qah-naarin

[qah-naarin]

did not mean to repost woke Marxist pope to this blog. but I will say though that I miss Skyrim so maybe this is a sign to start drawing writing and playing again

[qah-naarin]

I know you wanted me away But I am called to be the first Pope from the USA I heard that there's a special place where God talks directly to me every time I pray

I'm having holy dreams, of ruling the Holy See Hear Santa Monica, her son is calling me Won't make the bishops proud, the USCCB Will see their bro in Christ, I know they're gonna scream

"God, what will you do? You once were our boy, then you went to Peru," oh Fathers I'm on the balcony In my vestments, they elected me as the

[qah-naarin]

briefly breaking out of hiatus to say yes 😋 its very miraak and arpina, i think he'd suffer tremendously from a suddenly unexpected schedule. bro is trapped in apocrypha with a steady routine and then he gets stuck in a timeloop that always ends the same way and would never change if he just let it be, so it def freaks him out, i think, that he finally gets to choose what he does next. like it's almost overwhelming to the point he chooses not to do anything, and to simply wait and see what happens next. alas until someone breaks him out of that comfort of watching and waiting, he'd be probably doing it for the rest of his life

I love time loop stories. Really, I do.

But I'd love to see a story about what happens after you emerge from the time loop.

When, after months or years of repetition, you have to learn how to live with a choice you can't redo tomorrow.

When you meet someone new for the first time and have to figure out how to navigate this brand new conversation.

When you reach for the same day's clothes and realize that you can't wear them because they got dirty. Your laundry, your dishes, your body, your teeth, all the tasks that reset with the loop are suddenly stacking up and you need to set aside time to do them.

When you reach that first weekend and your schedule radically shifts and you don't know what to do with yourself, which is terrifying but also exhilarating in ways you can't explain.

When you casually drop facts learned from those books you spent a dozen loops reading, and you realize you retained something worth keeping.

How your memory gets weirdly good all of a sudden, despite not having all that repetition to fall back on, because suddenly every experience is fresh and new.

And when the seasons change, and your hair grows long enough that you want to cut it, and when you realize it's shocking because you didn't think you'd ever see something as incredible as the passage of time.

[qah-naarin]

[qah-naarin]

i may be on hiatus but the grind never stops (jk it did i stopped drawing for like. 2-3 months bc i got super busy so heres a wip im hoping to complete. guess whooooo)

[qah-naarin]

Come That Twilight Hour by qah_naarin

At the summit of Apocrypha, the last Dragonborn plays a trick on the Prince of Fate, all in the name of a prophecy from the beginning of time.

—

5000 years later, the first Dragonborn finally figures out who the mark on his arm belongs to, and where his destiny truly lies.

current word count: 16457 (will update as i go!)

note: i last updated this SEVEN months ago so woo its been a hot minute for sure. this fic will remain slow to update bc im in the middle of my school year and planning on taking 2 big life changing exams in feb lmao so i’m suuuper busy and still on a tesblr hiatus but im still writing <3

[qah-naarin]

Elder Scrolls Fic Recs! ♡

I love reading and I have a lot of feelings. Here’s an updated fic rec! These are in no particular order, as I adore them all equally. Some are rated for mature audiences only, so do be warned.

In which I express my love of these fics in “cinematic reviews”. Ignore my antics. And my love of reviewing.

Dawn of a New Day by me! By yours truly. It’s an ongoing fic about the Dawnguard heroine being tasked with investigating a “werewolf infestation” in Whiterun. Humor and romance is a huge part in this story. Also enjoy her friendship arc with Serana in the ongoing prequel, The Break of Dawn.

Blood of the Dragon by @vilkas I honestly have no words to express how amazing and breathtaking this story is. It’s akin to watching a really good fantasy series. It just pulls you in. Featuring an amazing protagonist who has to overcome her own personal struggles. It’s a beautiful work of art. The romance is on another level of its own. By far one of the most beautiful relationships I’ve come across. Firien Sunhallow is a character you’ll fall in love with easily as time goes on and her friendship with Tahir is one of the most wholesome I’ve read about. Also check out the ongoing sequel, Blood of the Wolf while you’re at it!

Come that Twilight Hour by @qah-naarin The fic that got me into Miraak. The portrayal of him? Perfection. The protagonist? Feisty! Arpina is one of the cutest Dragonborn’s I’ve seen, but that attitude is so fierce that even Miraak is sure to quake in his boots. Very promising start to an amazing long-fic! Also be sure to check out their completed side fic, I Know Through Living And I Learn Through Death. It’s one of my favs!

Blood and Water by @lucien-lachance When I first started reading all of the wonderful fics by this author, I swear my mouth was watering. I cannot express how fond I am of their portrayal of Lucien Lachance and his relationship with her beautiful OC, Tatiana. The concept of the “what if Lucien lived?” aspect of the story is intriguing and will definitely keep you on the edge of your seat! Don’t forget to check out all their one-shots, as well.

Of Duty and Purpose by @cwahsont Want friendship? Adventure? Action? Romance? Eleya Greenwood will take you on a fantastic adventure along with Kaidan, her beloved friend and love interest. This is another one I will definitely compare to a cinematic experience. It’s thrilling and akin to watching a movie. Featuring an array of characters, it’s definitely something to check out. ♡

Dragon Born, Reach Blood by @theandrogynousdragon By far one of the most unique telling of the Dragonborn to date. Instead of your typical Dragonborn, you’ll journey with Ruaidrí, a Reachmen with an interesting view of the world. Featuring a huge array of characters, it’s an amazing story that really pulls you in. I can’t recommend this enough. (also I have such a soft spot for the reachfolk.)

Into Ash by @friend-of-giants You want a sailor mouthed Dunmer woman with an attitude like no other? Then you’ll enjoy Wren and her adventure in Solstheim. Seriously, Wren is one of my favorite OC’s I’ve read about. Her personality is the best and her relationship with those around her, particularly Teldryn, is wholesome and beautiful. Be sure to check out her one-shots involving her fantastic cast of characters, too!

Dragonfires by @faiyamon A baby fic! Brand new! And it has so much potential. Instead of following the life of one Dragonborn, you’ll be following the lives of three characters, whose lives get intertwined. The beginning itself is super intriguing and really sets up the story as a whole. It’s an amazing read and it’s incredibly well written. Plus Khajiits and Argonians need more love. This story is doing them justice.

From the Ashes of My Heart by HermitWitch I’ve been happily watching this fic update from the very beginning. And I must say that it’s one of my favorites. (Shocker!) Modern girl in Skyrim is normally a trope I’m not fond of, but this one really pulled at my hearts strings. Their OC, Vanya, is a really good character and someone you can easily fall in love with. Her relationship with Teldryn is also very wholesome and beautiful. Overall, I’ll recommend this story until my dying breath. Top tier romance.

The Sunder Hunt by @kytic This one is a comic that I fell in love with and idolized from the very beginning. Since it’s a comic, I don’t want to go into too many details about the plot and characters, etc. Just trust me that it’s a really good read and the artwork is super adorable! One of my favorite artists. ♡

Note that if I haven’t included you, yet I’ve followed you and/or interacted with you and your fic, don’t worry! I’ll include you once I read more so I can compliment you more accurately. I’ve been behind in reading lately, so please don’t feel left out. I love you all.

[qah-naarin]

“Why, look, Arpina. This painting is beautiful, isn’t it?” 

The painting, propped up against the wall in a tarnished old frame that might’ve once been golden, is remarkably pristine.

There’s not much of a response from your companion but her light steps and the sound of a sharp, soft gasp. You turn and look at her. She’s wide-eyed and frozen with an expression of indescribable heartache. It’s almost hard to watch.

“So that’s where he had hidden it,” she says, ever so quietly. “He could never bear to look at her after...”

You kneel and brush dust away from the nameplate at the base of the frame.

“Long names,” you murmur, and squint to read it, but you’re quickly interrupted.

“Valerion Velianel. Serawen Beausoleil. And...” Arpina hesitates. “Hesperia Velianel. Ruling family of Northpoint.”

“You know them?”

“I’m a Breton.” It’s the truth, you know that, but it sounds like a lie.

woo painting this piece was so fun!! definitely difficult bc that’s three people but it was incredibly fun. this takes inspo fr the castlevania painting of drac, lisa, and alucard. no i dont watch castlevania i just saw it and thought it was cute. anyway i had to guess what breton fashion is like, and since northpoint is in rivenspire where it’s cold looking and foggy and murky, i figured they’d like warm clothes in generally cool colors <3 anyway dont base what you think of northpoint clothing off my work i don’t know anything abt fashion lol. tumblr of course has devoured the quality so pls open img in new tab to admire it in its high res glory

sketch + progress under cut

[qah-naarin]

“I’ve always wanted to get married,” Arpina says softly under her breath, watching the festivities go on, watching the merry celebrants drink and chat from her perch. She leans her chin on her open palm lazily, watching and waiting.

She would have to wait for the speech. It’s more fun that way, even without the monetary incentive. She reaches forward, fingers lightly brushing on the cracks on the stone gargoyle before her.

And there she is, Vittoria spreading her arms wide to address her guests. 

“Good friends and neighbors! I thank you all again for making this the best wedding a woman could ask for,” she says, nothing but happiness in her voice. Arpina is envious for the slightest second, and then amused. “May you all be as happy in your lives as I know I will be in mine. Thank you again for everything.”

“Savor it,” Arpina says, smiling, and pushes her foot up against the gargoyle, letting it fall with a mighty crash. 

i didn’t paint for a pretty long time before i made this piece so uh. if it looks weird that’s because i had no practice. also i don’t paint landscapes :’) the angle looks a bit weird to me but this was the first thing that came to mind after seeing the prompt and i was too lazy to think of another option so here it is <33

sketch under the cut!

[qah-naarin]

“The difference,” Arpina says, peering over at you with her startlingly bright eyes, “is that destiny is in your hands. Fate is at the whim of the gods.” Even as she says this, she laughs and simply continues braiding her hair.

You’ve never taken her to be a devotee. It’s out of character, you cannot help but think, and so you say it.

“I would have thought you of all people would be one to turn against fate.”

“You’d be surprised.”

new art thingy. can u see the black outline and the colored lines inside, i thought it was weird at first but i think it’s nice now looking at the finished piece,, im so sorry. please be gentle on my fragile heart i literally don’t know how to draw facial hair, had to refer to a painting of robert small from dream daddy for guidance. sketch under cut!

[qah-naarin]

✧ title: Something You Know You’ve Never Been Told Before

✵ synopsis: : In the Grand Duke of Northpoint’s noble court, a wandering scholar recognizes a language carved into a little girl’s skin.  ✧ word count: 1056 ✵ warnings: none ✧ tags: tes summer fest 22, nobility, babypina ✵ ship: none ✧ characters: arpina sun-stealer/hesperia velianel, valerion velianel, reistr bound-eye, minor lucien flavius

✵ tag list: @reachfolk​, @lookathooves​, @faolan-red-eagle​​, @cwahsont​​, @vilkas​, @fennorians​, ask to be added i say as i add willy nilly

“Little miss,” a stranger says, approaching the little girl reaching for a glass of fine, rich hot chocolate, kept warm by a colorful flame under it. She raises her brows and looks at him from the corner of her eyes. “That mark on your arm—that is a scar, is it not?”

She raises her chin and takes a sip of her drink before choosing to answer him. She doesn’t have to, but this is the first time anyone’s mentioned the scar on her arm without a pitying or horrified look—this man’s gaze is all curiosity and puzzlement, and she can’t help but feel delighted at that. Still, he doesn’t recognize her, and she doesn’t recognize him. That means he didn’t show up to the party in time for the introductions, and he’s definitely never been here before, or much of any other noble courts before.

“It is,” she replies primly. “Who are you?” “Reistr Bound-Eye, Miss,” he replies. “A scholar from Skyrim.”

“And?” She’s certainly never heard of him.

Reistr Bound-Eye blinks at her in what’s clearly bafflement. Then, he seems to regain his senses, and says, slowly, “The mark on your arm, Miss. If it’s a scar, how did you come upon it?”

“I was born with it,” she replies, and she would have crossed her arms if not for the drink in her hand. She can’t set it down—Father would scold her until dawn for being careless and forgetting one of the simplest rules any young lady should know. She takes another sip from the glass, then hands it to a passing servant. They know to dispose of it properly, and she can simply get another mug of the drink. “Why?”

“Born with it?” Reistr asks in a boggled gasp.

“Yes, born with it? Tell me what’s so important, spit it out,” she complains huffily, almost tapping her foot impatiently. She would, if it were not such bad manners.

“But that’s—then it must be a coincidence,” he says, and inches back. “I’m sorry, I’m mistaken.”

“What? No, wait, tell me.”

Reistr looks doubtful, and then he sighs and holds out his hand. 

She offers her arm without a moment’s hesitation, sharp blue eyes watching him keenly. It feels surreal, knowing that she’s going to be told something she’s certain she’s never heard before, and yet—fear wells up in her. What if it’s something she’ll wish she never heard in the first place? No matter—it’s too late for that.

“It’s in the language of the dragons,” Reistr tells her. “In Skyrim, there are tablets and walls with words like these carved in it...”

“Can you read it?” she demands. 

“No,” Reistr says. “The Greybeards, scholars of the Voice, would not teach me that.”

She grits her teeth, unsatisfied with what she’s been told—it’s only opened up more questions than answers, and she doesn’t know how to get it if Reistr, a scholar, can’t. She could ask her mother, of course, but she won’t be back yet and she doesn’t know if—

“Hesperia!”

The girl turns around, suddenly standing ramrod straight at the shock of being called for so loudly. “Father,” she gasps. “I’m sorry, I was just—”

Her father raises a brow at her, blue eyes narrowed. “I was looking for you for the last five minutes, and a servant had to point me here. Who is this man?”

“Your Serene Grace!” Reistr says, eyes wide with a sudden fear as he drops down on one knee, bowing deeply. “I didn’t know—”

“You should have,” Father responds coolly. “And you should have known who my daughter is. Or, she ought to have introduced herself.” He gives Hesperia a pointed look.

Hesperia does a little tip of the head she offers to those of lower standing than her, and says, “Duchess Hesperia Eliane Ismene Beausoleil Velianel. But you can address me as Lady Hesperia.”

“And what was it you were speaking to my daughter about...?”

“Reistr Bound-Eye, your Grace. A scholar from Skyrim. Lady Hesperia—the scar on her arm—well, you see—” He seems to be losing his composure, so thoroughly panicked that it shows.

“Calm yourself, man,” Father says with a sharp, sudden but jovial laugh. He claps Reistr on the shoulder. It’s strange—Hesperia has only seen this once or twice and she’s glad he’s not terrifying Reistr as he does to the other guests, but—

Oh. She doesn’t say it aloud, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, but she can see how he’s drained his glass of wine, and even as careful and graceful as he can be, she can just make out the slightest wine stain on the cuff of his dark sleeves. He’s drunk.

“Y—Certainly, Your Grace,” Reistr says with a nervous sigh, but he relaxes.

Hesperia takes this as the opportunity to tell her father herself, instead of waiting for him to mess up. “Well, you see, Father, Reistr was telling me about my scar. He says it’s the dragons’ language, from Skyrim. Isn’t that fascinating, Father?”

“Fascinating, indeed,” he responds. “But that’s not possible.”

“But your Grace—”

“Can you read it, Reistr?” he asks bluntly, tilting his head to the side. 

“No...” the scholar admits, but before he can continue, he’s cut off once more.

“Valerion! Old friend!” another man from across the hall calls out, inebriated and heading towards them, arms thrown out and beckoning him. “And Hesperia, little lady! I haven’t seen you two, in ever so long, hurry and come here, leave the poor fellow be!”

“Then that settles it,” Father says with a cool, close-lipped smile, and claps Reistr on the shoulder once more. “Enjoy the food, the wine, and the men and women. Come, Hesperia, let’s go meet Lord Pavell.” He places a hand on her shoulder and steers her away.

“Sorry,” Hesperia mouths, frowning over her shoulder as she is ushered away from Reistr.

Annoyed, he shakes his head and looks away.

— — —

“I would have never guessed you were a noble,” Lucien says, leaning forward, flickering flames casting dancing shadows on his face, peering at her instead of the carving on her arm. “I don’t know, you don’t... well, I suppose you don’t carry yourself that way.”

Arpina smiles, and lowers her sleeve. “That’s the intention, isn’t it?”

“Well, it is, yeah. You’re really very good at that.”

“So I’ve been told.”

[qah-naarin]

teef...

[qah-naarin]

✧ title: And The Wheel Turns

✵ synopsis: To Arpina Sun-Stealer, nothing comes without a cost. ✧ word count: 577 ✵ warnings: none ✧ tags: tes summer fest 22, introspective, no dialogue, canon!prophecy  ✵ ship: mild arpina sun-stealer/miraak ✧ characters: arpina sun-stealer, mentions of miraak

✵ tag list: @reachfolk​, @lookathooves​, @faolan-red-eagle​, @cwahsont​, @vilkas, @fennorians​, ask to be added i say as i add willy nilly

Arpina often wonders when it will catch up to her. It is inevitable, she knows it, the consequence of saving someone who was going to kill her—and rescuing him instead. There is nothing quite like the fire of desperation to spur on impulsive decision making about things you were initially on the fence about, but she didn’t have the chance to bargain with Mora for Miraak’s life and now she is not entirely sure of what to do knowing that there are two Dragonborn on Nirn now.

It’s not like it was in the prophecy, but what could she have done? Left him to die? No.

(No, because if she was in his place, she would want to be saved in every scenario. She would want to be saved, over and over again, because she cannot imagine never seeing Nirn again before dying.)

It is an inconceivable thought to leave the mirror of her soul to die. To die the most painful, devastating, and lonely death. He didn’t die in battle, but at the hand of a cheater, and she’d have eaten his soul, devouring it the way Alduin would take hers, and then she would be just as much a villain as him. 

Arpina swallows thickly at the sight of Miraak, asleep on her bed and still looking too far close to death, even with all the care she has given him and the healers she had sent for. He is the stronger Dragonborn, she knows that, and maybe he wanted it. He has always seemed to act that way, like he is the Dragonborn and that the world ought to bend at the knee and know it—

She huffs in some sort of bitter amusement, and then turns away.

Nothing she has ever done has come without cost. Everything has a price to it, and no matter how well she plays thief, consequence will always make her pay for it. Even her life comes at a cost, one she is still in debt for. The world, after all, demands change. She always did think that she had already done her part, doing the little things she had wanted, but then the prophecy, this blasted prophecy had changed that.

(Is this it? The chance to run? To take what she has and leave behind this responsibility thrusted onto her?)

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding—

She never wanted to be the Last Dragonborn. All she wanted was to live, to survive, to exist in this world like any other passing soul, leaving only the trace of a mark behind. Arpina doesn’t want to be remembered, and yet she is the one the world will sing songs to when Alduin falls to the blade of a mortal.

And Miraak, who she knows has always wanted to be remembered, to be the hero of legend and glory, to be the one who has an epic tale to be told from the very dawn of the world to its last moments, to have been here and there and everywhere even only in myth and legend—to think he is the one who has been forgotten, discarded, and kept secret from the world.

It is the irony, Arpina notes, that makes this hurt all the more.

(She cannot help but wonder what it means to be the Last. The Last made? Or is it the Last one standing?)

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

[qah-naarin]

✧ title: Trivial Things Make For Poor Confessions

✵ synopsis: Arpina makes a confession. ✧ word count: 1113 ✵ warnings: none ✧ tags: tes summer fest 22, still lighthearted, sibling vibes, oh no The Guilt is catching up to her ✵ ship: none ✧ characters: arpina sun-stealer, brynjolf

✵ tag list: @reachfolk, @lookathooves, @faolan-red-eagle​, @cwahsont​, @vilkas​, @fennorians​, ask to be added i say as i add willy nilly

Arpina is hardly the most divulgatory of people. While she likes to talk, she does not like to talk about things that could make her vulnerable—and there are a lot of damning things in her closet of skeletons. There are even times when she doesn’t want to talk about things that would simply reveal more about her. It doesn’t even have to be bad, but it’ll change how people see her, and try as she might to deny it, that is what she is afraid of.

But it is hardly fair to Brynjolf to keep pretending she doesn’t know who the bloody Dragonborn is, even if she thinks omission isn’t lying. (And people rag on that unnecessarily—it’s not lying, but it could be JUST as bad… it’s in its category.) A dragon had come down on Riften just hours earlier, and she had gone to slay it, sneaking around and ensuring no one would spot her, but Brynjolf had apparently seen the dragon’s soul go somewhere… and so did the rest of the town.

(She was immensely lucky to have managed to squeeze herself in a barrel to hide from everyone, and the soul had gone straight to her, as expected.)

And Brynjolf had asked her where she was, and she lied to him. She didn’t want to lie to any of her friends—she actively does the exact opposite, and Brynjolf is the very last person she wants to lie to. Definitely not him, because she cares about him deeply and it’s not at all fair to hide such a major thing from him. 

Arpina is not sure of how he’ll react. It may go very badly and… gods. She can’t bear the thought of losing Brynjolf, and over something she doesn’t even have that much control over!

She needs to have a little more faith in him, though. 

“Brynjolf?” she asks, the hesitation in her voice apparent. She heads over to the table—and it is supposed to be her table, but she’s more Guild-Master in name because he likes the responsibility without the weight of the title (though she wonders who it would go to if she gave it up; to Brynjolf, or Karliah?)—watching him go through the last of their administrative work.

“Aye, lass?” He doesn’t look up, but he is asking nonetheless, and she’s never been offended by that, unlike a few other people she knows. “What’s on your mind?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Did you kill someone on the job?”

“No,” she replies defensively. “Well, yes, but the Brotherhood needed the hit too—but that’s not what I was going to tell you. Can we speak in private?”

“One second, I’m nearly done,” he says, glancing up at her, and so she perches herself at the edge of the table, waiting patiently. 

She’s always thought of him as a brother. The joke indeed was that they looked somewhat close enough to be siblings. Or half-siblings, at least. It was the hair, and the very slight point to the tips of his ears and the obvious elven shape of hers—and they always did take it in stride, quite easily. 

But she certainly likes him for more than that, because he’s had faith in her abilities from the moment he recruited her up until Mercer betrayed the Guild (but he was so hurt—he had faith she lived, but it had placed a strain on them, the stress of not being certain) and she’s always valued it. There is nothing as precious in the world as someone’s trust in you, after all, and Arpina knows that she is not someone who can ever be trusted, really, because she is anything but predictable.

And yet. Brynjolf trusts her. 

Maybe he wouldn’t trust her if she told him to eat a bee, but he would trust her with her life. (So she hopes.)

“Done,” he says with earnest relief, startling her from her thoughts. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Let’s talk in private,” she reiterates. She doesn’t want the rest of the Guild to know just yet, and she doesn’t think she has the emotional capacity to handle all their shock and horror. “You need to stretch your legs, you’ve been sitting there all day.”

“Well, what can I do if there’s work to be done all day?” he responds as he rises, stretching, and his shoulder makes a loud pop! 

Arpina gives him a look at that. “Wow.”

“Felt wow. Where to?”

“How about the entrance? Up by the temple?”

He leads the way, climbing up the ladder and through the secret entrance and he and Arpina find themselves in the darkness, illuminated only by the moons, the stars, and the light of the inn and tavern in the distance. 

“What is it, then?”

“Well,” Arpina starts, grimacing. “I’ve been hiding something from you.”

“You’re the guild master of a notorious gang of… rogue mages, maybe?” Brynjolf asks, crossing his arms and peering at her intently. “You know, lass, the whole I’m the Listener of the Brotherhood reveal from last time might take the air out of this one—”

“You’re such a smartass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m the Dragonborn,” she blurts out. “As in, dovahkiin, Greybeards shouting for me, end of all Skyrim’s foes.”

Brynjolf blinks. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

“I hid it well,” she says, embarrassed, and doesn’t meet his gaze. “I’m… sorry. Listen, I didn’t mean for it to draw out for so long, but I never felt like I had to tell you until… well. I lied to you. And I don’t like lying to my friends, but you asked me where I was, and how was I supposed to tell you I absorbed the dragon’s soul from a barrel?”

“From a barrel, lass?” Brynjolf asks in incredulous amazement, clearly more focused on that piece of information.

Arpina realizes then that it’s alright. He’s not… mad at her. She wants to sigh in relief. One loud, great sigh, and so she does.

“I thought you were going to be mad.”

“No,” he says. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I kept it from you?”

“Same way I haven’t told you that the one time you found a rock in your mattress, I did that.”

“What?!”

Brynjolf almost looks apologetic. “What? We all keep secrets.”

“Not that kind of secret, you ass!”

“Don’t go shouting at me, now. Wouldn’t look good to have your second-in-command flying over the rooftops,” he says with a smirk. 

“Don’t tempt me,” Arpina says, rolling her eyes and shaking her head in exasperation.

“But seriously, lass, could you Shout me over the rooftops?”

She sizes him up. “Yeah. Want to try?”

[qah-naarin]

TES Summerfest Day 2: Storms & Magic

Tagging: @tes-summer-fest​ @vilkas​

Summary: Miraak watches a thunderstorm for the first time in thousands of years.

Word Count: 762

Warnings: None

Keep reading

[qah-naarin]

TES Summer Fest Day 2 - Magic @tes-summer-fest

Tagging @reachfolk @vilkas @cwahsont @lucien-lachance @qah-naarin

Word Count: 1601

Brief mentions of blood/injury, visions of destruction, and some swearing.

Also added this to my oneshot collection on AO3 here

✨️Wren has never been good with magic, but thinks she is ready to try learning something more than the basics.✨️

The body of the bear lie smoldering in the undergrowth, the stink of its singed fur and the metallic tang of blood hanging thick and heavy in the air.  Its jaws twisted open in a silent roar, teeth bared, still threatening even in death.  It would have still been alive had it not made the poor choice to ambush the greatest spellsword in Morrowind and a whirlwind with the voice of a dragon.  Though they were both unarmored and not prepared for any attack, the two Elves had made short work of the beast by means of dagger and flame.

Wren slipped Mehrune’s razor back into its sheath, its blade still covered in blood and fur.  It could be cleaned later.  Her attention was drawn to something more pressing at that moment - the ripped fabric of Teldryn’s shirt and the growing crimson stain surrounding it.  He was busy wiping off his dagger in the grass, seemingly unperturbed by his injury, which only further bothered her.  

“You’re hurt,” she noted with a trembling voice.  Fear roiled in her chest, tumultuous and cold.  She took a breath, a shallow one, her tightening throat only allowing in so much air.  “Gods be damned, Tel, do something about it!”  

Teldryn nonchalantly wiped the last of the bear’s blood from his dagger and set it back in its holster.  “You know I can heal myself, little dragon.  And you don’t need to worry about me, I’m hard to kill.”

She sighed, knowing he was right.  His skills with magic were far superior to her own, and he was tough, and would undoubtedly outlive her.  While she didn’t like to think about that last fact, she took some comfort in knowing he could take care of his own injuries,  though she still worried for him.  

A bright golden glow emanated from his palms as he went about sealing off the deep gashes that the bear's claws had carved into his flesh.  He shot her a reassuring smile, and lifted his hand after he had finished to show off what he had done.  

Wren stepped closer to inspect, reaching out to brush her fingers across his bloodied skin.  She wiped it clean, revealing unblemished slate-gray skin beneath.  “You didn’t even leave a scar,” she murmured, somewhat annoyed.  “Wish I could have figured out how to do that.”

“I suppose I could try showing you,” Teldryn offered.  He looked her up and down, and shook his head.  “But it looks like you got away unharmed, thank the Three.  I can’t show you how to heal properly unless you’ve got something that needs healing.”

“Well, I want to try learning something," she huffed.  "You know I’m horseshit at magic.”

He backed away from her ever so slightly, a nervous glint in his eyes.  “At the risk of being Shouted into this damned forest… I agree.”  

Wren only scowled, keeping her eyes firmly locked with his.  “Show me how to throw fire like you do,” she said, avoiding answering his comment for fear she would say something harsh.  “I already know how to make fire, just… I can’t do much with it.  I want to learn.”  

“If you insist.”  He scratched at his chin and cocked an eyebrow.  “Show me how you do it.  Show me what you can do first, and we’ll go from there.”

She lifted her left hand and shut her eyes for just a moment, seeing in her mind’s eye a spark setting the air ablaze.  A faint whoosh, a heat in her palm.  She opened her eyes to see a small flame flickering between her fingers, and she smiled triumphantly at Teldryn before it extinguished itself. 

Teldryn hummed thoughtfully.  “Is that as long as you can hold it for?”

Wren scowled, suddenly regretting asking for help.  “Aye, that’s it.”  Her cheeks and ears burned with embarrassment, if only she could channel that heat into a damn spell, she'd be unstoppable.  “I’m hopeless, aren't I?”

Teldryn’s expression softened, and he let out a little breath.  "I wouldn't say that.  Not everyone can do this, but we can keep trying if you want.  You can create the fire, but controlling it is something different.  Now, let's try it again," he said, reaching for her hand.  He pulled her arm out before her, straightening her fingers until her hand was flat and facing outward.  

She looked curiously at her outstretched hand, wondering just how this was going to turn out.  Teldryn had stepped backward, she noted, putting a safe distance between himself and her.  He knows I'm going to fail, she lamented.  I should just give up and-

"Alright, shut your eyes," he said, cutting off her thoughts.  She looked to him for a moment before taking a deep breath and following his instruction.  "Good.  Now make your flame, but this time, put everything you have into it.  Take what energy you have, and give it even more."

"Whatever that means," Wren called.  Her thoughts went to the fire again, seeing it crackling along her skin, licking up her fingers.  Once more, she felt the familiar warmth in her hand, and she cracked open one eye to see the bright orange glow of flame in her palm.  

"Good, good," Teldryn praised, "now see it in your mind spraying forth.  Imagine… hmm, imagine throwing it at someone you hate.  Ulfric Stormcloak or some other n'wah.  C'mon, I know you can do this!"

"Bet I could do it if you'd stop blathering on," she muttered.  Hmm… Ulfric though… I'd like to see him burn.  Wren felt a smile on her lips, and the image of the Stormcloak leader appeared in her mind.  He stood tall and arrogant, draped in his fine furs, reveling in some victory over the countless souls he deemed beneath him.  She did hate him, truly, the entire city of Windhelm even.  Windhelm could crumble to ashes and blow away into the sea and she wouldn't shed a single tear.  

Burn it all.

Ulfric's skin blackened, blood oozed from deep cracks in his charred flesh, his furs curling and crumbling as flames ate them away into nothingness.  The city erupted into an inferno around her, its residents who once regarded her as common trash fleeing their homes, their clothing ablaze as they scrambled blindly down the alleyways clogged thick with smoke and ash. 

Wren could see it all, smell the fire and fear, hear terrified screams and the collapse of burning buildings around her.  The flame in her hand burned hotter than it ever had before, and she focused all of her hatred into that flame and released it.  Her soul came alive with a surge of dominance, her inner dragon beating its wings, fanning the flames she had created.  Her smile grew wider, her body grew warm - she could feel the radiant heat from her vision of destruction.  Searing.  Painful.  Why did it hurt?  

Something pounded against her chest, and she fell backward, the ground slammed against her back and knocked the air from her lungs in a sharp yelp.  Her eyes flew open and she saw fire around her, on her, and a piece of cloth swinging through the air.  

The cloth flopped down onto her chest with force, puffing an acrid burst of smoke into her face.  Teldryn knelt over her with panic in his eyes, having stripped himself of his own shirt that he had used to beat out the scattered small fires that caught on her clothes.  

Wren shut her eyes again and let out a growl that steadily grew into a roar of anguish.  She had failed, just as she knew she would, only in a more spectacular manner.  If the Gods could only rid her of the shame she felt… well, that would just be great.

"Azura have mercy," Teldryn exclaimed, tossing his now ruined shirt aside into the grass.  He leaned over her with a worried frown, his eyes darting over her entire form as she lay there on the ground, stupid and helpless.  "Are you alright?"

She lifted her head and looked down at herself, seeing little wisps of smoke rising from a series of scattered holes in her tunic, the edges of the fabric burnt black.  Her head dropped back into the dirt and she licked her lips.  They tasted bitter, of soot and disappointment.  "Do I look alright to you?"

"Well, you're still alive," Teldryn said.  He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring rub.  "Might need a new shirt, but you're okay.  Wish you could have seen that spell you cast, though!  Results aside, it was quite impressive."  

Wren pushed herself up to sit, and managed a little grin as her anger diminished.  "Really?  Think I could do it if I keep trying?"

He squinted at her, a sliver of red barely visible between his lashes.  "I think," he began cautiously, "you should stick with your axe and your voice." 

She swatted half-heartedly at him with the last of her waning rage, and found herself laughing.  The look of relief on Teldryn’s face was palpable, and he gripped her hand before slowly rising and pulling her to her feet.  

"Apologies about your shirt," he said, poking at her bare skin though a ragged, burnt hole in her tunic.  "Suppose we should hurry back to town and get cleaned up."  

Wren brushed at the now dried blood that covered his chest, and watched little flakes of it flutter to the earth.  "Aye, a bath sounds good.  Let's go."  Smiling, she grabbed his hand and began the walk back to Riften, leaving their mess behind. 

[qah-naarin]

MAGIC

@tes-summer-fest

Word count: 700

Warning: none

Tags: @vilkas @qah-naarin @friend-of-giants @lookathooves @crustycalipers @rabbittwinrithings @kittyspotatoes @reachfolk @lucien-lachance @faolan-red-eagle @fennorians

To Mathilde, magic came as easy as breathing. She had shown promise from such an early age, conjuring a flame in her hand at the tender age of four. The next year she learned to manipulate Aetherius to harden her skin, the next year she could conjure a small familiar, and the next year she had enough magic to rival that of those studying in universities.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would become a great mage, despite the wishes of her mother to never exceed her. There was no doubt that Mathilde would set out on her own and learn all she could. After the Thalmor attack, she was only further determined.

But when she watched Brelyna practice, it was as though Mathilde had never seen magic in her life. The Dunmer was so beautiful, so graceful; a dance as she focused on Aetherius to command magicka. Her flames were not those that burned around Mathilde all those years ago, they were a campfire, warming her bones and bringing her comfort. Her experiments and endless rambles of her works were a magic of their own, one that Mathilde only wanted to learn more of.

As they sat in the Arcaneum, Brelyna was discussing her latest study, a new illusion spell that she could not seem to master. Mathilde agreed to help her try and discern the work, but found her attention drifting away from the countless tomes and journals in front of them to the beautiful Dunmer in front of her. She watched as Brelyna scanned her violet eyes over a book, a slender, grey finger tracking along a sentence, her dark brows knitted in concentration. Her bottom lip was between her teeth and Mathilde could not tear her eyes away from it. How she wanted to know how her lips felt against hers…

Mathilde had never felt anything like this before, this… infatuation. Every second of everyday she wanted to be closer to her, for no purpose other than to just be in her company. The feeling frightened her and excited her all the same. She went to bed every night wondering how it would feel to lace her fingers with hers. She had already changed her courses so that she would have the same classes with her.

Brelyna seemed equally as excited to be with her, as well. This spurred Mathilde’s feelings further, heightened her glee. She needed to ask… needed to know…

“Mathilde?”

Mathilde glanced away from Brelyna’s mouth and to her eyes, her attention back to the present.

“I’m sorry,” Mathilde apologized. “Mind drifted away… Did you ask me something?”

“I was just saying that I was going to take a break here,” Brelyna said, closing her book and leaning back in her chair to stretch. “Do you have any courses today?”

Mathilde shook her head. “Not today. Tolfdir allowed me to take the day off to prepare for the Saarthal expedition.”

Brelyna’s eyes lit up. “You’re coming with?!”

“Yes,” Mathilde nodded and smiled. “Managed to convince him to bring me along.”

“Thank Azura. I was dreading having to be alone with J’zargo and Onmund.”

“Don’t like them?”

Brelyna shook her head and chuckled. “No. One’s an arrogant bastard who thinks his magic will surpass that of the Archmage, and the other’s Onmund.”

Mathilde bursted into laughter, before quickly clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. She peered around, finding Urag leveling a stern glare at the both of them, which caused them to dissolve further into giggles.

Once their laughter ceased, Brelyna smoothed the front of her robes.

“I think he’s sweet on you, Mathilde,” Brelyna began again. “Onmund, that is.”

Mathilde could not hide her eye roll and scoff, causing Brelyna to chuckle softly.

“Would it be that bad?” She asked. Mathilde needn’t answer, simply casting Brelyna a cold and sobering glare, that quickly crumbled as she saw Brelyna laugh more. Gods, her smile was beautiful. Her laughter was like a symphony conducted by Dibella… She wanted to just… be with her. Always.

Brelyna went to stand. Mathilde felt her throat close and her mouth go dry. She needed to ask. Now. Before she lost the opportunity.

“Brelyna,” she started. “Would you like to go to the Frozen Hearth with me tonight?”

Brelyna balked, furrowing her brows.

“Is there a student event? Did I miss-”

“No,” Mathilde interrupted, holding up her hands. “Not at all. We’re just both so busy with our studies, I thought it would be nice if perhaps we could go and… unwind. Together.”

“Together?” Brelyna parroted. “As… friends?”

Mathilde swallowed thickly, trying to keep the bile her anxiety was bringing forward pushed down.

“Perhaps… as Onmund would like to be with me?”