“I was a bad person, Sir. I lied, killed and did evil things so many times that I can’t even count. But with your faith in me, my moon... I feel like I can get better. For the first time in many years, I feel like I deserve to live”
Day Seven: Character Death/Near death Experience || Healing from Past Trauma/Forgiving Themselves
Moran continued to exist after he killed Voryn Dagoth with his own hands, although part of him begged him not to. He continued to exist when the Baar Dau fell on Vivec City, destroying it to dust. He existed, he drank and ate, he traveled and spent gold, but he didn’t live. He hated himself, he despised himself.
And then there was hope. Thin, awkward, with gray-blue eyes and the most beautiful smile in the world. Hope, which for some reason other people called Sarloniril.
Hope, for which Moran will not die, but for which he will live.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The morning after their wedding, Darien has to acknowledge that so much has happened to his Vestige in the years he was gone. Each scar tells a story of a battle won. He wants to hear about them.
Summary: There is no longer any doubt for Elaine and Martin.
When night fell, Elaine and Martin made camp along the river.
As they worked to light the fire, Elaine found herself smiling sadly. “I almost don’t want to return to Cloud Ruler.”
Martin groaned, head bowing in defeat. “I know the feeling,” he replied. “To be honest I’m starting to wonder what’s stopping us from detouring to the Imperial City and catching the first ship out of the province.”
She grinned both from the idea and finally getting the tinder to light. “We could always go to Skyrim. I’m sure my mother and sister would be absolutely thrilledto see me again after everything.”
“Before you eventually get bored of mere domesticity and wander off as you do,” he joked.
“Probably,” she said with a laugh.
Martin wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her into him, and they fell onto the bedroll to watch the flames. “Perhaps the College of Winterhold, then? With your healing magic and my conjuration I’m sure they’ll have need of us.”
“No more snow,” she fake-groaned into his chest. “There’s enough in Bruma to drive me mad.”
His quiet laugh in her ear was the sweetest music. “Is there no pleasing you, love?”
She held up his hand to the firelight, watching how the orange glow danced on the metal of their rings. “Wherever you are, Martin, I will be content—be it Bruma, Winterhold, or, fate willing, the gods damned Imperial City.”
Martin held her closer still as she shivered at the cold breeze that blew by, but didn’t reply.
Elaine raised herself onto one hand and turned to meet his gaze, which seemed far away from their little camp. “Martin, I gave my word before you, that priest, and every immortal force out there to be by your side until the whatever fate I have coming rips me from you. Royal bloodlines and duty aren’t about to change that. I’m a grown woman who knew what she was getting into long before we ever pledged ourselves together in a chapel.”
He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, and his frown slowly eased. “Your confidence is always reassuring.”
“I try,” she said lightly before tucking herself into his arms again. “How badly do you think Jauffre will chew us out when we get back?”
“I’d rather not think of him right at this moment,” he said into her ear, slowly reaching to the hem of her shirt.
i’ve decided to give this a shot!!! don’t think i’ll get to all the days, but i did today! thank you to the wonderful @indoril-nerevar-mora for running this!!! everything under the cut as always!
Day 1: Hiding an Injury
It was done. Angof the Gravesinger was defeated, the blight upon Glenumbra ended. Aellai tried not to stumble out of the portal Raewyn had conjured to bring them out of the catacombs they had killed him in. Maybe that hit she’d taken when one of the Gravesinger’s vines had flung her into the wall was more serious than she had initially thought.
Not that it mattered. There were soldiers in that battle who had suffered far more severe injuries than she had and not enough healers to go around. She’d take one of the health potions in her pack when she got to her tent and sleep it off. Of course, when she sighed in relief a moment later as the last portal from the catacombs closed, everyone having come back alive if not intact, she realized it might not be that simple.
Aellai tried to be subtle about carefully maneuvering away from the rejoicing crowd, and most of them were too happily drunk on victory to notice at all. Rae saw her sneaking away, but Ae shook her head when the Imperial moved to follow, and though the concern didn’t quite leave her eyes, she stayed. Aellai was glad for it - her friend deserved a moment to relax and enjoy their victory without needing to worry. Her steps, now that the adrenaline rush of battle had faded, were painful as she walked away from the warmth of the mass of people. Aellai gritted her teeth and put a hand to her side through the gap in her armor very carefully. Her breath came out in a hiss as her ribs flared in pain.
She could have laughed at the situation, but that would have just made everything hurt worse. Ae ran her fingers down her ribs, counting the ones that burned at that slight pressure. At least three of them were broken, and another three or four were probably cracked, which would explain why it hurt to breathe. She resisted the urge to sigh, knowing how badly that would hurt, and tried to walk faster to the tent and the healing potion that awaited her there. It wouldn’t be strong enough to completely fix the damage, but it would hopefully dull the pain enough to let her sleep through the night and speak to a healer in the morning, after all of the serious cases had been dealt with.
A sudden hand on her shoulder jolted her from her thoughts, and her blade was in hand and leveled at her unknown assailant before she could think as years of training made themselves known. (It hurt, but Aellai kept her face as carefully blank as she could.) Darien put both of his hands up as his expression became amused. “Jumpy tonight?”
Stowing her sword while trying not to agitate her ribs was awkward at best. “Apologies,” she said, but the word was quieter and hurt more than she would have hoped. Gods, she wanted that healing potion.
He must have noticed something off about her tone, or maybe the coolness she felt around her face was the inevitable sheen of sweat that accompanied a bad injury. “Are you all right?” he asked, stepping closer and moving as if to press a hand to her forehead.
Aellai matched his step with one of her own backward. He didn’t need to be worrying about her - he ought to be sitting around the fire with the others, basking in their success. She was fine, or she would be in the morning, and she would only feel guilty if this insignificant injury kept him from enjoying the festivities he had rightly earned. “I’m fine.” She winced internally at the words - at how stilted the tone had been.
Darien closed the gap between them much more deliberately this time. “Don’t give me that.” He frowned as he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Mara’s ass, Ae. You’re cold and clammy.” His frown deepened as he looked from her forehead to make eye contact with her. She resisted the overwhelming urge to break it in shame, knowing that would be as good as admitting something was wrong. “What happened?”
She took his wrist and moved it from her forehead as gently as she could. Akatosh, moving was becoming increasingly painful, and lifting her arms above her shoulders made her head swim. “I’m just feeling ill. It’s nothing serious.” Her face had softened at his concern, but it hardened as speaking, too, became more difficult and she tried to keep her voice steady.
Darien appeared completely unconvinced. He maintained eye contact with her for another few moments, but when Ae didn’t relent, he glanced up like he was hoping for divine assistance. “You’ll thank me for this in the morning,” he said as he pressed his free hand none too gently into her side.
Somehow, the lucky bastard had managed to guess exactly what was wrong, and she hissed at the contact, partially in pain and partially in surprise. Darien raised one eyebrow at her, practically smug. Aellai was certain that she was scowling as well as she was able, but it was hard to tell when everything was a mess of pain and blurring colors. “Now, the part you’ll actually thank me for - I’m taking you to the healers.”
She barely had the presence of mind to protest. “I’m going to take a healing potion. I’ll be fine.” It was impossible to know if the sentence had come out coherently or not, and blackness was creeping into her vision, but damned if she would lose this argument while she was still conscious.
Darien looked at her like she was spouting gibberish. It was very likely warranted. He spoke, but all she could hear now was blood pounding in her ears. Maybe she ought to thank him when she came to - if only for being there to catch her when she passed out, she thought as the world went to black.
Aellai woke the next morning on a cot in the healer’s tent, ribs aching but no longer blindingly painful, and Darien smirking at her. It took every bit of willpower and carefully honed self-discipline she had not to roll over and groan in exasperation. The urge subsided, and she sighed. (The action, she noticed, was much less painful than it had been last night. At least, she really, really hoped she’d only been out for the rest of the night.) “I suppose I do owe you my thanks,” she said finally.
“Don’t sound pleased or anything,” he retorted, but his voice was fond. He leaned forward in the chair by her cot and brushed her bangs out of her face. “I wish you would have been honest with me,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes.
Aellai, exhausted despite her sleep and unusually daring, threaded her fingers with his before he pulled his hand away. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she admitted, quietly, staring at their hands so that she didn’t have to see the expression on his face.
“Idiot,” he said, but the word was gentle, and when he squeezed her hand in his, she knew everything was going to be all right.
Day 3 for oc angst and fluff week, today i went with scars! so heres syke, post cold harbor and pre tattoos (with the scars emphasized a bit more then they should be cause its like, greyscale and stuff)
the ones on her wrists neck and back are from Cold harbor, the ones on her chest are from mannimarco stabbing her and the one on her hip was from an especially messy break up years ago that a particularly cruel dremora reopened
Note: This is an alternate discussion my characters have with Inigo after he tells thems how he got his facial scars
“---and that’s how I got my scars,” Inigo stated.
“Inigo,” Ko’va said with narrowed eyes. “Did you make that up?”
“I promise, I did not.”
“You are prone to telling tall tales,” Kharjo interjected.
“No, I’m not!”
Muz-Lari watched the three Khajiit bicker in amusement.
She was comfortable here, in this moment. Camped out under the stars and the aurora, scales warmed by the fire, and heart warmed by the friendly teasing of her friends.
The barely heard whispers of the dragons she’s killed, ignored; for the time being.
“I believe Inigo is telling the truth,” Muz-Lari interjected, coming to Inigo’s defense.
Inigo smiled at Muz-Lari.
“Thank you, my friend. It’s good to know to that there is at least one person on my side.”
Inigo then threw a mock glare at Kharjo and Ko’va.
They just grinned at the blue Khajiit and soon, he was grinning with them.
“It is a good story, Inigo,” Ko’va said. “Besides, the incredible stories are always the ones that get passed along.”
“That’s true,” Inigo agreed. “Kharjo, why don’t you tell us a story?”
As Kharjo began to speak, Muz-Lari felt her attention drifting off. Thoughts of wandering, fire, and whispers began to fill her mind. Then a touch to her tail and knee grabbed her attention.
Looking down to her left, Muz-Lari found Ko’va’s hand on her knee.
Ko’va was still giving Kharjo her attention, but had her thumb slowly rub back and forth. A comforting gesture that only said, ‘It’s okay.’
’Muz-Lari then glanced at the ground to her right, where her tail was, and saw that Inigo had laid his tail against hers. Looking up towards the male’s face, she was not surprised to see his eyes on her.
Muz-Lari pressed her tail back against Inigo’s. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here.’
Inigo grinned and winked at her. Then turned his attention back to Kharjo.
They didn’t sleep that night. Instead they continued to talk and share stories.
At dawn, they packed up their camp and continued down the road to Whiterun, and more importantly Breezehome; which had just enough beds for them to sleep in.
Day One September 9th- Hiding an Injury and/or Love Confession
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Rovenya padded carefully through the halls of the ancient ruin. The dusty stale air felt heavy in her lungs, however, its weight paled against the purpose of her delving into the cavernous hallways. Finally, she heard sounds of life and smelled a fire mix with the dank atmosphere. Rovenya’s chest tightened in anticipation.
“Hello? Are you there? it’s ok it-”, she called into the room before a furious snarl and destruction spell was hurled in her direction. Rovenya staggers back.
“WHO-”, the khajiit mage softens her expression, “mother?... Why are you here?.....Did they finally send their best to get rid of me?”, she quipped bitterly.
“Tsirra.. They-..they have sent me yes..” Rovenya’s face twisted into an expression of turmoil. “Tsirra... No. I could never. I know my orders and I know what you’re doing but I could never hurt you. I hope you know that..”
Rovenya, having inched closer to her daughter, brings her hand up and strokes Tsirra’s cheek. Tsirra can’t help but lean into her mother’s touch for the first time in many moons.
“..I've never blamed you y’know. I’m sorry I didn’t see what people were saying about us. That you had to bear that alone.”, Rovenya said quietly, remorse tinged in her tone.
“I know”. Tsirra slouched, defeated.
“You’re still my sweet girl, no matter what. And I know you’re smart so...I’ve talked to my uncle and some old friends. I would trust them with my life. And I’ve made sure that you can get far away from Cyrodiil. You can start over somewhere where no one here can find you.” Rovenya reached into her pocket and withdrew a letter. “All you have to do is show this. There will be people who have sworn to protect you the entire way”.
Tsirra could hear how her mother tried to keep her voice from breaking as she spoke. Looking up she too had to control the lump welling up in her throat.
“Mum.. Why are you..? After what I’ve done..?”
Rovenya chuckled, “I don’t have the heart to-..to do what they asked of me. This is the only way I can protect you.”
Rovenya bundled up Tsirra tightly in her arms. Tsirra burried her face against her mother’s fur as she felt Rovenya’s hand stroke her hair. Tsirra for a brief moment felt like she was a kitten again..
Breaking apart, Tsirra barely whispers “when do I have to leave?”
“There will be a guide waiting to take you through the black wood after sun down. I’ll return before then with your father and brother so we can spend some time together before..”. Rovenya trailed off.
“before I have to leave..”. Tsirra finished the thought. “I love you mum. Thank you.”
“I love you too kit. I would do anything for you Tsirra.“ Rovenya’s voice breaks as she speaks again as she fights tears welling in her eyes.
“I’d best pack then..” Tsirra murmurs, She turns slowly and wanders into a connecting room.
Rovenya, finally alone, pushes her shirt up over her belly and presses her hand to the spot where the initial spell hit her. She drew her hand back and saw blood staining her fur from trying to hide the wound from Tsirra. She’ll live she determines stubbornly...
