#ldb/teldryn sero

[mareenavee]

Nyenna ☼ & Teldryn ☾✩

First art of Nyenna and Teldryn for my fic, The World on Our Shoulders! Done by my friend, the most esteemed Painting.Roses on Insta.

[gamevoidartblog]

some more silly skyrim doodles

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dark Knowledge: Part One

Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Dragonborn Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, canon-typical violence, brief blood, horror elements, tentacles

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Part One of Dark Knowledge

The Dragonborn opens up a Black Book and steps into the realm of Hermaeus Mora.

Part Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dark knowledge masterlist

On the island of Solstheim, deep within a cave, is a book.

Before you, the book rests upon an intricately carved pedestal large enough to hold the massive tome. The walls and floor around it are tentacles sculpted from stone. They form a tangled mural behind the pedestal and book.

It is a Black Book. A tome of esoteric knowledge. A Daedric artifact attributed to Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of knowledge, memory, and Fate. You’ve heard the tales—mostly from one of Master Neloth’s wayward stories. With your reputation, Neloth asked you to retrieve a Black Book, giving you its precise location.

Maneuvering through the cave was the easy part. Now that you stand before the massive tome, your feet have turned to solid steel. The book is bound in a black cover that appears soft to the touch as if it’s a living thing and not just Daedric reading material. On the cover is the symbol of Hermaeus Mora. Between the pages, a black mist leaks out and surrounds the book in its immediate vicinity. That doesn’t account for the oddly pulsing air, as if the book is vibrating, disturbing the space around it.

You do not move closer. You do not approach. You stand near the base of the stairs that you just descended. There is no eagerness in you to take a closer look.

“So. This is what Master Neloth wanted us to retrieve?” asks Teldryn Sero. The Dunmer mercenary stands directly behind you and to the right of your shoulder. He crosses his arms and also keeps a decent distance away. “Looks foul. I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

Without looking away from the Black Book, you answer him. “Sounds like you’re starting to care about me, Teldryn.”

Teldryn snorts and leans in, his helmeted head appearing next to your face. “You pay me to care. Therefore, I shall. I like the coin. Keeps my pockets full.”

“Ever the poet, Teldryn.”

“Naturally.”

The good humor is just a front. This…thing is repulsive, and you’re not sure you want to touch it, let alone open it.

Master Neloth isn’t the only reason you’re after this thing. Back on Skyrim, during a visit to the town of Riverwood, a trio of cultist attacked you. Before they lashed out, they mentioned someone named “Miraak.” From there, you came to Solstheim, only to find parts of the local population seeking out stone pillars. There they toiled, repeating a mantra that made no sense.

It all led to Skaal Village where the shaman, Storn Crag-Strider, diverted you to Saering’s Watch to learn a Word of Power. The All-Maker stones, as Storn called them, are all cleansed. But it only pushed you deeper into this twisted treachery. Storn was adamant about not turning to Hermaeus Mora for assistance in defeating Miraak, but did mention Black Books and who would know more.

Master Neloth was that person.

Now, you’re here, staring at the thing everyone’s been talking about, and you’re not entirely sure who to trust.

As if drawn by an invisible tether, your left foot slides forward toward the Black Book. Your mind registers it only when Teldryn reaches out and grabs your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a whispered sharpness. Teldryn pushes you up against the stair’s central support pillar. “You are not touching that.”

“How else are we supposed to get it to Neloth?” you snap.

“We don’t,” replies Teldryn. “I love gold but I’m not stupid. We don’t need to do this. There are plenty of other jobs out there for us to do that don’t involve anything like that.” Teldryn emphasizes his distaste by pointing at the Black Book.

“But I’m the Dragonborn. I have to do this.”

“Do you? Do you really?”

You square your shoulders and stare Teldryn down. “Yes. That’s my destiny as—”

“Is that what those old loons up on the mountain told you?” interrupts Teldryn. “That you have to solve all of Tamriel’s problems?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing. You are not beholden to anyone but yourself.” Teldryn pauses a moment and then inclines his head. “Except me. Still owe me from that bet we made in Windhelm.”

“If I pay up, will you stop talking?”

Teldryn considers. “No,” he says after a few long seconds.

The two of you turn your heads in the direction of the Black Book. The black mist around it appears thicker, and distantly, you hear voices whispering. Yet this inaudible chorus seems miles away, their voices just existing at the edges of your hearing. Teldryn is Mer, and his ears are sharper than your human ones.

“Teldryn?” you ask softly. “Do you hear that?”

His head tilts to the right an inch. “Hear what?”

You focus in on the sound, pushing all your attention into deciphering the message. It is a chorus, a resounding force of voices all harmonizing together, but every time you try to pick a word out, the understanding slips and you’re left with nothing.

“Voices,” you murmur. “Do you not hear them?”

Teldryn shakes his head and then slowly pivots to face the dark tome. You take a step closer and Teldryn blocks your path.

“How can you not hear it?” You’re not speaking to Teldryn but to the air, thinking out loud rather than seeking an answer.

Teldryn is no barrier. You push past him and make it five full steps before Teldryn is able to cut you off. He places his hands on your shoulders, halting your forward momentum.

“The Black Book is speaking to you. Hermaeus Mora is calling you to him,” says Teldryn, shaking your shoulders.

Your nostrils flare and you smell ink. It is thick and viscous. “I should open it.” The words fall from your lips easily, as if you are one of the possessed and hearing Miraak’s mantra.

“This is insanity,” hisses Teldryn. “You’re not risking your life like this.”

The voices strengthen, and between each intake of breath, you hear their song. It is not one language but many, and they all speak in unison, their words matching up in syllable and pitch. Some of the voices sound entirely mortal. Others are odd. Primordial. You do not understand them and their strangeness batters away at your brain.

Something wet drips onto your upper lip. You don’t wipe it away.

“Your nose is bleeding,” murmurs Teldryn. Behind the Chitin helmet, all you can see are the Dunmer’s eyes. But they speak volumes. His concern is evident.

The tug to open the book is unyieldingly powerful. There is no part of your body that isn’t sizzling with the need to touch the fleshy cover and reveal the secrets inside. In the end, you will have to open a Black Book. In the end, you will have to involve yourself. All roads lead there. You know this in your marrow.

“They’ll never stop coming,” you say, and each word is laced with sadness.

This is your purpose. This is the life placed before you. The gift of the Voice is not one you asked for. It is not something you ever wished upon yourself. But there is no way to give it back. Time and Fate will eventually catch up to you.

Better to face it all now.

“You owe no one nothing.” Teldryn is not a liar. At least, not to you. He respects you even when he disagrees.

“I know.” The admission is painful.

“I can’t protect you once you open that book. We don’t know what will happen.”

You shake your head. “Miraak’s temple is too heavily guarded. I cannot seek answers there.”

“We cannot seek answers there,” corrects Teldryn, his voice breaking slightly. “Where you go, I go.”

“You only say that because I pay you well.”

Teldryn gently rests his helmet against your forehead. “You pay me shit.”

The bit of blood on your lip rolls down to your chin. “Don’t wait for me,” you whisper. “Whatever you do, Teldryn. Don’t. Wait.”

Teldryn’s chest heaves with a great sigh. “I get your homestead in Falkreath.”

“Deal,” you laugh as another wet drop falls onto your upper lip. Teldryn loves that house, and it’s been nothing but trouble for you.

With a final squeeze of your shoulders, Teldryn pulls away, moving out of your path, revealing the Black Book. What dwells inside the book is the unknown factor. You could go mad. You could experience visions. You could simply disappear from this plane. There is no telling what might happen.

The harmonious voices strengthen as you stride closer. On the cover, the symbol of Hermaeus Mora begins to glow a sickly green. Around the book, the black mist thickens. In its foggy depths, the shadows of tentacles unfurl. They are transparent. Faint, dark whisps. The tentacles venture outwards, reaching as if seeking an embrace.

Another step. Another. Another still and then you’re right there, staring down at the thing that won’t stop talking.

Neloth will have his book, but you need this to end.

The tips of your fingers brush against the edge of the Black Book’s cover. It is not fleshy as you expect it to be. It is coarse, but not sharp or scratchy. Slowly, your fingers curl around the edge. There is a hesitation just before you start to open the cover. Moving with you, the pages follow the cover, and then the yellowed papers inside present themselves.

At first, there is nothing. The pages you stare at are blank. In the next second, all sound disappears as if the room is frozen in time. It is followed by a soft pop, and the world comes hurtling forward.

The blank pages begin to fill in archaic, living writing. The unknown words and symbols move across the page in systematic lines and circles. Some are large and easy to see while others are so tiny they float around in the background in faint swirls.

Between the pages is a void. It emerges from the binding, moving outward over the pages. It is an abyss, and its emptiness drags you forward, your boots lifting off the floor until you’re on your toes.

Tentacles burst forth from the darkness. These are not the misty tendrils from earlier but real, tangible limbs that slide over and around you. They wrap around your arms and shoulders. They suction to your face and neck. They probe and push even as you thrash about, trying to break free.

Escape is impossible. You’re hauled forward, tipping down into the abyss, delving into the darkness. There is a loud roaring and then your feet are on solid ground.

The abyss is gone, and instead…

You’re not entirely sure where you are.

Around you is an alcove made of black metal. Attached to it is an archway made of books that connect to a long hallway. The books within the archway are stacked on top of each other, almost seeming to melt together near the center curve of the arch. Beneath your feet is stone. Some of it is gray like the rock on the side of mountain. Other chunks of stone are black and dull. There are pages from books scattered all over the ground but they aren’t moving. They simply rest where they lay.

You bend at the knees and reach out, sliding a fingernail under the corner of the nearest page. Its only lifts an inch or so, and with it comes something syrupy and sticky. You immediately retract your arm and stand, wiping away the reside on your leather pants.

Slowly, you rotate, surveying your surroundings. It’s only when you turn around that you notice the Black Book. The symbol of Hermaeus Mora does not glow. There is no black mist or odd whispering.

Without second guessing the choice, you grab the cover and open the book, expecting to find what you did just seconds ago.

Nothing.

The pages are blank.

You flip the page. Nothing. Flip again. Still blank.

You go to the beginning, examining every inch of paper. No living words or symbols appear. The book is dead. Silent.

Frowning, you spin around and stare down the long hallway. The air is stale and absent of wind. Glancing up, you peer through the small holes in the black metal. A glowing, green sky greets you. There are streaks in the sky that move like clouds but their radiance is more like lightning. Shifting on your feet, you change perspective, and discover a black abyss cutting through the green sky.

Is that what you fell through?

As you watch the portal, black tentacles drop from its darkness and sway as if caught on a breeze. But you feel no wind against your skin. Then again, you don’t sense a temperature either. You’re not cold but you’re not warm, as if the very atmosphere is adjusting to your body temperature, making the stale air around you feel like absolutely nothing.

Wherever you are, it is an atrocity.

Without a way to go back, the only path is forward.

With overly slow movements, you unsheathe the sword at your waist. The hallway isn’t well lit, but there is enough light to see by. Crouching slightly, you move on silent feet, keeping close to the wall without touching it.

The stone floor gives way to twisted metal, and the walls are nothing but books. You do not stop to peer at any of them. This place is dangerous, and you need to be alert at all times. Survival is essential. Information is important. Any clues that you can take back to Neloth or Storn might help in unveiling the mystery behind this stranger known as Miraak.

Hermaeus Mora is not unknown to you. You grew up on stories about Aedra and Daedra. They were standard tales, but when you were a child, those beings seemed far from the reality of your life.

It is so very different now.

Neloth did not shy away from talking about the Daedric Prince. It was Miraak that the Dunmer dismissed, seeming more concerned with Mora and the Black Books.

What was it that Neloth said about Mora’s permanent influence? Madness. Loss of self-awareness. Black spots in the whites of the eyes. There are no mirrors and you cannot see your reflection in your sword. You’re not mad, but for a brief moment you thought you were when Teldryn couldn’t hear the voices. Your self-awareness is intact. At least, for now.

Storn called Mora the Skaal’s enemy, and spoke of hidden Skaal knowledge that Mora wishes to obtain only for the sheer pleasure of possessing it. But Storn did not say more, merely focusing on the destruction of Miraak’s influence.

As you round a corner, you arrive at an open platform. Instead of approaching, you hang back, observing your newly unobstructed view of the environment. From here, the glowing sky and black portals are in clear view. Various structures dot the landscape, and it stretches in all directions.

But there is no landscape. There are no trees or blades of grass. What should be the ground isn’t rock or dirt but a dark liquid that resembles black water. It is as dark as parchment ink, and the surface of it ripples slightly as if something moves beneath it. You have zero desire to know if its as fluid as an ocean or thick like honey.

The platform itself is rounded and juts out slightly from the opening. As you step closer, the platform shifts and fans upward, extending like the wings of a dragonfly. Another appears from above, connecting to it to form a bridge.

There is a tower there, the outside of the structure nothing but pillars of books. Your gaze sweeps across it and the surrounding area. Nothing jumps out at you except the strangeness of the place. Nothing and no one lurk nearby.

Cautiously, you step out onto the bridge. Still, there is no wind. The air is still. With silent steps, you creep to the next platform. When you crest the small curve in the bridge just before the landing, you come to a stop and immediately drop to your stomach.

A strange creature hovers just inside the archway. It has four arms, two of which hold books while the others rest against its sides. Its head is squid-like with two thin eyes and no eyelids. Hanging from its shoulders are rags of some kind, but at this distance, it might also be fur.

It has not noticed you, and you use this to your advantage. Silently, you set your sword next to you, and remove your ebony bow from your back along with an arrow. Easing up to a low crouch, you pull back on the bowstring, aiming the pointed tip of the arrow at the head of the bizarre creature.

With a book in hand, it seems such a gentle creature. It’s head tentacles flare as it reads as if the words on the page are amusing. A brief moment of hesitation stays your hand. Then you remember the voices and mist, of how blood dripped from your nose from the brawling nature of it all.

Your finger slips from the bowstring.

The arrow whistles.

It lifts its head in curiosity.

Making contact, the arrow slides between the creature’s eyes.

There is no noise or cry of pain. It vanishes in a brief vibration of mist. The rags it wore and the books it held hang suspended in the air before falling to the ground. The books hit hard. The rags drift slowly.

Before the rags touch the ground, you’re up and moving, returning your blade to its scabbard. You remove another arrow from the quiver. In this moment, you are a stealthy killer, a being of darkness in a place made for it.

Your humanity will not pause your hand. The answers you seek go beyond that. You are in Hermaeus Mora’s realm. You are alone. Teldryn is not here to help you. Everything going forward must be done with only yourself in mind.

As you step off the bridge, the dragonfly-like structures break apart. You glance back and meet open air.

A howl reaches your ears. It bites and claws, sounding of blood-filled lungs. All the hair on your arms stand on end, and your skin prickles with awareness. The awful sound comes again. It’s closer. Moving in. Trapping you against a threat of falling.

There is a ripple. A change that you sense. Of a predator seeking its prey.

You drop to your knees as a ball of vibrating air launches over your head. Spinning toward your assailant, you release the notched arrow. It strikes true, hitting another one of those creatures.

This one shrieks. Then doubles. A replicate appearing beside it.

With quick fingers, you release two more, sending the tentacle twins vanishing into puffs of mist.

It is clear that your presence has been detected. Stealth will be of little use if the beings of this realm are actively seeking you out.

Charging down the hall only proves what you expect. More of these creatures lurk nearby, actively waiting for you to make an appearance. These are not visible. They are beings of mist, and they solidify with a blink, popping up from nowhere before your very eyes.

The first surprises, nearly knocking you down.

The second almost grabs you. It’s clawed hand just grazing your leather armor.

The third hurtles into you, but you manage to roll into the fall, getting back on your feet with ease.

The bow is useless. They are too close, disappearing then reappearing in rapid succession. Your blade is sharp, and you are eager for a bit of blood.

The steel blade rings loudly and the first swing strikes true.

“Fus!” The power of your Voice slams into one of the tentacled creatures. It flinches back. Recoils from your blow. It is enough for you to drive forward.

You duck and weave, slicing through the air and dispatching your assailants with the skill that has made hundreds tremble.

But there is no blood. These creatures do not bleed. They simply vanish into mist.

Chest heaving, you finally have a moment to gauge your new surroundings. It’s a massive circular room. There are several large, metal double doors scattered throughout the room but the doors are shut, barring entry.

All expect one.

With resolve in every step, you march forward toward the open gate, passing rotting stacks of books and floating eyes with tiny tentacles. They look like horrific stars. They even blink, following you for a few strides before drifting off to move about the room.

You ascend the raised dais, pass through the doors, and up another flight of stairs before you’re spit out onto another platform.

Unlike the previous platforms, this one is already attached to a bridge. It spans a great expanse of black water, connecting to another tower. But there is too much open space between the towers, and there is zero cover. You would need to sprint, or use a Shout to speedily propel yourself across.

A roar from behind you stirs your feet.

“Wuld Nah!” In seconds, you’re halfway across the bridge, already sprinting to the other side, your arms and legs pumping with every step.

“Dovahkiin!”

The primordial voice is an anchor tied to your feet and you are in deep water. Sinking. You are sinking. The bridge beneath you is melting, sucking and solidifying around your boots.

With a cry, you reach down and try to lift your leg. Nothing. You are rooted to the spot.

A shadow falls across the bridge. A deep, unsettling, slimy sensation slithers up your spine and wraps around your throat. Your eyes are fixed to your submerged boots.

“Fate has led you here, to my realm, as I knew it would.” Your fingers tremble and you refuse to look up. “All seekers of knowledge come to my realm, sooner or later. That is what you are after, isn’t it? Knowledge. That is why you answered my call so willingly.”

No forms on your tongue. You did not come willingly. Or did you? Yes, the pull was there but you intended to open up the Black Book. Didn’t you?

You’re…certain?

A lone black tentacles drifts in front of your face. It wiggles slightly, moving toward your nose. It retreats slightly, and then with an odd gentleness, curls under your chin, lifting your face to the Daedric Prince floating in the sky.

Hermaeus Mora is a grotesque abomination. He is a green and black mass, a void of tentacles and eyes. His entire being pulsates, expanding and retracting as he…breathes? Do Daedric Lords need to breath? Or is this just a formality to make you more comfortable?

If it’s intentional on Mora’s part, it’s creepy, only adding to his aura. Hermaeus Mora is large, taking up so much space he’s all you can see. While he hovers in the air, Mora is not far from you. In fact, if you lift your hand and extend your arm, you’d easily touch him.

The large eye in the center of it all blinks slowly in observation. “Is the Last Dragonborn a fool? Speak, mortal. Why did you come to me?”

Deep in the recesses of your soul, a stubbornness blooms. Your mouth does not form the answer he’s seeking. Instead, your lips pull back, and you bare your teeth like a feral animal.

“If you are the Prince of Fate, surely you can answer such a simple question. All this knowledge around you, and yet you cannot form your own answer. I expected more.”

Hermaeus Mora bristles, his form expanding in size as his tentacles vibrate with irritation. “Be warned. Many have sought my halls. I have broken them all. You cannot evade me. You cannot resist.”

The bridge rumbles. Hermaeus Mora’s massive eye slides up to watch a point over your shoulder. Slowly, you turn, finding yet another abomination. This one is incredibly tall, almost amphibious and slightly humanoid. Each of its footsteps shake the bridge.

Mora is calm. Serene. The creature moves closer, each shattering step a threat.

“You are in my realm now, Dragonborn. Apocrypha will be your home. You will converse with me and I cannot wait to know your secrets.”

From the monster’s open mouth emerge a wave of tentacles. They wrap around your body. They cover your face and slide into your mouth, reaching toward your lungs.

“Sleep,” hums Hermaeus Mora as your consciousness begins to slip. “And then we shall talk.”

Part Two

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[cruisingheightswithdragons]

There are formalities among the first meeting of the dov

But one of them found out the other used to be a Thalmor and is out for blood oops

@ariquar :3c

[argisthebulwark]

Time Moves Slow - Teldryn

sfw, gn reader Summary: After returning from Sovngarde the Dragonborn finds that a handful of hours for them has been years for those in Tamriel and reunites with their loved one. Others Linked: Vilkas, Brynjolf, Farkas, Miraak, Cicero

Each step crunched over silty stones, a long day’s heat still radiating from the sand. You’d seen Raven Rock dozens of times but this felt different - perhaps it was due to your time in Sovngarde. Picking your way through the empty marketplace you wondered if the rest of the world would feel different. 

Barrels lined the tavern’s entrance bearing unfamiliar sigils. You squinted, trying to decipher which shipping company Geldis had made a deal with. It had to be exhaustion or dim lighting that left you unable to recognize the company stamped into their side. Making a mental note to inquire, you entered the Retching Netch. 

Your eyes moved to his usual seat of their own volition. A group of warriors sat at Teldryn’s table, their Nordic armor glimmering in the firelight. With a fair bit of shock you realized that most tables held customers - a few employees dipped through the crowd bearing trays of food and drink, conversation louder than you’d ever experienced in the Netch. Counting back the days you wondered if you’d arrived in time for some forgotten holiday. 

“Table for one, or you waitin’ on company?” A sharp voice cut through the mess of your thoughts. Sharp eyes awaited your response but your mouth felt too dry to speak. Nothing felt right. This was not the tavern you’d left a few days ago. 

“Where’s Geldis?” Your voice sounded so small. The man glanced over his shoulder with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“At the bar. We have space there if you'd like to be seated.” 

Fairly certain you nodded he set off, cutting a path through the crowd of patrons as he led you into the belly of the Retching Netch. Staring around you prayed to catch a glimpse of something familiar - his armor, his face, any proof that Teldryn was near. 

Seated squarely between two larger groups you gaped at the man behind the bar - Geldis’ hair was tied back, sleeves rolled up while he dispersed countless drinks across the bar. The sense that something was awfully wrong stilled your tongue; if you’d returned to the wrong time or the wrong version of Raven Rock making a fool of yourself wouldn’t get you anywhere. Quietly you watched him work, fingers nervously knotted together.

“And for you?” Geldis raised a brow when he finally locked eyes with you. You tried to summon something, anything to say before he was dashed away again by the sea of customers. “What’ll it be?”

“Are you Geldis Sadri?” 

“At your service.” He smiled, cleaning the rim of a glass while you sorted through your thoughts. 

“Can you tell me where Teldryn Sero is?” 

“Haven’t heard that name in a while.” His ministrations paused and your stomach dropped. You and Teldryn had been in the Netch the night before drinking away your worries. Sovngarde was terrifying but it seemed your visit had caused some type of ripple across Tamriel. “Think he headed east with some new patron.”

“New patron?” Alarms sounded in your mind. Teldryn hadn’t taken another contract since you’d been together. He’d become your constant partner through every adventure, staying behind only because the laws of Sovngarde barred him entry. 

“Been a while but he’s getting back out there. If you’re interested in hiring him I’ll pass the word along once he’s back.” Geldis’ tone was somber, eyes cast down to the rag in his hand. “Glad he’s working again. Losing his partner and all…the years haven’t been kind to him.” 

The rest of the world fell away as you struggled to process it. You couldn’t fathom what it all meant - you’d been gone years? You spouted off some hurried excuse and hauled your tired body out of the Retching Netch.

Raven Rock faded into the background when you pushed your exhausted body past its limits - each breath hurt but you had to find Teldryn. If he headed east he’d surely stop at Tel Mithryn. He always stopped there for the night. He had to be there.

You recounted everything Geldis said as you rushed through the night. Teldryn thought he'd lost you. It'd been years since you left. Even for a Dunmer's long life you'd missed so much. A chill set in as night descended upon Solstheim but you pushed yourself onward, the sight of Tel Mithryn enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

A couple figures wandered away from the towering fungus. You halted, sure you looked mad showing up late at night full of nonsensical questions but you waited. Your heart ached when Teldryn passed under a torch, his features accentuated but somehow different. He looked a bit older, the war paint washed away. His new patron huffed at whatever Teldryn said but you couldn’t process any of it. You wanted to run to him, to launch yourself into his arms and hide until the world made sense but you remained still. He needed time.

His eyes slid toward you and a hand reached for the pommel of his sword. You held back the words roaring in your mind and the urge to beg him to recognize you. If you’d truly returned to the incorrect world he wasn’t to blame. Teldryn studied your features for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“Are you real?” His voice. It had only been hours since the last goodbyes but so much had gone wrong since then.

"I'm real."

Teldryn closed the distance in seconds. Every nerve was set aflame as he grasped your face, skin rough against your cheeks when he dragged you closer. His kiss was harsh and bursting with emotions you didn't recognize but it was him. Clinging to Teldryn's armor you sobbed into his kiss, heart breaking at the thought of what he'd endured.

"I'm so sorry, I was gone and I -"

"None of that matters." He cut you off before the babbling could get any worse. Calloused fingers dragged along your body as if he'd forgotten it. Teldryn's lips pressed to your forehead and for a moment it quieted the storm raging inside your mind. "All that matters is you came back to me."

[yukaromeouija]

So my LDB got stuck in Ysmir's Meditation state during Teldryn Serious mod and now she's just sitting there like

Edit: Btw i recommend "Dragonborn - Shouts Perk Tree" mod, it's usefull af

[hircinesanters]

Miraak: I despise him. I despise his big black bovine baby cow eyes and long brown streaked mane and pretty language.

Teldryn: You want to fuck the centaur don’t you?

Miraak: I want to fuck the centaur.

[ehrmantrautpup]

HAPPY SKYRIM DAY 11/11 here’s some screenies of Aegis and Teldryn traveling thru Skyrim, I will never bore of playing this game with them 🐉🌋💛💜

[zuutiomi]

My Nerevarine and Teldryn has meet before when Teldryn was kiddo, Nerevarine was kinda an idol for him(while Nerevarine treat him like a son)

So meeting your idol after 200+? It’s quite cool✨💕

[mikeehrmantrautshusband]

Everyone must perceive this Telgis done by lazycheddar on da

[xjunkriidx]

Kaidan: She was poetry, but he couldn’t read.

Serana: His name was Jared, he’s nineteen.

Inigo: When his parents built a very strange machine.

Y/N: Watch that scene, digging the dancing queen.

Teldryn: Eyyyy, Macarena!

Lucien: Horrible job, everyone.

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 42: That Which Is Already Lost

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44705740/chapters/163301524

10th of First Seed 4E 202

There had been a point where Athis thought for sure that nothing Nyenna could do would be enough for him to hold a grudge. Even as he stared up the hill at her, knowing full well she’d lagged behind to talk to that damned mercenary, he still felt a twinge of regret for all the anger he’d been holding on to. Still, when she waved to him, he didn’t return the gesture. He just grit his teeth and dove back into his grim thoughts.

He’d heard her back in camp a few days ago — he’d heard loud and clear her admission that she didn’t know how to love. What, pray tell, was it that they had, in that case? After their fight over that, he’d acted as if all was well, had even embraced her and offered soothing words, but most of that was to placate her. Had that been wrong?

At the end of the day, he wasn’t going to renege on the promises he’d made to her. Love wasn’t always convenient, he was finding. The both of them had a lot of room to grow, and the optimistic part of his mind still held on to hope — right there, next to all that anger.

He could try and sympathize with how overwhelmed she must be feeling. She had been correct in all their disagreements, however — he could never truly know the weight of the world like she did these days. Anyone would buckle under so much pressure. That she was still standing was a miracle, if you asked anyone else. But he knew how strong she could be. Athis had seen it first hand. And he wanted to preserve that — keep her hand in his. All he’d ever wanted to do was keep her by his side. He could support her with what skills he did have — and he’d been honing those for plenty of time. He could hold his own in a fight.

But the fear… The fear was something she couldn’t so easily let go of. It was insidious, and seeped into every thought. Worry consumed her at every branching path of her quest. He could sympathize with fear. Nyenna had trusted him with the worst of hers, and often still did, even when she talked in circles like she had during their argument. In the past, before even that, she’d cried in his arms enough times now when the grief of losing her brother hit like a tidal wave out of nowhere. She’d become convinced that whoever followed her into battle — or into whatever other chaos she was getting herself into these days — would never come back out again. That didn’t have to be the case. He’d repeated this to her and to himself a thousand times.

Athis let out a long, frustrated sigh through his nose and folded the map he’d been glancing at without absorbing any of the information. He knew that Riften was just up ahead. They’d be rejoining the main path soon enough. Thankfully, his earlier scouting revealed no Thalmor to be seen. Though he’d forgotten all the specifics, it was known that Riften had sided early on with the Stormcloaks, anyway.

He watched as Nyenna descended the hill and Sero managed to catch up with her. She threw the mercenary a worried look and then hurried down the path. Athis tucked away his map and crossed his arms over his chest, opting to bite back any scorn before he spoke. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[gamevoidartblog]

Freeing Miraak

<A short story of how my dova freed Miraak>

The wound in my chest strained against me, the health potion I managed to down while he was absorbing another dragon soul had given me more time to fight. But it still hurt, the barely healed wound sending shockwaves of pain through me with every breath. 

But I was ready, I learned how the things of this plane fight. Miraak has been trapped here for so long… He’s only had them to train on and dummies. I’ve fought countless things across Skyrim and Cyrodiil. I know how to fight in styles he wouldn’t, having been trapped in this place. He fights quickly, with great strength. But I know how to take advantage of it now.

Finally, with a great flash, he’s right in front of me swinging once more. I’m ready this time. I fake him out, making it appear as if I am dodging right before I quickly move left, ducking down quickly and slashing at his side. As I move past I slash again at his back, and finally sweep his legs.

As he turns to look back at me, I know this is my moment. I had prepared for this, weaken him enough that I could make him listen- even for a moment- but not so weak that Hermaeus would finish him off. I quickly take off my glove and show him the writing on my hand.

“Please, say these words quickly with me so that we may have a moment to speak!” I yell.

(rest under cut to avoid putting a wall of text on your dash!)

“Does every nord find such plight in trying to read books?” Teldryn said, leaning over above me to peek at the book. It’s all nonsense to him, but with how much attention I’ve put into these tomes up in the throat of the world- he can’t help but be curious. But the dragon language is strange, and stranger to one who doesn’t have it weaved into their blood.

“No, I… I’m just double-checking my work before we go. If I mess up even a single step of my plan…” I stop, biting the inside of my cheek for a moment. I used to have a habit of biting my nails before I got cursed. Not sure if this is any better.

“Right.” He says, with a slight sigh. He’s tried to covnince me out of this a couple of times, but we both know what has to happen. If I don’t do this, that island will be destroyed. And then who knows how far this will spread. “Your still planning on giving me all your money before you go, right?” He says, the humor poorly hiding his true feelings. He doesn’t want to see me go. I don’t want to lose him either.

But to come up with my own shout? The graybeards have said that I’m probably the only one who could do such a thing without a team of others since I’m the dragonborn. I can only hope this will work when the time comes. Though, if all goes to plan, how am I going to explain Miraak to the graybeards? Or to Paarthurnax? They’ve helped me in exchange for some cryptic conversation, but they don't know my true intentions. I can only hope it will work in the moment…

I hear his voice stutter for a moment in surprise, but then his hands ball in a fist. I can feel this realm around us tensing as I have done something unexpected. But I’ve learned Hermaeus's ways, his desire to learn what will happen is far greater than his desire to stop this. It will give us the time we need.

Together, we shout as one. “Dovahkiin Uth Tiid!” The Thu’um hurts, straining the dragon souls in my vains to their limits. We will not be able to hold this long. Time slows around us to a near-stop. The Thu’um is allowing us to pass freely, while everything else is temporarily slowed. If Akatosh was not also the god of time- I suspect this would not work at all.

Miraak seems surprised, but he speaks as he slowly rises. He stands at least a head taller than me, his power still emanating around him in the ghostly horns on his body of the dragon aspect. “Clever, Mal Dovahkiin. I hope you have more plans than just this. Or are you giving me more time to finish you off?”

“I…” I ball my free fist, feeling the strain of the shout. It’s hard to maintain this, I always knew we couldn’t hold it forever. “I can free you. I don’t have enough time to explain how I can, just that I can. All I need you to do is hold my hand as tightly as you can, and don’t let go until we’re back on Nirn.”

The way he tilts his head, the way he moves his body as he observes me. I’m still surprising him. I offer my hand out, the words still carved into my flesh. I didn’t want to write it in ink, to ensure Hermaeus couldn’t foresee this. “And how can I trust you?”

“You can’t,” I say, dropping my blade. “But I beg you to.” I say, keeping my hand outstretched. He hesitates, before bringing his blade to the wound in my chest. 

But stopping just before it could dig into it. One last attempt to make sure I wasn’t tricking him, I suppose. Or maybe just making sure if this is a trick, he has the upper hand. “Fine, let’s see what the little dragon has up her sleeve.” He says.

As his fingers intertwine with mine, time feels like a rush as we move back into the regular flow. I quickly take out my winning card.

Hermaeus Mora, god of knowledge and memory. I had met him once before- he even declared me his champion. I denied it then, and I denied it still when I met him again. He tells me I cannot defy the allure of his dimension forever, people become corrupted and seek its knowledge eventually.

I had thought for a long time on where I could get an artifact to save Miraak, it would have to be as powerful as a daedric artifact- but also something that could defy his power. And it would have to be a daedric prince willing both to work with me and to potentially anger Hermaeus.

That’s where the realization hit me. I needed someone crazy enough to do it. And that is how I found myself at the throne of his mad castle, his dimension made me sick to my stomach. Sheogorath. Madness could defy it, knowledge is lost on a madman. Too crazy to desire such a thing anymore.

Sero had come with me, though he regretted it quickly. But I was glad to have him with me, it kept me grounded. Sheogorath recognized me, in his own way. We had met once before, in the mind of a dead man. “Oh! Oh! I recognize you… Let me guess! Donavan, NO! Darius the Cannibal! Or could it be….The Ghost of Horse Man?!” He yelled, pointing a finger at me.

“No, but you are close, prince of madness,” I say with a bow. “I come seeking your aid, but I did not come empty-handed. First, a gift!” I yell, unstrapping the gift from my bag. Gods was it heavy, and unwrapped the paper in front of him. “A wheel of cheese, made from many other cheeses! And also things that may not be cheese, I’m just not sure anymore!” I yell, presenting it. I needed to present myself like something that atleast somewhat fit in this realm. Though the madness of this place scratched on the inside of my skull.

Sheogorath loved cheese, and he certainly loved a present that understood him. He observed it, giving it a good whiff. “Yesss, Yes! A good gift, great gift!” He wrapped an arm around me as he circled. Sero was tense, but I gave him a knowing look. “You know, I knew I liked you from the moment you didn’t hesitate shooting those two people with the wabbajack. You really brought life to a deadman!” He yelled, putting his arms up again.

“Yes, unfortunately, I come seeking something. I have carved what I require into this head.” I respond, taking out the skinned head. “An argonian head, or perhaps something else? It’s hard to tell once all the top layer stuff is gone.” I say, presenting it to him. It was nasty work, but I knew these were the steps I had to take to be taken seriously by a madman.

He read it quickly and smiled. “This! This I can doooo! But lass, you're gunna have to do some non-cheese favors for me first.” He said, his voice becoming low and ominous. 

I nodded. “I am ready to do what it takes for this.” I said, putting my hand over my chest.

He smiled, his wicked mad smile. “I knew I liked you! C’mon!”

Three weeks and many grueling (and some cheese-related) tasks later, I had been presented what I desired. It was time.

I could tell by the way Miraaks grip tensed that he could sense the power from the artifact, even if it was… strange. It resembled a smoking pipe, long with something in it resembling leafs. Gods know what it actually is. It has strange symbols running down it, Sheogorath told me they were lunatic writing, but I think he put more time in it than he’d let on. I think he was excited to pull such a fast one on Hermaeus.

A deep puff, and I felt horrible things enter my mind. Madness filled the lining of my skull. But I had to persist, I saw the tentacles and eyes start to form. Miraaks grip tightened, the blade digging slightly into my chest. And I blew, a bubble coming from the pipe and around both of us. Before Hermaeus could stop it, it popped.

And like I had asked for, we ended up outside my home in Falkreath. It was secluded, but had a great view of the lake and the local wildlife. Sero would be waiting for me inside. I felt Miraaks grip get so tight it felt like it would break my hand, but the blade retracted from it's place.

“I can feel whatever you did has weakned me. But you stood by your word.” He takes a step towards the lake, allowing his hand to be freed of mine as he looked towards the setting sun. The light gleamed off of his mask and the lake. A distant deer with large antlers sipped at the edge of the lake. “I can regain my power in time, but I have my freedom. But- why would you…” 

He turned back towards me as my legs began to give out. The artifact fell from my hands, cracking into pieces. It was a one-time use, of course, I had expected that. Didn’t matter, it worked. But the pain from the wounds, and the weakness from the artifact draining me, and the madness waving through my body. I heard the door slam open behind me.

“Shen!” I heard Sero yell, as I began to collapse fully to the ground.

“Shen? You… I never even…” I don’t hear the rest of what Miraak has to say as my vision goes dark. Though I make the realization all the same.

Oh right. I think to myself, the pain shocking through me. I forgot to tell him my name.

[rratpiss]

sketch dump my cquackty skyrim au bleeeh

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

WYGTYA lines

@sheirukitriesfandom tagged me in this most wonderful tag game and I am so happy! Thank you for the tag :D Since WYGTYA is my longest work, I'm going to include lines from this fic of mine that I love so very much <3

A line from your fic that makes you laugh (not really a line, but it made me laugh while I wrote chapter 13)

“What on Nirn is a rock’s weakness?” He asks, casting a calm spell to no avail.

“Scissors?” Ravonna responds, chuckling.

“You think this is a good time for jokes? Master Neloth is going to kill me if he finds out!” 

“Scissors, that’s it! Big sword!” she says, the lightbulb of an idea almost visible above her head, making Talvas even more confused. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Wait here, I know just the thing!” She immediately levitates rapidly to the main tower, doing a backflip before entering.

"But paper beats rock!" Talvas shouts, but to no avail, Ravonna is already in the tower.

A line from your fic that makes you sad (of course it's a Miraak line, from chapter 6)

“I – yes. I just – ” but he has to turn around before the tears start falling down his cheeks. ‘Be a man’s man and don’t cry. Crying is for weaklings, you soft-hearted little boy! Why can’t you be like your brother? You’re a failure!’ his father’s words ring into his ears and he shivers, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow him. And so he climbs the stairs as fast as he can and heads straight to his chamber. There, he can finally cry for hours.

A line from your fic you're proud of (not yet part of wygtya, but it will be, this is my Ralof/Hadvar ficlet, and I'm so proud of that watetfall metaphor)

“We were drunk and happy and we thought we had our whole life ahead of us.” Ralof begins, trying to be brave himself and just let his thoughts flow into words like a river turning into a waterfall

A line for your fic you think could have been better (There are a lot of things that could have been written better, but I refuse to beat myself too much over it and embrace the fact that I am evolving and I don't want to over analyse my old writing, so this is from chapter 1, I hate this because Hjaldir's story changed a bit over time! When I wrote this, it was all unclear, and so many things have changed since then, I'm hoping my version of him now isn't too far from this brief first description of him)

“Well, Inigo, it’s actually quite a funny story. Hjaldir turned out to be a runaway pirate. He ran away from his crew because he got tired of getting seasick and stealing from innocent people. So, one night, he just ran away. Decided to become a bard and make honest coin. Ended up at my dad’s tavern.”

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character (from chapter 12, DAMN IT, LUCIEN, THEY WERE HAVING A MOMENT)

“Am I… interrupting something?” Lucien asks. Right, Lucien. Fenrik’s almost forgotten about him. How could he not, when all he did was sleep his hangover off?

“No!” both Dragonborn respond at the same time, letting go of each others’ hands.

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww' (from chapter 13, Ravonna trying her best to comfort Miraak is so precious to me, she is trying her best! And this is a big moment for her, to try to be so comforting to one person who once tried to kill her. It's a lot of progress and I feel like she can see their situation from a mature point of view and she can let go of the vengeance.)

“There we go.” she says as she gets a good look of Fenrik’s teary brown eyes. “Now listen to me: no one is upset with you. I’m starting to think that it’s impossible to be. You didn’t ruin anything, okay? The self-sacrificing healer in you got out. And that’s commendable. Now, please don’t cry because I have no idea what to do with someone who is crying.” She says, making him laugh the tears away. “You’re doing great. I mean, if you need to cry, just let it out, I’ll figure something out. Maybe sparkles? Everyone loves sparkles, right?” She makes small sparkles dance around her other hand

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism (from chapter 12, not sure if this classifies as symbolism, but the snake thing is something that I am so proud of)

"I still felt my soul in there, wrapped tightly in the threatening embrace of all those dragons’ souls. I felt it trying to fight it, to escape, like a small animal trying to escape the python snake’s fatal grip."

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg (WWDITS reference with a medieval and lore-friendly name replacement! From chapter 3)

"His name was Mikael, if I recall correctly.”

“Fucking Mikael!” Ravonna says, full of spite.

A line from your fic that's shocking (from chapter 13, MIRAAK SAID HIS FIRST ON-SCREEN BAD WORD!! Everyone was shocked hahaha)

“Holy shit!” Fenrik says as they get closer to the Silt Strider, making Ravonna’s job to cheer up much easier. She turns to him with wide eyes, and then looks at the rest of the amused fellowship. Even Teldryn was struggling not to smile. 

A line from your fic you want to talk about more (from chapter 2, IT'S RUMCURIO, CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT RUMCURIO I'M IN RAREPAIR HELL, MY FIC IS LITERALLY THE ONLY ONE WITH THE RUMARIN/MARCURIO TAG I'M GOING INSANE)

“Just come back alive, or I will kill you.” Marcurio says, his forehead resting against Rumarin’s, still pulling him down. It’s not the most comfortable position for Rumarin, but he won’t have it any other way. It makes him think, really. About all the ways he is going to kiss him as soon as he returns from Solstheim. 

Tagging my beloved fellow writer mutuals, only if you want to participate, of course! @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @mareenavee @dirty-bosmer @blossom-adventures @nerevar-quote-and-star and I'm also tagging @sheirukitriesfandom back to do this challenge!

[friend-of-giants]

Ascent from the Ashes is at 1000 hits!! 😭😭

This tale is my baby and this is a big milestone considering TES is somewhat of a dwindling fandom - and this is my first real dabble in writing!

If you've read this I want you to know I appreciate the SHIT out of you! And if not, what are you waiting for?