Fate's Games Chapter 66: Lust, an elder scroll series fanfic

Lust

(A/N: Third up today. This is a particularly long one. I can't say I'm overly happy with it, but I hope it's up to par with others. References one of the quests Dengeir can give you later on, and mentions a few more in passing briefly. Enjoy.)

She served under Jarl Siddgeir, and Dengeir before him. It had been Dengeir who had made her a steward long ago when he was young. She remembered that day clearly. She had had strong feelings for him once upon a time. He had been a good man and a good Jarl, if not stubborn and hot-tempered. He had seen everything as a conspiracy against him, she knew. Remembering always brought a smile to her lips… Her smile fell. Then he had broken her heart, taken a bride. She hadn't resented him. She knew he'd never felt for her as she had for him. It hadn't stopped it from hurting, though… And then his nephew had been born… She remembered that day clearly as well. She remembered it with a bitterness, and her eyes became cold. That day this family had been cursed.

Dengeir's wife died when the Jarl was well into his sixties, but by then Nenya's love for the man had grown cold. It wasn't because of his age or his appearance, it was just… Things had changed. She had changed. When Dengeir's health began to fail, as old age overtook him, young Siddgeir had been appointed Jarl in his stead. Another day she looked back on bitterly, might she add. She happened to actually share Dengeir's belief that it had been an Imperial plot to throw him from the throne. Oh well, it couldn't be helped. Regardless, she had been kept on as steward. It had been simpler for Siddgeir that way, hence the reason her presence was even tolerated. The young man had no interest in running his hold, and so left such matters to her. For her part, she did her best to see that the people of Falkreath were treated fairly.

It wasn't that she hated Siddgeir, it was just… He was so different from his Uncle. The two were practically polar opposites. Siddgeir was uncaring and lazy, Dengeir had done everything for his people no matter the difficulties it presented. That wasn't to say Siddgeir was an awful Jarl, of course. Though he often tended to act too quickly—the man had little patience and wanted things here and now, particularly if they pertained to him; he was spoiled like that—he did listen to her council and to Helvard, his Housecarl, fairly often. For all his laziness and indifference towards his people he was no fool. He understood full well that he was young - perhaps younger than Elisif, Nenya believed, or around the same age - and had much to learn. He understood that there were pearls of wisdom he could snap up from Helvard or her; in particular her. It was just that, well, he didn't care. It wasn't all that important to him and he wasn't interested in the least. He liked the cushy way he was ruling and would just as soon stomp on those pearls as pick them up. He'd lived a privileged existence and anything that stood in the way of that was a nuisance to pawn off on her. Not to say he did absolutely nothing at all, but he came close.

"Why have taxes not come in from Granite Hill, Nenya? We should send some guards down there." If nothing else it would speed up the process, he agitatedly thought. As if he could be bothered with such lateness regarding such a pointlessly trivial matter. Unfortunately, he knew full well these things weren't as trivial as he wished them to be. They needed to be dealt with to keep this hold up and running, and gods curse him if he let the wretched place disintegrate before his very eyes because of some stupid idiot's mistake. He refused to be known forever more as the heir who let Falkreath collapse on itself.

"They are only a little late, Jarl," she replied pacifyingly. "The trade routes are affected by the war. We should give them another day."

"Very well," Siddgeir grumbled unenthusiastically. How much more annoying could this day possibly become? "But when their emissary arrives I want words with him."

"Very good, Jarl," she replied, bowing her head ever so slightly. See, he did things. He just… dealt with them in his own way. A way that was surprisingly more efficient than one would suspect, when he actually cared enough to directly intervene in the goings on of his hold.

"We're done here, I think," he dismissed, waving her off as if she were nothing. She shook her head and backed away. She needed to speak to Halvard anyway.

Nenya came up beside the Housecarl. "Preparing the defenses is almost impossible lately. Every time we get a new war report, our needs change," he said, nodding a greeting.

"The trade routes are affected as well. Procuring supplies is a guessing game. Weapons sell well, though," she answered, trying to shed some light on the situation. For all the good that did.

"Mmm, careful with that, Nenya. Our merchants could be selling weapons to an invading force," Helvard warned.

"I suppose," she agreed. She glared coldly at Siddgeir who, as per usual, was looking lost in his thoughts as he examined his nails. "You know, sometimes I doubt he even listens to me."

"You'd be surprised. He listens to your words more often than you'd think. You're the one practically running this hold, after all. He prefers to be out hunting with the finest dogs and indulging in the best food and drink to grace a table. Siddgeir's an extravagant creature, a man of fine taste," Helvard said.

"I can't remember the last time he did anything for the people of Falkreath," Nenya complained.

"He may not be much of a leader, least not a responsible one, but when it comes down to it he can show a surprising degree of capability," Helvard replied, halfheartedly defending his 'friend', if you could call it that. "After all, Dengeir's blood does flow through him," he added.

"As hard as it is to believe," Nenya muttered under her breath. That such a man as Siddgeir could be related to, and in fact practically raised by, one so noble as Dengeir was beyond her. Perhaps, though, her old feelings towards Dengeir were just biasing her as to his honorableness.

Some days later, Helvard's words as to Siddgeir's capability of stepping up were proven correct. She saw the young Jarl pouring over a map, jaw set and eyes flashing dangerously. He was obviously annoyed and obviously very angry. Perhaps there was even a hint of protectiveness reflected in his gaze? "Siddgeir…?" she began, curious.

"No time, I have business to conduct," he curtly dismissed.

"What's happening?" she asked.

He paused a moment and looked up at her, thinking over whether he should grace her with an answer or not. Finally he replied, "Stand aside. I don't need to speak to you." For once this situation was a matter only for a Jarl. Regardless of whether or not he let her run his hold, the fact that he was still its ruler didn't change. Ultimately this city's fate was his to determine; the choices that governed whether she would rise or fall his to make.

"I can help you," she insisted. "I've been around for over a century, for the love of the Divines," she argued, eyes flaming in annoyance.

He scowled icily and warningly at her. Seeing she wasn't intimidated or backing down, he relented. After all, what did he have to lose? Other than Falkreath, of course. "Jarl Balgruuf has stationed a concerning number of troops in Riverwood. They're too close to my Hold for comfort. I'm determining whether this is a provocation or simply a misunderstanding. Take a message for me," he said, concisely and to the point.

She quickly brought out a piece of parchment and a quill, surprised as to how certain of his actions Siddgeir was. He'd been gleaning more pearls of wisdom than she'd previously believed, it appeared. "I'm listening," she said.

"To Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. The Jarl of Falkreath demands to know why you have seen it fit to send a battalion of soldiers to Riverwood. I insist upon answers. If you have sided with Ulfric and are now arming soldiers in an attempt to attack me, you will pay a steep price, mark my words. I will send every able-bodied man and woman out to meet your attack without mercy. I pray for your sake your actions are due to something else. You have a day to reply. If I do not receive an answer, I will send my men regardless. His Excellency, Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath," he dictated. She wrote down his words precisely, ever so slightly rolling her eyes at his self-given title. "Send for the courier as quickly as you can. This cannot be overlooked."

"He's stationed a battalion in Riverwood?" Nenya asked, obviously taken aback by this news.

"He has," Siddgeir replied. "Perhaps he has joined Ulfric, perhaps not, but the potential for threat that this matter presents cannot be ignored." She nodded and hurried off.

When she returned, he was sitting in his throne gazing ponderously up at the roof, lost in thought. She started. He was worried. He was actually worried about the hold he had so often called a dump and a wretched wormhole. For a moment she almost felt sympathy for him. "You know, for Falkreath and I this is just one more war in a long line," she remarked in an effort to reassure the young man. "It will weather this one too."

"Yes, I suppose," Siddgeir mused more to himself than to her, still considering things.

This Civil War had him testy and edgy, Nenya knew; and though she was loathe to admit it, it was starting to bring out a slightly more responsible side of the wild and untamable young man. Siddgeir had never liked change. He'd never liked an uncertain future. Even as a little one, if things appeared to be deviating from the path he had laid out for himself, he would lose all control. When his parents had died… Needless to say it got bad. The event had spiraled him into a manic and unpredictable whirlwind of rage, misery, resentment, hatred, disgust, confusion, terror, and despair. Only a young boy, then, he'd even gone so far as to try and throw himself off of the roof of the Longhouse in some irrational and baseless belief that when he impacted everything would go back to the way it was and the nightmare would end. How such an idea had gotten into his head was beyond her. Perhaps he thought it was all a dream he just couldn't wake up from, and falling would fix it. All she knew was that he hadn't succeeded and that he'd never tried again. Gods forbid Siddgeir want anything bad to happen to his precious body… He'd never recovered from the blow his parents' deaths had dealt him…

He looked at her suddenly, and she stood at attention. "Boland speaks much about the war and the Stormcloaks, but he knows who provides. The Stomcloaks want freedom but don't understand its price," Siddgeir said almost challengingly. Or questioningly? After all, perhaps it was his way of trying to reassure himself that he was on the right side of this disaster.

"You have sympathy for them?" she doubtfully questioned.

"Of course not," he scoffed. If he were to be entirely truthful, however, sometimes he did wonder. Nonetheless, such a thing would be too great a change for him in too short of a time. It simply wouldn't do. Heaven forbid he miss out on his beauty sleep for a risk like that.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, partly in annoyance and partly out of curiosity. The young man kept her on her toes, she'd give him that. That was one thing Dengeir had never been able to do, as hard as he tried. Every time she thought Siddgeir had run out of surprises, he did something else unexpected. Part of her preferred for him to stay the lazy and uncaring ruler he usually was. "You know Falkreath's history; at least I certainly hope you do. Many battles have been fought here over the centuries. Graves were dug and monuments built, and the town grew around these. In time, Falkreath came to be known as the heroes' graveryard. Many noble Jarls and renowned warriors asked to be buried here…" she remarked.

He glared at her coldly. "And your point would be?" he demanded.

"She won't fall, that's my point. Falkreath has stood for centuries, weathering battle after battle. I see no reason it should collapse now. Even if it does, why do you fear death so much, Siddgeir? It comes to us all," she remarked. "Even me… In another three or four centuries, that is."

"I do not intend to die when I have so much life ahead of me!" he shot, slamming his fist on the arm of his throne. "Such potential, such power, such luxury… Why would I want to lose it all to death? I will give up Falkreath Hold in a heartbeat if it means I live the fullest life I can."

"Yet you challenge Balgruuf with soldiers and the threat of battle," Nenya said.

"Do you honestly think I'll be here should Balgruuf's men actually make it?" Siddgeir demanded. "Unlikely."

"That's just like you! Abandon your people to die. You're not half the man your Uncle is!" she snapped sharply. "You never will be!"

"Oh spare me," he sneered. "Don't think I don't know about your little fixation on that old coot. No man has ever matched up to him in your eyes!"

"Gods I hope you die," she growled.

He laughed scornfully. "As if that would happen; you see, my dear Nenya, I have an option available to me that most do not," he stated.

"Oh really?" she asked doubtfully.

"Really," he replied, smirking coldly.

"What?" she challenged.

"You think I would tell you? Please," he answered. "Run off and tend to whatever it is you tend to in the hold now. There are opportunities everywhere. Why don't you go find them? Come and see me again sometime. I might have some use for you."

"Burn in Oblivion," she darkly said, crossing her arms coldly. Her every word was laced with venom. That's what she got for trying to be nice. With that she turned on her heel and stormed out. He watched after her a long moment, eyes glittering coldly.

It wasn't that she hated him, she told herself again, but gods how she hated him. The finer things in life were hardly even enough for Siddgeir. To his credit—though she begrudgingly gave it—his message to Balgruuf had been effective. Hardly hours later the Courier was back with a desperate plea and an explanation of the events that had occurred in Helgan, the passing of a dragon overhead, and the necessity of moving troops into Riverwood. Balgruuf had also warned Siddgeir to put out more troops, which Siddgeir had done. Surprisingly she hadn't had to be the one to insist on it either.

That plus in his corner being said, he was quickly outweighing it with minuses. Currently she watched disgustedly as he flirted with a woman whom he would likely be bedding soon. She turned attention back to hold duties as the sorry excuse for a Jarl continued pursuing his lavish lifestyle; the materialistic son of a… never mind. The more she observed him the more she doubted he had a redeeming quality about him. She didn't believe her opinion of him would ever change. He had a lot of growing up to do yet, and given his reluctance to change, she doubted he would develop into some semblance of a decent man any time soon.

Sure enough she was there the next morning, in his room. He was oversleeping, as usual, and it was her duty to wake him. That would prove to be awkward given the woman in his arms, but she hardly cared. She hadn't aged a day in Elven years since his birth. She was quite used to seeing the mortal man in various states of undress. Mortal; hah… but then she supposed that, in a way, even the elves were mortal. They could be killed and they could die of old age, albeit it would probably take four-hundred or so years. Maybe even up into the thousands. She marched towards his bed and seized the covers. Angrily she yanked them off.

The woman awoke with a scream, grabbing for something to cover herself with. He, for his part, just sleepily opened an eye in annoyance. "Oh for the love of… Nenya, I don't believe I ordered a wakeup call," he grumbled, sitting up casually as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's midday you lazy… I mean my Jarl," she answered. His eyes narrowed at her coldly but he said nothing. "Get dressed and start attending to your court! You might as well name me Jarl given the way you govern this place."

"You're stepping out of your place, Nenya, don't forget it," he growled lowly.

"You let this woman into your room, let her see you naked, and you speak to her as casually as if you were on your throne?" the strange woman demanded in outrage. "What is she, your concubine?!"

"Concubine?!" Nenya raged, hands lighting up with spells.

"It was you who chose to come in here when I was like this," Siddgeir said, picking up a glass of wine from his bedside table and sipping it, totally nonchalant. Her fury almost turned on him. She likely would have blasted the man if she wasn't practiced in keeping her temper regarding him. With great restraint, she cancelled her spells.

"You, get out, he has a job to do," Nenya ordered the girl. Swiftly the young woman scrambled to collect her things and leave. As the door shut, Nenya said to Siddgeir, "You don't even know her name, do you?"

"Gunhilde, Ingeborge, Isolte, something like that," he replied, shrugging as he rose. She picked up his clothes and brought them to him.

"Cover yourself and at least give the impression of being a decent man instead of a spoiled and immoral child," she bit coldly.

"Here I thought you liked seeing me in this state," he remarked. Honestly this hadn't been the first time she'd come into his room and torn his covers off only to find him in his birthday suit. You think she would learn, humph. Perhaps she simply didn't care one way or the other. After all, she was probably around 150 years old. Doubtless she'd seen many a man in such a state. No, he didn't mean the woman had slept with them. Nenya was much too proper for such a thing… or not… who knew? He didn't, and he hardly cared anyway. Nenya looked him dubiously over. He had the body to boast, no doubt there, but no; just no.

Some Days Later

It was on a hunting trip that it happened, a whole new dynamic forming between the Jarl and his Stewardess. It wasn't romantic, per say, but it was something and it was passionate and it was dangerous; dangerous for the both of them. It had started out normally enough, him announcing his plans and her requesting permission to go into the forest, while he was gone, to gather various alchemical supplies. As per usual he allowed it with a dismissive wave of his hand. As per usual he helped her up onto his horse and rode with her in front of him until they were well into the woods. He let her off and joined the rest of his hunting party, dogs and all, and they galloped off leaving her to do whatever it was she did.

Siddgeir was a seasoned hunter. He had been going on these things since he was a lad. He knew how to handle himself in a hunt. He would have been excellent, in fact, if not for his stubborn pride and know-it-all attitude; both of which resulted in many a failure to catch what he was going after as well as a few incidents that cost him either one of the dogs or one of his fellow hunters. He would try and be more careful today, but then he always told himself that. He never did it. They were after some sort of man-beast that had been reportedly sighted out here in the woods somewhere. Of course he didn't believe such nonsense, but unfortunately he had to ease the minds of his people. His beliefs would mean nothing if the citizens of his hold began to panic.

He'd drifted away from his fellows not far into the hunt, his horse having been startled by something or other. Having lost track of the group, he'd decided to go off on his own. It wasn't as if he hadn't done so before. Sometimes he chose to separate from his party, in fact. He wandered towards the river casually. He hardly could be bothered thinking of hunting, given the peace and quiet he was experiencing. Still, he supposed he might as well keep practiced in his archery which was, admittedly, not his strong suit.

All at once he heard singing and froze, eyes narrowing guardedly. Singing out here? That was never a good sign. There had been many a Wisp Mother lurking about Skyrim recently, and Spriggons as well. Neither was particularly known for singing though. It could be a rogue mage, perhaps. Nasty things, those. One had to be particularly careful when waltzing into the territory of a witch, which was another possibility. He slipped from his horse's back and crouched low to the ground. Witches in his hold he could do without. He wasn't one to hesitate about killing those who posed a threat to him or his people. This enchantress would be dealt with severely, and it was most likely an enchantress.

He slipped through the brush and came upon the river. He peered out from the bushes cautiously. There, farther down, he saw a High Elf woman he couldn't quite make out removing her clothing and stepping into the water. He started, eyes widening in disbelief. Now this was a treat indeed. He doubted he'd ever seen a more lovely form. Somehow, though, she looked familiar. He tried to puzzle it out before simply shrugging it off. He considered going to her, but just then she cast a spell. He stiffened, backing away quickly. She was the witch! He scowled. Beautiful or not it would hardly save her now. The last thing he needed was a panicked Falkreath and rumors of a sorceress wandering the woods. Instead he drew his bow and took aim at her turned back. Call him cowardly, if you would, but it was hardly any different than what almost every single archer in Skyrim would do if faced with a similar situation.

"That's it, let down your guard," he muttered quietly. She sank into the river and began to splash the water up on her arms and her upper body. It was then that he let the arrow fly. She didn't hear it until too late. The arrow pierced her back between the shoulders! With a strangled gasp she fell, just managing to grab onto a tree, clutching onto it in a last ditch attempt to keep the river from sweeping her away. Siddgeir inwardly cheered himself and sprang from the cover of the bush, running towards her.

The woman gasped for breath. Oh, gods, what had hit her, she wondered? Who was it who had tried to assassinate her? She coughed painfully and began slipping down the tree, turning. Siddgeir, drawing near now, caught his breath as she turned, paling. Dammit! "Nenya!" he exclaimed in alarm. Divines, what had he done? He cursed himself for not investigating further before reacting.

Her eyes fell on her attacker in fear. Him; it had been him. "S-Siddgeir," she breathed fearfully, eyes filling with confusion and hurt. What had she done to warrant this execution? She wasn't awake long enough to puzzle it out. With a shuddering breath she collapsed into the river, passing out. He cursed aloud and dove into the current, swimming swiftly towards her. She went under and he dove. He seized her firmly around the waist and broke the surface, gasping for breath. He grimaced and swam towards shore, pulling her with him. He dragged her onto land and laid her down. He brushed her hair behind her ears, gazing down at the unclothed Altmer appraisingly. Hmm, she was a fine woman. Carefully he rolled her over and checked where the arrow had pierced the back. She was bleeding badly. She would die soon, if he didn't get her help. He cursed under his breath again and checked for healing potions. He took one out and rolled her back. He tilted her head, gently pouring the potion into her mouth. It was a weak one, but it would keep her alive until he could get her back to Falkreath. This was just typically in line with his luck, lately. He growled in frustration and scooped her into his arms.

He paced restlessly in his Longhouse, a deep frown upon his face as he ran over the events repetitively. He was counting the ways he could have better handled the situation. He looked towards the room she was in, and for a moment concern sprang to his eyes. She had been unconscious too long. Helvard approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "She'll pull through," he assured his friend. Well, Siddgeir was something of that nature, at least.

"How could I have been so careless?" Siddgeir chastised himself.

"You were headstrong. You always have been. You act before you think," Dengeir suddenly and sharply said from behind. On hearing of what had happened to Nenya, the man had been absolutely infuriated with his nephew.

"I'm sorry, is this supposed to be helping, Uncle?" Siddgeir demanded, glaring icily at him.

"No, it's supposed to be talking some sense into you. Maybe next time you'll be more careful," Dengeir angrily barked. "You could have killed her!"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Siddgeir shouted.

"Siddgeir," Helvard said, firmly grasping the young ruler's shoulder. Siddgeir turned testily to him, eyes glittering in annoyance. "She's waking up," Helvard said, pointing upwards. On the balcony of her room stood the healer.

Siddgeir sighed deeply. "I'll go up to her," he said. Quickly he left his Uncle and his housecarl behind.

He entered the room quietly and approached her bed. Her eyes flickered open and fell on him. She blinked blankly. He said nothing. "You shot me," she finally remarked.

"I did," he admitted, cringing ever so slightly.

"Why? What did I do to disappoint you?" she questioned.

"My dear woman, you did nothing to disappoint me," he answered. "You never have. It was an accident on my part. I assumed you were a rogue mage, a witch perhaps. Naturally such a threat to Falkreath could not be ignored. I acted too hastily, apparently. Otherwise you wouldn't be in this kind of shape."

"Is this an apology?" she doubtfully asked.

He twitched, obviously despising the very idea. "It is," he finally forced himself to admit. Ugh, but to say those words… No matter. He needed her in the Longhouse and he needed her alive. She was of great use to him.

"Very well, apology acknowledged," she replied.

"Not accepted?" he lamely questioned.

"I came within an inch of death because of you. Don't expect to be forgiven for a good long while yet," she answered.

"Fair enough," he agreed, nodding; as long as he wasn't losing his stewardess. If she did try to leave, of course, he could put a stop to it quickly enough. He had powerful connections, a powerful influence, and dark family ties waiting in the background until the day he chose to spring them.

She listened in horror to Dengeir's admission as he sat at her bedside late that night, when everyone else was fast asleep. He had told her about the secret he had kept for years and years. He had told her about his ancestor, a man still alive, a vampire. "Why-why are you telling me this now?" she questioned uncertainly.

"Because of my nephew," he answered.

"Siddgeir? What about him?" Nenya asked.

"I told him not long ago," Dengeir replied quietly. "He had to know… I fear it may have been too soon. He's old enough to realize what it means, the significance of what he has running through his blood, but he's too blasted young to understand what to do with that information. The power has gotten to him; I see it and feel it. As if he weren't corrupted enough already in his young age."

"What do you believe he'll do with the knowledge?" Nenya questioned uncertainly, now uneasy.

"I'm not sure. I love my nephew. As annoyed as I am with him, don't doubt that… but I don't trust the young man as far as I can throw him," Dengeir replied. "Monitor him, Nenya. I'm too old to watch my nephew's every move anymore; too old to stop him should… should things get ugly… But you… you know him better than anyone. Even me."

"And resent him as much as I know him," she hissed in reply.

"Then should the time come that he must be… put down… you will be all the more successful," he answered.

"You… you want me to be his foil," she realized. Dengeir nodded gravely. As much as it pained him, yes; and his nephew's executioner should the time for that come… because he wouldn't be able to kill the boy if his life depended on it. Besides, Siddgeir's blade skills were quite adept, his archery about the same, and in his old age Dengeir knew he couldn't stand against his nephew even if he wanted to. That order, Nenya would soon realize, was the very one that would cause her to fall if anything did…

Her first sense of unease came when one night vampires attacked Falkreath. She had helped fight them off, along with other stray citizens out on the street and the guards. The last of them fell with a final cry, and then there was silence. "Where did they come from?" one guard questioned.

"Vampires in Falkreath. Now I've seen everything," another dryly stated.

Murmurings were all around, but her eyes found Siddgeir. He was standing outside of the longhouse, watching icily and coldly with his arms folded as the citizens left the bodies behind to be buried when convenience presented itself. He met her gaze and smirked frigidly at her, entering the Longhouse once more.

She approached him that night as he slept, late. "Siddgeir, wake up," she prompted, lightly shaking him. He groaned in reluctance and opened an annoyed and tired eye. He sat up on seeing her.

"What do you want now?" he questioned in exasperation.

"I want to know what you know about those vampires coming here," she replied.

"No doubt my Uncle has been filling your head with stories about our ancestor. Well put it out of your mind. Why would I want them to attack my own hold?" he questioned.

"You're not above experimenting," she answered.

"Really Nenya? We're doing this now?" he demanded, neither confirming nor denying that he'd played a role in it.

"Falkreath's safety and the safety of her citizens are first and foremost in my mind," Nenya replied. "I would hope you felt the same."

"I feel the same," he answered, meeting her eyes steadily.

"Do you? Then why do you constantly pose such a danger to it?" she replied.

She gasped as suddenly he seized her wrists painfully and threw her down onto his bed. He pinned her dangerously beneath him, his body pressed tightly against hers. Her heart pounded in her chest from fear. Along with fear, though, there was something else. The flush on her cheeks she desperately ignored; almost as desperately as she ignored the sudden and brief urge to seize his lips, wrap her legs around him, and pull him down on top of her just to experiment with what it would be like. Disdain him though she may, he was not unappealing to look at, and curiosity coupled with lust was an inexplicable thing indeed. She hadn't had a man so close to her for some time now, after all, and he was his Uncle's nephew. That had never been more obvious to her than right now.

"If I'm such a danger, do you really think it wise to confront me alone? In the dark? In my room?" he whispered against her neck, and his voice was sultry and smooth, disarming. "No one would hear you scream, Nenya." She gasped as he pulled her closer to him. "For all you know I'm already one of them. Surely you've heard of a certain ability the vampires have?"

Her heart skipped a beat, thumping in her chest loudly. He had implied Vampiric Seduction; and truly if he were one of them now, that ability would be just what he was using on her at this point. "Vampiric Seduction," she answered calmly.

"Precisely. But then one hardly needs to be a vampire to be seductive," he replied. "That's the stuff of legends, my dear woman." All at once he kissed her neck roughly. Part of her wanted to slap him away; the other part didn't want to move. She gasped and tried to scream, struggling beneath him, but he didn't let her go; or perhaps she didn't want him to. He shoved her roughly back onto the bed with a scowl, glaring maliciously down into her eyes. That little violation done, he went to pull back and let her up so he could get back to sleep.

She scowled, feeling him moving away. Oh she didn't think so. If he wanted to play that game, she would play. Suddenly she seized his tunic, pulling him down and taking his lips roughly, forcing him to reciprocate. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him into a position he couldn't escape. It was his turn to look alarmed and fearful, now.

He managed to pull away with a gasp, looking down on her in disbelief. For goodness sakes, what were they doing? She was his stewardess, of all things! To play at this game with her was beneath him. Or was he the one even playing it, anymore? She was pulling him back down, kissing his neck and his face and his lips. Oh forget trying to analyze how in the name of the gods they had gotten here of all places. He would take it all too willingly. Lust was a dangerous thing though, he knew that, and because of this part of him still wanted to draw away; but apparently his common sense wasn't at the stage, yet, where it could overtake and quell desire. He was still very young, after all, and he did enjoy pleasure. The next thing he knew they were both beneath the covers, their clothing scattered about his room.

They lay in each other's arms, trying to catch their breath. Their eyes were wide in horror and disbelief. What had they just done? "We never speak of this," she finally said. Could his actions towards her be classified as rape, she wondered? Oh how that would take him down. Then again she had been quick to turn the tides on him. What if he were to call assault? No, his masculine pride would never allow that. Besides, he had been all too willing. But then so had she. Oh this was an annoyance she could do without.

"I am the Jarl, it should be me telling you to keep your mouth shut about what occurred in this room tonight," he sharply bit, putting her in her place. High Elf or not, he was still scores above her on the hierarchy of things. He was equivalent to a King, for goodness sakes. She was a-a servant, if that. All at once she looked afraid and uncertain. "What is wrong?" he demanded in annoyance.

She cast a spell then. It took him a minute to figure out what it was. Detect Life? Why on Earth would she…? He stiffened, paling, and quickly pulled down the covers and looked at her stomach in terror. Nothing was glowing there. Good. Nothing had been conceived, then. Or if it had been, it hadn't yet been planted firmly in her womb. It probably wouldn't be for a week or two. He gasped in relief, falling back into the bed and cursing himself for forgetting about that little detail of anatomy. When male and female bodies did, well, this, unexpected 'surprises' often were in store. She would check again in a one or two weeks, maybe, and he'd be sure to be there, but with luck nothing had come of this.

"What frightens you so much? Had I been carrying your child, you would have simply cast me out," she bit icily.

"Perhaps I would perhaps I wouldn't," he replied. Honestly he was leaning towards wouldn't. He'd been told one too many stories in which children, forsaken by their fathers and rejected, searched and found them when they grew up. From there it would end one of two ways; either the father would be consumed by regret and welcome them with open arms, or more often the father and child would go to war with one another until the child, once again more often than not, emerged victorious.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, "It would not be the child who would be your executioner." He started and looked sharply at her. She looked towards him coldly. "Beware of what actions you take regarding your ancestor, Siddgeir, because if you choose poorly, you will die at my hand."

He laughed icily. "Somehow I doubt that," he replied bitingly, rising. So his uncle had set her on him, had he? Well, let the old man think he'd won. She watched his unclothed form and couldn't help but smirk. Quickly, though, she chastised herself. Lust couldn't be trusted, and she wouldn't fall to it again. It had been too close of a call as it was. "This never happened, none of it," he warned her, hesitating at the door and looking back as she climbed out of the bed. He scanned her approvingly over.

"It never happened, and it won't happen again," she agreed. He nodded and left her to dress…

The next night found them together once more, and now they knew they had caught themselves in a dangerous trap. Now Nenya saw she was in over her head. Now Siddgeir realized he had cornered himself like a fool, and this was far from over…