#TES fanfiction

[chappydev]

Account of the Battlemage - Testimony of the Founder of the Empire, Zurin Arctus, the Underking

(The following is the end result of what can only be described as brainworms. This is the resolution of my brainworms with regards to the infamous Arcturian Heresy. It is my attempt to resolve its internal contradictions with. You can find the original post on the teslore subreddit, here. In addition, I put it on AO3, so it has a permanent place to reside. You can find that here.)

Account of the Battlemage

Testimony of the Founder of the Empire, Zurin Arctus, the Underking

In High Rock, Zurin Arctus is born at a certain time to uncertain parents. He is raised in the Breton manner, learning magic and chivalry and history. He has talent in the Art, but he does not have a purpose.

In the closing days of the Second Era, he hears the Greybeards Shout. The world is broken, and it is time to put it back together again. But Zurin does not yet know his purpose. It passes through his mind like a dream, implanting a sense of destiny without explaining it. He continues to live in the world, but now that he knows it is broken, it is not the same.

As Zurin walked through a field, he felt an ashen wind. He turned to look upon it, and saw the form of a King in Ash. I am Wulfharth, he proclaims, the Underking (not Zurin Arctus). And Zurin trembles, for he sees the Soul of Man inside Wulfharth. He sees himself, he sees a man Breathe Royalty and turn jungles into paradise, and he sees a Star-Made Knight driven mad by the weight of Prophecy. He sees that he is Talos Stormcrown, but so are many others. But it is too much, and he forgets, only remembering one name: Ysmir.

The Ash-King remains with him, an invisible ally, whispering and urging Zurin forward. Seeking his destiny, he joins the court of the pretender-emperor Cuhlecain, who declares him Grand Battlemage. But it is not Cuhlecain that he serves.

He sees a man standing by Cuhlecain, a Breton with Nordic features. His name is Hjalti Early-Beard. And Zurin remembers, and sees that he is Ysmir, just as Wulfharth is Ysmir, just as Zurin is Ysmir. Just as the Star-Made Knight was Ysmir. He falls to his knees and weeps, as the Underking leaves him to join Hjalti.

From here, Zurin and Wulfharth are united in service. They know that Hjalti will usher in a new age of Man. Wulfharth speaks of destroying Mer and realizing Shor's vision. Zurin does not think much of this. To him, it is only unity that matters. Only Hjalti that matters.

At the gates of Old Hrol'dan, Zurin watched as arrows flew towards Hjalti. He trembled and shouted, fearing the end of their dream. But Hjalti had no fear. Hjalti Shouted, and as he did, the Underking flew to his side. Others saw only storm and wind, as if Kyne herself were protecting the general. But Zurin saw the Underking. Zurin saw Wulfharth, and he saw that he and Hjalti were Two-Become-One. His troops proclaimed him Talos, or Stormcrown, ruler of the Wind.

Hjalti finally takes notice of Zurin Arctus, and they converse. In each other, they see kindred spirits. Zurin comes to love Hjalti, and knows he is the one to save Tamriel, to repair what is broken. Hjalti sees in Zurin a useful tool, one who can take blame for what must come next. Wulfharth whispers to both that the Cuhlecain has lost his usefulness.

Thus, after taking the Imperial City, Zurin Arctus arranges for Cuhlecain's death. How it is done is forgotten, but perhaps it was Wulfharth, always eager to do dark deeds in service of destiny. Zurin crowns Hjalti Emperor of Cyrodiil, and he takes a new name for his new people: Tiber Septim. A fiction is crafted. To the Nords, he is the last King of Atmora. Wulfharth spreads this in the hearts and minds of the Nords, appearing in dreams. To the Cyrods, he is a Colovian warlord of virtue and honor. Zurin Arctus ensures this fiction is believed. The Breto-Nordic Hjalti is erased.

The realms of man are united. Skyrim and High Rock fall easily, almost willing to serve this future Man-God. Hammerfell is more difficult. Wulfharth, who appears as Tiber Septim, is the hard fist of the Empire. When diplomacy fails, he is the leader of the Legions. Septim is the mastermind, using cunning and diplomacy to achieve his ends. Zurin feels as though he is going mad, for only he can see that they are different. And yet his mind still knows they are the same. His obsession with Septim deepens.

Wulfharth declares he will have vengeance on the Mer-Gods of the East, the Tribunal. Septim is not sure. He does not think a war with Morrowind is worth it. Not even Reman Cyrodiil could conquer Resdayn, and he thinks it is not worth it. But Zurin Arctus is as obsessed as Wulfharth, for different reasons. He knew the secret of godhood was found in Morrowind, in ancient ruins of the dwarf-folk.

Together, Wulfharth and Arctus convince Septim to invade. The war is hard fought, and in the end, an Armistice is reached. Zurin thinks this is good; they got what they needed. Septim got his Ebony, and Zurin now has access to the ruins of the Dwemer. But Wulfharth wanted only to destroy the Tribunal. When he demands answers from Zurin, asks why he will not fulfill his destiny, Zurin laughs and dismisses him.

Zurin's obsession grows. His love for Tiber Septim drives him to find a way to defeat their last obstacle, the Aldmeri Dominion. To the Men of the Empire, this is a religious war, a final confrontation between Man and Mer. But to Arctus and Septim, it is nothing personal. They must unite Tamriel. Septim sends Arctus to Alinor, to negotiate treaties and promote integration. All the while, Arctus works on the mystery of Walk-Brass, so that Tiber Septim the man can become Talos Stormcrown the God.

Soon, the pieces are found, and Zurin contemplates the Divine Metaphysics. He finds the Egg of Time, and he comes to understand the Tribunal, Dagoth Ur, and the Heart. He sees the danger, but it is worth it. Tiber Septim must become a god. He rebuilds the Numidium, its parts gifted by the Warrior-Poet Vivec. He does not question why Vivec aids them. Wulfharth screams in silent rage.

There is one obstacle. The Numidium requires the Heart of Lorkhan, avatar of Man, to function. Zurin has dim memories of his vision. He remembers that he dreamed Wulfharth was Ysmir, and that Ysmir was not-quite-Lorkhan. Perhaps it would be enough. Tiber Septim and Zurin Arctus hatch a plot, and lure the Underking back to the Halls of the Colossus. They craft a soul gem, the Mantella, to house Ysmir.

Wulfharth sees the deception, but also opportunity. With the Numidium, he can destroy the Tribunal, and then Alinor, and wipe out Mer. He comes willingly. While he fights against Arctus and Septim, he knows it is his destiny to become Anumidium. Tiber Septim strikes the final blow, and his soul is captured in the Mantella. Only now does Zurin Arctus realize his error.

Tiber Septim, the man Zurin Arctus loved and followed, stabs Zurin through his empty chest and slays him.

The souls of Zurin and Wulfharth both become trapped in the Mantella. Zurin remembers their connection. Flashing before his eyes, he sees that he is Wulfharth, and that he is Tiber Septim. His thoughts are jumbled, and now he knows that Tiber Septim does not need the Numidium to be a god. He is Shor reborn, the Star-Made Knight. He is Wulfharth and he is Zurin Arctus. He is Ysmir, dragon of the North. He is Lorkhan.

The Numidium will be used to commit a great crime, to kill many elves. Zurin only wanted to gift his lover godhood, for the good of all. In horror, he watches. Wulfharth laughs as his goals are realized, and Zurin understands the nature of Lorkhan. He is the God of Man, but the God of Madness. He is the contradiction of Man and Mer personified. He sees the Star-Made Knight, and he understands what drove him mad. Tiber Septim sheds all that came before, to define new meaning for Man, in the name of ambition.

Tiber Septim has freed himself from his other aspects. No longer bound by Wulfharth's all-consuming hatred of elves. No longer chained by the Battlemage's idealism. The three are now one, and he is Ysmir in his totality. A God not of madness, nor a God of ideal, but a God of Man. He displays a fraction of his might and levels Alinor, and now Tamriel is his. He does this not because it is fate, but because he can.

Talos Stormcrown cannot fully destroy that which is part of his essence. While their soul is trapped, Zurin and Wulfharth have become one. They return as the Underking once more. Talos is not truly free of them. They remain the dark reflection of Talos, the side of his divinity He discarded, that He wishes the world to forget.

They will haunt the Septim dynasty until its dying days, because Talos cannot escape the past. The lies have been made reality, but the truth remains the truth. The Underking is Talos, and Talos is the Underking.

Zurin Arctus wrote this.

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

i'm a day late but i'm here!

tagged by the amazing @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer

tagging the fantastic @skyrim-forever @orfeoarte @hircines-hunter @oblivions-dawn @vivifriend

@saltymaplesyrup @viss-and-pinegar @aphocryphas @archangelsunited @changelingsandothernonsense and anyone who feels like joining in!!!! <3333

this is a first draft section of chapter 40 of Cycle of the Serpent. it features emeros thinking about a hunt he went on when he was younger, and some strange dreams he's been having… mild gore warning, but it's more abstract.

He was to kill an indrik. The hunt was a coming-of-age ceremony, one prevalent throughout Valenwood. Once taken with gazelles and other such beasts, the introduction of the indrik into the province from Alinor had created a peculiar problem with the creature, now deemed a pest. Some Bosmer had started farms of indrik, to butcher some calves and spare the rest, a good source of food throughout the northernmost parts of the province. He tracked it for almost a week. In his memory, he was with several other Bosmer, all on the same hunt, to work together, to build a connection to the Valenwood itself and to one another. The hunt lasted days, tracking the beast through the dense forests and humidity of the summer. They would take it down and take the hide, rolling it off like a tight glove, and decide what to do with the other parts. The meat, the organs, the bones, the sinew. He'd made good needles from those bones. Ones which he still used, many years later. He was deemed the best tracker of their group, and with his fathers hunting knife, he crept in pursuit of the wild beast. In his dreams, he was all alone, and the indrik was hunting him.

He'd run through the forests, thick with the natural growth of his home, the sound of hooves not far behind him, trampling the ground and pounding into his skull, the sound all around him now as he sped into any direction which could grant him a chance of survival, meager as it was. He'd come upon a house, and he'd slam open the door and bolt it shut and toe away, eyes wide in terror, the room filled with people he knew - faces, phantom-like, as though his mind didn't care conjure them up - and the voices of curiosity, questioning, why was he running, what from? Faces from his earliest memory, faces from recent, all taking up residence in the growing claustrophobia of the house whose walls threatened to fall in with the force of the indrik outside, pounding away at the door with its antlers, knowing that the one it sought stood there. The door would fall open, and the indrik would grin, and the dream would shift. Blood, in him, outside of him, endless stars, the wink and wax and wane of them. And fire, gods, the endless scorched forests and homes. This, all of this, had been his fault, from the very beginning. The house would not burn if he did not live there. The people would be alive if he had never been. Their faces, fractaled and incomprehensible yet unmistakable, stood in the doorway of a collapsing city and another starless ride through the sands and through the thick fields of another place and the faces shifted to blood on familiar, new faces, to hands reaching from dark waters, to nothingness. Emeros swallowed air as he awoke, the night not yet gone. Sticky with sweat and half-aware of his muddied surroundings, he fumbled for his blankets and tore them off. His throat burnt, hand rubbing against it, muscles beneath shifting as he swallowed down his awareness. Sleep talking, perhaps, the dryness quickly subsiding. He waited in the still, slow breaths through his nose, out through his lips, and again, until his heart could face the same understanding of safety that his mind was now clawing towards. He dressed quickly, seating himself at his desk, head in his hands.

He had not dreamt like this in quite some time. He could not recall what led his mind down this dark pathway, enough to influence the little peace he often got, but he found himself unable to put it aside. The indrik he'd hunted as a teenager, wiry and awkward in his gear compared to his peers, had been a quick kill. Yes, it had taken a few days, but when compared to what use they got out of it, then all had been more than worth the pursuit. Bones for tools, a skull they'd boiled into a stew the night they'd caught the beast, antlers into flutes and other instruments, sinew to thread… It had been routine, practically, and when the gaggle of youths returned a little haggard but with their kill, and showed their skills in taking it apart with the proper techniques and reverence, then they were deemed ready to take on the responsibilities that came with their age. It had never seen its death coming. But in his dream, the eyes took on an almost personal quality, as though borne by someone who wished him harm. Emeros ran his fingers through his thick, chestnut hair, scratching down at his neck and repeating the slow motions, before smoothing it all back with his palm and rising. There was no one to talk to at this hour, whatever hour it was, and the silence permeated the stone walls around him. He slid through the doorway of his dorm, darting his gaze left and right, the licking flames of the hearth and the utter stillness confirming that he was the only one awake, at least on this level. He pulled the door shut behind him and made his way to the kitchens, the sound of Bendt's snoring from his room nearby the only sound aside from the hearth. He could use a drink. Maybe two, if he were being honest with himself.

Emeros pulled one of the high bottles of wine from its shelf, clinking of glass together causing him to mutter curses under his breath, hand snagging the thin neck, wine sloshing around inside. He tugged a goblet from a table and popped the cork from the green bottle, seating himself to watch the flames. He still thought about that rakish boy, the canary-haired Altmer. He thought of him as he sipped his wine, and wondered bitterly how dire the situation in Whiterun must be, now that a Thalmor agent had been given a hand-written note to waltz right through the city gates and up to the Temple of Kynareth, all too close to the statue of Talos, and his zealot. The chill up his spine dusted over his shoulders and through his hair, and it wasn't from a wanton draft down the stairs. He sipped from the brass goblet and studied it in the light, the fine craftsmanship of it, the dents of a hammer which had worked away until the shape came into being. He twisted it in the crook of his thumb to watch the flames cling to the brass sides, the shadow always falling on his side. Another long drink of the wine served to help ease the nerves bundling up like fists in his mind. He poured the goblet full again, and examined the label more closely. Surilie Brothers. Figures, he snickered, that vineyard had a reach that many could only envy, though he had to wonder how. Emeros drank the last of his goblet in the silence, and placed the bottle back where it belonged, and moved to the dormitories. He stood, empty brass vessel in hand, outside the rooms of his friends. Wyndrelis' dorm was to his right, and Athenath's was to his left. He stood outside Athenath's door first, closest to the kitchens, and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear their breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore, then down into the quiet of good sleep. When he made his way to Wyndrelis' room, he twisted the knob, the Dunmer having admitted that he had a habit of not locking doors all the time. It moved, and he peered inside at the sleeping mage, the other in his typical, curled-up position on his side, face buried into the pillow. He shut the door and made his way back to his room, slipping into his chair and watching the faint light trickle in from under the entryway.

[blackmonitor]

Alduin Inspired by Surrogate from @mighty-peacock and @thebeastinsideusallarchive

And also Daedras be Damned, from @mighty-peacock

Watch the (sky) tags!

[varlaisvea]

Winterhold Arch-Mage's quarters in the 2nd Era w/ ESO Housing (Happy Anniversary ESO!)

In honor of ESO's 10th anniversary today, I'm gonna share an example of something I did with maybe(?) my favorite game feature, the ESO Housing system.

I'm working on a fic (not yet published) that involves the Arch-Mage's quarters and the College of Winterhold in both the 4th and 2nd Eras. Inspired by writer's block, I decided to recreate the Arch-Mage's quarters in ESO. (We have not yet seen the College of Winterhold in ESO canon.)

Note to writers: some of the details I knew going in, but I actually got some new key details of the story out of this effort. If you're feeling stuck, it can't hurt to try switching up your medium :)

Due to the limitations of ESO's housing system and the boringness of Skyrim's decor, it's more of an homage than a direct 1:1, but I hope it feels loyal in spirit :) More pics (and unnecessary detail) under the cut!

(Sorry I forgot to turn off the Skyrim HUD.)

The addition of fireplaces, built-in bookshelves, a kitchen, and general fanciness are because of the absolute criminal underdecoration of the Arch-Mage's quarters in base Skyrim. (Which actually fits in my fic, but.)

Like, come on Skyrim, not even a fire in the cavernous bedroom of this enormous stone refrigerator on the edge of a freezing ocean?

Most of the architectural discrepancies, such as the 8-sided room vs. Skyrim's 12-sided room, are because of my choice of venue or because of the furnishing selection in ESO.

The saddest of those is the loss of all the cool arches and the dope vaulted ceilings. The most annoying of them (imo) is the non-matching stone. Otherwise Forbidden Stronghold lent itself so well to this task that i chose it over options that would have let me keep the ceilings.

But actually, most of the more glaring discrepancies are directly related to the lore of my fic :)

The alchemy garden is newly-planted in the 2nd Era portion of my fic! The fact that none of those plants are actually harvestable plants in either ESO or Skyrim is just due to ESO's selection of furnishings. But a lot of things aren't: the lighting source being a Silvenari Sap-Stone that grows out of a wisteria tree (which, notably, is alive), the little spring, the moon-sugar—all of those are part of the story, and I think there might be additional Important Plants in there before I'm finished. :)

Also, in my fic, the 4th Era Arch-Mage is the Dragonborn of course, but the 2nd Era Arch-Mage is the first Khajiit Arch-Mage of Winterhold. Because of this endeavor, I wrote a whole scene where he talks about his decor choices 😂 Might get left on the editor's floor, but the overall gist is: the more public-facing areas of the space are Nord-core, so as to not rock boats unnecessarily. As soon as you step into the study and living quarters, it's Khajiiti af, so as to rock boats the right amount.

i have no idea whether people will be interested in this, so I'm going to stop there, but there's more, obviously. And if you made it this far, thanks! And happy anniversary ESO! 🥳

[matri4rch]

"Conflict of Interest"

How am I going to get these two in the same bed undressed? Idk. But it will happen.

This ✨WIP Wednesday✨ piece but finished

I love noses. -Doja Cat (I just thought it was funny, I love to draw noses w unconventionally attractive shapes please don't snipe me and throw me in a ditch. uwu)

[abstractredd]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lucien Lachance/Martin Septim Characters: Lucien Lachance, Martin Septim, Jauffre (Elder Scrolls), Ocato (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Rare Pairings, where the FUCK are you Marcien nation wake up, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Forbidden Love, Introspection, not beta we die like... well. Summary:

It was hard to describe what it was they had, Martin and Lucien.

[redyn-nerevarine]

Grumpy ghost returns in a few chapters.

[yorksbooty]

Dragon's Nature Chapter Nineteen

This woman, who had decimated his army and turned the tide of war, devoured a god, tamed an army of dragons, had taken it upon herself to lead him to victory where he'd only found failure. This woman, this incredible woman, stood leaning against a table and panting hard, battlespell worn off, eyeing him carefully for his approval. As if she hadn't held his life in her hands before and could easily do so again. She looked at him as though she was a child pleading for praise. For all the power she held over him, he had this.

[daedrabait]

The sun never sets when you turn a blind eye...

Unofficial cover for the next few chapters of my story as it becomes more and more plot-driven <3

Dust and Dim Sunshine can be read here if you’re interested.

[ghoulingcooper]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion

Relationships: Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Martin Septim, Baurus (Elder Scrolls), Jena (Elder Scrolls), Caroline (Elder Scrolls), Cyrus (Oblivion), Achille (Oblivion), Arcturus (Oblivion), Captain Steffan (Elder Scrolls), Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Texting, Humor, Fluff, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around

Summary: where did baurus' gin go???? the groupchat investigates.

for @da3drat <3

[lucius-the-sinful]

On the Other Side (Chapter 1)

Series: Ashblind (Part 3)

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 473

Characters: Helon Drevus, Talyn Drevus, Synrik Drevus, Almythra Drevus

Tags: Riften, Windhelm, Gray Quarter, Orphans

Summary:

Helón stays in Riften for the spring and meets a nameless child.

Part 1: Up In Smoke | Part 2: Frozen Hours | Part 3: On the Other Side

[throughtrialbyfire]

“Cycle of the Serpent”

Chapter 28 - Malkoran

prev. chapter | index

preview:

In the guttural silence, he had too much time to think, and thought far too fast. The idle words conjured themselves in the crevices of his mind, the questions, the demand for an answer as to what the past few weeks had been, and the knowing that there would be no explanation. He thought to himself in the unsettled quiet, what did he know of necromancers?    Sadists, the lot of them, the response came to mind. Especially with the shining example which lay at the end of this winding temple carved into the mountain. Interrupters of aetherial slumber. The bastardizers of the dead, or the thieves of life for whatever purpose they saw fit. They tackled the divide of life and death, and attempted to wield power over both. Many of them turned to illegal body trades, or plucked battlefields like carrion birds. Pursuit of lichdom required many sacrifices, after all. Mostly, it was to continue twisted experiments in the dark caves and ruins where they made their homes. They would carry out the inhumane works, and they would worship the death that they brought.    He shed a backwards glance.   What did he know of Wyndrelis?

[honkinghonkfriendfics]

Time Is Fleeting! Chapter 1 (technically) is finally up! I'm proud of this and I'm already working on the next few chapters, hope you all enjoy it!

[varlaisvea]

Journal entry from a Riften bunkhouse

~850 words Rated G

Here’s a little snippet from a BIG WIP— i’ve been working on it for almost a year, and this is the FIRST thing I’ve published! 😬 Some of it (like this part) is in the form of journal entries. The whole story spans both Second Era and Fourth Era timelines, and features both the Dragonborn and the Vestige of Coldharbour.

This, though, is neither of them—it’s one of the main characters (OC), a Khajiit from the Second Era (less than a decade after the epic year of 2E 582). He’s in his 30s and from Riverhold, which means he’s lived through the Knahaten flu and two Imperial occupations of his home city. He will someday become the first Khajiiti Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and this is an excerpt from his journal as he makes his way to Winterhold for the first time, to enroll in the College.

Please enjoy, feedback welcome! I could use the encouragement!

——-

Tonight, we are staying at a dingy bunkhouse in Riften. I was, quite unexpectedly, unsuccessful in my attempt at seduction a few days ago, but Vihk was still kind enough to invite me to the tavern with him and some of the others from the caravan. I think he was only being polite, and anyway I was feeling quite restless, so I spent the evening wandering the docks and streets in thought. I had heard the guard here harasses wanderers, especially at night, but correctly guessed that account was from someone who is not of my stature or impressively sleek clawfulness. The worst I got was one “keep moving, cat.”

I do not know how long it has been since I have felt motivated, curious, and excited to learn, but today, when I talked to those mages in the caravan, I remembered: this one is also a mage, and has been ever since he asked his mother if he could learn the clan-magic along with his little sisters. Is this not something Araszha once loved about himself—his intellectual curiosity? To feel it again only made me despair for how long it had been gone, and how little I had even noticed its absence. But to catch a glimmer of it… I wanted to cling to it and chase after it. Not in the joyful way, though, in the urgent and desperate way; clawing at strings. A motivation so flimsy it almost feels shameful.

Still… perhaps it is preferable to my prior plans.

A few days ago in Ska’vyn, I noticed a very handsome, very snobbish-looking Dunmer who was traveling with a caravan to Winterhold, and I saw that Riften was one of the stops the caravan would make. Although I had been idly considering traveling to Riften for a while, I only knew two things about the city: it has a reputation for looking the other way on many unsavory activities, and it is very far away from Riverhold in Ne Quin-al. An ideal destination, yes? I told the caravan driver I was going to Winterhold, and paid for passage, planning to charm my way into a lovely evening (or a few) with a deliciously condescending Dunmeri dandy. 

Perhaps in Riften Araszha-dar would be too drunk to wake up in time for the departure to Winterhold, and be left behind—the caravan driver would already have been paid; no skin off his frozen nose. The only people who might notice a missing cat would be aforementioned Dunmer snob (who would doubtless be glad not to have to avoid eye contact with his most recent less-than-wise decision), and other members of the caravan. All of whom would be unsurprised that the slick and shifty Liar-dar they had met was as unreliable as he was insufferable, and perhaps be mildly relieved to be free of such a cat, if they felt anything at all.

Riften’s seedy reputation seems well-earned—one could easily get oneself into misfortune here. It would be easy for someone—perhaps even someone taller and more furry than most Nords—to go missing, especially at night. In fact, I feel one could easily go missing in such a way that, for example, anyone who might be trailing or threatening them would be delayed for days or weeks, trying to get any sort of definitive answer as to their whereabouts or condition. Otherwise, no one would notice or care, especially if one’s very appearance suggested a lecherous thief to most of the city’s inhabitants—a dozen other identical criminal pests come through here every week, probably. I imagine Riften is more accustomed than most cities to seeing occasional bodies fished out of the water, or removed from a dimly-lit alley, or a cheap inn bed. Likewise, the people of Riften are probably more accustomed than most to avoiding the everyday undead—hollow-eyed skooma eaters, beggars, gamblers, drunks. Which is to say: it seems easy to become a ghost here, and whether one becomes a literal or figurative ghost matters to no one, ghost included. 

Even if, say, one’s family worried for them, even if one’s lovingly tenacious family tracked down their last known location, Riften would shrug with bleak disinterest—why would it matter if a given degenerate ends up face-down in a grimy skooma den, in chains en route to a Morrowind plantation, or at the bottom of the lake? In any case, they are gone. And for the sort of people whose lives end here, one way or another, that is a blessing to them and everyone else—even the people who fish bodies out of lakes and skooma dens get some work out of the deal. My wandering tonight confirmed: Riften seems to be exactly what I was looking for, when I decided a few days ago that it was finally time to make my way here.

I am back in my bunk, but of course I cannot sleep. Isn’t it strange, to think that Mother first told me about the College of Winterhold over twenty years ago? It is stranger still to know that tomorrow, I will be able tell her I have finally arrived! 

[matri4rch]

"I did what I had to do. For them, for us."

❤️ AO3 LINK ❤️

[abstractredd]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hadvar/Ralof (Elder Scrolls), Aela the Huntress/Frea Characters: Hadvar (Elder Scrolls), Ralof (Elder Scrolls), Aela the Huntress, Frea (Elder Scrolls), Minor Characters Additional Tags: Everyone Is Gay, Fraela was supposed to be background but its definitely in there like. a lot lol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, college shenanigans, Enemies to Lovers, Childhood Friends, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Homoeroticism, Gay Panic, this is set in the early 2000s btw, it doesnt super duper matter but, if some stuff seems like outdated or whatever thats why lol, Valentines 2024 Summary:

“Everything was so simple back then,” Ralof said, his voice quiet, eyes staring at the chessboard. “Sometimes I wish I could go back.”

“Me too,” Hadvar said softly, studying the planes of Ralof’s face, piecing it together with his childhood memories of one of the boys on his street.

Ralof nodded to himself, and then, finally, moved. “Checkmate,” he said.

“Huh?” Hadvar looked down at the board. There was no way.

He had lost.

or: the obligatory college au meetcute fic, hadlof edition