Greetings, everyone! A quick disclaimer before we get started :
-This story is supposed to be focused on the relationship between our Dovahkiin and Alduin. With smut. This is basically (almost) shameless porn with plot, though I will try to make it more consistent than your average I'm-writing-down-my-fantasies-romance.
-English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes, weird sentences or misused words. If so, please tell me, I totally take constructive criticism on that point.
-The length of this chapter isn't representative. I wrote it at night on a whim, I plan to write longer chapters (maybe twice this length).
I'll leave you to the story now!
Chapter 1 - By the Nines!
The Dovahkiin, or Dragonborn as most people called her, was a paragon of heroism. Though she had grown as an orphan, she had managed to take care of herself and was doing just fine when problems appeared. But even when she was made prisoner by imperial soldiers and about to be executed for an abusive motive (i. e. none), she escaped and survived the attack of a dragon. Then, she ran to Whiterun to warn the Jarl about the return of these creatures of legend, defended the city, slayed a dragon and swallowed his soul. Thus, she was proclaimed Dovahkiin, Dragonborn by the Greybeards and from this point she became the most famous hero of Skyrim.
This is what most people knew about her. However, it was not even close to half the truth.
First, Ænor wasn't a Nord, which was prejudiciable in Skyrim. She grew up in Cyrodiil, though she was probably Breton. There came the second point : she knew magic. Oh, not much, she couldn't call herself a mage, but she wouldn't hesitate to cast a spell or two if she needed to. That was another thing that would displease the good folks of Skyrim.
But most of the joke was about her job. Oh, she was no Dark Brotherhood assassin either, but it was close enough. Ænor was an accomplished member of the Thieves Guild. Or, as honest citizens would call them, a petty thief, a criminal scum, a lowless thug.
She strongly disagreed. They didn't see the beauty of the art of stealth, couldn't appreciate the challenge of a lock, the thrill of seeing without being seen. Sure, stealing from others wasn't nice, but it was art. Period.
Besides, she loved gold. Oh, how she enjoyed the glitter of septims, the colors of gems and the sound of a full purse. She had noticed that most people didn't exactly pay attention to what surrounded them. Ænor, however, did. She had keen senses, and most of all that wonderful ability to be aware of beauty. No one enjoyed a taste, a smell, a sound, a touch or a sight as she could. And because of that, collecting the most beautiful things in the world felt incredibly right.
And so, after her chaotic first couple of days in Skyrim, Ænor quickly became rich. Filthy, ridiculously rich. She bought several houses all across the land, and even built herself a manor. With a tower. And a greenhouse.
And this is where our story starts. As the Dovahkiin entered Lakeview Manor, she was greeted by her chamberlain - because she could afford that - and got rid of her heavy backpack and dirty boots. She wandered into her home, checking that everything was fine, and nothing was missing.
Mostly that nothing was missing, actually.
Walking into the greenhouse, she sighed of delight when she smelt the strong scent of lilac. It didn't grow in Skyrim, but she had it delivered all the way from High Rock. Because she could afford that. She enjoyed the great variety of flowers growing there, sipping a warm and strong tea. Being at home felt nice. She changed into casual - and clean - clothes.
Then, Ænor went down to the basement of her house. There, she had built an altar dedicated to the Divines - and others - she worshipped. She didn't exactly pray the Nines, at least not all of them. And not just them. On the altar, dimly lit by candles lay three statues, one Aedra and two Daedras. Azura was on the left, the mighty Lady of Dawn and Dusk. On the right was Akatosh, god of Time and - according to the legends - father of all dragons. Since she was Dragonborn, if seemed only fair to pay him respect. But no divine could compare in her heart with Nocturnal. The Mistress of Shadows, queen of night, protector of all thieves and shadow-dwellers. Ænor bowed her head and simply stayed there for a moment, praying for their protection.
After a few minutes, she blew the candles, bringing complete darkness to the room. How could one worship the Daedric Prince of shadows with light ? She took a moment to appreciate the dark, knowing that her lady was pleased. Then, she walked away from the altar.
But the Dragonborn didn't leave the basement. Instead, she cautiously approached the wall facing the altar and started running her fingers on the stone, until she found what she was looking for. A slight push was made and a passage opened, leading deeper under the house. Ænor followed it carefully, keeping a hand on the wall, until she reached a room. Then, only there she allowed herself to cast a spell of fire to light the dozens of candles she had here. A wide smile appeared on her face as she savoured the scene before her : her wealth, shamelessly spread on the floor, covering the stone pavement. Septims, but also shiny stones and gems, jewelry, golden trinkets and even a few enchanted artifacts were sparkling, filling her with pride and contentment.
She dived in it. Of course she did. Because she could afford that.
After an almost indecent scene of self-indulging gold worship, Ænor went back to the main room of her basement. And this is when something strange happened.
She felt...beckoned. She turned her head to the altar, confused. The candle in her hand did not illuminate much, yet there was this reflection, this strange light on her statuette of Akatosh. The Dragonborn approached the altar dedicated to her god, frowning. What kind of sign was that? It was clearly a sign, it had to be. Maybe the dragon-god was reminding her she had some duties as Dovahkiin? The truth was, she was doing her best to avoid them. And she was a master of dodging, which said much of her accomplishments as Dragonborn. She didn't mind saving the world - it was good for business - but honestly?
She didn't want to kill dragons. The first one she'd met saved her from an imminent beheading - though he did it unintentionally, burning down a village and dozens of people in the process, and the second one talked to her. He had called her his kind, and absorbing his soul had felt...terrible. It was wrong, she knew it deep inside of her.
But what other option was there? Alduin was named the World-Eater for a reason, i. e. he was created to swallow the world in the end of times. So, how was a mortal, even a mortal with a dragon soul, supposed to stop a god of the apocalypse?! That made no sense. Besides, why would the Divines create Alduin to destroy the world and then a Dragonborn destined to stop him? Did they change their plan, or did a note get lost on its way to Akatosh's desk? And, in Sheogorath's name, why was she thinking about that, all of a sudden?
Finally, a few words escaped from her mouth, an answer whispered to a silent question from the father of dragons :
"None of this makes sense to me. I don't know why I'm here, but I wish there was a way to stop Alduin without killing him or any other dov."
The last word felt sweet on her tongue. But she had no time to think about it, for the second she finished her sentence, the shrine of Akatosh irradiated a powerful light that was a real insult to Nocturnal - the statue of her lady was frowning, for sure - and the Dragonborn fell into the brightness.
