Hey Guys, Super short one after like a year of no updates. I'm still writing but I have kind of hit a block, just struggling to get through it. :P I'll keep working on it. It may mean a bit of a re-edit of some earlier chapters but I'll let you know before I do that. Enjoy this short teaser chapter. I'm not sure if what's in here counts as a possible trigger warning but I'd rather be safe than sorry, Wren works through some things in this chapter, and while you and I know that Hadvar is totally smitten, Wren has zero experience, both with other people as a whole and with men, so she's one hundred percent totally socially inept. (kinda like me :P I'm so embarrassing lolz). So yeah, trigger warnings be here.
Wren was grateful that no-one else was hurt while working to open the chest, her magicka was so low she was moments from getting the shakes. She could feel that empty feeling like a hook just behind her heart, pulling, tightening as her magicka was squeezed out though it was easing now. But that familiar hook was now accompanied by warmth that spread through her limbs, making her feel heavy but tingly at the same time. She struggled to describe it, even to herself; she hadn't felt this way before her ignominious entrance into Skyrim. Now that her head was clear, more so even then before she'd been given the potion, she could tell that the feeling had begun before she'd had the potion. Hadvar was the first man she'd ever been that close to, and the first to treat her with kindness.
Her mother had been a recluse even before she'd been born, and spent her last years teaching her child that men were evil, that the only reason Wren even existed was because a man had forced his way inside her body and planted his evil seed within her. Apparently no matter what she had tried, Allak Seville had been cursed to bear this mans child. No potion had managed to flush her from the womb and Allak made sure Wren had known she tried them all, nearly poisoning herself in the process. Nearly burning down the nearby village when they had gone to sell furs had given her mother a chance to punish her further by binding her magicka. Each year the binding seemed to loosen and Wren had a little more access, but it was slow going and though she had studied spell books as often as she could get her grubby hands on, she barely managed to eke out a brief beginner spell even fully charged. As she grew, Allack had told her repeatedly of the spell that bound her power, blaming the local mage in the village, but taking glee in detailing exactly how long it would be before it released. Wren had worked out, from a young age, that her mother hated two things in life, men and Wren. While she knew, logically, that not all men could possibly be like the man Allack said was her father, it was hard to overcome her mother's prejudices when she'd never had a good experience herself.
Meeting Hadvar had been a surprise. It wasn't just that he was honourable and kind either. She'd been thinking it over ever since her head had cleared to find her back pressed to his chest and Hadvar hastily moving his hand away from his face to wipe his fingers on the tunic of his uniform. She had no idea why he looked guilty when the pleasure that still shook through her system was amazing. She'd not only never felt so relaxed but the release had sent her entire consciousness spiralling in to the abyss and back again. When she thought back on the moments before that everything was a bit fuzzy but it was as though her entire body was focussing on the sensations rather than the context. She could hear Hadvar's breathing in her ears and feel the warm puffs of air on the sensitive skin where her shoulder joined her neck, could feel as his hands skimmed along her skin, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. And nothing felt better, in all of her life, than when he had kissed her as she shattered in to a million tiny bits.
Looking in to his eyes made her want to squirm, it was like she could see all the way to her soul. Like he knew what she needed even before she did. She could only imagine that he had far more experience than she did, to know her body so well without ever seeing it.
The thought of Hadvar with other women sent a shiver through her. She wasn't entirely sure why though. They were walking through yet another cavern, after climbing the slope back up to the point where they had gone wrong. The path was currently clear and her hand was clasped in Hadvar's as he lead them through the cave system under the stone city they had escaped from. Being lead like this gave her plenty of time to think, despite the rising heat that she could feel in the tips of her fingers. She knew she wouldn't be able to focus on the problem at hand for much longer, knew her mind would fail her when the desire began to wash over her again.
While they'd been sat by the waterfall waiting for everyone to get their strength back for the climb back up, she'd seen Asta and Hadvar talking while she spoke with Ralof, shyly asking questions about lockpicks and his armor. They'd been walking through these caves for an unknown amount of time, and based on Ralof's tales and where she had met the Stormcloak soldiers, they had been travelling far longer than that, she'd been wounded by an arrow and had countless sword battles, and somehow, Asta still looked beautiful. Her hair was pale as wheat and even in armor, Wren could tell she had a great figure. She couldn't help but compare herself to Asta, even knowing she was one of the only friends she had ever made. Her body had almost none of the curve that graced Asta's figure and her hair was dark, not glorious light reflecting blond. When she stood, Wren knew, the top of her head would barely touch the underside of Asta's chin, after all, she only came up to Hadvar's shoulders. Her hair was tangled and bedraggled from the struggle against the man with the potion and being tossed in to a cage. She tried to ignore these differences, and the pang of jealousy that struck her. But as their conversation continued, Hadvar had sunk down to sit on a rock, gazing up at Asta with a look on his face that she couldn't place. He seemed lighter some how, like there was less tension weighing on him. Wren could only imagine him looking at her like that, with that mix of relief and joy. (Well, not up at her, for obvious reasons)
She'd shaken the jealousy away. Not only was there no point to the feeling, she had no claim on Hadvar. She could see Hadvar and Asta as a mated pair, they'd be beautiful together, complimenting each other perfectly, despite being on opposite sides of what Ralof told her was the beginnings of a civil war. But Hadvar was helping her through the effects of the potion, through the lust that swamped her, was being forced to look after her because of the promises he'd made to her when she'd been given to him by the Captain. There was no way he could have foreseen that helping her escape, looking after her, would involve negating the effects of a nefarious potion. Wren realised during her introspection that she would have welcomed Hadvar's advances eagerly had they met under other circumstances but she had also come to the conclusion that Hadvar would never have seen her under 'normal' circumstances, not when the women of his homeland clearly had preternatural abilities to stay gorgeous no matter what the world threw at them. She looked up at the man leading her to safety as a wave of guilt and, to her added shame, lust washed over her. She was keeping him from better women, stopping him from finding happiness with another. She was stopping Hadvar, the man who had been the kindest to her, from finding happiness with Asta.
The feeling like she was going to cry choked her, but she pushed it down, burying it beneath all the other feelings that threatened to over whelm her. If she broke down, she wouldn't be able to explain why. Not without embarrassing herself, Asta and Hadvar. These people were the last people in the world who deserved to be wronged. She could only hope that they would find a way to be together despite her. Wren also knew she'd never live if she separated from their group now. She was laughably weak, even more so now. She had no weapon if she was attacked in the wilds of Skyrim, no knowledge of the area if she got lost and no contacts to even begin the thought of selling furs again. To cap it off, Asta had explained to her that the potions effects would drive her to madness if she wasn't with someone. Hadvar had seemed to slip in to that role automatically, and she was so grateful. Wren couldn't imagine what would have happened if he didn't, if he'd refused, as was his right. A gasp slipped out as she realised that she was essentially raping Hadvar, using his feelings of responsibility to her.
She was brought back to the real world when she felt Hadvar's hand tighten on hers. Her eyes shot up and met his. His brow was furrowed, his brown eyes concerned. She opened her mouth, desperate to tell him she was fine, not to worry, but nothing would come out, and she was left gaping at him like a fish. Gently he tugged her forward, drawing her in by her already captured hand.
"Are you well?" Such a loaded question. She wanted to answer, wanted to reassure him but her thoughts were derailed as he gently drew a finger down the side of her face, moving some of her hair away she realised moments later. It took her a moment because as his fingers brushed against her skin her lips parted and she let out an embarrassingly breathy groan. She'd have been mortified, especially given her earlier mental revelations, but the waves of lust that had been lapping at her skin while she walked behind Hadvar had retreated and returned like the tide; higher; stronger. They knocked her from her mental agonies and into the present. A present where Hadvar's hands were on her skin and she couldn't bring herself to even contemplate asking him to stop the sensations were so utterly blissful.