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imogenkol · 1 year ago

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The Prodigal Daughter - a Skyrim OC fic

characters: Yrsa Gunnr (oc), Amund Gunnr (oc) word count: 2K rating: General warnings: brief alcohol consumption tags: family drama, wholesome sibling dynamic

Yrsa received the letter one month after Helgen and waited twice as long to reply. Now the arrival of her brother in Whiterun was imminent and she stared at the parchment in her hands as she had many times since the courier delivered it. The taloned grasp of shame and fear clawed at her chest. She glanced up from her seat at Breezehome’s hearth to watch the blank face of her front door, dreading the knock to come.

With a sigh, Yrsa set the letter aside and reached for a tankard of mead. Sweet fermented honey and spices burned away some of the tightness in her throat, but she still felt a weight. The amulet of Talos stuffed in her pocket hadn’t felt this heavy since she made the choice to abandon the war. Yrsa swore the god’s disappointment was intentionally poured into the symbol gifted by her parents, it’s why she could no longer bear to don it around her neck. Yet she couldn’t bear to part with it either.

A firm series of knocks pulled Yrsa out of her thoughts. She took another swig from her tankard and pushed herself to her feet to answer the door.

Amund stood nearly as tall as the door, only a hair taller than Yrsa – though he would argue at least two. Years of hammering anvil caused his broad shoulders to nearly span the entire width of the doorway as well. His exceptionally dark shoulder length hair had been braided back, a few stray wisps resting on his forge-tanned cheeks. Yrsa noticed some subtle streaks of gray through the waves of black, finally showing a bit of age in her older brother. A bright smile split his perfectly sculpted charcoal beard at the sight of Yrsa. She found it surprisingly easy to return and felt the warmth in his glacier colored eyes.

“Oh, look at you!” Amund scooped his younger sister up in his strong arms and swung her around as they laughed, just the way he used to when she was smaller and with the same amount of ease.

“It’s good to see you too, Amund,” Yrsa chuckled, burying her face in his familiar fur cloak. Her anxieties melted into the smoky scented softness along with the rest of her. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed the embrace of family.

He plunked her back down. “Did you get taller?”

She rolled her eyes. “I am as tall as you last saw me.”

“No.” Amund shook his head and held out a flat hand above her head to compare her size to his. “No, I’m certain there’s been growth. Or you have new boots.”

“I have new boots, but they are actually shorter than my old ones,” Yrsa quipped. Having the same argument over and over about Amund’s denial with her encroaching on his height never got old. He would always be the tallest of the Gunnr children, but Yrsa became a close second, much to everyone’s surprise. She had true Nord stature, her father said. “Now, come inside and share some mead with me.”

“Ah, yes, I shall never refuse such an offer after a long journey.”

The fire in the hearth crackled as the two siblings claimed their chairs. Amund eagerly accepted a freshly poured tankard of mead and took a generous swig. For a moment, it felt like Yrsa was back home sharing a drink with her brother after a long day of work.

“Tell me how Liv is,” Yrsa requested. “And the girls.”

Amund nodded and wiped his beard clean. “They are all good. The girls miss their aunt, though. Eydis is never seen without that little bear carving you made for her. Kara,” he paused to bark out a laugh, “Kara broke Ari’s nose for calling you a traitor. Liv had me scold her, but I’ve never been prouder.”

Yrsa smiled sadly. Her nephew’s words were true and she felt a fresh flush of guilt. “Sounds like Bo has made up his mind about me.”

Amund waved a dismissive hand. “Bo has always been jealous of you, I wouldn’t worry. When Ari gets older, he’ll understand that his father allowed himself to be consumed by pettiness.”

“Perhaps Bo’s anger is justified,” Yrsa said quietly and stared into the flames.

Her brother paused with the tankard at his lips. A tense moment passed and he leaned forward intently in his seat. “What are you saying?”

She shrugged. “This is why you came out here, right? To hear the truth about what really happened before Helgen.”

A wooden thunk echoed in the small home as Amund set his tankard down. “I came to check on the well being of my little sister, a task I have always been proud to uphold. Is it so bad if the truth just so happens to be included?”

Slowly, Yrsa forced her gaze from the flames of the fire to the icy colored stare of her brother. “Even if the answers you seek will make you never want to speak to me again?”

“Yrsa,” he said slowly and sincerely, “there is no truth that could cause me to disown you.”

If it had been any of her other siblings, she would have hesitated. If it had been her parents, she would never have believed the words. But this was Amund in front of her, the brother who taught her how to forge from a young age and gifted her a handmade blade to keep her safe in war. Yrsa trusted him always.

“It is true that I’ve abandoned the Stormcloaks.”

“Do you side with the Empire?” he asked calmly. The flicker of firelight made his stoic expression appear like stone.

She shook her head. “No, I’ve decided not to take part in any of it anymore. Ulfric only saw me as a weapon.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Ulfric is a good man. There must have been a misunderstanding, if you return home with me, we could –”

“No, Amund,” Yrsa chided softly. “Distrust had been growing in my heart for weeks. My ears finally heard the vile words spoken around camp. I saw the frenzied look in the eyes of my fellow soldiers. Like a veil had fallen from my eyes, I truly saw Ulfric for who is. He takes advantage of the fanaticism, fans the flames for his own purposes.”

Now Amund was the one to stare intensely into the hearth. “Did you speak your mind?”

She nodded. “We had a disagreement on the road before the Imperial ambush. I knew Ulfric and his troops would sooner put me in chains than let me walk freely. This war, Amund, it’s full of people with poison in their hearts. They speak of reclaiming our freedom, but that poison is leaking into the soil wherever they step and killing the land we fight for. I have purged it from me.”

“What of the Empire?” He threw up his hand. “What about Talos? Do you believe we should just yield?”

“I don’t know what should be done. It is not up to me to decide.”

“But you are Dragonborn, Yrsa! You hold the power to turn the tide – to end this civil war and bring freedom to Skyrim.”

“If Ulfric was willing to hold me as a prisoner and force me to fight for his cause because I am a werebear, what do you think he would do to keep the Dragonborn at his side?”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Amund growled fiercely.

“You might not have a choice,” she pointed out. “Would you commit treason?”

“For you, I would,” he answered with such conviction, it left Yrsa speechless. “I am loyal to my family before anything. Before my duties as a blacksmith, before Windhelm, before any kings or emperors or even Talos himself. So… if you have chosen this path, Yrsa, I will protect you.”

Her brother may be a smith, but he was the fiercest protector in all her family. It’s something Yrsa has greatly admired about him since she was little. From the first moment she watched him work steel, Be careful of the forge fire, Yrsa, it will burn you right crisp. He once snatched a piece of hot iron from her grasp with his bare hands before it had a chance to leave a mark on her tiny fingers. Yrsa spotted the old scar on the edge of his palm. Amund would brave many burns for her, she had no doubts.

“I’ve always known I could count on you, Amund.”

“Good.” He nodded in satisfaction, a soft expression returning to his features. “Now, show me around this magnificent home of yours.”

The hint of sarcasm in his tone made her scoff. They could practically see the entire interior of the house from where they sat. “It’s humble, but I like it here. It’s also only temporary until I can purchase some land out near Falkreath. I intend to build my own homestead.”

Amund leaned back and let out a low whistle. “Well, well, that’s quite the goal. Color me impressed.”

She smirked knowingly. “You may be more impressed to hear that I’ve taken up smithing as well. Eorlund Gray-Mane has taken me under his wing at the Skyforge.”

“The Skyforge?” Yrsa nodded and it looked like Amund nearly toppled from his seat.

“I’ve taken up work with the Companions. They’ve given me my own Skyforge steel sword.” Yrsa reached for the weapon resting against the back of her chair and unsheathed the blade with a metallic hiss.

Amund looked like a child about to receive their favorite sweet. He marveled at the craftsmanship passed to his hands. “Incredible... Did you show Eorlund my sword?”

Yrsa gnawed on her lower lip. “Um, I have not, I must confess.”

For the first time, her brother looked offended. “Why not?”

“I haven’t been wielding it,” she admitted.

His thick brows knitted together as he placed the sword down. “Is it damaged? Did you lose it?”

“No, it’s under my bed.”

Amund studied her silently for a long minute. Then he got up, walked up the stairs with a few creaks from the old wood, and retrieved the Nordic sword he had forged special for her. The quicksilver sang more beautifully than any bard as he slowly pulled it free of the scabbard. Amund ran his thumb along the carvings engraved on the flat of the blade and smiled wistfully. “I noticed you aren’t wearing your amulet of Talos either.”

“I still carry it with me.”

“You believe you are no longer worthy of these gifts,” he guessed.

Yrsa tried not to wince. “It is a complicated feeling.”

“Allow me to uncomplicate it.” Amund sheathed the sword and returned to Yrsa’s side. With a proud grin, he presented it to her in the same way he had when he first gifted it. The hilt and blade tip balanced on his fingers as he knelt before her. “I made this sword so that I would be able to protect you when you are away from home. You would honor me by allowing it to continue its purpose.” He winked. “If only for the opportunity of my blade to taste dragon blood.”

Yrsa couldn’t stop smiling, not even through her misted eyes. She brushed away a stray tear and accepted her brother’s blessing to use the sword once more. “It will taste Alduin’s blood, my dearest brother. This, I vow.”

He stood and clapped her shoulder. “That’s all I ask. Now, is there a decent tavern in this town? I crave more mead, a hearty meal, and some music.”

“There’s one right up the road here.” Yrsa cleared her throat and stood. After attaching the Nordic sword to her belt, where it has always belonged, she motioned for Amund to follow. “Let’s go.”

“Finally, a proper adventure.”

#oc insp: yrsa gunnr #oc insp: amund gunnr #fic: the prodigal daughter #technically posted this like a year ago but I wanted to revamp it a bit so here #skyrim hyperfixation has a bit of a resurgence and they mean so much to me #now I want to start writing Kåre in here too cause he really became a very important part of her journey #and I think he’d be fun to write #anywho yeah Yrsa is an ex Stormcloak and is trying to balance the responsibility of being dragonborn while being neutral in the war #spoiler alert: that does not work out

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