#telyra ravencast

[lockewrites]

Come to Bed

F!LDB x Miraak || Slight-NSFT || 675 words

AO3 & FF.net

Prompt:  "trying to concentrate on a task, but your lover’s kissing your neck, making your head spin"  for our favorite pair of dragonborns, please :D

The candles were nearing their last minutes of life, the flame dimming with each second passed. And still Miraak remained hunched over the table, the whites of his fingertips surrounded in the pink of irritation, the weight of him and his worries pressing into the table.

“If you haven’t found it by now…” Telyra’s voice trailed off. Her body leaned against the doorframe across the room, her arms crossed over her chest.

Miraak’s form deflated with the long release of breath. “So you have said.”

“Will you come to bed?” she asked, the usual mirth in her voice replaced by fatigue. 

Moments of silence carried on the dust motes illuminated by the fading candles whorled between them. 

Letting out a sigh, Telyra stepped toward him, her sheer night robe brushing along the stone floor; skin unbothered despite the chill in the air. Her pale, silver hand pressed into the map on the table, sliding it to rest against his.

“Miraak.”

He turned at her voice, shadows well at home under his eyes and familiar with the red surrounding his irises. 

“You can’t see an answer if you can’t see,” she said. “The candles are just about through. We’ll gather again tomorrow, but you need to sleep.”

“My mind will not grant me the peace needed to sleep,” he muttered. “Not until we discern a viable strategy.”

Telyra placed her hand atop his. “The war can wait a night.”

A sigh was his only acknowledgment. 

With another of her own, she moved beneath his arm and placed herself between him and the table; it wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, her back having to arch around Miraak’s torso as he didn’t make any effort to provide her space. He simply looked at her, or perhaps through her to the map.

“Come to bed,” she repeated.

“I will shortly,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.

“No. Now.”

He offered nothing more than a soft grunt, no tonal inclination of ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

Asking politely found only failure. She touched his waist, opting for a new means of persuasion. His stomach twitched under her fingers, but otherwise, he remained still. Telyra’s hands grazed along his torso, slipping beneath the deep-cut collar of his shirt; his heart thrummed under her skin, harder and faster as he recognized the game she instigated. This was not their first stand-off in which words failed.

“Please,” she whispered.

With a deep sigh, he ignored her. It was naught but mere pride keeping him here at this point, Telyra believed.

“The bed is far too cold without you,” she pleaded.

“You do not feel cold,” he replied.

“Maybe not, but…” Telyra leaned up and pressed a kiss at the edge of his jaw. “I certainly feel you.”

He leaned into her on instinct, growing rigid as soon as he realized her play.

“I can take your mind elsewhere,” she promised against his skin as her lips followed the taut muscle of his neck.

“There is little that could free my thoughts of this war,” Miraak retorted. The color filling his cheeks spoke otherwise. 

Lower her kisses traveled, sucking on his skin briefly before placating it with tender presses of her mouth, leaving no physical trace of her affections beyond the blush creeping along his neck. She reached his collarbone and gave it the softest nick of her teeth.

“No honor to be found in your tactics,” he mumbled.

She smiled. “I’ve always preferred to play dirty.”

As she continued tracing the lines of his neck, her hands traveled down his torso, his waist, stopping only when they felt his growing excitement. A quiet moan vibrated in the back of his throat as she brushed across the front of his pants. 

Her mouth returned to his ear, and she asked, “Now will you come to bed?”

“No,” he replied. His embrace engulfed her, and without a chance to react, he lifted her onto the table and stepped between her legs.

Telyra stared at him for a breath’s moment before his lips claimed hers.

“Not yet.”

[scatteredfractals]

Created each of my muses in this Picrew!

In order: Telyra, Anya, Rhiada, Genevyve, Corinne, and Lilyann

[lockewrites]

Waking Dreams

The Perfect Storm: Chapter 16

LDB x Miraak || SFW || 4143 words AO3 and FF(.)Net

Telyra deals with the aftermath of learning the new Word.

“You should rest.”

Telyra shrugged at Erik’s suggestion and drained the remainder of her drink; the ashfire mead burned all the way down, warming her body. She didn’t want rest, she wanted to continue their plan: they were nearing the end of this ordeal, she could feel it. But that hadn’t been the only thing keeping her away from sleep…

“You look ready to drop,” Erik continued. “And I know you haven’t drunk enough to be that drunk.” He took a sip of his own mead, far less greedily than Telyra.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m still just a bit drained. He warned me it would take a while to recover.” Miraak was dealing with the aftermath himself; he’d sent Telyra away from Apocrypha, insisting she take time to rest her body and mind after absorbing the Word while he did the same.

“All the more reason,” Erik replied.

She looked over at him and felt a pang of guilt over the pleading in his eyes, the sheer concern for her.

With a sigh, she yielded. “All right.”

“I’ll be up a while still,” he said.

After tossing a few coins on the counter and bidding Erik goodnight, Telyra headed to their room. She let her body fall onto her bed but immediately sat upright to keep from falling asleep right away. The movement caused her head to swim.

“Okay,” she mumbled to herself. “Think of… think of the college.”

She closed her eyes and tried to pull forward those memories: the cold that suddenly dissipated as soon as one stepped through the gates past the bridge despite the snow; the luminous blue pulsing from the basin below the statue in the center of the courtyard; her classmates gathering in the great hall for lectures; Tolfdir berating them for not focusing. Her chest felt light and warm, thinking of a time when her most pressing concern was an exam.

“Dream of Winterhold,” she pleaded, to herself and to Akatosh or Talos, whoever would listen. Telyra whispered her prayer once more before lying down and closing her eyes.

It didn’t take long for sleep to come to her; Erik had been right. Exhaustion had been her companion since her last visit to Apocrypha, and not much effort was put in to send it away.

Telyra’s prayer was answered, her dream building the walls of the college around her, surrounding her with the buzzing energy of magic. She was dressed in her college robes, the fabric smelling just as she remembered; ozone and faintly herbal soap the bedkeepers used for the laundry–she’d never been able to find it at any market since leaving.

“Are you joining us, Telyra?” Tolfdir’s voice echoed softly against the stone of the great hall.

She turned to see her old professor standing in front of several mages, including Onmund and Brelyna.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice sounding a little less raspy than she remembered. “Sorry!”

“Welcome back,” Onmund whispered as she approached. “Hasn’t been the same without you here.”

“Things got… complicated,” she replied, giving him a smile.

“Do you two want to lead this class?” Tolfdir asked, raising his bushy, white brow.

“No,” Onmund uttered. “Sorry, Professor.”

“Good,” Tolfdir said. “Now, barring any further interruptions–we’ll be discussing wards.”

Lip curling, Telyra let out a sigh.

“Care to demonstrate?” he asked, his eyes looking pointedly at Telyra.

Her face flushed, embarrassed at being called out, though she should’ve been more than used to it.

“Of course, Professor,” she said.

The students parted down the middle in synchrony, leaving the space between Telyra and Tolfdir open. She held her hand out in front of her, fingers splayed; calling forth her magic, she produced a small, protective shield. Before she had time to blink, a bolt of flame burst against the ward.

“Excellent,” Tolfdir said. “But magical attacks rarely occur in singularity.”

He released a few more attacks toward her, each fizzling as they were absorbed by her ward. It took little effort to keep herself from getting singed.

“Now,” Tolfdir began, “what of the rest of the class?”

Telyra took a step to join her classmates, but the professor raised his hand, silently instructing her to stop.

“You misunderstand, dear.” His voice took an unsettling dark tone. “Can you protect the rest of the class?”

“What?”

Without further explanation, Tolfdir began throwing stronger attacks at her, ones with a greater area of effect. Her classmates screeched in fear and hurried behind her; Onmund stood closest.

She expanded the ward, the filmy surface growing to form a wall-like barrier. A shield of this size would drain her far quicker, but Tolfdir’s attacks weren’t halting.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she screamed.

“You have to protect them,” he replied, his voice eerily calm and somehow traveling over the sounds of exploding magicka.

“You have to protect us,” Onmund repeated. He placed a hand on her lower back. “You have to.”

Her brows furrowed, sweat gathering along her hairline, both from the exertion and the anxiety filling her.

“Help me!” she pleaded, daring a glance at Onmund.

He shook his head. “This is your job. You have to protect us.”

“You have to protect us,” another student said. It sounded like Brelyna.

Cracks began to form in her ward, sounding like the breaking of glass as each of the professor’s attacks landed.

“You have to protect us. You have to protect us.” The students’ voices grew into a cacophony of the repeated words.

“I’m trying!” she cried, tears stinging her eyes.

“No, you’re not.” Onmund’s hand fell from her back. “If you were really trying, we’d already be safe.”

“What?” The tears were running down her cheeks. “What does that mean?”

The ward suddenly burst, and her classmates screamed as Tolfdir’s flames engulfed them; Telyra’s voice joined them. She ducked down, covering her face as the heat wrapped around her, the light stinging her eyes even as they were closed.

Everything grew cold then, as the fire disappeared.

She opened her eyes, blinking hard as they adjusted to the now-dim lighting. Tolfdir was gone. The walls were in ruin. And her classmates were naught but skeletal remains littering the stone floor. Burnt flesh and fabric overwhelmed her senses, and she doubled over, releasing her stomach’s contents.

As she stood back up, the broken stone and skeletons of the college and its students were gone entirely, replaced by green hills and massive evergreens, and a battalion of dead bodies. The sickly burnt smell remained, but not nearly as strong; it traveled away with a breeze that felt far too calm for the carnage surrounding her.

A familiar beat sounded, bringing with it gusts of air. Telyra looked up, panicking as she saw a dragon’s form circling overhead, growing larger as it drew closer to the ground.

But she didn’t attack. She didn’t even move; no attempt to hide or run away or prepare herself for a fight. She simply watched.

The dragon’s snake-like head came into view, and Telyra couldn’t help but smile, recognizing her dear friend.

“Sahrotaar,” she said to herself.

He landed in front of her, bowing his head.

“My lady,” he said, his voice deep and guttural. “Commander Ahzidal brings word. She has claimed victory against Rahgot’s forces, but the priest himself managed to evade her.”

Telyra shook her head, stopping briefly to touch the mask on her face. Confusion nicked at her mind a moment before she returned her attention to Sahrotaar.

“Rahgot,” she spat. “Always so cowardly.”

“Shall I return you to the temple?” the dragon asked.

“Yes,” Telyra replied. She glanced around herself once more, the grass as green as ever; untouched, barely moving with the wind. Furrowing her brow, that tinge of confusion returned. “I… I think I am quite finished here.”

After climbing into Sahrotaar’s saddle, they arrived at her temple in what felt like the blink of an eye. Ahzidal was waiting, her usual impatience well-settled in the hard lines of her face.

“I trust you saw success,” she said, greeting Telyra with a tight grip on her forearm.

She paused a moment before replying, “Of course.” Noting Ahzidal’s lack of company, she added, “Dukaan will be here soon?”

Ahzidal nodded, her graying coils bouncing with the movement. “Zahkriisos and Vahlok are awaiting you in the council chambers.” She stepped to the side and held out her arm, beckoning Telyra inside with a lowering of her head; despite the leniency granted with her words, Ahzidal never forgot to show her respect to whom she vowed her loyalty.

Giving her a nod, Telyra entered the temple. Everyone bowed to her as she passed, venturing through her halls that once served the dragons and now housed the heart of a revolution.

The doors to the council room opened as she approached, revealing Vahlok, standing in a pool of crimson with his sword drawn and bloodied, the tip disappearing into Zahkriisos’s chest.

“Vahlok!” Telyra’s Voice shook the walls. “What have you done?”

Her lover took a step back and turned his gaze toward her, sending her body’s warmth fleeing. He lunged at her. Their bodies collided and fell to the floor, the force knocking both their masks off; the stone collapsed beneath them, leaving them falling through the air for an inexplicable amount of time.

Finally, they landed somewhere outside, the walls of the temple nonexistent, replaced by green hills and massive evergreens, and a battalion of dead bodies. But Telyra’s eyes remained fixed on Vahlok’s as he pinned her wrists down and straddled her hips. The sun shone brightly behind him, illuminating his golden fly-away hairs, and dipping the rest of him in shadow. She stared, searching within that familiar gaze for any hint of an explanation for why he betrayed them, betrayed her.

“Why?” she heard her voice ask, but she didn’t feel her lips move.

She was given no answer; not in his words, nor in his eyes. They held the same warmth she’d always seen in them, the same glint of affection wrapped in honey. It left her heart aching and wanting.

His grip on her wrists tightened as he lowered himself, hesitating just a moment before pressing his lips to hers, hard and desperate. Sliding his hands down, he slipped them under her back and lifted her to his chest, bringing them both upright.

Telyra wrapped her legs around his waist, leaving no space between her and her lover. Her hands disappeared into his hair, the soft waves rippling through her fingers.

Their kiss broke, both stopping for air.

“I love you,” she whispered, nausea filling her the moment the words escaped her lips.

He shook his head. “You should not.”

Something pierced her side, sending her body jolting upright.

“Telyra?”

Her breath came in spurts, heart racing and adrenaline pumping through her. She frantically looked around, but her vision was blurred, unable to make out her surroundings.

“Telyra!”

She flinched as someone gripped her shoulders.

“Hey! Easy!” Erik said. “Calm down. You’re all right.”

Telyra blinked at him a few times before reality broke through the fog in her mind.

“Erik,” she breathed. Her hand pressed into her side, half-expecting to feel it sticky with blood, but her fingers returned clean. “Gods.” She pressed her palms into her eyes, attempting to force away the images still caught beneath her eyelids.

“Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare,” Erik remarked.

With a shake of her head, she replied, “It wasn’t the worst. Just… “ She trailed off and let out a heavy sigh.

“Was it about Miraak again?”

Telyra glanced at him, irritation filling her at the accusation, but she bit her tongue before saying anything she’d regret. Her gaze fell to her hands in her lap, pondering what she could say that would skirt the truth but wouldn’t be an outright lie. Erik worried about her enough, and her frustration was misdirected; he deserved better.

“No,” she answered. “Miraak wasn’t in this one.” She looked over at him again; he stared at her, waiting for her to explain further. “Believe it or not, this was a pretty normal nightmare,” she added, forcing some levity in her voice. “Someone stabbed me.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though contemplating the truth of her words. “You should get back to sleep,” he said after a few moments. “We still have a couple hours before dawn.”

Nodding in agreement, she rolled over, facing away from Erik as he returned to his own bed.

The visions of the body-strewn college and hills still beset her mind. The screams of her classmates, of her old friends. And their desperate words. You have to protect us. You have to protect us.

Her eyes squeezed shut, causing a rumbling in her ears, but it didn’t quite drown out the echoes. Thankfully, Erik soon filled the room with his snores, and it provided just enough distraction for Telyra to attempt to fall back into sleep.

But as she lay there, snippets of the dream returned. Not the cries, this time, but of the temple. Unsettling, to say the least, to experience life as Miraak. To feel her own body, hear her own voice, live his past, or at least some twisted dream-version of it. To touch and be touched by his former lover; that felt far more invasive than if she were to sneak a peek through a keyhole into their bedroom.

Falling to her back, she let out a long breath and stared at the ceiling. This was not the first night her dreams had been plagued with nightmares and glimpses into Miraak’s past; she’d normally welcome the opportunity to see what had made Miraak into the man he was, but this… this was a stolen chapter of his, something he didn’t share willingly.

It was often nights such as this when she contemplated going to Miraak for guidance; surely he would’ve had some idea how to make the visions stop. But the timing was simple to follow: only after taking in that word, kast , did she begin dealing with the hauntings of someone else’s past. Miraak had fought to keep from sharing; was this why? Had he known what she’d suffer through? She couldn’t give him reason to regret more than he already had.

“Telyra?”

She opened her eyes, regretting doing so so quickly; the light of the candles and lanterns was surprisingly bright, causing an ache behind her eyes.

“I let you sleep in a bit, but,” Erik began, “it’s getting late. We promised Talvas we’d stop by.”

After sitting up, she rubbed the apparent sleep from her eyes and yawned as she spoke. “Right. He wanted help with his spell or something.”

Erik was already dressed, light and ready for the minor trek from Raven Rock to Tel Mithryn. It didn’t take long for Telyra to do the same, though her movements were noticeably sluggish.

Their journey to Neloth’s fungal home was one of silence, other than Erik’s occasional comment on the weather or terrain–both of which were nothing but gray. Telyra certainly appreciated the quiet; she was too in her own head to offer much in the way of conversation, and there was always a chance Erik would glean some bit of info she intended to keep to herself. He fretted too much on her behalf already.

Talvas stood outside, ready to greet up well before they even showed up, if the exasperated look on his face was anything to go by. But it softened as they approached and soon broke out in a genuine smile.

“I wasn’t sure you were still coming,” he said.

Erik returned his smile. “We had a bit of a late start. Sorry.” He glanced at Telyra who merely gave a curt nod. Turning back to Talvas, he asked, “What did you need from us?”

The Dunmer looked between the two, but his gaze held on Erik far longer. “I’m still struggling with Master Neloth’s ash guardian spell. I would appreciate it if you two could stand ready should the spell… go awry.”

“We can certainly do that,” Erik replied. He nudged Telyra. “Right, Telly?”

She started at the nickname, smiling and returning the nudge, quite a bit harder than his. “Yes, yes, we can do that.”

“Excellent!” Talvas said. “I’ve deciphered more of Master Neloth’s writing. I’m hoping it’s enough to properly cast the spell.”

While the Dunmer read through the tome a few times, Telyra sat upon one of the roots of Neloth’s enormous mushrooms. Erik offered his own expertise in reading chicken scratch after years of working with his father at the inn. She was content to watch the two.

“Could that be ‘warm’ or ‘worm’?” Talvas asked.

“He has a loop in this ‘o’ here,” Erik replied. He squinted and leaned his face closer to the page, pointing to various spots. “But he doesn’t have one here. I don’t think ‘worm’ works in this context… or does it?”

“With Master Neloth?” Talvas said. “Anything could fit the context.”

Erik appeared relaxed, far moreso than she’d seen since arriving in Solstheim. In their travels, he had a penchant for solving puzzles she never would’ve guessed; not that she believed him to be simple, but growing up in Rorikstead with a father who feared stepping beyond the village boundaries, it didn’t seem Erik had much chance to be anything more than the innkeeper’s son.

“That has to be it!” Erik said.

Telyra’s head shot up; he and Talvas stared at the book with unbridled glee.

“Master Neloth has some inside,” Talvas remarked. “Though, I doubt he’ll give one to me.”

“We could borrow one,” Erik suggested.

“It says the heart stone will be consumed upon casting the spell,” he retorted, pointing at the page.

“Yes, but we can always replace it.”

The apprentice’s excitement disappeared. “I don’t think stealing from Master Neloth is safe.”

“It’s not stealing,” he replied. “‘Borrow.’ Is he here?”

“No, but–”

“We’ll replace it!” Erik assured. He looked to Telyra. “We’ll be right back.” His cheer was still blatant, despite his lack of interest in magic. He headed up the hill, toward the main mushroom, practically carrying Talvas with him.

While Erik made it known he enjoyed combat, she caught a glimpse of joy whenever he worked out a difficult problem. She’d probably have gotten herself killed twenty times over with an incorrect solution to a trapped puzzle or a wrong path chosen were it not for him.

And for all of that, her thanks came in the form of reasons to worry and near-death experiences. It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have ever had to save her. She was the Dragonborn. She was the savior. She was supposed to save him, to save all of them, all of Skyrim.

Her stomach twisted, and her breathing quickened. Telyra swallowed hard and forced a deep breath in and out. It didn’t work. The pressure continued to build within her, tearing at the back of her throat as her eyes burned. She pressed her hands against her eyes, as though she could literally hold the tears back. But that didn’t work either. Pushing to her feet, she began to pace, hoping some form of movement would untie the knot in her gut.

Erik and Talvas returned soon after, their approaching bodies catching in Telyra’s periphery.

“I’m going to take a walk,” she called out, turning before he had a chance to ask anything. If something went wrong with the spell, the two of them would be able to handle it, she thought.

Her feet dragged in the ashy sand, her eyes cast down as she trudged along. No mind paid to where she headed, she simply sought isolation and distraction, but there was little to be had in a barren wasteland. Very few bird calls, very little wind, and naught but the scent of embers that permeated through the entire island. Still, she continued on.

Lost in thought, tormenting herself with guilt and anxiety. A constant barrage of ‘Not good enough,’ ‘Not strong enough,’ ‘Risking too much for one man.’ Miraak .

Her steps halted, a new wave of guilt settling over her. It wasn’t too much; she needed him, she had no chance of defeating Alduin otherwise. Perhaps it was asking too much of Erik, to expect him to remain at her side through all of this, but the rest? Skyrim would survive for the time being. Miraak needed her; he didn’t deserve to rot in Oblivion for eternity. To consider leaving him to such a fate, that was truly unworthy of the Dragonborn.

As her eyes refocused on her surroundings after glazing over during her inner monologue, she found herself looking over a sea of green. The birds were far more active, the wind even moreso, carrying with it the scent of dirt and pine. It was beautiful and completely unfamiliar.

Telyra turned and found the green stretched far behind her, shadowed by a canopy of evergreens she hadn’t noticed. She headed back, following the trail of her heavy footsteps.

She missed him, she admitted to herself. Riding with him on Sahrotaar, even for a short while, sparring, spending hours reading beside each other. It felt as though a lifetime had passed since she’d seen him.

His blond hair, his golden eyes–her brows pinched together. Gold?

“Have you forgotten already?” a voice sounded beside her.

“Vahlok.” She smiled. “I feel as though I see less and less of you as the war carries on.”

“I know,” he replied. “War is not kind to those in love. I fear Ahzidal to be even crueler, however, should I choose to remain at your side rather than aid in the war effort.”

“Truly.” Telyra hooked her arm in his. “It is during these brief moments of respite that I feel any semblance of peace. One day, this shall be our norm.”

They continued through the trees, their steps falling in line with one another’s. Despite the joy guiding her forward, a sense of foreboding tickled the back of her mind; but, when did one ever achieve true peace while in the middle of a war? She brushed the thought away, opting to revel in the quiet moment shared.

The trees gave way to an open field, and past that was the ocean, crashing against the cliffside. How long had it been since she stepped foot here? To have forgotten these cliffs? The waves grew louder as they approached, kicking up misty, salted air.

“Do you recall, prior to our induction into the priesthood,” Vahlok began, “anything we had done for pure delight?”

She tilted her head. “What is it you mean?”

“Our lives have been dedicated to the dragons,” he explained, “in one form or another. Whether it be our schooling or our training, or now this war.”

Telyra hummed in thought, trying to pull any recollection from so long ago. “I… I do not know that I have any such memories.”

His perfect lips fell into a frown. “A part of me pities you, to have forgone, whether by your choice or not, those times of merriment.”

“I do not want your pity,” she replied, smiling and placing a hand on his cheek.

He leaned into it and returned her grin. “Another part of me envies you. It is difficult to yearn for that which you cannot recall. To think of those times brings both joy and sorrow.”

Her smile faltered. “To hear you speak of it brings its own sense of bittersweet.”

Vahlok’s eyes moved to the cliff’s edge, a mischievous, childlike pull on his lips. “Do you wish to create new memories?”

She followed his line of sight. “What exactly have you in mind?”

Their gazes returned to each other.

“Fly with me.”

Telyra laughed nervously. “Surely you jest.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Let us touch the air as the dragons do for even the briefest of moments.”

“Vahlok,” she said. Her eyes darted to the edge once more. “That is quite the drop.”

“The waves will catch us,” he insisted. “You often face fear with death so great a possibility. This? This naught but child’s play. Embrace that childlike ferocity with me, while we still have the chance.”

She looked between him and the waters below; her stomach flipping as she spoke her next words. “May Ahzidal show you mercy should I perish.” She gave him a smile.

Vahlok beamed at her and took her hand. They inched toward the edge, sharing nervous glances before he began to count down.

“One. Two.” He paused just long enough to be dramatic. “Three!”

Together, they leapt. His hand disappeared from hers as they fell, and she could no longer see him from the corner of her eye. And before she had a chance to look, she collided with the water’s surface and was swallowed by the waves.

[lockewrites]

I Thought I Lost You

F!LDB x Miraak || SFT || 946 words

AO3 & FF.net

Prompt: Miraak and Telyra, "I thought I lost you" hugs, course whats not to love about hurt/comfort fics

“Search for survivors,” Telyra ordered. “Gather those well enough to transport to the healers.”

“And the enemy?”

“Bind any of higher ranking,” she replied. “Kill the rest.”

With a nod, the lieutenant rushed off, gathering her unit to carry out Telyra’s orders.

“General.”

Another soldier approached, his voice went unheard as Telyra looked over the battlefield. Iron and ozone weighing down the air, too heavy even for any bit of breeze; the scene stagnant, silent other than the calls of those looking for fallen loved ones and fellow soldiers.

“Telyra,” he said, speaking louder.

She turned this time, looking up despite every move causing her body to protest in pain. Erik, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise uninjured. 

“There’s been no word from Miraak.”

Any relief she felt at seeing her closest friend alive vanished. Her stomach dropped, nausea welling inside her as a lump formed in the back of her throat, threatening her breath.

“Find Miraak!” she cried across the fields, blood painting her tongue as her Voice sent a ripple through the grasses. “He takes priority!” 

Telyra pushed past Erik and hurried through the bodies in the direction she’d last seen Miraak. Eyes darting over each fallen soldier, praying he wasn’t one of them yet desperate to see his face.

“Miraak!” she Shouted. Again and again, she called out, her Voice piercing the air as her throat burned.

Her treatment of the dead was unsanctimonious, but she cared little; she flipped bodies, tore off helmets, pushed the dead aside with her bloodied boots. With each unfamiliar face, the bile in her throat grew. If anyone spoke to her, it was lost to the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears and her panicked focus. This frantic pattern continued, her trembling body pushing beyond the boundaries of exhaustion and her voice becoming nothing more than a rasp with each order barked at every passing soldier. Find him. Find him. Find him. Find Miraak!

It all felt in vain; with each minute past, his chances of surviving dwindled. If he was hurt, if he was on the brink of death… 

Telyra broke into a run, willing her spent muscles to continue through the exhaustion and pain. She fell to her knees beside a large, face-down body clad in familiar armor. Turning him over with what little strength she had left, Telyra was filled with an anxiety-provoking mix of relief and dread. His front was covered in blood, originating from multiple impacts in the armor.

“Miraak.” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

His eyes fluttered and opened, barely enough to see the blues of his irises. He placed a shaky hand on her arm a moment before it slid off.

“Miraak!” She cradled his face as tears rolled down her own. 

With his lips barely parting, he muttered, “Dii mal ruvaak.” 

“Don’t you dare leave me!” she cried.

His body grew limp.

“I need a healer!” she Shouted, her mouth filling with blood once more. “Get me a fucking healer!” 

______

“You need to sleep.”

Telyra ignored Erik and continued her pacing outside the infirmary. It’d been a struggle to get her out of the room, but Erik managed to talk her down; a feat that impressed even the seasoned healer.

“You passing out from exhaustion isn’t going to help Miraak,” he lectured.

She threw her hands up. “How am I supposed to rest knowing he could–”

“Telyra.” Erik pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll make it. He’s always made it.” His voice wavered, so subtle anyone other than Telyra would’ve missed it. 

Stepping away from Erik, she leaned against the wall and slid onto the floor, digging her fingers into her battle-greased hair and letting her head rest on her palms.

Tears pricked her already-raw eyes. They’d come so far, were so close to seeing the end of this war; stability and peace a near-reality on the verge of crashing. Their life together had been constantly plagued with the promise of another fight, another enemy, another world-ending threat. To see a life of quiet and love teetering on the edge, a breath away from falling into Oblivion; it tore at her soul.

The door opened, and Healer Arimon stepped out, his wrinkles looking even deeper, his eyes noticeably exhausted.

“General.”

Telyra looked up at him, her lips parted but unable to ask the question that caught in her throat and threatened to strangle her.

“He’s unconscious,” he began, “but stable.”

Erik held a hand out to Telyra, pulling her to her feet.

“It will take time for General Miraak to recover,” the healer explained. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him, but for now, you may go to him.” 

He stepped aside before Telyra could run through him.

“Thank you, Arimon,” she heard Erik say behind her.

“The gods truly must watch over him,” Arimon replied in a hushed tone. “Were he not Dragonborn, I don’t think he would’ve survived.”

Telyra was too elated to see the rise and fall of his chest to pay much mind to the implications of Arimon’s words. A basin stood in the corner of the room, bloodied rags fueled the fire, the light bouncing across Miraak’s face. She hovered over him, her fingers grazing over the raised, sutchered skin on his cheek. Her hand moved to rest against his other, thumb trembling across his cheekbone.

“I thought I lost you,” she whispered, fresh tears rolling down her face.

His head turned, his hand covered hers, and he placed a soft kiss on her palm.

His voice was little more than breath. “Hi fen neh saan zey.”

[lockewrites]

Bumping Noses

Anon asked:  Hi! If you still taking prompts could you do; accidentally bumping noses for Mirrak X Telyra?

Miraak x F!LDB || SFW || 614 words

AO3 & FF(.)net

Telyra and Miraak find themselves in a compromising position while trying to infiltrate the Blue Palace. 

“To hide in such a manner is undignified,” Miraak muttered.

As she rolled her eyes, Telyra shushed him. She might’ve thrown an elbow into him if she had any room to properly wind up; the two were squeezed into an alcove in the gardens of the Blue Palace, hiding from the guards. Attempting to sneak with a giant of a man such as Miraak was clearly a mistake, Telyra thought.

“You could simply walk through the palace doors,” he continued, “and demand the information. Make a show of power. I would gladly have allowed you to borrow Sahrotaar for such an undertaking.” 

Telyra let out a long exhale through her nose. “We’re trying to stop one political shit-storm, not cause another.”

She would’ve loved nothing more than to hit her head into the stone wall over and over, but the only wall in front of her was that of Miraak’s broad chest. Focusing was difficult enough given their inconvenient situation, but being so near Miraak’s form; the smell of warm rain and embers always radiated from him, but nearly pressed against him, it filled her lungs with each breath. Telyra shook her head as if to dislodge the distraction from her mind.

It seemed Solitude’s security was increased greatly following the death of High King Torryg, or so Telyra assumed; highly doubtful Jarl Elisif would’ve devoted so many guards to keep an eye on mere flowers. The guards formed a perfect rotation that left nearly no room to slink into the palace–how they made it this far onto the grounds, Telyra couldn’t even recall.

She let her head fall back against the stone behind her and closed her eyes as she muttered, “Should’ve hired some Thieves Guild rats for this.” Releasing another sigh, she opened her eyes and caught sight of the divet in the wall that might provide just enough leverage to pull herself up to the upper floor of the palace. It was well beyond her reach and even Miraak’s, but maybe…

“Give me a boost.”

“What?”

Telyra nodded at the space above Miraak. “There’s a nick in the wall,” she explained, “but I can’t reach it.”

He craned his head back, his brown locks rolling off his shoulders in the process. “That takes care of your predicament,” he said, “but what of mine?”

“One step at a time, Miraak.” In truth, she simply had no idea.

Rolling his eyes, he held his hands out, but with no room for him to squat, Telyra didn’t have a hope of reaching them with her feet.

“I, uh, I can’t quite–”

His hands settled on her waist instead, sending a flutter through her stomach; before she had a chance to comprehend what was happening, he lifted her effortlessly. He stilled as their noses brushed, and he trembled just slightly keeping her in place.

Held at his height, her gaze bounced between his eyes; the gray-blue evident even in the shadow, even as his pupils grew as he returned her stare. Her hands came to rest in the crook of his neck, thumb mindlessly grazing his warming skin a moment before suddenly becoming aware of the situation. 

“Miraak, I… I still can’t reach.”

Miraak responded in kind, lifting her high enough to reach the divot and pull herself to balance on his shoulders. He gripped her ankles, his fingertips digging into the leather of her boots.

Every point of contact he’d made lingered on her skin; tingling slightly despite her efforts to ignore it. She should’ve dragged Erik along instead; at least then, she’d be at less of a risk of making a fool of herself over something as silly as a simple touch. 

[lockewrites]

And we could wear the same crown

Keep slowing your heart down

We are the gods now

[lockewrites]

Constricting Convictions

The Perfect Storm: Chapter 15

LDB x Miraak || SFW || 3635 words AO3 and FF(.)Net

Following the transferal of Miraak’s knowledge, Telyra experiences a closer look at his past.

It was not the first execution-turned-show, not of the evening, not of the rebellion, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The grimace refused to leave his face as he watched the beast’s claws tear through flesh as though it were linen. In his periphery, he saw Vahlok leaning forward; Miraak ignored what he thought was a smile on his lover’s face.

“Some traditions cannot be forgone,” Zahkriisos remarked from his other side, placing his hand on the armrest of Miraak’s seat. “Some sense of familiarity provides stability.”

Miraak looked to his fellow priest, admiring the deep-set lines marring his face, marking a lifetime of suffered cruelty and a wealth of experience and wisdom. He respected Zahkriisos and was immeasurably grateful for his support, but that respect didn’t blind him to his own misgivings.

“I trust your judgment,” Miraak said, unwilling to force his expression to match his words. “I simply find this spectacle… tasteless.”

His partner patted his forearm, as though it would suddenly bring Miraak the same pleasure it provided Vahlok.

Zahkriisos’s hand returned to his own lap. “I understand,” he replied. “But controlled violence, such as this, not only establishes our unwavering resolve in not tolerating the oppression of the dragons and those who seek to return us to their clutches,” he explained, pausing as a crackling cough shook through his body, “it also ensures our people are no stranger to brutality. Not all under the dragons’ rule encountered the cruelty those of us here have faced.”

Holding up a hand, Miraak sighed. “Spare me your lectures, Zahkriisos. I have already stated I would trust your judgment in this matter.” His next words were given with a smile. “Even if I am not pleased about it.”

“I find it a fitting end to those who denied our call,” Ahzidal said. Her coiled hair bounced as she approached them, the early onslaught of gray coating each strand, contrasting her hardened yet youthful features. “Traitors to their own kind,” she spat, her words punctuated with an aggressive plop into one of the seats in front of Miraak.

“Not to mention the sheer invigoration,” Vahlok added. “Look beyond yourself, Miraak. To even speak to one another, we must practically shout. Their cheers are nearly vibrating the very stone.” He looked at Miraak, sliding his hand to Miraak’s and giving it a squeeze. “Have you ever seen your people so enlivened?”

“Only after Ahzidal has given one of her rather uplifting speeches prior to battle,” Miraak replied, smiling, though it fell short of meeting his eyes.

Dukaan followed behind, taking the seat beside Ahzidal. “While I agree they deserve no clemency,” she began, “I admit a dislike of this use of the arena. But perhaps that is merely my own bias tainting my view.”

Miraak rested his elbow on his armrest, holding his head in his hand, pressing his fingers gently into his temple to combat his growing headache. He agreed with Dukaan; the arena had once been viewed as a chance for honor and praise, and now it was purely a pit to demonstrate their rebellion’s power and eagerness for blood. Of course, the dragons had also used it for executions, giving those sentenced to death a chance to provide some entertainment and extend their life for as long as they could fend off whatever was thrown into the arena with them, but Miraak hadn’t taken issue with that. What unsettled him was this former symbol of honor and second chances being used for prisoners of war, weakened mortals who should have died on the battlefield.

“I sometimes find myself missing my days in the arena,” Dukaan muttered, just loud enough for Miraak to catch the longing in her voice.

“You had truly been a marvel to observe,” Vahlok said. “A shame you no longer partake.”

“Oh, what dreams we entertain,” she remarked, waving her hand dismissively. “I fear I may have grown inept in my time outside of the arena. It would be foolhardy--I simply could not risk leaving you all devoid of my presence.”

Dukaan had been a paragon in the pit, defeating everything and everyone who dared to face her. Her victories and resulting laurels eventually led to her induction into the priesthood. This caused a rift between her and her fellow martialists, many assuming she believed herself to be of a higher standing, the arena no longer worthy of her. They called her Dukaan: ”dishonor”; she shed her bestowed priest name in favor of the taunt, claiming it as a badge of pride.

The crowd erupted, and Miraak’s attention returned to the pit; clouds of dirt had been kicked up into the air, but it wasn’t thick enough to hide the pools of vermillion coating the ground. The man below let out a piercing scream that soon became swallowed into the sabre cat’s mouth as its teeth clamped down on his skull. With a jerk, the man was silenced entirely save for the crunch of shattering bones.

Like a ragdoll, his body flopped with every twist of the cat’s head, until its teeth tore through the skin and everything suddenly detached. Sprays of blood split through the dust and onto the beast’s fur; the body landed and rolled several times before stopping, blood still spilling from the exposed artery.

A few screams sounded from the stadium at the gruesome display, but those sitting around Miraak remained unbothered. Vahlok seemed overtly enthused, nearly at the edge of his seat as the cat feasted on its defeated prey. It perturbed Miraak; had this been a criminal sentenced to death or a martialist voluntarily setting foot in the arena for glory, he would have understood the excitement, but they were at war, the man had been a soldier--he should have died a soldier’s death.

Zahkriisos sighed. “For some, such macabre sights never become easier to bear.”

With a shrug, Ahzidal replied, “Weak stomachs make for weak soldiers. Perhaps we should be incorporating the most gruesome executions into our battalion’s drills. Cull those who would be a liability.”

Miraak again rubbed his temple.

“I had specified ‘some,’” Zahkriisos retorted. “Surely eliminating those who are unable to suppress their urge to retch after viewing such a thing a single time would leave you dwindling in numbers.” He tsked a few times. “Not all have a stomach lined with iron, such as yourself, dear Ahzidal.”

As the sabre cat continued devouring its feast, a line of shield-wielding soldiers worked to corner the beast and draw it back into the cage it’d been let out of. After the arena was cleared, another barred gate opened, and a bound man was dragged out to the center.

“Vaazrath,” Ahzidal said, the disdain evident in her tone.

Miraak felt Vahlok shift beside him, but his attention remained on the man below: he was Ahzidal’s former acolyte, and Miraak had suspected the two were closer than would appear at first glance. Rather than follow Ahzidal, however, Vaazrath turned on her, reporting her treachery and forcing her to flee to Miraak’s temple for sanctuary.

His gaze drifted to Ahzidal; he’d wanted to be steadfast in their mission to eradicate any who remained loyal to the dragons, but he questioned the potential mental toll for Ahzidal. A priest executing their acolyte, executing their lover?--but Ahzidal insisted.

Her hands wrapped around the ends of her armrests, knuckles white; given enough time, he was sure she’d have the wood splintering. He moved to reach out to her, but Dufaan placed her hand on Ahzidal’s, and after a few moments, the color returned to her fingers.

Knowing the priest was in good hands, he looked back to the acolyte. Now unbound, he’d been given a meager knife to defend himself--he held that bit of metal as if it truly provided him a chance to survive.

Ahzidal stood suddenly and pulled a dagger from her belt.

“Acolyte Vaazrath!” Her voice echoed against the stone of the stadium.

The man looked up at the priests, his gaze bouncing to each of them before settling on Ahzidal.

She clenched her jaw and lifted her empty hand; her palm became alight with purple, and a massive flame atronach appeared behind Vaazrath. A glint caught Miraak’s eye a moment before Ahzidal’s blade landed in the sand at Vaazrath’s feet. The magicka swam between her fingers as the atronach remained still, waiting for its conjurer’s command.

“Make your death worthy of applause.”

Vaazrath glanced at the weapon for only a moment before returning his stare to the priests. He looked briefly at Ahzidal, but his eyes, full of fear and something else Miraak couldn’t place, seemed to settle on Vahlok. Or had he imagined it?

His time to ponder was short-lived; the acolyte grabbed the dagger and rolled in time to avoid a firebolt. On the defensive, his movements were panicked, stumbling as he dodged the atronach’s attacks, but he managed to remain unscathed for a time. His luck, or skill despite his apparent floundering, appeared to reach its limit; a blast of fire burst against his shoulder, and amidst the heavy scent of smoke, Miraak caught a whiff of singed fabric and flesh.

He looked to Ahzidal who’d returned to her seat, watching her hands again grip the wood; Dufaan’s had returned to Ahzidal’s, though it didn’t have the calming effect as the first time. He remained focused on her for a time, watching her shoulders rise and fall with her shortened breaths, the anxiety and anger mingling and pulsing from her with each exhale.

The smoke of the atronach’s attacks filled the arena, irritating Miraak’s eyes and making it difficult to gauge the remaining fortitude of their prisoner, but his movements appeared far slower and more lumbering. Miraak suspected he wouldn’t survive much longer.

His eyes drifted to Vahlok, careful not to appear too obvious in his observation. The palpable excitement his partner had shown earlier was now gone, replaced with a wavering grin that stopped short of settling in his crow’s feet. Perhaps it was pity, or even sympathy; Vaazrath certainly hadn’t been a stranger to any of them, but Miraak found it difficult to feel remorse over a traitor’s death--even if it was in a manner with which he didn’t agree.

A cough interrupted his ruminations.

“This smoke,” Zahkriisos sputtered, his body involuntarily doubling over as he waved his hand in front of his face.

Miraak gave his friend a few pats on his back. “Had you only abandoned your love of the pipe earlier in life,” Miraak taunted.

The older priest coughed a few more times, rattling and disconcerting but unfortunately common, before settling back upright in his seat. “Do not doubt my efforts,” he replied. “But it offered me brief moments of tranquility in an otherwise onerous life. Rather difficult to deprive oneself of such bliss.”

After wiping away the tears brought on by his fit, Zahkriisos eyed Ahzidal a moment before leaning toward Miraak.

“Her stomach may be of iron,” he whispered, “but I do not believe her heart to be of the same.”

With a shake of his head, Miraak patted the priest’s arm, acknowledging him without indulging in Zahkriisos’s love of prattling and gossip.

Ahzidal jumped up, and the rest of the priests flinched, instinctively anticipating danger, but the only danger was Ahzidal’s potential heartache and temper.

Vaazrath lay on the ground; the atronach hovered at his feet but made no move to attack.

Her hand was raised slightly, the purple aura swimming in her palm; Vaazrath didn’t take his eyes off the atronach, and Ahzidal didn’t take hers from him. The stadium fell into a sort of stasis: Vaazrath awaiting the attack, the conjured being waiting for the command, the crowd holding its breath for whatever was to happen next, and those in podium unsure what their fellow priest, their friend, would do.

“Ahzidal?” Vahlok’s voice was a surprise to Miraak, but he remained watching the woman.

It seemed to take a moment for her to register that her name had been spoken. Her head twitched toward Vahlok, and her hand began to lift just as a familiar sensation settled in his chest.

Before he could react, a roar reverberated against the stone, and a shadow fell upon the arena. Miraak looked up, already knowing what he’d see.

---

Telyra stirred, her eyelids feeling like sandpaper as they blinked, the blurred silhouette of a dragon blocking some of the dreary, bilious light. Her palms pressed against her eyes, erasing the beast from her vision, the pressure making her aware of the headache throbbing against her temples; the pain sent her stomach rolling, and her mouth watered with the threat of vomit. As she swallowed, her mind sought to orient itself: where was she? why did her body ache? why did her throat burn?

“How do you feel?”

Her frantic thoughts slowed at the sound of his voice. Telyra’s vision remained blurred as she reached toward him, seeking an anchor, and he immediately provided it, taking her hand in his.

His form came into focus as he knelt beside her, the shadows of his face seeming deeper than usual.

“How do you feel, Telyra?” he asked again.

Pushing herself up with his welcomed help, she sat upright, the sudden shift sending a wave of pain through her head. Her hands shot up to her temples, pressing and rotating against the flesh, providing the barest sense of relief.

“My head is killing me,” she finally replied.

She looked past him, expecting to see the gray stone of the stadium and the other priests sitting nearby or become overwhelmed with the scent of iron and fire or hear the horrific sound of tearing flesh and crackling bones. Instead, she heard the whisper of Miraak’s breathing, smelled the mold one would expect to infect an abandoned library, and saw only walls made of bookshelves.

Focusing back on Miraak, a knot formed in her stomach, threads of loneliness, regret, and a longing for those lost pulling tighter as the faces of each of the priests passed in her mind. It was a heartache similar to that which plagued her whenever she thought of her father.

“Speak to me, Telyra,” Miraak said. He grasped her hands, encompassing them almost entirely. “What do you feel?”

“I… Strange,” she mumbled, glancing to the side. “I feel like I’ve just battled a dragon bare-handed.”

“And what of your mental state?”

Her gaze returned to his. “I feel this… this profound sadness and…”

Her words drifted off as she watched him, his eyes glassy and brimming with concern as they jumped back and forth between hers. His voice whispered through her head, kast. The visions shared between them as he provided her his understanding of the word resurfaced, bringing with them a renewed anguish.

“I saw you, from before.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “I felt--”

“I know.” Pain flitted across his face.

“I’m sorry--”

He squeezed her hands but remained silent as his eyes fell to their point of contact.

“How have you dealt with it for so long?” she asked.

“It has not been without difficulty,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “Sahrotaar’s company had helped a great deal, though I suffered the guilt of having led to his imprisonment alongside my own.” He looked down again. “And I have yours as well,” he said.

Despite the icy grip still holding her heart, she slipped a hand from his and placing it against his cheek and drawing his attention back to her.

“I swear,” she began, “whatever it takes, I will get you out of here.” She hoped he felt the conviction in her words. “If the Shout doesn’t work, if the Tree Stone doesn’t work, we’ll figure out something else.”

His hand covered hers, and his eyes took on a new layer of shine as he gaped at her.

She smiled. “I’ll fight Hermaeous Mora with a rusty dagger if I have to.”

A throaty chuckle passed between them, and his tearful grin sent her heart soaring. Stronger than ever was her determination, this bond of theirs, whatever it was, tighter with this shared vulnerability, this intimate insight to the trauma Miraak had endured. A part of her feared what she had accepted into her soul, but it was greatly outweighed by her desire to save him. So much had been taken from him; she would not allow this chance at freedom to be stolen away as well.

The warmth of his hand fell away. “What if this plan fails?” he asked. “How long are you willing to remain from Skyrim while Alduin wreaks havoc?”

“However long it takes,” she answered without hesitation, her own words startling her, yet she knew they held nothing but truth. Despite it being her argument in pursuing this course of action, there was no denying the conviction keeping her there. “You need me more,” she said. “Skyrim has people to defend her in the meantime.”

He seemed at a loss for words, silently blinking at her as though struggling to take in her promise.

“I need you,” she said, a blush immediately painting her cheeks and ears. “If I’m going to have a chance at saving Skyrim, I’ll need your help.”

“And I will fulfill my pledge to you,” he said, finding his voice as his own face colored.

A quiet fell between them, the weight of their words too heavy for their still-raw hearts to bear, until Telyra could take the silence no longer.

“I dreamt of them,” she said, “the other priests.”

“Oh?” Miraak stood and sat down beside her.

She nodded. “It was like I was seeing a memory directly through your eyes,” she explained. “I could understand them, though they spoke dovahzul. It was different than when you… you know.” She waved her arms between them, trying to imitate the knowledge that had been shared. “ I saw glimpses of your past, but it was as if I was a fly on the wall. I was watching you, rather than through you.”

“What occurred in your dream?” he asked, twisting his body to face her.

“You were at this stadium,” she said. “The other priests were sitting in the podium with you watching the executions.”

He hummed. “We had treated that arena as though it were an executioner’s chopping block,” he remarked. “I cared little for its desecration.”

“I noticed that,” Telyra said. “I could feel and hear every thought and emotion. It was so bizarre.”

“Do you know who we had sentenced that day?” His curiosity was evidently piqued.

“I didn’t catch who the first man was,” she replied. “But the second was a man named Vaazrath. He was Ahzidal’s partner?”

“Ah.” Miraak nodded slowly. “He had betrayed her, reported her treachery and forced her to flee her temple prior to her successfully turning it to our cause.” His head shook. “His death, while she never accepted this truth, remained with her long after.”

“I didn’t see him actually die.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “A dragon attacked before the atronach finished him off.”

Miraak leaned back, looking up as if trying to conjure an image of the past. “I had forgotten.” He thought a few moments before continuing. “More dragons had followed, coupled with ground battalions. The resulting battle had nearly left the arena in naught but dust. Vaazrath died in the chaos--it was more akin to a soldier’s death than would have been achieved in the arena.”

“Was Ahzidal going to kill him? Was she going to order the atronach to attack?”

“She never did tell us,” he said. “We had asked on numerous occasions, but she insisted it did not matter. His death was inevitable--whether by her hand or another’s.”

“You were close to her, to all of them.” It was something between a question and a statement; she’d seen for herself, but it seemed to bring him some semblance of… not quite joy, but something to speak of them.

“They had sacrificed the entirety of their livelihood,” he replied. “There was little hope for the rebellion, but the prospect had been enough to persuade them to risk their lives to escape the dragons’ oppression.” He smiled, though it was small. “You cannot have those who bestow such a great deal of trust in you without forming a bond deeper than friendship.”

[lockewrites]

It's ragweed season, and I want to die. I'm working on another prompt for Telyra and Miraak in between sneezes, but here's a small (but growing) playlist for them in the meantime 🖤

[lockewrites]

Hi! If you still taking prompts could you do; accidentally bumping noses for Mirrak X Telyra?

I'm wracking my brain to figure out how to make this work, and somehow I. Will. Do. It. But just for an idea of why I'm struggling:

She's gonna accidentally brush her nose on his nipples with that height difference xD

I will come up with a scenario to make this work, but the height difference always amuses me and I had to share, though I don't make use of it often enough

[lockewrites]

If anyone was curious, here’s a little more about two of my loves! Also, please don’t steal my Miraak artwork; it was made special just for this <3

[lockewrites]

Did some more “Get a sentence and write the next five” prompts in the Nirnwrote server; though this one we tweaked a little: gave two sentences and had ten more to write to make them work together (I cheated).

They were left with little more than candlelight and a half-empty bottle. 

Telyra smiled as her tingling fingers wrapped around the neck and brought it to her off-kilter lips, watching Miraak as he licked his thumb and forefinger before pinching the wick of the only candle that hadn't yet burned itself out. 

His head lulled to the side, the smoke billowing around them and disappearing into night air, a smile matching her own; he took the emptied bottle from her and chucked it as far as his heavy limbs would allow. "It has been so long," he slurred, "so, so long since I have indulged in such frivolities." His shoulder jostled hers as his body swayed in his attempt to roll his neck and release eons of built-up tension that clung like static in the bowels of Oblivion. "I have missed this, this feeling of... I am unsure what to call it."

"Don't think about it too hard," Telyra said, tapping Miraak's forehead with her knuckle. "You'll kill that feeling of whatever."

He wrapped an arm around her and chuckled as he lean backward, bringing them both to a lying position on the roof of his temple. "I cannot imagine losing it, not with you here." 

 With the alcohol deep in her bloodstream, her cheeks could not have reddened further, but he still sent a flutter in her gut and she smiled; nestled into the crook of his arms, she watched the stars swim in her vision, until they vanished behind eyelids too leaden to keep open. The punch of sunlight sent an ache pulsing behind her eyes as she woke up and realized something was very, very off.

[lockewrites]

Remnants of Slander

The Perfect Storm: Chapter 7

LDB x Miraak || SFW || 3102 words AO3 & FF

Telyra meets Miraak in Apocrypha with the intention of beginning to plan for his escape; instead, she’s given a history lesson.

It had been Erik’s suggestion to seek out Neloth before venturing in and out of Apocrypha.

“I know you haven’t felt any different,” he’d said, “but that can change. The more you’re in there, the more it could mess with you. Neloth might not care what happens to you, but he’ll certainly notice if anything happens to you.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

They gave the Dunmer the same line they fed the Skaal: she needed to know more before dealing with Miraak and with Mora blind to her presence, she was free to learn all she could in Apocrypha. Whether Neloth believed them, she didn’t know, but he didn’t turn her away. If anything, he was interested in the prospect of seeing first-hand the possible side effects of traveling to and from the Daedric realm so often.

Neloth provided her a room in which her body could sit comfortably while she spent time in Apocrypha and a promise that he would check her vitals and various other details he was interested in if she was gone for extended periods of time. Erik agreed to remain too--insisted actually, despite Telyra assuring him she was in good hands.

“I need to be there if anything goes wrong,” he said. “And this gives me a chance to nose through Neloth’s research. I might not understand half of it, but there could be something interesting.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” she promised.

It hadn’t been enough to convince him otherwise. She didn’t mind him being there to protect her: it gave her a sense of comfort she would never admit to since he’d never let her live that down, but it also left her with a pang of guilt. Stuck in a mushroom, sitting and reading, when she knew he wanted nothing more than to explore and properly earn his self-appointed name… but she quickly gave up the fight.

“All right,” she said, settling down on a mat on the floor. She crossed her legs and placed the black book on her lap. “Wish me luck.”

Erik leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched her with a forced smile. It disappeared just as she opened the book and the no-longer-shocking but no-less-disgusting tentacles swallowed her.

A harsh grunt escaped her as she landed on all fours on the familiar platform. Just as she had during previous visits, she heard the faint beating she knew to be wings. With little else to do, Telyra paced, switching between cracking her knuckles and playing with a conjured flame on her fingertips. Despite what assurance she gave Erik, a stone seemed to have settled in her gut, flipping with each passing moment as she waited for Miraak to arrive.

She expected her mind to be racing, bubbling over with thoughts and worries, but there was nothing but a constant hum. And a suffocating anticipation.

The wings had grown far louder and created several gusts of wind that whipped her hair around, the ends stinging as they caught her cheeks. His dragon finally landed, settling down several feet from her and causing the platform to whine with its weight.

“Mal dovahkiin,” Miraak said as he dismounted.

With her lips pursed, she said, “I have a name.”

He chuckled. “I am aware.”

Miraak approached her and held out his hand; she grasped his forearm as he did the same.

“I was not expecting your presence so soon,” he remarked, face still hidden behind that infuriating mask. “But I cannot say I am disappointed.”

Telrya shrugged. “Seemed there was no point in drawing this out. I want off this dreary island as soon as possible. And Alduin is still an issue.” She bit back a comment about Miraak being the reason she had to deal with the dragon in the first place.

His head tilted as he seemed to regard her. “You could have simply slain me that day on the beach,” he said. “That would have been the end to all of this, and you would have been free to return to Skyrim. Yet you allowed me to live. Your remaining here is your doing.”

She let her head fall back and sighed. “Yes, and I’m well aware that by not only letting you live but also agreeing to help you escape has only made things even more difficult for me.” With a roll of her eyes, she added, “I’ve already received this lecture from my friend.”

“Erik,” Miraak said.

Telyra nodded briefly before crossing her arms. “You’ll say his name, but not mine?”

Rather than offer an answer, Miraak asked, “My power aids me in hiding from Mora’s gaze. How will you do the same?”

She pulled the amulet from beneath her tunic. “I’m hoping this’ll work,” she said. “It was given to me by the Skaal. They still think I’m here to kill you.”

He didn’t acknowledge her words beyond a simple nod. He held his arm out and gestured toward his dragon. “I have established something akin to quarters here,” he explained. “Would you be so kind as to join me? There is little to be done here.”

Her eyes bounced between Miraak and the cerulean dragon. “You want me to ride that?”

Again, he tilted his head. “You have seen me do so on multiple occasions,” he replied. “Unless you would prefer to swim.”

She glanced down, looking at the putrid slime through the gaps in the floor, and sighed. “Fine.”

The dragon watched her step toward him, sniffing the air that wafted from her.

“Um, hi.” Telyra gave an awkward wave.

The serpentine dipped his head. “I am Sahrotaar.”

“Telyra,” she said. “May I…?”

His belly pressed into the ground, granting her permission to climb onto his back, but even with his lowered stance, the stirrup was too high.

Miraak moved beside her and clasped his fingers together, squatting slightly. “I would rather not watch you struggle,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You’re all sorts of snarky today,” she remarked, quickly balancing her foot in his palm before he had the chance to retract his help.

Sahrotaar let out something that sounded like a snort.

Miraak chuckled as he hoisted her up. “I am simply eager to begin.”

After she settled into the saddle, Miraak pulled himself up and did the same, leaving her little room on the seat.

“This definitely wasn’t made for two people,” she muttered.

“No,” he said, “it was not.”

His torso pressed into her back as he reached forward and took the reins. She felt his legs kick at Sahrotaar’s side before relaxing against hers; the situation felt well beyond strange. Her hands scrambled to grasp the front end of the saddle, seeking anything for purchase as soon as the dragon pushed off the ground.

A sigh was released behind her. “I will not allow you to fall,” he said, his arms squeezing closer to hers.

Despite his promise, her stomach seized in fear, but she swallowed down the nausea. To keep from thinking of slipping off and landing in the green sea, Telyra stared ahead and focused on the wind that whipped past them, the colors melding into one in her peripheral vision, the sturdy arms and legs that held her in place, the warmth he provided even against the chill that came with the breeze moving at such high speeds.

Each deep breath in seemed to settle her nerves, and as the rigidity of her body relaxed, so did Miraak’s grip.

“This is actually amazing,” she breathed.

Her eyes fell on the reins, watching Miraak’s hands remain in place, not bothering to direct Sahrotaar. Eras of traveling to and from the same location, and one didn’t often need directions. She wondered if Miraak would ever allow her to take control, guide his dragon wherever she wanted if they ever managed to get him and Miraak out of here. Flying over Solstheim, over Skyrim, over the mountains and seas… She couldn’t wait to tell Erik; he’d tell her it was stupid to agree to something so dangerous, but there’d be an inkling of jealousy.

Their journey came to end, much to Telyra’s disappointment. Once the fear of being airborne passed, she was elated, but the dragon descended and landed in an area that looked nearly identical to where she’d originally appeared.

Miraak slid down from behind her and held out his hand to help her do the same.

“Such a gentleman,” she remarked as she took it and jumped down beside him.

He gave something between a huff and a hum before moving to undo Sahrotaar’s saddle.

She watched as he reached up and around and under and expertly unclasped every hook, with Sarhotaar leaning this way and that to help, until finally the contraption landed with a heavy thud.

Now free, the dragon stretched its wings before pushing the saddle away and curling into a ball to rest. The action seemed far too endearing for something as dangerous as a dragon.

Miraak walked past Telyra and gestured for her to follow. He led her through an iron door, similar to ones she’d seen elsewhere in the realm, and down a corridor made of endless columns of tattered books. Just as any other time she’d seen these, she felt a strong urge to pull one of the books out, just to see if everything would come crumbling down. Several seekers wandered the hall, keeping watch but paying them no mind; a stark contrast to her original encounter with them.

He stopped suddenly and faced a solid wall. Before Telyra could question anything, he pressed his hand against the surface; a bright light emanated from his palm, and the wall began to shimmer before disappearing entirely. It revealed a large room that looked to be Apocrypha’s equivalent to a study.

With a flourish of his hand, he beckoned her forward before stepping through himself and resuming the illusion.

Her eyes scanned the room. Shelves and piles of books, very unlike the ones that made up the walls, were scattered around, many with tabs of notes sticking out. And there were lights everywhere, noticeably brighter than those that littered the realm and provided just enough to see one’s next step forward. Several tables stood in front of the bookshelves, many holding even more books but also stacks of notes. And in the center was a low seat that looked to be made of thousands upon thousands of sheets of paper. Telyra gaped, admiring how he’d manage to make even the dreariest of realms something close to cozy.

“Well,” he said, startling her, “shall we begin?”

They walked forward in tandem, Telyra stopping at the first pile of books and grabbing the one on top. “The Doors of Oblivion,” she read. She flipped through the heavily marked and dog-eared pages. “Anything useful?”

“No,” he replied from a different table. “The author’s master spent time here, but his experience offered me no solution.”

“Then why so many notes?”

“I noted any instance of Apocrypha’s or Mora’s mention,” he explained. “I had hoped being able to return to it at a later time would allow me insight I may have missed during my first read.”

“Oh.” She returned the book to the pile and looked around the room once more. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw him mirror her movements.

“Is it safe to assume you will not allow me to make use of the All-Maker stones once more?” he asked, his tone hinting that he already knew the answer.

Telyra merely scoffed. “Not by enslaving people.”

“The Tree Stone remains under my control,” he began. “I believe that can serve a purpose in my return. We will need to discover a means of amplifying its power without the remaining stones, however. And those that are building it are not under any illusion.” He quickly added the last part at her glare.

“Your cultists, you mean,” she said. “And they’re just willingly following your command?” With a tilt of her head, she crossed her arms.

“It is rather easy to garner followers with a simple display of power,” he explained. “You could do the same.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have Erik following me. I don’t need any more lives in my hands.”

Miraak stepped around the table and stood in front of the nearby bookshelf. His hand ran along the spines of each book. “With a mass at your command comes power. And with power, you are able to right what you believe to be wrong, whether on as large a scale as the world, or as small as a mere village.” He pulled out one of the books. “With enough power, you need not worry about anyone stepping in the way of your plans. Such as destroying Alduin. I imagine the civil war occurring in Skyrim will complicate matters.”

“That sounds like an abuse of power,” she said. “Like tyranny.”

“Not a poor word choice,” he admitted, “but is that so wrong?”

“No one person should have all of the power,” she retorted, furrowing her brow.

“And why not?” He turned to look at her. “Do you not know right from wrong? Would you not do all you could to ensure your people prospered? That nothing posed a threat to those you loved?”

“Doesn’t every tyrant sustain themselves on the belief that they’re doing what’s right?” she asked. “That only they know what’s best?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, “but within their actions, one can see the nature of their intent. And if such a person were allowed to rise to a level of power in which they could not be removed despite their acting in self-interest, then do the people who did nothing to stop them not deserve their fate?”

She frowned, watching him as he moved to the center of the room. “Not everyone can see below the surface.”

“I suppose that is the risk you take when placing your trust in others,” Miraak said before settling down on the sofa-like structure.

“They say you were a cruel tyrant,” she remarked, grabbing a random book and sitting beside him. “Only interested in gaining the power the dragons held over you so you could do the same with your followers.” She watched for any reaction, but he offered none but the flip of a page.

“History is not often kind to those that have lost.” His words were in monotone, like it’d been a thought he held often and grew tired of. He turned to her and sighed when he found her still staring at him. “You are going to request further detail.”

Not a question, but she nodded regardless.

Miraak closed his book and set it on his lap. “Such as?”

Pursing her lips, she thought a moment. “I guess the basic question would be: Why? Why do they call you a tyrant if you weren’t?”

“By its definition, I was,” he retorted. “At least, in the end. But there was no technicality in their purpose for use of that word; it was used simply to tarnish my name because, as you just confirmed, it is often associated with cruelty and ill intent.”

She opened her mouth to ask what he’d meant by ‘in the end,’ but he continued before she had the chance.

“I had amassed an impressive grouping of followers, and given that I had done the impossible and sought freedom from our dragon oppressors, they very rarely questioned my orders.” His head fell back against the seat as he continued. “Perhaps looking from the outside in, it appeared as though I was a cruel tyrant, as they said. It seemed I sent my people to their deaths for the sole purpose of retaining my power. While I could not allow the possibility of relinquishing what I had gained, it was not simply for the sake of holding such power. Power without purpose means nothing. I needed to remain strong so my people could be free.

“And when the prospect of freedom lies solely in the hands of a single man,” he continued, “one of the simplest means of discouraging people from seeking to join such a movement is to discredit that man. A leader whose supposed cruelty is unfamiliar is often less preferable to one you already know.”

Telyra sat and listened, her mouth partially agape as his words settled in her mind, furthering her belief that she had, in fact, made the right decision to help him. Assuming he wasn’t lying, but she felt the honesty in his words, the faintest hint of hurt.

“History is not wrong to call me a tyrant,” Miraak said. “But I was never cruel to my people.”

“What did you mean when you said ‘at least, in the end’?”

His head turned just slightly to glance at her before returning to stare up toward the endlessly high walls of books. Silence hung between them, but it was impossible to know his thoughts when hidden behind his mask.

Finally, he sighed. “I was betrayed,” he explained. “Betrayed by someone I believed to be a very dear friend. After his leaving, I did not allow anyone to share in my power for fear of further infiltration. But the damage had already been done, and despite my efforts in ensuring his treachery would not benefit the dragons, he used what he had learned to end my rebellion.”

“Vahlok,” she said. “The ‘Guardian.’”

His head turned toward her. “You have read the book.”

Telyra nodded as a blush settled in her face.

“The Guardian and the Traitor,” he spat. “I do not fault the author for the lies he had been fed, but it does pain me to read such things and to know that others have as well, only serving to further the slander cast upon my name.”

“If it’s any consolation,” she said, feeling a touch of guilt for having read the book, “I’m more inclined to believe your version.” She smiled and began listing things on her fingers. “Despite the mind control, and the stealing of my dragon souls, and believing tyranny is okay if done for the right reasons, and attacking me the first time we met.”

He gave a soft laugh, ending it with an amused hum before returning to the book on his lap. “You remind me of him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I hope that’s not you saying you’re expecting me to turn on you.”

“I always suspect such things,” he admitted. “But no, it is not that aspect of him that you bring to mind.”

[lockewrites]

Skirting the Truth

The Perfect Storm: Chapter 6

LDB x Miraak || SFW || 1552 words AO3 & FF

Telyra returns from Apocrypha just in time to find Storn in Mora’s slimy clutches.

She shoved through the front door and into the bitter cold of the Skaal village. Many were gathered around the center, watching helplessly as Mora held Storn captive in his tentacles’ grasp and aimed one at the shaman’s head. The sound of the wood smashing against the house startled the villagers and drew Mora’s attention. 

Telyra saw his grip slacken just slightly, and with a deep breath, she Shouted, “WULD!” Her body flew forward, toes barely grazing the top of the snow, and she wrapped her arms around Storn, pulling him from Mora’s tendrils and falling in a pile several feet away.

“Fool!” Mora fumed. 

“What are you doing?” Frea shouted as she ran toward them.

Erik also rushed at them, helping Storn up while holding a hand out to Frea, silently requesting her silence.

The Dragonborn pushed herself to her feet and turned toward the mass of eyes and tentacles. “Leave!” she ordered. “The deal’s off.” 

“Without this knowledge, I will not gift you the final Word!” he hissed. His voice softened in his next words, returning to the lulling tone he seemed to favor. “Will you so easily allow an entire island to fall victim to Miraak simply to save the secrets of a minuscule village?”

The eyes of every village bored into her, she could feel it, the village as a whole holding its breath, waiting for her next words. 

“I will save Solstheim without your ‘help,’” Telyra declared. 

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “You have no hope of doing so,” he replied. “And when you realize that, you will return to me, and my aid will be at a much greater cost.”

“We’ll see.”

Again, his laugh rumbled, echoing as his physical embodiment disappeared.

Erik moved to stand beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Is everything… as expected?”

She nodded and smiled. Her attention turned to Storn who watched her with cautious curiosity. “I’m sorry for not being honest with you,” she said, her cheeks warming. “I needed to be sure Mora wouldn’t suspect anything.”

“I trust you have a plan, Dragonborn,” Storn said. “I am unsure how else to acquire the remaining Word of Power without Herma-Mora.”

“I have it,” she said, leaving out that she didn’t, in fact, need it. “While Mora was distracted, I was able to reach parts of Apocrypha he normally kept hidden.”

“You used my father as bait?” Frea asked, standing beside Storn.

“I’m so sorry,” Telyra repeated. “I know it was a risk, but I’m not sure the result would’ve been different if I failed or went along with what Mora wanted.”

Frea crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. “I do not approve of such methods.”

Storn placed an arm on his daughter’s. “Frea, calm yourself. I believe the Dragonborn is right. Herma-Mora had no intention of allowing me to live after claiming our knowledge for his own." He turned to Telyra. "What is your next step?"

She bit her lip, regretting not having a lie in place. 

Erik put an arm around her. "That's part of what we need to figure out," he replied for her. "Even with the third Word, Miraak is dangerous."

Storn nodded. "That is true. We are here for any counsel you may require," he said.

"Thank you." She nodded to Storn before glancing at Erik and smiling as he removed his arm.

Frea gave a short nod as well. "I will still accompany you to anywhere you request. You need only ask." She turned to her father. "We will need to resume our ward. I do not believe Mora will simply accept the denial of our secrets."

"Yes," he said. "We will prepare the ritual once more. In the meantime, do you need anything more from us, Dragonborn?"

Telyra thought a moment. "I'd like to return to Apocrypha and see what else I can learn." She held up a hand as Frea opened her mouth to speak. "I know it's dangerous, but as Erik said, I need to be better prepared before going after Miraak."

Frea frowned as she replied, "I am unsure how we would be able to assist in that."

"Is it possible," Telyra began, "to take the magic from the ritual and, I don't know, somehow use that to hide me from Mora while in Apocrypha?"

Storn held his chin in thought, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I don't think Mora would take you as bait a second time," she said, filling the uncomfortable silence.

He let out the quietest of sighs before speaking to Frea. "Bring me the amulet from my chest."

"Father," she replied, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. "Are you sure of this?"

"Please, do as I ask."

She nodded before heading toward Storn's home.

"Forgive her cautious nature," he said. "She holds our traditions and knowledge as tightly as myself. To give such things freely is difficult."

Telyra's stomach flipped, and her cheeks burned even in the cold. "I understand," she replied, trying to ignore feeling as though she were abusing their generosity.

Erik reached out and gave her shoulder a light squeeze, apparently sensing her unease.

Frea returned soon after, delicately carrying an ornate jewelry box. She handed it to Storn, still appearing apprehensive.

He opened it and removed the necklace inside, holding it out toward Telyra. "This amulet has been with our tribe for generations," he explained. "Never before has its use been allowed by an outsider. The magic within is near as powerful as the ritual we use for protection."

Eyes wide, Telyra accepted it, carefully pulling it over her head and tucking it under her robes.

"I believe it will serve you well," he continued. "May it keep you from Mora's gaze."

"I can't thank you enough for this," she muttered, her voice a near-whisper. "I swear I'll return this once Miraak is taken care of." She held her hand out, solidifying her promise with a handshake.

"Thank you, Dragonborn," Storn said. "Where do your plans take you now?"

"I think to the tavern," she replied with a smile. "I may not have been gone long here, but that time in Apocrypha felt like hours."

He nodded. "Understood. May the All-Maker watch over you and your companion as you continue on your quest to defeat Miraak."

She smiled again. "And I hope your All-Maker keeps you safe as well."

The journey back to Raven Rock was quick and quiet, perfect for stewing in the thoughts Telyra found bouncing around her mind. With the Skaal amulet, speaking with Miraak should be safe… relatively. And she wondered when she should return; though the idea of simply appearing whenever felt rude. She snorted to herself as they entered the tavern.

The two sat at their usual table which was strangely almost always empty when they arrived.

"So," Erik began just as the server walked away, "what happened?"

"I showed up and gave him my offer," she said with a shrug. 

"And he just took it?"

Telyra nodded then tilted her head. "Well, he was suspicious at first," she explained. "But he seemed to believe me. He gave the last Word of that Shout Mora promised as a sign of good faith."

His eyebrows shot upward. "I thought you were lying about having it," he said. "He really just gave it to you?"

She nodded before her eyes widened, the weight of the gesture finally settling in her stomach. "He did," she muttered.

"Wow, that's… something."

The server brought their food and drinks, giving a brief, "Here you go," before heading to the next table.

Erik was quick to dig in, but Telyra remained still, her hands resting in her lap as she stared at her drink without really seeing it. Her plate moved closer to her, and she looked up to see Erik pushing it with his fork.

"You all right?" he asked.

She blinked. "Yeah. Yes." Picking up her fork, she stabbed one of the roasted ash yams and brought it to her mouth. "I guess it's just… I don't know," she spoke between bites. "What have I gotten myself into?"

With a snort, Erik swallowed his bite. "You've made this so much more complicated for yourself," he remarked, his smile a contrast to his words. "But I understand--well, sort of." He ate another forkful before continuing. "Someone with more sense would tell you to take advantage of the situation. You've obviously earned his trust. Using that, you have the advantage of surprise. You almost beat him once, that could be enough to end this for good."

Telyra stared at him, even as his eyes remained on his food and his words were spoken as if they were a mere comment on the quality of his meat. 

He finally looked up at her and, upon seeing her expression, held up his free hand. "But," he dragged out, "I know better than to think I have enough sense to tell you that." He pointed at her with his fork holding a chunk of steak. "And I know that, even if I did, you wouldn't listen."

Telyra sighed and took a bite of her food.

"I'm only teasing," he said. "I get it. This is what you feel you need to do."

She swallowed and smiled at him. "It is."

[lockewrites]

Headcannon Game :DD

Who will do non-stop puns? (And can I meet them I love puns)

This was actually a really hard one for me to figure out because I don’t think in puns, and therefore, my characters don’t (because that would involve me being able to do so xD) BUT if there was one to constantly make puns, it would likely be Telyra. Mostly because I can see Miraak being the sort to get annoyed by them, and she’d be one to do anything to push his buttons, however minute.

I don’t include enough light-heartedness in anything I write; maybe this is my sign to let Telyra be silly :))

[lockewrites]

Does Telyra do embarrassing siblings things to Erik? Like randomly smacking his ass or face then running as fast as she can in order to escape his wrath?

She absolutely did. Her favorite was embarrassing him whenever someone their age visited town and he took a liking to them; she’d tell embarrassing stories from when they were younger, like how he once landed face first in a cow patty after trying to ride on one of them (that was her favorite).

He’d get his revenge through the same means. She once accidentally passed gas in front of company, and her knee-jerk reaction was to blame the dog; however, said dog had died the previous year. So whenever there was a rank smell, he’d ask if it was her fault or their ghost dog.

(I picture them having the same energy of Ruffnut and Tuffnut from HTTYD, but with a little less dumbassery).

[lockewrites]

How long did Telyra know Erik the Slayer for? (Also, love your works <3)

Telyra has known Erik her entire life, literally - she was born in Rorikstead, and Erik’s father, Mralki was there assisting her parents and the midwife during childbirth. Erik was two at the time and got to meet her as soon as everything settled down. 

After Telyra’s mother left (for reasons not yet known), and with Erik’s mother having passed shortly after his birth, the two fathers acted as parents to both, raising them like brother and sister. The two got along better than most biological siblings, but they still had their spats and caused a fair bit of stress for their fathers.

(And thank you! I’m so happy to hear others enjoying them!!)