#stupid priests and stupider nords

[bbbbbbbbbbruce]

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

ough in TPATD Miraak is half-Atmoran, half-Falmer. One person carrying and uniting the blood of two races that became enemies, that ultimately destroyed one another.

Jia is half-Nord, half-Imperial. One person carrying and uniting the blood of two races that are currently under an endless war, that are, too, basically destroying each other.

Miraak used to receive some weird looks from the Atmorans for his Snow Elf heritage, with his fellow dragon priests calling him names such as 'ghost' or 'paleface', because of the marble-white complexion he took after his Snelf mother.

Jia is quite frequently confronted with "aren't you a little short for a Nord?" by the Nords, and with "aren't you a little tall for an Imperial?" by the Imperials.

and yet, aren't they both living proof that before any hate, or any war, or any decimation of life, there was once love and unity? 🥺

[sylvienerevarine]

Sophrine Aulette's Solstheim Encyclopedia

wahoo I'm still not done with this Philomena Cunk-inspired nonsense. I promise most of what I write is slightly less stupid than this.

---

Raven Rock

The small mining town of Raven Rock was founded in 3.E 428 by the East Empire Company, who had called dibs on all the ebony lurking under the ground over there, as the Skaal weren’t using it. The mine was pretty successful for a few years, then shut down, then reopened under the direction of House Redoran, then closed again, then was reopened by me. 

These days Raven Rock is mostly Dunmer, except for one old Imperial fellow who’s married to a priest, and that Orsimer gentleman who’s always bothering people about loans. There aren’t any ravens, if you’re wondering. I asked.

Rieklings

No one’s quite sure what Rieklings are, exactly, but most scholars seem to think they’re a distant cousin of goblins. What we do know is that they’re small, blue, fond of pigs, and usually angry. 

You might think Rieklings are just mindless little beasties, but from my experience, they’re actually quite intelligent. Some of them speak a little Cyrodilic, which is impressive, because it’s a stupid language. They can also read, as evidenced by that copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid I found in one of their dens. Though one has to wonder about their taste in literature.

The Skaal

The Skaal are lovely people who live in a town so remote and small you could wander around in circles looking for it for about three days before Frea finally gets frustrated and comes to find you. That’s never happened to me.

This small Nord community has existed on Solstheim for hundreds, possibly thousands, of years, and has survived largely due to their immense stubbornness. “Sunlight?” they’ll say. “Green grass? Who needs it? All a fellow needs is snow and horker meat.” Bit strange, but it seems to work for them.

The Skaal worship one creator spirit known as the All-Maker, who very kindly invented wolves and bears and fish and turnips. They don’t have any temples; if you want to say a prayer, you just go sit down by a tree and have a good think. Lovely stuff, if you ask me.

Thirsk

Thirsk is a famous mead hall that’s essentially a combination tavern/hotel/fighter’s guild. It was invented by a fellow named Hrothmund the Red, who lived between three and five hundred years ago. Hrothmund left the Skaal village because he was tired of following rules and wanted to drink and fight without getting in trouble, much like every single person in Skyrim does.

The only rules at Thirsk are:

Mind your own business

If you’re going to throw up, do it outside

Don’t make any loud noise before noon

My Nana Sylvie became chieftain of Thirsk for a brief period in the late Third Era, after killing a nasty troll called the Udyrfrykte who’d practically knocked the place down. The current chieftain is a very nice woman named Bujold the Intrepid, who has never had any other nicknames, so don’t ask.

[idiotsyncratic0]

I'm obsessed with the dynamic between vatyr and radac. There's so much chemistry and humor. Sorry if you've talked about this before, but how did they cross paths? Or just how did they come to be companions?

YOOO ANON! How you doing?

I’ve actually not talked about how they met before! So here, I hope you enjoy! :D I’m always overjoyed to talk about these two!

…

As most know, Radac is a canon NPC from Morrowind’s Tribunal DLC main quest line. With a reforged blade, you are instructed to bring its enchanted flame back, to which no one knows how to do this?? Anyway, you find Radac floating around and he helps you with that. He’s also the only non-hostile dwemer spectre, and one of two dwarves you ever speak to. For Vartyr, I broke lore a bit to make it a bit fun.

Vartyr at this time was extremely disheveled, following the main events of Morrowind’s base game main questline. Before this however, he (then she), was an ex-member of the Magribash warrior witches, a group of matriarchal ashalnders (uesp has a great page on this if you’re interested!)

After this and the fall of some very naughty gods, Vartyr follows canon and makes way to Akavir as a hermit, to begin a journey of reflecting his previous life and understanding his new life as an immortal. He learns to read, write and his magical abilities soar, he decides to specialise in soul/dark magic in an attempt to help those undead and wandering to pass on from Mundus. Though he avoids calling himself a priest, or a necromancer as per his cultural ethos.

The Oblivion Crisis unfolds, Baar Dau falls from the skies of Vivec City and Red Mountain erupts leaving Vvardenfell almost completely devastated. Vartyr after some insane metamorphosis of his persona emerges from Akavir, noticing the natural catastrophes that happened to his home, and goes wandering to find familiar faces. Most, if not all, are gone to the sands of Akatosh. This renders his Nerevarine title near obsolete, to which he found refreshing. Deshaan though, was thankfully unscathed by the volcanic onslaught, so Vartyr went to see if a particular individual had passed on beneath Mournhold.

Radac’s soul has been bound to something in his forge following his death by the Nord invasion of Morrowind in 1E, and Vartyr takes to convincing Radac to help him pass and rest. Begrudgingly he obliged after some arguments, but then went back on his word and refused to leave Nirn. So Vartyr struck a deal, he’ll find and take the Dwemer phylactery with him and show Radac the world. Radac before only knew his work as is Dwemer tradition but agrees to travel. Though the condition is that once Radac feels content, he must come to a conclusion and choose to leave or stay.

Of course this is actually pretty good-hearted but really stupid of Vartyr, because their newfound friendship blurs the lines between helping a spirit pass, and fraternising with the undead which not only goes against Varys’s previously mentioned ethos but is also extremely immoral in the eyes of the public…

THANKS FOR LISTENING!

[nightingaletrash]

I am once again thinking about a Dragon Cult faction in Skyrim and the dragons being intelligent conquerors rather than random monsters that pop up from time to time, all thanks to Vox Machina so yeah I’m gonna ramble :p

Alduin uses Helgen as his chance to declare his intentions, that his dominion over Tamriel has begun and Skyrim will be the first to kneel. The survivors of Helgen flee and begin to spread the word of what they saw and what was promised. Skyrim is torn by the story as it spreads; there’s hysteria, there’s denial, there’s a frenzy to prepare, and a steadfast refusal to engage with the story at all. People are either terrified or they’re convinced it’s complete hogwash until they see it with their own eyes.

Ulfric knows the legends well enough to recognise the threat and the Stormcloaks are also familiar with Alduin’s story, so they take the threat significantly more seriously than Tullius and the Legion, who aren’t quite so readily familiar with the tales and need convincing by the likes of Rikke and other Nords in the ranks to treat the situation with the full gravitas it deserves. It’s a serious threat, yes, but they don’t realise just how significant Alduin’s return is and what it means for Tamriel on the whole.

During the lull after Alduin’s arrival, Mirmulnir was planning to take Whiterun for himself and was systematically weakening the city's defences before launching his assault, only to end up encountering the one person who could truly kill him. Word of a Dragonborn spreads rapidly and before long, so do the dragons. They rise from their graves and abandon their long-forgotten hiding places, and they take to the sky, intent on taking back what’s their’s.

Falkreath is the first to bend its knee because Siddgeir isn't so stupid that he thinks he can best a dragon, and surely there'll be some benefit to capitulating, just like there was when he sided with the Imperials. He'll take whatever he can get and becomes the first modern Dragon Priest, all to ensure that he retains his power as well as his life. The Dragonborn isn’t safe in Falkreath, not until it seems that there’s an earnest chance that they can best the ancient dragon that resides there. Siddgeir will always throw his lot in with the winning side after all... Whether his doublecrossing actually serves him depends on how the Dragonborn chooses to handle the situation.

Meanwhile Winterhold and Dawnstar are mostly ignored by the first wave of dragons. There are bigger prizes elsewhere. Only once the best territories have been claimed does anyone take an interest in the north, and still Dawnstar doesn’t tract much attention. Winterhold, however, finds itself in a tricky situation - the dragon that arrives is one with a thirst for knowledge. It’s shrewd, cunning, and apparently indifferent to Alduin’s desire to conquer Skyrim. It barters with the Archmage over the Jarl. It offers the College protection from the local Nords and others that might do them wrong, its own knowledge of history and magic, and secrets known only to a dragon. In exchange, they share their secrets with it and let it learn from their troves of knowledge. It’ll leave the village alone provided the people there don’t cause trouble; it doesn’t care to rule. It just wants to learn and be left in peace. It’s a deal that seems almost too good to be true, and the mages can’t tell if this dragon is just like them or if it’s plotting something terrible.

Riften is initially prepared for a dragon to arrive on account of the Stormcloaks preparing the city ahead of time. Then it storms for days on end, a relentless torrent of rain and lightning. People swear they hear a voice in the thunder as their streets flood and the Nords in town put two and two together. Some advise that they should make offerings to try and persuade the dragon to put a stop to the storm. Gold, jewels, whatever meat they can get - they offer it all if it means the storm will stop. And for a time it does... until Jarl Laila puts her foot down and puts a stop to the offerings. Appeasing a dragon won’t save them, after all. And so the storm resumes as it did before, and people are afraid and angry. But still, anyone caught making offerings is punished, and the storms grow worse with every person jailed, so people leave to seek out the beast to offer themselves in service. They become its eyes and ears in the city and report to it when the Dragonborn arrives. When they do, they’re sent to extend an invitation to Laila just as she’s requesting them to hunt down the dragon and slay it; it requests a parley in neutral territory with Laila. It’s up to the Dragonborn to decide whether Riften remains free or if it falls under the control of the dragon.

Markarth is a tempting target, but the city's architecture makes it a tough nut to crack. They have all the steel they need for weapons manufacturing, and are prepared for a siege thanks to the Civil War. To complicate matters, the Reachfolk are as much a problem for the dragons as they are for the Nords; freedom runs in their veins and they wouldn't give it up for anyone. Not for the Nords, and not for a bunch of big ol' lizards either. Any dragon trying to take territory in the Reach has their work cut out for them, both inside the walls and out.

Morthal ends up under dragon control pretty quickly, much like Falkreath. Igrod knows that her tiny community stands no chance at all, so she makes an offering just before the dragon shows up and assumes her role as Dragon Priest. But she's not simply rolling over like Siddgeir. She's biding her time and protecting her people the only way she can, waiting for the one person that can save them.

Solitude and Windhelm remain free on account of the power they've each marshalled. They're both powerful enough to ward off the threat for now, but it won't last forever. Especially if the dragons seize more and more territories.

Other small settlements fall as easily as Morthal and Falkreath, with the communities swiftly capitulating to the dragons that arrive in the hopes of being spared; Kynesgrove only narrowly avoids that fate. People were preparing to bring offerings to the Dragonmound and instead see their would-be-ruler slain once he’s barely fresh from the grave. The villagers are some of the only people in Skyrim that the Dragonborn and the Blades can trust for safe shelter if they’re passing through the area.

With Whiterun and Kynesgrove standing free, along with any other cities that the Dragonborn has chosen to liberate or has a dragon ruling in their name over Alduin’s, the dragons are more than aware that they have an adversary out there, but those that have established themselves and their territory are unwilling to depart in search of them. Instead they use intermediaries; some want the Dragonborn dead to be presented to Alduin at Skuldafn, others think they could be a useful tool or ally, while others are just interested in securing their borders against any potential threats.

[littlegalerion]

Okay, screw it, whatever canon NPC x Player Character ship you got, reblog this and put their dream wedding in the tags.

[the-old-caius]

I have a lot of stupid thoughts about the Imperials worshipping a dragon-god and having dragonborn Emperors on their throne, the Amulet of Kings around their necks, over their chests, the stone's shape with the dragon inside being the symbol of the Empire itself, and I wanna look at... the accounts describing Pelinal:

Fifd of New Teed claiming he had no heart, only the "rage of a mindless dragon", how it's described that it was a gem in his chest, before it became the amulet of Kings apparently (suggesting that, within the stone, sat that mindless, draconic rage (golly, I wonder what'd happen if you broke it)), as well as how Whitestrake screamed madly about a sort of omnipotence he shares with Akatosh (implying, of course, that he is, in a way, not unlike a Player Character ("When the dream no longer needs its dreamer"))

(The Amulet of Kings; a stone in place of a heart, yet containing heart-blood and a dragon's fury, as well as possibly a soul? With all of it linking back to the omnipotence of a god. They swore a covenant on that blasted thing!)

On TOP of how Akatosh (or his 'equivalent' in a given culture) and dragons in general are viewed across the rest of Tamriel; in Skyrim, dragons, pictured in their totemic ur-religion as Alduin the World-Eater(who is very real and very much linked closely to Akatosh), essentially representing all-consuming, all-destroying time, or by Altmer and Bosmer as Auri-El, the sun, who, while benevolent, sees the creation of Nirn as a mistake (this being evidently also part of the god known as Akatosh, as an attempted seperation of these Aldmeri traits and traditions from him, reportedly, caused a massive dragon-break, which is said to have 'broken' the god)

In Skyrim, we also get Paarthurnax' insight on how dragons feel and live and experience the world, and- jeesh! (Anyone got more of a brain than me and wants to look into Thu'um and the 'Voice of the Emperor'? Dragonborn Emperors and the voice of a dragon, is all)

Of course, Tiber Septim's ascension to godhood (his crimes even being part of the idol worshipped, brutal conquest now an inherent part of the pantheon enforced by the Empire), how, through Imperial propaganda, cultural erasure and the conflation of Nord heroes with Talos, he became a widely revered god in Skyrim despite the Nords' beliefs about dragons, and how his Numidium being activated also caused a dragon break,

(This may warrant its own post, but; on a surface level, Martin may seem unlike a destructive and consuming dragon, unlike an Emperor, but would share a fate like all-- just less the conquering dragon and more the world-ending time kind (though the two concepts are closely connected, only just nearly the same.))

There's something about the exact contents of the Prophecy of the Dragonborn here, too, and how that yet again leads back to Alduin and destruction, conquest, time, the loss of something through it

It paints this sinister picture around the (already very sinister and fucked up) Empire, its Cult, the line of dragonborn Emperors, around anything involving the amulet and what actually happened when it was shattered, and I'm obsessed with it

As is an Empire's nature, it is a destructive force, conquering, destroying, consuming; a nature shared with dragons, and with time itself

And the literal symbol of the Emperors' reign is the Amulet, containing all of this in the flesh; the blood of a dragon, its mindless rage, ends and beginnings of Eras, a covenant with Akatosh, a metaphorical replacing of the heart-- how human are you, if you are born in the line of Emperors, etc.

And- there's a covenant! An agreement with the god himself, which was broken! It's fucked!

Akatosh says: Serve and obey your Emperor. Study the Covenants. Worship the Nine, do your duty, and heed the commands of the saints and priests.

Ten Commands: Nine Divines

[nientedenada]

The Thalmor Crackdown on Talos Worship (After the Markarth Incident)

Originally posted on r/teslore. Previous posts in this series were : "Madmen of the Reach" and "The Bear of Markarth": A Close Reading of Arriannus Arius' Works and The Crimes of Ulfric Stormcloak?

Last time around, I judged Ulfric guilty of a lot of things, but there’s one thing he’s often blamed for that isn’t really fair. Players often remember Alvor’s early-game comments about Ulfric and the Talos ban. If you ask Alvor,

Why are the Thalmor allowed to arrest people for worshipping Talos?

He’ll answer

It's from that treaty that ended the Great War, remember, when the Emperor was forced by the Thalmor to outlaw Talos worship. We didn't pay much attention to it when I was a boy - everyone still had their little shrine to Talos. But then Ulfric and his "Sons of Skyrim" started agitating about it, and sure enough the Emperor had to crack down. Dragging people off in the middle of the night... one of the main causes of this war, if you ask me.

Alvor’s complaints are used to support the claim that the Talos ban had no teeth until Ulfric was stupid enough to ruin everything. And if only the Nords would wise up and shut up, the Empire could weather this storm together, and everyone could quietly worship Talos while waiting for Great War #2 to get going.

Alvor is wrong.

Or rather, he’s conflating his experience with the broader picture, which is understandable. But we shouldn’t be taking him at his word. It took the Thalmor about a year to get their boots on the ground in the Skyrim. A year to push Ulfric and Hrolfdir into violating the White-Gold Concordat, and then forcing the Empire to let them enforce the Talos ban in Skyrim. There objectively weren't years in which no one cared if Nords quietly worshiped Talos. It’s been twenty-five years of the Thalmor caring very, very deeply.

Now Alvor likely experienced it that way because Thalmor enforcement on the ground was spread out and varied by region and how cooperative the Jarl was. But the Thalmor were always planning to keep working away against Talos worshipers. If they left off persecuting anyone, the way Alvor seems to think, how could they have continued fanning the flames of the coming war? There wasn’t ever a way to appease them. If they went after the public worshipers first, they’d go after the quiet ones later. And in fact, that’s exactly what we see in-game, with Ondolemar directing the PC to break into Ogmund’s house and search it for an amulet of Talos.

There is literally no way to win this game against the Thalmor. They’re not trying to stomp out public Talos worship, and then they’ll go home. They are provoking a Civil War, and trying to get people outraged and rebellious. Yes, Ulfric was their dupe in the Markarth Incident, but it’s wrong to characterize that as Ulfric’s rabble-rousing causing this persecution. Because one way or another, they were going to use the Concordat as a weapon. Ulfric was the excuse they used.

Waiting out the Thalmor may work for the Empire in the end, but it’s a strategy that costs some of its subjects their lives, even if they take the path of least resistance that Imperial apologists advocate for.

Note: I think that one bug that lets Heimskr keep preaching even after the Legion moves into Whiterun, when he’s supposed to be in prison afterwards, has had a huge effect on people’s views of this issue btw. If Heismkr can be praising Talos out in public, it really can’t be that bad under the Empire. Similarly, the game doesn’t have any conclusion with the Talos priest and priestess in Windhelm, though they have dialogue about being worried they’ll soon be arrested, and Niranye can be heard offering to arrange them safe passage out of Skyrim. These in-game issues do downplay the severity of the White-Gold Concordat.

Further comments from r/teslore discussion

This is the pattern of Thalmor action in Skyrim for the next twenty-five years. They aren't responding to what happens. They're driving what happens.

The Thalmor aren't appeased by the Empire's arrest of Ulfric in the Markarth Incident. They might say they are, but they're busy pushing for the next crisis. I don't doubt Alvor's personal life experience, but he's got cause and effect backwards. It isn't that the more Ulfric agitates, the more the Thalmor crack down. It's that the Thalmor are doing whatever it takes to push Ulfric and his fellows to the point of rebellion. It's like they're turning the temperature dial on a stove. If the population isn't boiling over, turn it up again. There doesn't exist any possible road of appeasement that can be taken. That's an illusion.

The problem here is the terms of the White Gold Concordat itself. The Empire can try to be as lenient as possible, but although we don't have the text, we know that the strict letter of the law allows Thalmor officials to take into custody citizens of the Empire who are heretics. There's no real defence the Empire can ultimately take other than obfuscation, for example, imprisoning Heimskr in Whiterun for his own good, or for Tullius, executing Ulfric before Elenwen can take charge of him.

[laaskrin]

5, 9, 22, 25, 30, 31, 34, 35, 36 for Fen and Dimma!! I'm sorry there's so many, I'm just so interested in them!!

Ouuf that's a big one. Let's go

5. Dragonborn's favourite province and dragonborn's least favourite province?

Well neither Dimma nor Fen have ever been outside of Skyrim, aside from Solstheim, so there's no real contest here.

In terms of culture or what they know of other provinces, Dimma is obviously attached to Morrowind, and Fen enjoys Valenwood, especially for their craftsmanship and hunting, since she's a hunter herself. They also share some gods, since the falmeri and bosmeri pantheon have some gods in common. She especially enjoys their meat recipes, it is a welcome change from the Nord ones she is used to.

But Fen dreams of visiting all the provinces in a ship, so that might change one day.

9. Dragonborn names and meaning behind it?

Dimma Stormheart

Dimma: old Norse for "darkness" or Swedish for "fog/mist" (the later being the one that made me choose her name because she was born on a misty day in Windhelm)

Stormheart: it is her clan name, inherited from her father, because she comes from a long line of Kyne worshippers. A lot of her ancestors were Kyne priests/priestesses

Fen

Fen: from English "marshlands" or Frisian "peace", mostly I just thought it sounded cool, no particular reason for that one.

22. How competent are they, be it in general life or other?

Dimma

Generally okay in general life. She ran away from home at 15 and had to fend for herself until she got a found family for herself, so she knows how to cook, clean, survive in the wilderness etc.

Though her area of skills really lays in thievery, magic and gardening. She is quite academically inclined, and can and will info dump about plants if you let her (or even if you didn't). Those are really the areas where she is the most competent. On the other hand, the sucks at outright fighting. She can hold her own against most enemies, but in a fight against an actual warrior, she would lose really quick without magic.

Fen

Fen is a very skilled hunter, she also knows how to prepare pelts and game. She used to live outdoors so she has good "survival" skills. She can absolutely live in the wilds with nothing.

Her people skills are abysmal though. She grew up in Saarthal at the time tensions between atmorans and Falmer were rising, then lived as a nomad with her parents, so she never got to form deep, meaningful relationships. Now, she is a merethic era woman who just go resurected after being dead for 4000 years, so the world and its people are completely different from what she is used to. Same for the language, which keeps complicating things for her.

She will often not understand jokes and sayings, or say things that might vex other poeple without meaning to.

25. Are there any items that are significant to them?

Dimma

She has a pair of earrings from Morrowind that she got from her mother, as well as an amulet of Kyne. Those are her most precious possessions

Fen

Dimma gifted her a bosmer bow. It's her most prized possession, because it was the first time she received a gift from someone else than her parents.

30. When did it all go wrong for them, if it did?

Dimma

It never really did go all wrong for her. She had some rough patches, like when her father disowned her or when her mother left (She was supposed to come back, she wasn't abandoning her), or when the whole dragonborn thing happened, but she never felt as if her whole life was crumbling on itself.

Fen

Well, she actually died, so I don't think it can get much worse for her. Things started to get really bad after the night of tears, as she was a half falmer half atmoran, she had to hide from atmoran when they came back, and she wasn't welcomed by falmer either. Then she got killed by atmoran and came back to life 4000 years later, in a world that is completely different from what she knew.

These were very much not good times for her.

31. Is that stupid bloody beacon still in their inventory at the end of it all?

Dimma is the one who got the privilege of getting by Meridia. And yes, it is still in her inventory, because Dimma's petty, and she doesn't like being bossed around, so unless Meridia starts pestering her, she will never do it :) and if she does, she would do it in the most grumpy way possible.

34. Does their journey ever ends?

I guess? Haven't thought that far ahead, but I like the idea of them having a peaceful end of life after every thing they went through

35. How many scars do they carry, be they mental or physical?

Dimma

Physically, she has scars on her right knee and left ankles from when she fractured her patella and ankle after falling.

She also has scars on her torso, neck and lower face from when she was attacked by wolves as a child.

Mentally, she has abandonment issues. She is always sacred that people love her less than she love them, and might leave her.

She's always surprised when people remember things about her, because she doesn't think she matters to them that much.

Fen

Physically, she still has the stab wound on her neck from when she got her throat slit.

Mentally, oh boy. So much.

All the trauma from the war, dying, resurrecting, losing every thing she knows and feeling alone in the world, the conflict within her loving both her atmoran and falmeri roots, the survivor guilt, and guilt from not being able to save her people by being dragonborn (She didn't know at the time).

Homegirl is a walking trauma

36. How do they die?

Neither of them died definitely yet.

Though the first time, Fen got her throat slit by an atmoran warrior. She scared him by instinctively using the thu'um, so he went for the throat.

[acousticcheeze]

Tell us your headcanons about Miraak's life before Apocrypha :>

OOoOOoOoOO~

(I don't know this time period very well so sorry if I screw up)

-Okay so growing up Miraak was actually a rather lively child.

-He would play sports with other kids and often get into brawls.

-He had so many random bruises that he didn't even remember getting.

-Definitely ate dirt at least once.

-Could eat a stupid amount of food in one sitting.

-Would stare at birds flying or bugs crawling around for ages.

-He probably had a few friends, but they grew apart as he grew up.

-Speaking of, as he grew up, he decided that he'd rather learn than fool around with the other kids. So, he started reading.

-He read about history, poetry, plays, literature, art, etc. Basically anything he could get his hands on, but mostly those subjects.

-Probably wrote a few poems himself. (How do you think his mantra is so good?)

-Teen Miraak also tried out romance with some nord girl his friend set him up with. It ended poorly because Miraak would end up spending the entire time talking about what he had read, what he was writing, etc.

-Around 18-20ish he started working with the dragon priests on Solstheim as an apprentice or something. During that time, he became much more disciplined and reserved.

-By the time he became a dragon priest himself, he had given up on human relationships entirely and threw himself into his work.

-He respected the dragons for a while, but had gotten really sick of how they were acting and what they were doing. It ate at him knowing that he could do practically nothing against them.

-So when he found the black book he was more than willing to give it a go. He did his whole rebellion thing and ended up trapped in Apocrypha.

-He initially fanboyed so much over Apocrypha and its gigantic amounts of knowledge.

-After a few years though, all he wanted was out

-A few thousand years pass, and that's where the Dragonborn comes in

[ead13]

Elder Scrolls Summer Fest Prompt: Dragons (F!Nord Dragonborn x Quintus Navale)

“I want to show you something,” she admitted, setting down the oversized knapsack on the table. It nearly collapsed the rickety wooden piece of furniture under its immense weight. Quintus couldn’t help but stare, realizing she had been hauling such a burden around Skyrim this entire time. Small wonder she was so strong…

“What in Mundus do you have in there?!” he exclaimed as he set aside the paring knife and wiped his hands. “More Dwemer loot? It looks heavy enough to be a couple of struts.”

Fjori smiled. “No, quite different. Think of something even older.”

He blinked. “Older than the Dwemer? That’s impossible, that would have to be something…Merethic. Then again, the Dwemer lived in the late Merethic era as well…”

“Did they? Well, if they did, there is no mention of them in our legends until Ysgramor arrived and drove the Snow Elves underground.”

“So before Ysgramor is what you’re telling me.” The alchemist frowned, wracking his brain. “Well, I admit, I don’t know much about Merethic history unless it involves Ayleids. What WAS happening in Skyrim before Ysgramor?”

Instead of responding, Fjori opened the knapsack and slid a massive skull onto the table, one replete with razor-sharp teeth and horns. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the gaping maw snapping off a man’s entire arm in one violent chomp. To see such an exotic sight, Quintus’s mouth gaped in shock. “Ta-da!”

“Fjori, is that a…dragon skull?!”

“That’s right.” She looked well-pleased with herself.

“Where in Oblivion did you manage to get such a thing?!”

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Think about it for a second, Quintus.”

He paused, then his brow furrowed in understanding. “You killed it.”

“As is the job of the Dragonborn.”

“Divines, I know it’s what you do, but…how to explain…” He paused, tapping his foot as he thought but never taking his eyes off of the skull. “It was always something abstract, I suppose. You kill dragons. I do a quick mental sketch of you lopping the head off some giant lizard. Seeing this, though…” He reached out to touch the skull, but decided against it halfway there, as if suddenly feeling it might take a finger despite being severed from the rest of the dragon. “It’s hard to imagine any human killing something this terrible.”

Fjori scratched the back of her head. “This is actually dragon number…let’s see here…eight, I believe.”

He couldn’t help it. He looked at her with something akin to awe and reverence. “It’s stupid, I know that, but seeing this puts it all in perspective for me even though I acknowledged what you do. You really are incredible, Fjori.”

“Hey now, none of that. Don’t make me regret showing you this.” Fjori was blushing as she picked up the skull. This time, it was clear just how much it weighed, because he could see the way her well-developed muscles strained. “I just figured, seeing as I’m the Dragonborn, I ought to show you a trophy. Killing them is a part of my reality after all, and you don’t really get a chance to be involved in that. When I head out for a week or two to find new shouts, I have a tendency of dispatching a dragon here and there.”

Funny, she seemed like a cat that left its human a rat on the doorstep, though on a much grander scale. As with so many things, he found this rather heavy-handed attempt at sharing to be endearing, and he felt his heart flutter. “So what will you do with it? Come to think of it, what did you do with the other seven?”

“Well, I mostly let the others that participated in battle with me keep the bones and scales as trophies. The Whiterun guard has a skull in their barracks, for example, from that first dragon we dispatched at the watchtower. Of course, Lydia also has one, a sort of badge of honor for her service. I just thought it was about time I had a trophy of my own, one just like the Jarl of Whiterun has in his keep from Olaf One-Eye’s duel with Numinex in the old tales.”

“While it would be fitting, please tell me you are NOT planning on hanging it in the bedroom?”

The very thought made the warrior burst into laughter. “Shor’s bones, no way! It would be impossible to sleep with that thing watching you all night!”

“Ah, good.” Quintus looked visibly relieved. “It is rather unsettling to look at, to be honest.”

Fjori set the skull back down. “Even more so when it still has the beady eyes, which are thankfully no longer glaring at me. It’s always such a cold look they have, as though I’m little more than an insect to them. Cruel. Filled with disdain.”

When Quintus noticed the way she shivered, he quickly moved in to wrap his arms around her. “It certainly paid the price for underestimating you, didn’t it? In fact, perhaps that arrogance hastens their downfall in general.”

“I suppose so.” She paused in thought, basking in the warmth of his embrace and letting herself relax in his arms. “Do you know the old legend about Kyne and the Voice?”

“The Voice being the way you shout words in the dragon tongue?” She nodded in affirmation. “I’m afraid all I know is that the power exists, that the Nords used it in battle long ago, and that Talos was the last one with the ability before you.”

“Mankind didn’t always have the ability to shout as the dragons do. They were dominated by the dragons, who viewed themselves as far superior beings. Humans built temples and offered sacrifices to appease the strongest of the totem animals, but they and their chosen dragon priests were cruel overlords. Finally, the people prayed to Kyne for deliverance, and the Goddess of the Storm had pity on us. She taught us how to shout as the dragons did so that we could fight back and win our freedom. An entire war was fought, with mankind emerging the victors.” In the back of her mind, she also recalled that they hadn’t actually defeated Alduin, only pushed the problem back into her era for her to deal with, but she said nothing about it. Quintus didn’t need that worry.

“That’s…wow! Why don’t more people talk about that? It seems like a very important event, on par with the overthrow of the Ayleids or the Exodus of the Chimer.”

Fjori sighed. “Without written records, people dismiss the old legends as mere stories. My own people let the memories fade, and the evidence of this era is scattered all around Skyrim! Even the bards do not sing of history that ancient, only of stories recent enough to be handed down from eyewitnesses. Now the dragons are back, and we know nothing of how our ancestors fought them or the role they used to play in our culture.”

“A cruel trick of fate, that is.”

“And worse, the only ones that do know anything about dragons are outsiders, an organization with roots in Akavir of all places! We fought an entire war against the dragons, but have no knowledge to show for it. How could we have let it all disappear?”

Quintus did not like the melancholy overtaking her features. “You should write down what you learn as you fight the dragons and defeat Alduin, or have someone transcribe your stories as you tell them. Then, there will be records for the future generations.” Assuming she survived the ordeal and the world didn’t end, rendering that a moot point. Damn, he was supposed to be cheering her up, not bringing himself down!

She didn’t give him a chance to sink too far into those pessimistic thoughts. “You really think so? I’m not much of a scholar, as you are well aware.”

“I do. You are a great storyteller. Plus…” He smirked. “You have a perfect paperweight for your documents.” Finally, feeling slightly braver, he reached out and patted the skull on the table.

Her smile reached her eyes as she hugged him tight. “Okay, I think I can do that. We fear what we do not know, so let’s weaken their grip on us with learning.”

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

OC in Fifteen!

I was tagged by @skyrim-forever and @hircines-hunter (thank you so much both! 🧡) to post fifteen lines of dialogue that showcase my oc's personality, so naturally, I'm doing this for my Last Dragonborn, Jia.

“What is there to answer? It was your fault all along. If you had killed Alduin in the first place, none of these would have happened. I wouldn’t even have been born.”

“I did not need your help. I will brew my potions.”

“These days, they say that versatility is the spice of life. Keeps me on my toes, among other things.”  

“My people call me Lady of Man and Dragon, and Ysmir and Dragonborn, whereas to the dragons, I am Sunfyre the Golden, and they call me Shulyolviim. Some call me Harbinger, others Guildmaster, others honor me as Archmage, and others... others may still call me with a name I no longer go by. To you, I can be Jia.”

“These are called mountain flowers. They blossom on foothills and close snowlines. Blue, purple, and red are fairly common, but the yellow variety is a rare specimen. When I finally found it, I was overjoyed. I brought it here immediately and sprouted it along with the others. I just couldn’t put it at withering risk; this way, I won’t need to seek it all over Skyrim again. They are mischievous and sneaky, the yellow ones. Always hidden away from prying human eyes. That alone makes them so mysterious and even more beautiful. Look at its color. Isn’t it so lovely? As if a little ray of sunlight slipped right into their petals. . .”

“I had a brief interaction with your fellow Dragon Priest before letting my arrows fly from the shadows and soul-trapped him in my bound bow. He had the nerve to taunt me in dragon tongue when he sensed my presence in Labyrinthian. Cowardly men will find no mercy here, he’d said. The thing is, I was neither a coward nor a man.”

“And you, stop patronizing me! You do not even have the slightest idea what the Thalmor are capable of, Miraak! None of you here have!” 

“I will answer to murder, terror, and injustice of this war just the way it deserves.”

“On behalf of what, should I give up my revenge? Virtuous preaching and moral codes? And what about evil’s penalty? Who shall grant it in the end? The Divines? I prayed for Their mercy, day and night then, and what did it gain me?”

“No! I was a stupid girl! Laughable! Did I... Did I even want to really take revenge for the parents I never knew, or satisfy my selfish, foolish need of being the ultimate control of something? An idea of control that was naught but a ruse, a shade upon the wall! [. . .] Don’t touch me so much, so long. I may leave a stain on you.”

“The moment I return to Heljarchen Hall and see those I love harmed—in any way—I will come for you, Maven Black-Briar. And I swear to you: then, I will not stop the fire; then, I will let your screams be heard. And then, I will make you understand what terror really means.”

“What you did while I was in Riften, I will never forget it. You protected Heljarchen Hall, battled my enemy, and healed my friend. I’d say I trust you with my life now, but I have already trusted it in your hands long ago, haven’t I?”

“You are not in the Dragon Cult any longer. You don’t have to wear a mask anymore. Let go of it; let go of this false veneer once and for all. You are here now, with me, and you are more than allowed to feel. Here, you are home with friends and... and family. You know it; you have to know that—I’m—I’m your family. Zu’u los brodiil nu, qostruni.” 

“I do not play with fire, sir, and I have already been sizzled to the soul; no fire can harm me anymore. I am fire itself. Whatever burns is mine to put out or, if necessary, to flare up.”

“I am not some kind of weapon for you to think you can wield me at your whim. My blood is neither Nord nor Imperial and belongs to no man. I’m the blood of the dragon—and I’m afraid constantly patronizing my stance in this war won’t help your cause, Jarl Ulfric.”

I was never ‘no one’, as he was taking pleasure in naming me. I was written in the Wall of a God, I am not a creature that was born, I am an omen foretold, I am eternal. Now, I crack my halo between my thighs, and my claws shall carve its broken pieces into horns.

OOOPS, I accidentally put 16 lines in there. . . Couldn't resist, I tried to pick one from each chapter.

✨open tags!✨

[enigma-im]

Nothin’ But a Good Time

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Dremora (Demon) X Male!Human (Nord) Warning: Anal, Demon sex, Deals with a demon, Skyrim, blowjobs, handjobs

Word count: 2676

Summoning an unbound Dremora means that it can turn on you. This Dremora has a better idea than just killing the summoner.

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'Summon an unbound Dremora' it was a difficult spell and a dangerous one at that. To conjure a Dremora was on its own, dangerous. To conjure one that you know will attack you is just plain stupid. Yet, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The dungeon wasn’t a challenge for a mage as talented as myself. It was almost comical to be tasked with a quest like this. The Skeevers die on sight, the Draugers are similar to practice dummies, the puzzles are elementary at best. I will be paid in no time at this rate. If only every mission was like this.

As I near the final room I learn that extending some modesty once in a while might be beneficial to me and my ego.

The room ends with a dragon priest instead of my anticipated Deathlord. I really should have kept my mouth shut but the new reward of a mask keeps my spirits high. I face the spirit with a new wave of optimism and cockiness until the graves give way to Draugers. This is fine, I can deal with that. Down the way towards the floating priest two more coffins give way to Deathlords, alright this is less ok.

The battle is full of loud explosions of fireballs and lightning strikes. The Draugers become more of a hassle as anytime I try to deal with them I have to take my attention from the three major threats in the cavern. I take to summoning familiars and Atronachs, drinking bottles after bottles of Magicka. I pick off bits of health from the Deathlords as I try to avoid hits from the priest. His magic staff is becoming too much a problem that I fear I may lose my life this day.

Carding around the edges of the room for the hundredth time I take a direct hit from the Dragon Priest's staff. I hit the ground harder than reasonable, sliding along the uneven cobble on my shoulder. I quickly attempt to stand but the room turns, I fall back with a heavy sigh. I see the low life Draugers come in for the kill. In a last-ditch effort, I cast one more summoning spell, conjuring the one being I swore I wouldn't.

In a swirl of black and purple, a Dremora is officially summoned. Without preamble, the dangerous demon snaps forward and fast. It takes on the Draugers quickly with inhuman strength and speed. As everyone is distracted I look through my bag for potions or food, knowing the unavoidable battle that will come to me.

I watch from the corner of my eye at the Deadra armored beast fights. It takes care of the undead creatures very well, finishing off a Deathlord in the time it took me to swallow down minor healing. Once I catch my bearings I stand and begin to loot through the dead bodies, begging to gods for a potion or two. When that, thing, is done it will turn its ire onto me. I must be prepared for the fight.

I don’t notice the silence for a moment as I reach for the minor magic potion at the bottom of a broken urn. It doesn't occur to me till I feel the dark presence behind me. With a quick breath, I turn and throw a bolt of ice at the demon. With a lazy effort, it pushes the ice off like it was a bug in the way.

"Generally people give thanks but I can't say I'm too familiar with Nord customs," the Dremora chuckles. I straight at his laugh, utterly confused. The being cocks a dark brow at me with a grin," You seem a lost for words."

"Aye," I eye him," just a bit of miscommunication."

His arms cross while changing weight to one leg," How so?" His demeanor is startling, to say the least. I have never interacted with demons before, well in a friendly manner at least. I've killed a few to use their hearts for potions, I'm no saint. The college generally warned against conversing with them unless you can have the upper hand.

"I was informed that this conjuring spell was to summon an unbound Dremora," I clarify.

"That I am," he tilts his head with an amused smirk," Do you believe I have no free will? That I will attack anything that breathes? I found the deal is far greater than the taste of freshly spilled blood."

I sober at his words," the deal?"

"Yes, the deal," he chuckles," you summon me, I protect you, now I get something in return. Give and take sort of thing." I eye him cautious, not open to making deals with conniving creatures like him.

"What kind of deal?"

"Hmm, not sure. I haven't decided on what I want yet, but I do have ideas," he answers in thought.

"What could you want," I slide my hand towards my dagger, cautious but not completely open to fighting just yet. The Dremora casts a glance to my hand then back up at me. His brow raises again but he either doesn’t care or doesn’t mind me reaching for my weapon. Arms still folded he begins to circle me, walking lazily around with his eyes wondering my body.

"What do I want," he taps his finger against his elbow," many things. The better question is what do I want that you can give me. You could be my slave, do my bidding here in the living realm. To kill who I demand, to retrieve what I desire. But I don’t need another one, I already have all the slaves I want. You could give me something I haven't reveled in for a while." he stops his circling and walks towards me. Panicked, I back up till I thump against a wall. Quickly he grabs my face and regards me in an appraising way. "You are very handsome for a mage, most are old and cynical. You are young and full of mirth, perhaps I shall partake just this once," he hums as his thumb brushes my cheek.

"W-What do you want," my resolve slips for a second. I'm not ignorant or oblivious, he wants something I myself haven't partaken in since starting college. Before the time of my studies, I took to parading around as many women as I could, drinking and partying with the liveliest of maidens. I have never been with a man, let alone a demon.

"Here is the deal, you take my seed and we call us even," his hold switches to my throat," if you don’t, then I take your blood as payment."

"You're seed," I ask confused," do you believe you could impregnate me?"

He scoffs," No you stupid man, I wish to spoil myself inside you. Once I do, then we are square. This acceptable, Nord?"

"Blood or cum, such an impossible choice," I roll my eyes," as long as you don’t rip me a new one I will reluctantly lay with you, demon."

"Reluctantly," the Dremora laughs," you caved very fast for someone who is reluctant."

"I'm not above my ego to rather die than fuck a man, just be fast and I can forget about it," I sneer.

"Like I'd give you the curtesy to forget," he chuckles darkly," but if you insist."

I startle when head leans down and captures my lips with his, wasting no time shoving his tongue down my throat. The intrusion sends a jolt down my spine, spurring my interest just a peek. A chill runs through the room and the rock bites into my skin. I shiver when I feel the hard grip of his hands on my uncovered hips.

"You seem to be less reluctant now," he whispers in my ear as his hips brush against mine. I look down at our now nude bodies, seeing my hardening cock against his thigh.

"Is but nerves," I scoff. He hums in an answer as he lowers onto his knees. Its almost a powerful sight to see such an evil being kneeling. The sight is even more uplifting when he grabs my half-hard dick in his hands, stroking me in a lose hold. His mouth joins in for a moment, my spine snapping straight as the electric feeling runs upwards. "damn, Dremora. Ever heard of pacing one's self," I ask as my hips buck. He chuckles around my cock, the vibrations feeling divine.

"You were the one who wanted fast, and I'm the one who didn’t want you to forget," he kisses along my shaft, palming my balls with an uncoy look. His attentions are not what I expected, the sight more arousing than anticipated. I watch him lather my member with his tongue, bucking and sighing with the feeling. I rest my head back to the wall, mouth parted in an unending breath. As I feel myself nearing my end he backs off.

"Don’t want you to end so soon my handsome Nord, now it's your turn to be on your knees," He laughs. I give him an unabashed face before doing as he says. I get down on my knees ready to return the favor. He confuses me by not standing but crawling around behind me. It seems he is ready for the main course. He grabs my shoulder and pushes me forward. I catch myself on my hands as his hand rests on my back.

His clawed fingers trail down my spine, my skin tingling with anticipation. I can feel the warmth of his cock resting at the crease of my ass. The tip nudging just barely between my cheeks. His palm slides over my lower back before trailing over and cupping my hips. He swiftly pulls me flush to his thighs, his cock gliding up and settling close to his stomach. The weight is similar to the one in my stomach, the suspense making my own cock twitch. He pushes me away then pulls me back to him again, enjoying the tension in the air.

I fall onto my forearms and buck back into him with a groan," Just put it in already!"

His deep chuckle echoes in the room," so eager aren't we? I thought this was supposed to be my payment."

I look over my shoulder at his wicked grin," what? Cant, we both get something out of this?"

"I suppose we can," he tilts his head. The Dremora says nothing else as he continues tracing his cock on my ass. Soon he grabs ahold of one of my cheeks, clenching the muscle between his fingers. He spreads me open and regards his new toy. I wait with bated breath as his other hand lazily trails down to rest his thumb over my pucker. My stomach clenches as I choke on a gasp, I guess the eagerness is getting to me. He chuckles as he presses his thumb to me, massaging before inserting. I let out a long groan and rest my head to the filthy floor. He lets himself just rest there, humming as he listens to my panting breath.

"Please," I find myself crying out, not sure what I'm asking for. He somehow figures it out as he removes his thumb and grabs ahold of his cock. He presses himself to my entrance, slowly pressing his tip inside. There is resistance but he pushes on. With a sudden pop, his head is engulfed. The image and the reality of someone being in my ass make my cock leak and a whine let out from my chest. Before I could beg some more he pushes in farther. His head sliding further inside, the unfamiliar feeling of something this far inside me is intoxicating. My anus being stretched isn't pleasant, it aches and stings. Still, my cock remains hard and drips pre to the floor. His length rubbing along my prostate makes the pain feel like nothing.

I relish every inch till his hips are finally flat with my ass. Once he is to the hilt I hear him breathe. He sucks in a greedy breath and grips my cheeks with a painful hold. I can feel my hips try to move, the urge to buck back into him is strong. God, what my guild would think of this. Hell! What would my church think of this?

"By the divines, you are the tightest hole I have ever had the pleasure of fucking," the Dremora calls out in wonder," I believe this will be sufficient payment indeed." before I can comment he pulls back then thrust forward with a sharp snap of his hips.

"ack-, fuck," I cry out. I rub my forehead along the ground, the bits of rock digging into my skin. I hardly notice them as he pulls out again and bucks forward. He finds a pace quickly, using me like some common whore. Seeking his own fulfillment as I whimper and cry in the dirt. His inhuman cock does wonders to my insides, his length hitting places I never knew existed. My cock bobs with each thrust, a string of pre falling to the ground make me groan. I find myself reaching under myself and gripping it. The mixture of him and my hand makes my brain feel fuzzy.

"Are you going to touch yourself, my little Nord," he chuckles above me," Love the feeling of my cock rearranging your insides?" I whimper like a dog as I stroke myself, twisting my hand over my tips then clenching my base. If I knew being fucked in the ass was so grand I would have done this sooner. I'm almost curious if being fucked by a Nord is the same as this? Perhaps a Dremora has better prowess with these kinds of things. Either way, it's hard to think, at the moment a Dremora is a way better lay than any of my past lovers.

"Faster," I cry as I buck back into him. He laughs, curling his fingers over my waist. He slides them down over my stomach, feeling my muscles flex with each push of his hips. His fingers wrap around my base as my palms massages my tip. He gives short quick strokes that make me see stars. I continue pinching along my head as he rubs up against my shaft. My grunts and groans stutter as he fucks me from behind harder, knocking the breath out of me each time.

"Cum for me, my little Nord. I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you do," he rumbles beside my ears. I have no strength to deny him, falling victim to his assaults quickly. In a flash, my body seizes, my spine arching as I feel my balls tighten. I scream like I never have before as I shoot white ropes onto the dirt-covered floor. He doesn’t stop squeezing me, milking me for all I have as his own thrusts stutter. "Yes, just like that," he grunts. As I fall limp on my arms he thrust once more before stilling. I can feel his hot load coating my insides, the feeling is divine. He gasps hard, one of his hands making scratches along my sweaty body.

We both catch our breaths, resting for just a moment in such a dangerous surrounding. He soon pulls out of me, sitting up straight on his knees. I can feel his cum dribble out of me, trailing over my taint and onto my balls before dripping to the floor. I watch between myself as the drops darken the floor.

"You took my seed, the payment is fulfilled," he stands and walks around to my front. He kneels down in front of me as I fall limp to the floor. He grabs my chin and forces me back up on my hands," Till next time, my little Nord." he presses a kiss to my lips then with a smirk, he vanishes. I fall once again onto the floor, naked and defiled.

"till next time," I mumble to myself with a content grin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wanted to write a MLM story and this smut came out. Also my best friend wanted me to write one too. so technically this is dedicated to him, Love you bro.

I love skyrim so enjoy this mess.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[boethiah]

Hello friend, you said you were fighting self harm tendencies by being on the internet, and I wanted to send you a message to say you’re doing great even if it doesn’t feel like it. I also saw you like lore questions, so could you tell me what you think really happened to Nerevar? Do you think it was foul murder to gain power, or something else? And do you have headcanons for any of the dragon priest backgrounds? Like life under their individual rule and such. I hope you feel a bit better soon.

thank you ;; 

for nerevar-- i’ve written about this a little, but i think that he was mortally wounded within the heart chamber while fighting dumac and then voryn, and that the tribunal received him as he was dying, and, rather than call for aid, they simply let him bleed out. vivec felt immense guilt over this fact and wrote the foul murder theory into many of hir texts as a result, whereas almalexia and sotha sil soundly bought into the narrative that they did nothing wrong, and nerevar was killed by voryn, because that’s who wounded him regardless of where he was when he bled out. 

i don’t actually have that many headcanons for the dragon priests! mostly because the dragon religion is really confusing to me... i should probably think of them more, given my obsession with the nord demons, but i still need to get my mind around the stupid timelines for the dragon religion vs the human rebellion 

[malevolentnightshade]

Aftermath (Manarion & Elenwen)

@aurielswaywardson

Elenwen could not concentrate. She had been reading the same report for over an hour. None of it was going in. Finally, she admitted defeat, slumping back in her chair with a sigh. A slight wave of nausea hit her. With another sigh she reached for her glass of water and sipped it slowly.

The past couple of days since Tinuviel had informed her that she was pregnant had blurred into one very long and surreal dream. And a bad dream at that. Elenwen had hoped that as time passed the idea of it would begin to sink in, but instead, the more time passed the further away she felt from it ever being able to register properly in her mind. It did not help matters that whenever she saw Manarion, she felt guiltier and guiltier for not telling him. He must have suspected that something was wrong by now, but he did not try to question her. Perhaps he ought to force it out of her. At this point it might be the only way she would be able to get the words out.

Elenwen sat staring at the contents on her cup with glassy eyes for a long while. Her mind was a tangled mess of fear. What was she going to do? How could she possibly be a mother? No child deserved her as a mother.

Only when she managed to pull herself from her agonising did she realise tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Hastily she wiped the tears away with one hand and placed the glass down on her desk. She needed some air. Both away from here and away from the Embassy.

With Skyrim’s current political climate, standard protocol was that the Emissaries – especially the Ambassador – must be accompanied by at least one soldier, though usually more, when leaving the confines of the Embassy. But on that particular day, Elenwen could barely stand the thought of being followed whilst attempting to get some much need space.

Leaving her office and locking the door, she made for her chambers where she intended to change into something more inconspicuous. She picked out her informal pale blue travelling robes and changed as quickly as she could. Manarion would be busy in his office at this time of day, but she was still paranoid about the possibility of him walking in at any moment. Her chambers were as much his nowadays.

On her way out, the Ambassador donned a black cloak with hood. If she were to be alone, the hood felt necessary to avoid notice. The prospect of her being recognised was slim, however. Her name was known to many in Skyrim, but her face, less so. Especially when it was not coupled with her distinctive Thalmor uniform.

Now, leaving the Embassy would be a little trickier. Elenwen was not about to go scale one of the walls that encircled them, but the front entrance was typically well guarded. She stood by her bedroom door for a good five minutes before an idea hit her.

It was approximately two o’clock and a Middas. Every Middas at around half two to three o’clock the Embassy received a delivery of fruits and vegetables from a nearby farm. If she were lucky, perhaps she could get a ride out of the Embassy on the delivery wagon. The guards would be less likely to stop the wagon from leaving than if she tried to leave by herself.

Time was of the essence. She did not want to miss the delivery wagon. Quickly, Elenwen proceeded to the front courtyard. Once there she lingered in a shady corner, hood up, trying her best not to be noticed. The delivery wagon was not here yet. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she waited impatiently in the cold as snow started to flutter down from the sky to form yet another layer on the already thick white blanket on the ground below. She shivered. Skyrim truly was a detestable land.

After what felt like a lifetime, the delivery wagon arrived with a surly-looking Nord at the helm. He likely hated the elves as much as the next Nord, but also couldn’t afford to turn down the coin, Elenwen guessed. A nervous knot began building in her stomach whilst she waited for his produce to be slowly unloaded. Finally, his cart was empty. Without a moment to spare, she strode over to the man as he was readjusting the straps around his horse.

“Excuse me?”

The Nord turned around and gave her a suspicious look. “…What?”

Elenwen’s heart was pounding against her chest. “I assume you will be passing by Solitude, yes? Would you be willing to give me a ride?”

He gave her a dismissive look. “Can you elves not walk now, or something?”

Closing her eyes momentarily, she took a deep breath. “I realise it is not far, but please? I will pay for your trouble.”

“Fifty septims.”

A look of offence graced the Ambassador’s face. “Twenty-five.”

“Fine, fine. But I want it up front.” He growled.

Elenwen took out the amount of gold from a coin purse strapped to her waist and handed it to the man, who seemed quite pleased with himself.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” He nodded to the back of the wagon. “Climb up there and we’ll be off, milady.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he called her milady, but Elenwen didn’t care. Hurriedly she moved to the back of the wagon and climbed up. The cart was far from the cleanest mode of transport she had ever used, with soil and muck staining most of the wood and the odd leaf lying limply on the floor, but she was hardly in a position to complain. As she gingerly took a seat, the Nord did likewise and in very little time at all they were moving.

Now came the real test.

Elenwen pulled the hood of her cloak down as far as it would go and looked very deliberately down at her lap. If her mer noticed her, she would have a lot of awkward explaining to do. The wagon abruptly pulled to a stop at the gates and her heart stopped.

“Come on! I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.” The Nord sneered with clear disdain in his voice as he waited impatiently for the gates to be opened.

Elenwen could not see the faces of her guards, but she could easily imagine their irritation.

There was a clatter and a low screeching sound as the metal gates were opened for them and then a voice from nearby said with hostility to match the wagon driver’s, “Have a nice day, sir”.

And with a snort from the driver, they were off again. Elenwen dared not look up until they were far enough down the road that she could be sure she was no longer identifiable.  

She’d done it. She had made it passed the guards and was fast on her way to Solitude. The biggest sigh of relief escaped her, and a small smile graced her lips. It would hopefully be a couple of hours until her absence was noticed. A couple of hours of complete and utter freedom. Part of her had forgotten what that felt like. Relaxing tense muscles, Elenwen sat back and attempted to savour every moment she had. For she knew it would all soon be over.

~~~

Solitude was dreadfully cold. It had escaped the snow of the nearby mountain top where the Thalmor Embassy sat, but the capital city still felt like it was trapped in a block of ice. The freezing weather did not halt daily life within the city, however. The streets were still bustling, children were still out playing, and the market stalls were still manned by shivering residents.

Elenwen stood by the front gates for a long while, unsure where to go or what to do. Eventually she started walking, casually heading in the direction of the Blue Palace. Few paid her any attention. Under her cloak and hood she did not stand out so much. From afar she likely appeared to simply be a rather tall Nord woman. This was perhaps the one and only time in her life that she was glad to be mistaken as human.

About a third of the way towards the Palace, there was a low wall to one side and Elenwen stopped to take a seat. The fresh air and change of scenery felt… nice. And not having hundreds of papers to read was an added bonus. Her mind was the clearest it had been in a long time.

From a side street, there was a distinct sound of a door being opened and shut and keys jangling. A small voice whined at his mother.

“But I don’t want to go out!”

“Hadran, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. We need to go shopping.”

“But whhhhy?!”

A short elven womer emerged on to the main street with a little boy holding her hand and another small infant strapped to her chest with a length of white cloth. None of them paid any attention to the nearby womer, save for the baby. The baby stared at Elenwen as if transfixed with a curious half-smile and its tiny ears wiggling at her. Elenwen looked back.

Until that exact moment, she had managed to push her troubles from her mind. Now they were all flooding back to her.

She was pregnant and she had no idea what to do. Tears started welling up in her eyes again as well as an almighty need to hide. She must have looked stupid. Crying, alone in the middle of the city.

Temples were usually quiet places and the Temple of the Divines was not far away. With a great effort, Elenwen got up and started walking in the opposite direction, keeping her head down.

Fortunately for her, the temple was deserted when she got there. Lacking her usual elegance, she flopped into the nearest pew before near instantly bursting into ugly sobs.

It was hard to say how long she was there crying. She only stopped when a priestess walked in from a side chamber. She noticed Elenwen immediately, but visibly hesitated after realising she was an Altmer – a not uncommon reaction – before walking over with a concerned look.

“…You appear troubled.” The priestess gave her best encouraging smile, but it did little to make the womer feel any better. “I offer counsel and guidance to those in need. Would you-“

Elenwen shook her head quickly. The last thing she wanted was to talk her problems through with some Nordic priest.

“I understand. If you change your mind, I will be here tending the shrines. Please feel free to stay as long as you need.”

Elenwen watched her leave and walk back to the front of the temple where the shrines were housed. Drying her eyes on the back of her sleeves, she looked around the hall properly for the first time. It was large and dimly lit. She had never been in a temple outside of Alinor before. The temples there were much brighter, much more inviting. She remembered how her mother used to take her along to services when she was a child. Little Elenwen hated them, but her mother still insisted that she come. Felrian had always been a strong believer in Mara and brought her offerings every year.

Mara, the goddess of fertility. How fitting, Elenwen thought bitterly.

There must be thousands upon thousands who prayed to Mara to be blessed with a child, and yet here she was, pregnant without even wanting to be. Why? Why her and not some other poor womer who had been desperately praying for years? She would swap places with someone like that in a heartbeat.

Had she done something to offend Mara? Was this some cruel joke?

She had to admit she had prayed less and less to the gods as the years and decades passed. She was not as devout as she could be. But surely none of that warranted the hell she faced now. Surely?

Aicendor gave the old oak of the Ambassador’s office door a sharp knock. She was not expecting him, but he did have papers that need her attention fairly urgently. He glanced at them in his arms once more as he waited. And waited. 

Never had he waited so long for the Ambassador to answer the door. Frowning he rapped his knuckles against the door again. And ended up waiting again.

There was no way she had not heard him. He had knocked twice. The creases in his forehead becoming ever deeper, he tried again.

“Lady Elenwen? ...Are you there?”

No response.

Curious. Usually when the Ambassador had to be away from her office, she left a note on her door. Today there was no such note. 

Aicendor pondered the possible meanings of this. Could she be hurt or unconscious? A chill travelled down his spine at the thought.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the handle and attempted to enter whilst silently apologising for the intrusion. However, the door was locked. 

Doubly curious. Elenwen did not lock her door when she was inside her office. 

Bewildered, Aicendor wondered what he should do. Quickly he came to the conclusion that he should speak to the General immediately. If Elenwen had to leave and go somewhere in a hurry, he would almost certainly know. And if not... The General would want to be the first to know in the case of an unexplained absence.

Without a second to lose, he hurried to the General’s office and knocked on the door.