsh coldness, will bring her more pain? Why would he ever consider the first to be damaging? She will not be bothered by his petty grooming, so there is no point in such niceties.
She turns away from him then, he does not follow. She returns to her seat and settles into it. She is not threatened by him, nor will she raise a threat against him. She needs information first.
"Why is no one here today?"
"I sent them away."
"Why?"
"It is not your concern."
"You gave them a holiday as some gift to me?"
"No, they are all hard at work. Elsewhere." He answered. She must carefully craft her questions.
"Such as?"
A sounds gurgles in his throat and pierces her ears. He is laughing. It is a nauseating noise. "Such as burning the fields from here to Riften."
Beinvedgraan – A made up name. Foul Black Rout. It's not a name of punishment, but rather a description of his methods in the Dragon War. Trickery, mostly.
Gogil – Goblin. Yeah they're assholes.
Hi los ni het. – You were not here. Some words from Thu' that weren't canon on the wikia.
Zu'u fen daal fah hi. Mahfaeraak. – I will come for you. Forever.
Mahfaeraak? Mahfaeraak los zah. Ol zah ol hin laas! – Forever? Forever is finite. As finite as your life!
Nii los folaas wah tinvaark voth thu'um. Zul, Joor. – It is wrong to speak the Dragon language. Human voice, mortal.
Kulaas. – Princess.
Ru, Kiir. – Run, child.
THANK YOU to those who continue to dig up this embarrassingly old, forgotten thing and getting my favs up to 99! Can we make it to 100? ;) I guess that will depend on how well I behave and update, huh? Anyways, thanks for keeping me reminded of this story. You all deserve a finished tale, no matter what my life is like. I shouldn't have started it if I didn't promise to finish it.
The dragon language has been updated on the wikia since I've last checked. Earlier translations may not be incorrect. I am debating sticking to the new list, or still using Hiu and such as second person pronouns so I can more easily write dialogue. A few other resources use what seem to be invented pronouns to solve this problem. Opinions? I have had some ask me to include the translations in-text so they don't have to scroll back and forth. How does everyone else feel about it? I don't want to force awkward scrolling and pull you out of the story, but I also don't like seeing the interruptions in the body of the story, so I'm not sure what to do.
Here's the link to the version on Livejournal. There will be many chapters between "intimate" scenarios as we start out, but it was requested and later on you may want to read the full story over there. Fanfiction removes the url, so google Skyrim Kink Meme and paste the following after the /.
1639 . h...t...m...l ?thread=822119#t822119