#oc: valinnaire of sunhold

[theelderkittens]

Title: To Hold Her Hand

Pairing: Female Altmer Vestige/Female Altmer Vestige

Rating: General. 

Summary:  Valinnaire revealed revealed the ring, chest too tight, “Marry me?”

If there was one thing Valinnaire loved more than the sunlight dancing across her skin, it was the warmth of Venus’ hand in hers, the softness of her lips as they met in the early morning, the smell of an incoming storm with every hug.

It was especially welcome in Grahtwood, where they often found themselves in the cool shade. They strolled through the lush jungle, careful to avoid the carnivorous plants that lurked between the bushes. Valinnaire made a show of swinging a laughing Vineyra over her shoulder, before hiking up the sloping vista that was the Reliquary of Stars.

“Magnus is beautiful this time of evening.” Vineyra mused, eyes on the setting sun, cheekily patting Valinnaire’s backside.

“Oh, you’re talking about the sun now?” Valinnaire replied, swinging Vineyra up onto an alcove in the Ayleid structure.

“We are.” She smiled, brushing dust off her dress. It was the one Valinnaire had gifted her while they were on holiday in Vvardenfell, a guar leather corset sewed in with spider daedra silk dyed Hlaalu gold and Welkynd blue. She’d tripled checked.

She hopped up after a minute, then set about threading another ribbon into Vineyra’s hair. She smiled, flashing two dimples that Valinnaire thought were adorable, “It’s beautiful up here.”

Valinnaire watched the orange sunlight accentuate the gold of Vineyra’s eyes, suffuse her skin with an orange hue, “Most definitely.”

Valinnaire threaded their fingers together, checking over the contents of the plain box in her pocket. It was a simple affair, a small pearl flanked by pin prick sapphires, set into a thick band of solid gold. It was completely improper to even think of proposing to someone above her class, let alone have the ring made and actually attempt it.

Valinnaire bit her lip, waiting breathlessly for Vineyra to turn her gold eyes from the sinking sun. She smiled, and it must of seemed coy for the blush that spread across Vineyra’s face, upturning her palm to place a chaste kiss to each finger.

Valinnaire revealed revealed the ring, chest too tight, “Marry me?”

[theelderkittens]

Title: The Endless War 1/?

Pairing: Female Altmer Vestige & Estre

Rating: 16+ please, minor depictions of violence, implied/referenced assault. there is talk of death, murder and minor depictions of gore.

Summary: Estre meets the Vestige, again, on the Cliffs of Failure.

After the first dozen rounds, Estre gave up counting. There was no real purpose to it, other than the vague hope that Naemon might have, slightly, cared about her enough to find and save her. Maybe, if she had been more affectionate, or humble, or attentive, or less prickly on her bad days. She catches herself wondering what day it must be. Fredas, she hopes, because Naemon allows loved their afternoon walks on Fredas. Or Morndas, because she loved waking up with him and gossiping about the who’s and whys while they held hands; she hopes he remembers them like that too.

But she is glad he’s not here. It means she can pretend he’s alright and that he wasn’t implicated in anything she did.

“When I am victorious,” She repeats at Thallik, mind wondering back now that they’re in the most exciting part of the conversation, “and you grovel before me, I will remind you of this moment and how wrong you were.”

Thallik is a simple creature. He is, like all men, consumed by want and violence. That which Ayrenn thought to bring to the Isles has manifested in Thallik like it has in every fictional horror she’s ever read. He lunges when he thinks she isn’t expecting it; brutish hands seeking her neck like a clairvoyance spell poorly cast. She yelps, reservedly she assures herself, bringing her palms up. Still, she’s knocked back.

Her shock spell makes it worth the small indignation, even if the front of her dress has dirt stains on it now. Estre wipes her nose and hates herself for jumping at the sparks that tickle her nose.

Because its her, golden and stout and wearing a bright, burning blue. She hates being seen with such an unseemly stain on the front of her dress.

…

“Isn’t my court jester just dashing?”

Valinnaire’s gaze never wonders from the battlefield. Her hairs cropped enough to brush against her chin, and it drags out the harsh, hawkish features of her face. Despite the starved, withered look she’s gained, humour dances along her expression, plain as ever, “I’ve no interest in shadow puppets any longer.”

“Well, Auri-El strike me blind, I didn’t realise you were ancient,” Estre scoffs, “Aren't you going to ask me why I’ve graced you with my presence?”

“I thought you’d monologue long enough to get to that.”

“Honestly! I come here to thank you and you insult me. What have I ever done—”

“—Stop stalling, kinlady.”

She freezes mid gesture. She never thought she would miss those old toady Firsthold bureaucrats but at least they appreciated her performance. Her killer didn’t even try; no sly leaning in, or tilt of the head, nor even a hand clasped around another! Valinnaire stands stiff as a statue, shoulders even, hands loose and stance ready to jump into action.

“You know, monologuing is one of my best features,” She pouts, crossing her arms, “The Observer thought you’d be dead by now, not running around saving everyone.”

“What does that matter?” Valinnaire asks in breezy altmeris, hand resting casually on the hilt of her scabbard.

“Because this is a team game,” Estre enunciates each word clearly, “and he won’t let you run around like a headless imp for much longer. Outside of your spy games, organisation has proper structure.”

Valinnaire gives her an amused, scolding look and she can’t help the upwards quirk her lips give. “Let me guess, ‘we are not so different you and I?’”

She gestured vaguely, “If you want to put it that way. But I really must attend to poor, dear Relmus. Think about an alliance between us two tall powerful creatures.”

…

“So,” She throws in her most polite smile, flipping her little flame ball between her hands, “you return unscathed. The hero of the cliffs, one might say.”

Valinnaire raised a hand, “A moment before you start, thank you.”

Her armour looks as beaten as the sad fabric Estre still calls a dress is, three deep gouges slashing the links of her chainmail through her cuirass. Gore coats one of her legs like paint, reeking of half eaten meat and open innards, dragging down onto the floor like blood. Maybe it is blood rather than stomach acid, and maybe it isn’t reeking of open stomach but instead of iron and maybe they aren’t out in the open. Maybe it’s a cave and its her feet bleeding and the Seducers are getting closer, more eager, more—

“Why a sailor’s braid?” Valinnaire asks. She doesn’t even notice that her flame is now in Valinnaire’s hands.

“I— what?”

“Your hair is done in a Direnni style braid and fastened into a bun, which is a style that was first brought to the Isles by Balfieran sailors. Its not typical among the nobility, why do you wear it?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.” She snaps.

And hates the patient smile she’s given, “It’s crooked, is all.” Valinnaire tilts her head. Estre squints in return, one hand flying to her hair in a moment of pure, unadulterated vanity. its fine, a little too messy but perfectly aligned.

Valinnaire offers the flame, glowing green and blue and purple, the colours reflected in the clear shining amber of her eyes. “I would pledge myself to help you leave this place alongside the mages, Estre.”

What irony. The one mer she wanted, more than anything, to swap places with in this bleak place is now her one chance of escape. It seems good, too good, and too good is always impossible. Yet…

She takes the flame.

[theelderkittens]

Title: The Sweetroll

Pairing: minor Female Dunmer Vestige/Naryu Virian

Rating: General Audiences

“Ah, can Raz have the sweetroll?” Razum-dar asked, pointing to the innocent sugary concoction.

“No,” Naryu snapped, to Valinnaire’s sage nod, “That is my sweetroll, I brought it specifically to eat after this mission.”

“What? no.” Valinnaire squinted at the Dunmer, then scoffed, “Who does that for a sweetroll?”

“Me. It’s my special food that I like to eat. Back me up Ashur.”

“I don’t think it fair that you get it all to yourself,” Ashur replied, slapping Valinnaire’s hand that reached for the treat. Then quietly, “I want some of the sweetroll.”

“I’m going to be sad if I don’t get at least a bite of the sweetroll.” Alvura interjected, leaning closer to the treat.

“Oh, so now Alvura wants some sweetroll!”

“Yeah, I want a bite of the sweetroll!” She swiped a finger through the icing, licking it from her finger with a mocking glare while Naryu scowled at her.

“Ladies,” Ashur interjected, throwing a handkerchief over the sweet, “We’re stuck in a cave for the foreseeable future,” He threw his hands out, catching and lowering Alvura’s daggers, “A fifth of everything is what’s fair and reasonable, yes?”

“Then I want a fifth of my significant bothers shirt,” Naryu jut her chin out at Alvura, drew her knife; she traced a line in the air above Alvura’s belly button, “The bottom part, thank you.”

Alvura hugged her stomach tightly, “I’m not sporting a crop top in a  cave .”

“Why not?” Naryu mocked, slapping her hands away from the covered sweetroll.

“You couldn’t handle my midriff.”

“Ok but-“ Razum-dar jumped back at the glares levelled at him, “I kind of need the sweetroll.”

Valinnaire sighed, “For the softness of Dibella’s   thighs, Raz  .”

“No seriously,” He retorted, “Raz has low blood sugar and if this ones endorphins drop too low, Raz is going to start slashing.”

Valinnaire’s eyes crinkled, her mouth dropping open as if to say more. “That makes what kind of sense?”

Naryu threw her pack on the stone in front of them, cutting Razum-dar’s retort off. “If it plays up,” she muttered, pulling out a bowl of moon sugar, “You can have a spoonful of this.”

Alvura looked halfway between a smile and a snarl, “Dearly detested,” she cooed, “I do believe this makes you a drug dealer.”

Naryu crinkled her nose, “It does not,” she hooked a finger through one of the buckles of Alvura’s pants, dragging her away to the other end of the cave, “I’m going to rest—” she flipped her dagger—“Don’t touch that sweetroll Raz.”