Ten steps.
That's how long it took for the next enemy to rear its head and attack Gustha. The wolf came at her with the ferociousness matching its predator status, unyielding and powerful snaps of its jaw. It jumped at her before she could react, thankfully its powerful claws could do nothing more than scratch the sturdy metal of her banded armour. Unsheathing her sword she cracked the wolves jaw with a powerful left swing; it staggered back trying to regain footing on his mighty paws, but she brought the sword again in a strong downswing, slaying the animal.
She was mindlessly skinning the beast, thankful to the wolves spirit for these gifts. It was hypnotic and calming to do such a task, since she'd done this a thousand times before. She forgot momentarily who she was and her journey focusing only on the task of breaking down the animal. She felt the tenseness she carried melt a little, until the dreaded mind-passenger spoke.
"So you just mindlessly kill things then? Whether they're fluffy or scaley?"
Gustha let out a long and very loud groan, she just wanted five minutes, just five fucking minutes. Finishing with skinning the animal and stowing her steel dagger. She turned viciously on her heel to glare at the unwanted brain parasite; Mirmulnir was leaning against the end of the bridge, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. She pointed a finger aggressively at him and snapped "you're just upset because I kicked the scales off of you and watered the plains with your blood." The bitter dragon let off what could only be described as something between a haughty snort-crossed-huff.
She flicked her body back toward the path and continued marching toward Ivarstead, praying to the divines that the unwanted visitor at least remained silent if it wasn't going to go away…
Mirmulnir did not remain silent.
"How long until Hillgrundhofkah?" He asked, barely three seconds later. Gustha could feel her left-eye twitch as she continued walking with the thought of 'maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away.'
"Ignoring me won't make me go away, little mortal" he whispered in her ear, she thought she could feel the ghost of his breath, but decided she must've been imagining it. Mirmulnir may look like a nord, he may be tied to her, but he didn't have a corporeal form, she'd slain him - he could not breathe.
"We're stuck together, so you could at least tinvaak with one of your betters, hmm?" The scaled nuisance kept pushing.
"Your 'betters'?!" Gustha echoed, voice heightening to a pitch she didn't know it could reach, almost resembling a squeak. She coughed, correcting her throat before reminding him yet again - "I. Slew. You!" Gritting her teeth as she accentuated every word.
"Are you sure it was you and not the mortal with the lightning bolts, skeeverkin?" Gustha stopped her steps and just stood there for what felt like a lifetime, trying to unpack everything the beast just said. Her mind darted from one comment to the next 'betters' 'are you sure it was you' 'skeeverkin?' She let out a long, slow breath and unballed her very tightly clenched fists.
"Firstly, you are not my better, you are merely a mind or soul-curse that I will be free of"
"I-"
"Two" she cut him off
"I was the one who made the final swing, piercing your skull with my weapon"
"Well-"
"Three." She bit.
"Skeeverkin?!" She bellowed, turning to face the very amused looking false nord.
"The squeak you made" he responded cooly, clawed hand scratching his chin and slight iron-coloured stubble
"It was very cute, like a trapped skeever. Awfully feminine for you, no?" Finished Mirmulnir, eyes trained on her face, waiting for the overreaction (the blow up) he was coming to love pulling out of her. Disappointed when she just turned her back to him again and continued down what seemed to be a downward mountain path.
'I squeaked,' 'cute,' 'like a trapped skeever?' 'Too feminine for me?' Gustha's thoughts couldn't keep up with the mere nonsense leaving Mirmulnir's mouth. Of course, what she doesn't know is that one of Mirmulnir's favourite pastimes (aside hunting) is making others feel inferior, specifically with his superiority. Winding Gustha up, it was a relatively new favourite pastime for him, but if he could make her feel inferior to him enough to lose her nerve or serve him, perhaps he hadn't failed Alduin yet. It was a thought that came to him while she slept the night prior.
. . .
After she was pushed out by what Mirmulnir discovered to be called the Dovah Hofkahsejun (The Dragon Palace), he realised he could venture into the woken world again, but he couldn't stray far from her. While she slept for many hours, he was able to experiment on his capabilities in this almost ethereal form. He couldn't interact with her physically like he could in the Hofkahsejun, but he could read her mind with no effort at all, see through her eyes, feel what she felt. It was truly as if their minds were linked. He'd hoped he'd be able to damage her body, even slay her, but every attempt seemed to fail. He also seemed to be able to return to the Hofkahsejun whenever he pleased; a wall in the lounging room (just off the feasting hall) had a door that acted as a gateway.
His new body took some getting used to as well, he was no longer falling around the place as if he was weak. No, he'd never allow himself to be weak, he already felt it from the sting of his defeat to mortals. Mirmulnir survived the dragon war, hid in the mountains awaiting Alduin's return, and the first battle he took for Akatosh's firstborn, was his last.
Which brought him back to his plan, the dov are aware of the power their tongues hold. Afterall, their battles are merely debates in a tongue mortals can't understand - well, most mortals. He wanted to fill her with self-doubt so she'd be easy pickings for the lesser dov, then his lord would never have to bother himself with the menial task of slaying this dovahkiin.
If he was really smart about it, he figured he could break her enough to make her subservient to him, help her realise she was nothing compared to the mighty dov, that plan however, would take a while. But Mirmulnir was a hunter, patient and waiting for weakened prey, bringing him back to the present.
Gustha felt a small painful twinge in her heart and anything being "too feminine" to her. Of course, she prided herself on not being a dainty milk-drinking maiden, but she'd hoped for Mara's blessing one day. While some nords might be taken with a strong warrior shieldmaiden, most of the nords she'd met were interested in the fairer maidens. She'd heard tales of the Companions in Jorrvaskr, hoping one day she could join them, maybe the men there would be taken with her enough to want to wed.
She then remembered something else the dragon had said, her cheeks reddened at the term cute, of course she refused to show this arrogant overgrown lizard any kind of reaction. She recognised the look in his pale yellow eyes, he was revelling in tearing her down, so she wouldn't let him see her reactions any longer. But her cheeks and ears reddening in response to something that was definitely not supposed to be a compliment, had her blushing. She scoffed at herself 'blushing like a nobleman's daughter meeting her suitor, how ridiculous.'
It wasn't until she heard the surprised choke and laugh of her ethereal companion did she realise her mistake and remember, her thoughts were not her own.
"Do I embarrass you, Dovahkiin?" Mirmulnir asked, voice sounding like it'd been dipped in honey.. She didn't need to turn around to guess the kind of smug altmeresk expression he likely had painted on his face. 'The next bridge we find, I think I'll jump off it' she mused, trudging with an undignified stomp. This only spurred the silver-haired bastard on in his laughter, which echoed around Gustha, but of course, only she could hear it.
. . .
As she marched on, she came across the famed and feared Valtheim Towers; home to a ruthless bandit clan, and sure enough there was a bandit at the very front gate. The redguard woman gatekeeping the pathway started to make slow purposeful strides toward Gustha and she responded by letting off a defensive growl which caused Mirmulnir to focus on her intensely, studying her face with great thought.
Of course, he'd mentioned the night prior that her growl meant she was more in touch with her dovah side than either of them thought, but to hear it again confirmed it for him, yet left him equally as puzzled. He didn't know the meaning of her growl, and he wanted to shrug it off as merely a warning growl but the dov were not feral creatures. Their growls had meanings and were a somewhat rare occurrence, one wouldn't growl simply from annoyance, that was the trait of man and mer, not of dov.
One would only growl when being territorial (over food, land or their mate) or when challenging their mate for dominance. Growls outside of that just didn't happen, the non-mating dominance was like any other battle, with the power of the thu'um.
For her to growl now, 'was she territorial over the land they were on, perhaps?' Mirmulnir turned to study the land surrounding them at the thought, it wasn't anything remarkable, unless she owned the tower? No, being linked with her told him enough to know about her and she doesn't own any land, not yet. The sun showed it was still early in the cycle, so she wasn't looking to make camp. 'No', he concluded it wasn't a growl for land.
His eyes scanned the land for any prey; perhaps she was wanting to hunt, she'd only had a couple of rolls before setting out. Using the eye of a trained hunter, he scanned the area, looking for any sign of prey. There were hints of elk who'd passed through, but if she wanted to hunt, they'd have to return the way they came and scour the plains next to the giant camp.
Which left a growl to do with mating? No, that didn't make sense either, she wasn't protecting her mate and she wasn't interested in mating with this mortal. 'How peculiar' he pondered more over it all while she stood her ground waiting for the bandit to approach. Perhaps this is where her mortal crossed dragon came into play; she was not a true dov, so perhaps the tendencies of man meant her behaviour didn't follow normal dov logic. He wished he could take to the sky and reconvene with a fellow dov about what he can only describe as this defective dov behaviour.
Mirmulnir was almost startled out of his thoughts when the sound of clashing steel echoed around the mountains. He refocused on the dragonborn to find her locking weapons with the stranger. 'Must she always be so tactless?'
The (now deemed) tactless nord finished with her redguard opponent, of course the fight had drawn the attention of the entire bandit clan residing above them. The silver-haired man moved his head lazily to look up at the tower, he could hear the commotion within. The tactless nord however, kicked open the flimsy wooden door and stormed up the stairs. Mirmulnir raised his eyebrow at her antics but strolled along behind her without a care in the world. His hands stuffed in his pockets; if anyone saw him they'd think he was strolling through a market, not trailing a nord with murderous tendencies.
As Gustha turned the corner, she analysed the scene with fast precision. 'Three archers, one above, one across, one on the bridge. Two close combat, one more challenging than the other. The more challenging wields a warhammer, the lesser an iron sword and wooden shield.' Gustha rushed up the ramp to the bridge and met the two close range fighters there, she created some distance with a powerful 'FUS' making them stagger back.
With a powerful down-swing, she took out the sword and shield user swiftly - before the burly warhammer nord could regain his footing. An arrow flew through the air and made a nasty "shhhhiiiinnnkkkk" as it scraped her against her banded-iron armour. She blocked the first powerful blow of a hammer with her sword, feet unsteadying at the force behind the blow. She righted herself and swung at the heavily steel armoured nord, hoping to land a hit between the protective metal.
The battle raged on for a while, neither opponent slowing down, until an arrow lodged itself in the underside of her left forearm, she let out a pained grunt and again used 'FUS' to destabilise her opponent. She cast her sword downward onto his shoulder causing him to fall at his knees and then rapidly slammed her sword down again and again onto his shoulders before he finally slumped to the floor defeated and on his journey to Sovngarde.
Before she could relax, another arrow flew through the air, hitting her right in the right thigh. She let out a short scream and walked backwards into the tower residing at her back. She knew there was an archer above her, but currently he had no angle on her in here, she ducked behind the wall so the other two archers' lines of sight were also prevented. 'Talos guide me' she let off the silent prayer before snapping the wooden shafts, letting the broken crests fall to the floor. She'd have to deal with the rest of the arrows after the fight.
She ascended the wooden stairs following the sounds of shuffling and thinly veiled threats from the lone archer. He was staring her down, bow stowed, dagger drawn. This leg of the battle didn't last long - her mighty greatsword cut him down quickly. 'Two left' she urged in her head. She headed out of the tower to cross the bridge and move to the other tower.
Sprinting across the bridge, she managed to avoid a couple of the arrows hurtling toward her; but as luck would have it, one hit its mark, in her thigh. She let out a pained grunt as she watched one of the archers draw their dagger, enclosing in on her like she was a snared rabbit. The other archer had their bow trained on her from the cliffside she had yet to reach.
Righting herself, attempting to ignore the almost blinding pain - she parried the archer's dagger swipe with her greatsword. Returning the swipe with a powerful swing; her enemies' fur armour tearing to ribbons as her sword struck true, blood painting the stone bridge.
"You bastard!" The final enemy screamed as her opponent collapsed to the floor lifeless. She charged on through the doorway, an arrow narrowly missing her face. She ascended the stairs and turned the corner to the bow trained on her again. Gustha took in a lungful of the crisp mountain air, steadying herself, and then without missing a beat she sprinted for her final foe, sword in hand.
The final arrow made a 'clink' as it hit her metal armour and bounced off, the archer desperately scrambled for their dagger but it was too late; Gustha was upon them, slicing downward crushing them to their knees before aggressively pummeling down on their shoulders five times.
Blood decorated Valtheim Towers and its cliffside.
Blood decorated Gustha.
Blood. So much blood.
Mirmulnir looked at her in slight shock, the dragons were familiar with the aggressive tendencies of nords and their unwillingness to back down; matched that of the female dov of old, but to see it, it was terrifying - to other mortals of course, to the mighty dov, it was thrilling. 'So much anger in such a small body' he snickered inwardly. A tightness formed in his pants which caused Mirmulnir to jolt at the foreign feeling, he slightly fidgeted on his feet trying to find some comfort when the fabric of his loin-cloth rubbed against the tip causing him to let out a small involuntary groan.
At this his eyes quickly snapped to the dragonborn; hoping she'd not witnessed him in such a state, she was breathing heavily, back facing him. He decided it was safer to retreat to the Dovah Hofkahsejun, and so he closed his eyes and willed himself back. The familiar crackling of the dragonfire signalled he was back, he opened his eyes immediately recognising the lounging room.
He coughed attempting to maintain composure and walked swiftly to his room, or what he assumed to be his room if his name and exploits on the door were any indication. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the bed and started unfastening his leather armour. Soon enough he was left in only his small clothes, but even his worn tunic felt uncomfortable and so he removed both that and his loincloth. Once completely bare he collapsed on his bed back-first, member still prominent and throbbing.
Mirmulnir couldn't help but overthink this whole weird situation. Dragon mating was lost knowledge; female dov have not existed since the dawn of time, and so everything related to reproduction and sex was unfamiliar and forgotten to the male dov. This? This however was a weird situation entirely.
Gone was his usual anatomy, 'turning into a nord would do that to a dovah' he supposed. His normally hidden appendage was out on display, which made sense now he had no tail to tuck it into. It wasn't forked, which was strange for the dragon-turned-nord. He wasn't completely clueless to the reproduction of man, he'd gifted the priests with womenfolk and watched their mating ritual. There was no female to mate though, so the cause of his member standing to attention made no sense to him. Mirmulnir decided the only way to make this go away was for his seed to spill, remembering the priests deflating after their act of mating.
He gingerly ran his finger over the shaft, careful to keep his claws away from it; the feeling was only slightly pleasurable but still overwhelming for a being who didn't remember feeling sexual pleasure - if he'd ever had the luck to feel it at all. He trailed his fingers over it again but firmer this time, the covering skin moving at the firmness of his touch caused a similar jolt to earlier and resulting in a mimicked groan. 'The moving of the protective skin seems to tie in with the feeling' and so he gripped the shaft and moved his hand in one firm stroke. Pleasure ran through his body and his groan was louder; chasing that feeling he began a series of powerful strokes.
The dragon-core inside him burned with unbridled lust as he stroked himself faster still, keeping his grip strong and strokes consistent. Mirmulnir's head fell back onto the pillow, pleasure-fuelled noises filling the expanse of the room. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling, his eyelids closing as he felt like his body was soaring through the skies of Skyrim once again. His hips bucking into his hand, body begging for more of this addictive foreign feeling. He slowed his motions to rub his thumb over the slick pink head, the electricity jolting through him as he moaned.
His stomach began to form a knot and he just needed something more to push him over the edge. His senses picked up on the sound and smell of his lust and before he knew what was happening, sinful images flashed through his mind like a reel of inappropriate daedric inspired dreams.
A pale female dovah was standing there, grounded but wings flapping at him in challenge. He was considerably larger than her and so he took her warning with a pinch of salt, he growled at her challengingly. Her tongue poked out, feeling for the emotion in the air, ever analysing his movements.
Stalking her like the most delicious prey; he stared her down, his eyes unmoving from hers. He was challenging her for dominance, growls accompanying as he used his tongue to taste the emotion in the lust drenched air.
Once in her space, she continued to stare in his pale-yellow eyes, he let out a warning growl, she returned with her own and he growled louder resulting in her neck craning slightly - it was small but the act of submission meant he'd won. He started their mating with tentative licks to her hind-legs, she'd given up growling at this point, he took that as an invitation.
Mounting her body, he continued his experimental licks on her shoulders, then as his body moved up hers he licked her exposed neck and the back of her head. She really was a beautiful dovah, a rare never before seen treasure, he felt honoured to have a taste - he was willing to fight off all his fellow dov to keep her under him.
His tail raised, releasing the part of him required for their further bonding. He restrained her by flattening her body under his, her scent was driving him crazy, his whole being was driven by nothing but pure instinct.
"Ziigron" he purred in her ear as he pushed her head gently to the cold mountain floor, mouthing the back of her neck.
"Ziigron" she whispered back, voice powerful and mighty like herself but clearly accepting him as he was, her dominant soulbond.
In his mighty form his silver scales shimmering in the glowing moonlight - he had mounted a beautiful pale she-dovah, teeth on the back of her neck pinning her to the floor. Thrusting into her, his teeth accidentally pushing in too far, being told to go gentler with her tail slapping him. He growled at her in warning; reminding her he was the dominant, he called the shots, but continued his ministrations gentler than before.
As Mirmulnir sped up his thrusting (both in mind and matter), his hips once again bucked into his hand. The image of his true self mounting the ethereal she-dovah causing his lust to skyrocket. He was close to his release, he was sure of it, his balls tightened and his stomach muscles glistened with sweat.
Suddenly, a new image replaced the one he was coming to love - it was the same position but two nords instead of two powerful dov. The woman under him was gripping the pelts, hips meeting his powerful thrusts, letting out sinfully submissive noises. Her pale hair fell like curtains around her face preventing him from seeing her fully.
"Ahmul, please" she cried out as her body contracted around him, he responded with a playful growl, his hands grabbing her hips tighter and pistoning in her with abandon.
"Who am I?" He yelled through his powerful thrusts
"Ahmul" she wailed, it was correct of course, but husband wasn't the answer he wanted right now.
"Try. Again." He bit back, sounding out every single word, teeth clenched. He needed her to say it, his left hand moving to the back of her neck, squeezing slightly with care, holding her down to the bed.
"Zi-Z-Ziigron!" She screamed, his pointed teeth formed into a devilish grin as he leaned over and nipped her ear lobe
"Correct" he purred.
His teeth locked onto the flesh of her neck while his hand lowered, now circling the sensitive pearl that crowned her entrance with his thumb. It wasn't long before she came around him with a scream and arched back as he spilled into her with his seed and a mighty dragon's roar.
Mirmulnir in both vision and reality finished simultaneously. Except it dawned on him what he's just fantasised about, and it was an impossible thing to obtain. He felt spent and satisfied but a sudden pang of longing hit him like a fire breath.
"Ziigron" he whispered in utter shock. 'Soulbound?' He asked himself, he'd never heard of such a thing. Mating theoretically made sense, but the mention of a soulbond was incredibly weird, could it be similar to a husband?
Mirmulnir led there, his mind trying to work out what was going on with him, covered in his release, a release that reminded him of the image he thought up and his ludicrous lust-filled fantasy surrounding her, he was desperately trying to figure out where the lust even stemmed from. 'Perhaps it was the female dov-like aggression Gustha displayed that triggered it?' he reasoned. It made sense to him, female dov hadn't walked the plains of Nirn for perhaps ever - they were only a myth, logic behind them existing at all because why else would male dov be equipped with reproductive parts? It would trigger a response from his male dov soul, she did in theory have the soul of a female dov, it was beyond his control, surely? Making the wanting to mate a natural response. 'Still doesn't explain what a bloody soulbond is.'
Mirmulnir let out an extremely aggravated huff and ran his left hand down his face, one claw accidentally nicking his eyebrow on the way down.
"This situation is getting even more irritating," he grumbled, getting out of bed and heading for the washroom.
. . .
Meanwhile, Gustha let out a relieved sigh and stowed her blood painted weapon, she pulled a healing potion out of the slain archers bag and downed it, hoping it'd hold her until she could settle down in a corner and focus on healing properly. She lifted the coin purse from the deceased bandit and turned back toward the tower. Noticing the absence of Mirmulnir she sent a silent thank you to the divines and went about her business.
After looting the bodies of her enemies she sat at the table in the main bedroom - likely belonging to the late bandit-chief. It wasn't quite time to set up camp but it was time to eat some food, so she unwrapped some bread and cheese and slowly had her fill while healing her wounds with a small healing spell, washing the meal down with a health and magika potion. Magic wasn't something she ever wanted anyone to witness her using, it was basic and in case of emergencies for healing.
She rose to her feet, muscles feeling tight and frustrations high. A jolt of lust swept through her and she exhaled thinking 'I need to find a bedfellow soon.' Sexual frustration was dangerous for a warrior, it clouded the mind and caused distractions. Perhaps she could find someone in Ivarstead, provided the scaled nuisance doesn't reappear.
. . .
It was coming to the evening now, the sun was lowering in the sky, bringing the end to this crisp Turdas. The chill from the second mountain still stuck to the metal of Gustha's armour, she'd come a long cold way since the towers. Walking along the calm forest path nearing Ivarstead, she noticed an imperial clutching his stomach surrounded by an upturned cart and spilled grain bags. 'Ever the dutiful mercenary' she encouraged herself as she approached the wounded.
He requested she escort him to his mercenaries for a reward to avoid another bandit attack, before she could agree a familiar voice came out of nowhere.
"You can't be serious about offering to help," Mirmulnir quizzed her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. She shot him a subtle glare, not wanting her almost-employer thinking she was cursed by hagravens or something.
"I'll help escort you back, sir" she smiled at the guy, he may be an imperial but she doubted he was more than an unfortunate merchant. Mirmulnir let out a small growl and she rolled her eyes at his antics, waiting for the man to gather his things.
She followed close behind Telrav (her now-employer), it was weird she only needed to escort him over the bridge but she supposed if she was an almost defenceless merchant, she'd be frightened after getting jumped too.
They reached the camp and she waited for him (as requested) while he went to get her reward. "Weird, so many mercenaries and he still got attacked. I'd request different mercs and my money back' Mirmulnir rolled his eyes at this thought of hers, she'd clearly not caught on yet, her famous nord smarts playing into this situation.
"We got one, boys!" Telrav shouted from the top of some stairs, unstowing his bow and knocking an arrow. Gustha flashed him a wicked dov-like grin, which caused another eyebrow raise from Mirmulnir.
"You won't leave Skyrim alive!" She declared, unsheathing her greatsword.
She parried and cut down guards with expertise only a seasoned warrior contained, showing great skill with the thu'um stolen from Mirmulnir himself. Using "fus" to temporarily stagger her foes and take them out with a powerful and precise swing of her sword. She cut through them all in a deadly dance, turning and weaving while swinging her sword. They were all grouped up and close to her which allowed her to perform her onslaught while Mirmulnir watched - again in a disturbed sense of awe and arousal, a combination he was having to deal with too much since his imprisonment.
After cutting down his guards, she turned to Telrav who was missing arrow after arrow.
"Imperial dog" she sneered, closing in on him like a predator, Telrav turned to flee but she'd already sprinted and closed the distance. He yelled as he tripped and she grabbed his bow snapping it over her knee, her aggression reaching new levels due to her being ready for bed and utterly done with bandits for one day.
"Should've studied your mark" she whispered in his ear and pushed her blade through his chest, watching him gurgle on the crimson liquid expelling from him.
Telravs last breath left him and Gustha rose to stow her blade. Mirmulnir let out a long whistle and slow clap.
"Shut up" she grumbled, looting the corpses. He studied her and her anger, it was a newer level than earlier this morning.
"You're angrier" he commented, expecting her to fire back with an explanation. Of course Gustha wasn't about to tell him she was annoyed she had to sleep here tonight instead of finding a bedfellow and warmth in Ivarstead so she settled for the easier response of
"I'm fine, shut up."
A minute or two passed and Mirmulnir didn't like this attitude one bit, the anger was amusing, the disrespect toward him was not.
"Careful, little mortal" Mirmulnir started, capturing her attention with his citrine orbs formed into a slight glare.
"Nighttime is upon you, and I'll be able to interact with you physically soon" he threatened, snapping at her cooly. She snapped her head to glare at him, she wasn't going to let this threat slide, giant overgrown magic lizard be damned.
"Try it" she dared him, eyes challenging him
"Try it and I promise to send you on your ass a second time" she continued stepping closer to him.
"Or should I say third?" she cut off any response about to form in his sharp mind
"Considering… I. Slayed. You." She finished, accentuating every point, stepping closer to him, her face would be breathing on his if he wasn't some ethereal mind invader. Smug expression painting her face at the responding tick in Mirmulnir's brow, his eyes trained on her face.
She was about to turn and march away when he spoke.
"You mean slew" he corrected her, scratching his dark grey stubble, seemingly unphased. She bawled her fists at her sides trying to think of anything she could say to make him as irritated as he made her. His eyes glittered at how worked up she was getting, her attempt at a cool demeanour not working for a second.
"What's wrong, dovahkiin?" He teased
"Need someone to take you to bed? Getting a little pent up?" He was mocking her with a false empathy. Of course he knew this was the case, perks of residing in her mind and soul. She swiftly turned on her heel to walk away when his voice spoke again, much deeper, much more dangerous and in her ear
"Careful snapping at something with sharper teeth, little mortal. Lest you get bitten" and playfully snapped his jaw sounding a bite and unspoken promise. Gustha felt her head tilt in almost an unnoticeable move to bare her neck to him. She recovered quick enough before he could see, or so she hoped and growled and stormed away from him, fed up with his games. She was even more concerned that a small voice inside her wanted to bare her neck to him in submission and the things his voice alone just did to her body. Goosebumps decorated her skin, a flush formed on her cheeks and she felt a slight dampness in her smalls.
Of course, her attempts to cover everything up was noticed by Mirmulnir who was grinning devilishly. His tongue licking his lips, tasting the charged atmosphere. The slight incline in her neck caught his attention and it alone made him curious, but her frustration and irritation was too delicious to ignore right now. He smirked, could he pent her up enough to make her falter in battle?
She finished looting the bodies and dragged the corpses off the cliff, claiming the camp as her own. The fire was going, the bedrolls clean, aside the few she bundled up and threw off the cliff. Managing to shoot a rabbit on her earlier trek meant she could cook up a nice roasted leg of rabbit. Mirmulnir missed hunting, perhaps when she next went he could use the link to feel what she feels. If he was trapped here, he might as well use what he can to his advantage.
Gustha settled down for the night, stomach full, bedroll full and sadly, brain also full. Mirmulnir licked his lips, it was almost time for them to meet in the Palace, and that meant a second go at beating her. She sent him a well-deserved glare before settling down for the night, preparing for the battle that was sure to come with a huff of annoyance.