And So The Eagle Conquered 016 (Patreon)

The celebrations had lasted a full three days once they began. Three days of feasting, of drinking oceans of wine and rivers of mead while gorging on boar and dear and mammoth. A significant expense, even for a Hold as financially secure as Whiterun was, but one that was well worth it. A display of power on the jarl’s part, as much as slaying the dragon had been on the part of the Valerian. A display that reinforced the loyalty of his people, gave them feelings of both gratitude and appreciation, even of being appreciated. An impromptu tournament was held, with wrestling and horse races and duels aplenty, the games to go along with the bread of the feasting.

And the fucking, of course. If I hadn’t known better -and I did, because I’d kept my eyes open for a ‘Sam Guevenne’ in the rare moments I wasn’t busy celebrating myself- I’d have been positive that Sanguine was helping move things along, but frankly I don’t think his ‘help’ was needed. Under the circumstances, the people didn’t need much encouragement to let themselves go. And neither did I, which was why I was currently, for the third time tonight and probably the dozenth time in forty-eight hours- buried balls deep in Cassandra’s tight, hot, thoroughly messy cunt.

Vampiric stamina was one hell of a thing, potent and powerful and useful for far more than just slaughtering my enemies, but my lover -and after this many encounters, I very much considered her my lover, in spite of her continued insistence it was nothing more than a ‘bit of fun’- seemed to have taken that stamina and was nothing less that determined to outmatch it.

She hadn’t managed yet, but by the gods was she giving it her best shot.

And by the gods did she looked nothing short of exquisite like this, on her hands and knees in the middle of my bed, her scar-littered, well-muscled body glistening in the low light from a mix of sweat and our cum, chewing her way through the strip of leather I’d more-or-less gagged her with to keep the entirety of Dragonsreach from hearing us fucking.

While I wouldn’t necessarily care, in fact I’d be pleased to have people know I’d managed to seduce such a fine woman, it would be less than advantageous for either of us politically speaking. On her part, it would look like she was whoring herself out to lead me by the cock into supporting Elisif and the Empire, and on mine it would look like it was working.

Neither of us was deluded enough to believe that my speech, or her reputation, would be sufficient to convince the rumor-mongers and nay-sayers otherwise, and so our trysts were kept secret and relatively silent. Something helped along by how damned drunk and distracted everyone was.

So here we were, with one of my hands tangled in her hair and pressing her face into the mattress, the other holding her hip firmly and digging into her skin as we each drove our hips together in a frenzy of pleasure.

“Look at you.” I growled, leaning over her back to press my lips to the pale mark of a particularly impressive wound, praising her with my actions even as I teased her with my words. “The fierce and famed Cassandra Rikke, hero of the Great War and Legate of Skyrim, a trembling and wanton woman tearing up my sheets and clenching around my cock. Magnificent.”

She made a muffled sound around the leather, half-snarl and half-moan, and shoved her hips back against me hard enough that the bed frame groaned in protest. In response, I gave her a sharp, hard spank -enjoying the sound that resulted from both her flesh and her throat- before kneading her ass.

“Careful, there.” I murmured against her shoulder blade, the words -my breath- ghosting over skin slick with sweat and sending her shivering again. “Keep that up and you’ll have the bed in pieces, and then we’ll have to try and explain to the Jarl’s steward exactly why the Dragonborn’s guest quarters look like a dragon visited them. And who was with me when it happened.”

The glare she shot me over her shoulder was a thing of beauty, all heat and challenge and thoroughly-fucked indignation, her hazel eyes glassy and half-lidded above the leather strap. It lost a fair bit of its edge when I shifted my angle of ‘attack’, hitting a spot inside her that I’d learned she was particularly appreciative of, and her eyes rolled back as her whole body shook in a way that could only be described as ‘sensually violent’, as absurd a description as that was. The sound that tore its way out of her throat was muffled by the gag but no less obscene for it, as much an invitation and expression of approval as it was some sort of complaint or threat.

A hollow threat or complaint, to be sure, but something vaguely along those lines all the same.

For my part, I took it as encouragement -which she very well could have intended, given what I’d learned about her personality when it came to sex- and opted to respond by setting a pace that left no room for further commentary or discussion from either of us.

The next several minutes were a blur of pleasure, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet, utterly filthy sounds of her being filled and empty over and over and over again, all beneath a haze of sex-scent. And all punctuated by the sounds that she was making, the sounds that she couldn’t or wouldn’t entirely swallow.

Before long, I felt her start to tighten around me, felt that tell-tale flutter and clench that told me she was close. Tightening my grip on her hair I hauled her upright, her back arching against my chest, and my right hand ghosted across her hip and stomach to find her swollen clit. A pinch-and-rub was more than enough to send her over the edge, her head thrown back against my shoulder and her nails raking lines in my skin as she clung to my thigh and right arm.

I followed her a few pounding heartbeats later with a groan that I muffled in the curve where her shoulder met her neck, resisting the urge to bite and feed on her throbbing pulse as she worked to milk me of everything that I had to offer her, and for a long moment after neither of us did anything but breath and bask in the afterglow of good sex.

When I finally eased my grip on her hair, she sagged forward onto her forearms, soft sounds spilling from both of us. I caught the strip of leather as it fell from her mouth, damp and chewed nearly through, and held it up for her inspection with an arched brow and a lascivious grin as she rolled onto her back to look up at me. Seeing what I was holding, and the expression on my face, she glowered with a rosy blush that was only partially due to pleasure and exertion.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” she warned, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the breathlessness of it, and by the way her magnificent chest still heaved with every ragged draw of air. “I swear by the Nine, Constantine, if you make some smart-mouthed comment, I’ll find a way to make you regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, not even for a moment.” I lied cheerfully and blatantly, dropping the ruined strap onto the nightstand and sprawling out alongside her, one arm folding behind my head as I surveyed the wreckage atop the bed. We had, by some miracle, left the frame intact. The sheets were another matter entirely. Well, those could be easily replaced, and it's not as if the staff wouldn’t be used to doing so given how many people in Dragonsreach had been fucking like particularly enthusiastic rabbits. “Though I’ll admit I’m a little concerned about the Jarl’s steward finding that, come morning. Perhaps I ought to bury it in the garden, or incinerate it. Or do you think I’ll be able to pass it off as a chew toy for some energetic hound? A bitch that likes to be mounted, perhaps?”

She swung a well-deserved pillow at my head with both impressive speed and force, and I blocked it with my forearm while laughing softly, which only seemed to irritate her further. The resulting huff was a beautiful thing, all wounded dignity from a woman who was currently sprawled naked and thoroughly debauched across my sheets with sweat-dampened hair spread across the bed.

“You are,” she informed me, with all the wrung-out wrathful weight that she could muster, which to be frank wasn’t much at all. “the most insufferable man I have ever had the misfortune to take to bed.”

“Mmh, and yet you keep returning to my bed, don’t you?” I pointed out, as though butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, rolling onto my side to watch her while tracing a lazy fingertip along the curve of her throat, enjoying the way she swallowed reflexively at the touch. “Enthusiastically at that. And after being so insistent that we were only ever going to have a bit of fun and nothing more. A man might start to wonder if you were lying to him. Or to yourself, hmm?”

“A man can wonder whatever he pleases, and be wrong about all of them and more.” she retorted with another roll of her eyes, though she didn’t move away nor bat at my hand, and I would swear that the corners of her mouth were curling up a bit as well. Not that she’d ever admit it if I pointed it out, of course, and as surprised -and pleased, to be sure- as I was with her apparent affection for me, I wasn’t foolish enough to think that I could tease her too much without risking doing real damage to our relationship.

Whatever that relationship was and could eventually become.

Instead, I opted for giving her a firm, deep kiss and pulling her somewhat against my side, preening a bit internally as she curled ever-so-slightly against me without so much as a sound of protest. I was glad for that. She and I would be getting separated for another, for gods only know how long, very soon indeed. She’d be escorting Elisif back to Solitude and returning to helping lead the Ninth Legion, while I’d be heading for the Greybeards and then -more than likely, given how close her prison was to Ustengrav- rescuing Serana.

It could, quite possibly, be months before I saw Cassandra again, and it was equally possible that the reason she was being so overwhelmingly affectionate right now was because she wasn’t entirely ‘on duty’. Something that wouldn’t be the case once she had returned to Castle Dour, and so our time together here in Whiterun could be a spectacular last hurrah.

I found myself…rather unhappy with the prospect, but prospect or not, I was going to enjoy what I had for as long as I could. So, we lay there, the (muffled) sounds of the celebrations managing to filter through the stone in spite of the distance and insulation the wall provided, and enjoyed one another’s company in a way very different -but no less intimate- than we had been not so very long before. Cassandra’s fingers were tracing idle patterns on my skin, tracing my scars, as we listened to someone somewhere below us absolutely butcher ‘Ragnar the Red’. Enthusiasm helped, but the lack of skill was certainly blatant, not that anyone else seemed to care, given the drunken cheering and ‘assistance’ he was receiving from the crowd at large.

“So…a vampire and a Dragonborn. How did all of that happen?” she finally said, after several minutes, her tone a question that was both skeptical and a bit over-polite, and I huffed a soft laugh as I considered how best to answer.

In the immediate aftermath of the fight with Mirmulnir, as injured and as drained as I’d been, I’d needed to feed, and the Circle members who had participated in the fight had known it. Likewise, it had been incredibly obvious to Balgruuf and Irileth that I wasn’t a normal human, even by the standards of this world. I’d decided that honesty was the best policy, -especially while everyone was riding high on victory, survival, and the knowledge I was Dragonborn- and revealed much. Not all, of course, there were some things I would likely never reveal and some things that I wasn’t even sure of now, jumbled as my memories sometimes still were, but much all the same.

Such as my nature, and my age, but Rikke deserved more than the brief and somewhat-impersonal overview that she had received alongside certain prominent others like Elisif or Kodlak.

“I can’t speak to why Akatosh chose me to be Dragonborn, but the vampire piece is easy enough. You know, of course, that I was born during the Oblivion Crisis, or perhaps immediately before. I grew up with a friend of my parents’, Avita, outside of Chorrol. We didn’t have the most exciting life, but we never wanted for anything, and she was always full of praise for my parents. Said they died as heroes during the Crisis, but she always said that anything more than that, she’d tell me when I was ready.”

“But she died before she had the chance?” Cassandra guessed, and I shook my head, though I could definitely understand where that assumption would come from. It was a common cliche, after all, and art damn well tended to imitate life.

“No, I did. Well, not quite, given I’m obviously alive, but no. I was turned.” I responded, waving a hand around vaguely to indicate being ‘out there’. “I’d started travelling Cyrodiil, adventuring a bit. She wouldn’t let me join the Legion, insisted against it really, so I was something of a wandering mercenary, I suppose. Fought bandits, that sort of thing. Ended up meeting a woman, a beautiful alchemist named Kyra. We started seeing one another, often, and I was…very fond of her. Fortunately for me, she was fond of me as well, more fond than she perhaps ought to have been. Because she was actually a vampire, a pureblood descended from Lamae Bal herself. One who was truly named Linea and instead of killing me, or breaking my mind, she turned me.”

“Turned you…” she made a face at the words, like she didn’t appreciate the way they felt on her tongue, despite their accuracy. I couldn’t blame her for that, I supposed, nor was I inclined to try. “It sounds so…benign, especially the way that you said it. It not as pleasant as all that, from what I’ve been told. It involves a disease of some kind, doesn’t it?”

“Only for lesser vampires, the kind that are more dead than alive.” I denied, getting a querying noise, and I wondered briefly at a Legate of an Imperial Legion not knowing the difference. Then again, purebloods didn’t exactly go advertising themselves as being vampires, certainly not since the Oblivion Crisis. A more intelligent and cunning sort, were we. “Purebloods, like Linea and I, are people who were either turned by Molag Bal himself, or created by a pureblood who was, with the specific intention of creating another pureblood. Its rare, incredibly rare, because we can’t be enthralled to our creators the way a lesser vampire can. That means that every pureblood born is an immediate potential rival and threat to their creator and his or her powerbase.”

“And I’m guessing the lesser vampires are, what, people who are turned without that intention?” she guessed, and I nodded in confirmation. She frowned thoughtfully, before looking up at me with an unsure expression, one that told me she planned to ask an uncomfortable question long before she actually figured out how to speak the words. “And…when you say created by Molag Bal, you mean…?

“I mean that he rapes them. For female purebloods, anyway. ‘Daughters of Coldharbor’, they’re called. If they survive the ‘ritual’,” I say the word like its a curse, an invective, which honestly it was under given the context. “that is. Most don’t. Males, on the other hands, usually earn his favor with sacrifices and service. Most commonly offering up the women in their family for his enjoyment, of course.”

“That…” she ground the words out through gritted teeth. “Is one of the most vile things that I have ever heard, which is certainly saying something.” she shook her head angrily, disgustedly, and I could only imagine what she would say -or do- to Harkon if she ever met the fucker. Somewhat determinedly, likely in an attempt to keep the mood from souring entirely, she changed the subject slightly. “At any rate, I’ve fought vampires before, more than a few times over my career. I had no idea, and never really considered, where any of them might have come from.”

“Most people don’t think about it, nor would they have a reason to care. Most vampires are monsters, lesser or pureblood alike, and why would you try to learn the backstory of the predator trying to make you it’s next meal?” I shrugged as best I could in my position, my tone philosophical, and she huffed softly in understanding and agreement. The room was silent for several long moments, long enough that I might have thought she’d fallen asleep if I couldn’t hear her breathing hadn’t changed.

“Would you…like to feed from me?” she finally asked, almost shyly, and I could have sworn my heart stopped in my chest at the words. An offer I never would have expected, a request I likely never would have made, and a temptation that was painfully strong.

“You don’t need to force yourself…” I responded slowly, trying not to show just how much I wanted to taste her in a way altogether different from how I had done so before. “I fed from that prisoner, I’m hardly starving.”

And it was true. There had been a condemned man in Whiterun’s cells, a bandit with a laundry list of crimes, and Balgruuf had offered him to me as a meal to help heal and regain my strength from fighting Mirmulnir. I hadn’t drained him entirely to death, both out of personal preference and because people would ask questions if he disappeared before his execution, but he certainly wasn’t particularly healthy anymore. And I, as a result, was well-fed.

“I’m not forcing myself, thank you kindly.” she replied quickly, and a little tartly, her eyes narrowing slightly in my direction, and I grinned with sheepish charm in response, earning myself a bit more narrowing. “I’m more than familiar with fear, Constantine, and what it feels like, and that’s not what I’m feeling now. I trust you not to hurt me, or kill me, or turn me without my permission. That’s not the sort of man you are. The only thing I’m nervous about is how it will feel and how obvious the marks will be.”

“Neither will be an issue, if we don’t want them to be. I can make the bite feel as good as you could possibly ask for, and while a vampire’s bites are resistant to instantaneous magical healing, I can feed from somewhere your armor will hide without trouble.” I explained, though whether I was trying to reassure her, convince her, or do something else entirely I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Then the only thing left to decide,” she said, gesturing to herself, cheeks pink.”is where.”

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“And you’re sure you want to travel alone?” Balgruuf asked, two days later, as we stood on Dragonsreach’s balcony and watched the caravan escorting Elisif back to Solitude steadily make it’s way north. Parting from Cassandra and Elisif hadn’t been easy, and my sisters had been heartbroken to see the beautiful blonde they had become so fond of leave, but it was both necessary and for the best. For the time being, at least, Whiterun needed to be -and should be- neutral, and while the bonds of kinship between Elisif and Balgruuf were both undeniable and bought a great deal of leeway, especially in the face of Helgen’s destruction, there was no point in giving anyone enterprising and stupid an opportunity to try and ‘win the war’ for the Stormcloaks by taking a shot at her. Or, for that matter, risking upsetting the very delicate balance that currently existed in Skyrim.

As for the jarl’s question…

“Yes. You need time to select my huskarl and collect the volunteers who might want to travel with me. That will take you time, and I can travel far faster alone than I can with men and women in my company that lack my abilities.” I responded, letting my enhanced eyes linger on the two women guiding their mounts side by side, before glancing over at him and smiling a bit wryly. “Frankly, my jarl, I don’t need a retinue to simply speak with the Greybeards and ask for their guidance. I can be there in a matter of three days, perhaps less if I decide to eschew the road and travel more vertically, and in times like these speed is vital.”

“Hmph. Fair enough. I won’t disagree that haste in necessary under the circumstances, at least in this instance, though I did find it galling that the man who saved my life -and my city, it’s people- will be going entirely unescorted. Never mind the fact that you’re the Dragonborn of legend. Which is why I reached out to the Companions for a solution. Given their own natures, they are more than capable of keeping up with you. Lady Aela will be joining you in your journey.”

I turned my head to look at him, one eyebrow climbing towards my hairline, and he had the grace to look only faintly smug about it. It was the expression of a man who had spent a good portion of his life playing politics from the high seat of Dragonsreach -never mind survived the politics of the Legions and Skyrim as a whole-, and had more than enough experience to know perfectly well that he had just maneuvered me into an arrangement that I could not refuse without offending both him and the Companions both. An arrangement that gave him what he wanted, at least to some degree, and would have eyes he knew well and trusted on me.

“Shrewd.” I gave the compliment aloud, quite sure he’d appreciate both the honesty and the acknowledgement that both of us knew what he was up to, and he tilted his head in response. Shrugging slightly, I folded my hands behind my back and looked back out over the plains, where the caravan was little more than a thing line crossing the horizon at this point. “Alright then. Aela will certainly be able to keep up with me, and someone as historically inclined as she would certainly enjoy spending some time at High Hrothgar, even if it likely won’t be for long. We’ll leave three hours past sunset, that should give me enough time to make sure my sisters are settled at that farm you generously provided us.” I paused as a thought occurred. “Though, speaking of that, I don’t suppose you know anyone who might make a good steward? Someone to keep the girls company and help around the house? We don’t have much experience in dealing with a farm, you see. And perhaps a guard or two?”

“Hmm.” he grunted thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on his forearm as he visibly ran through a list of potential answers. I had a few ideas myself -Jenassa and Uthgerd, for example, at least so far as it came to guards- but I was curious to see what he had to say. Granted, all of this would be moot once our new manor was refurbished -here, it seemed, Breezehome was in the Cloud District. Which made sense, it was the home of a thegn, but it had also been empty for several years and was in dire need of work- but that was going to take several months at least, and I wasn’t leaving my sisters at odd ends and relatively defenseless in the time between then and now. “There are a pair of sell-swords that you can trust in the city, both women. A Dunmer named Jenassa and a Nord named Uthgerd. They have their own honor, and won’t allow any harm to come to the twins once you contract with them. As for a steward, might I recommend Carlotta Valentia? While she does rent her own home here in the city, she struggles with doing so and raising her daughter at the same time. Making her your steward and having her sell your farm’s products on your behalf will ease her pain, and that of my people.”

“Oh?” I asked, wondering where he was heading with this. I knew Carlotta struggled, of course, she was a single mother abandoned by her husband with a pre-teen daughter to raise, all while being hassled by people like Mikael, but I couldn’t thing of anything more than that. Fortunately, unlike me, Balgruuf actually knew what he was talking about and elaborated.

“Thanks to the…unfortunate civil unrest,” he hedged delicately, not particularly interested in calling it a ‘civil war’ outright, even if that’s essentially what it was at this point. “she is being charged more than double for the products she sells in the square, and so has been forced to raise her own prices. She’s petitioned me more than once, lamenting that fact -she knows better than most how tight purses are these days- and asking for me to provide a solution, but all I can do is keep things from becoming outright gouging and order that the farms keep their prices fairly similar. Were she to sell your goods at a more modest price, and were you to provide her room and board and a small percentage of the fees…”

“She’d be more financially secure, undercutting the other farms and forcing them to bring their own prices down in response, making a wider variety of food more available to the people of Whiterun without ruining their own finances.” I finished the thought, shaking my head in something approaching awe. In a matter of a minute and a half, he’d taken a fairly benign request on my part and laid out a plan that would solve my problem and those of half the damn city in one fell swoop. This was why Balgruuf was Best Jarl, damn it! “I’m in awe, my jarl, and will take your advice immediately. Is there anything else you would ask of me before I make my own preparations?”

“Only one, though it is less of a request and more, perhaps, of a warning.” he confirmed, expression sobering a bit as he met my eyes, and for a moment he looked older and more tired than I’d seen him since the battle. “I do not disagree with what you had to say, when you stood on top of that beast’s bones, but as much as I agree -as much as many others will agree- I would caution against being too condemnatory of how things stand, and earning yourself more enemies as a result. It will bring you trouble that you do not want and distractions that you do not need, and as much as either of us would hope that no one would be so incredibly stupid as to try and plant a blade in your back with Alduin at large, I would not count on it.”

“I didn’t think I was all that condemnatory.” I replied mildly, though I knew he had something of a point and didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. I’d stood up in the middle of the most divided city in the province and lectured a crowd about the stupidity of a civil war, some some resentment was only to be expected. Never mind that, I had no doubt, the Grey-Mane’s had -or very soon would- inform Ulfric that I’d laid at least some of the blame for Alduin’s return at his feet. Politely, perhaps, but it had been done all the same. “I simply pointed out to everyone that dragons, especially the world-ending sort, don’t particularly care about the political issues of mortal or what scrap of cloth they’re waving around as it burns them and their city alive.”

“And you’re correct about that. As I said, I’m not disagreeing with your words. I’m no more fond of this absurd internal fighting, with the Thalmor eagerly awaiting the chance to finish what they started in the war, than you are. And that was the case even before we had to worry about dragons destroying entire towns.” he confirmed, mouth twitching into something that was trying and failing to be a smile, and he leaned his weight against the balustrade with a quiet grunt that told me he was still feeling the fight a bit, in spite of the healing he’d received. “You know as well as I do that truth is often a very poor shield against people’s biases or emotional desires. Your words have won you quite a few friends, here and elsewhere, and even many of those that wouldn’t go so far as ‘friendship’ may acknowledge that you have a point. But I can guarantee you that there are, and will be more, men and women who heard instead that the Dragonborn thinks their cause is petty. That their banner and faith and fealty are meaningless, that their sons and daughters were foolish for dying for them. That won’t be easily forgotten, or forgiven.”

I was silent for a long moment, less to absorb his words and more to consider how best to respond to them. It’s not like he was wrong, after all, but as much as I knew he was right, I really wanted to believe that people would be smarter than that. That they would set aside their differences until Alduin was gone, that by the time the First Son of Akatosh had been defeated the bonds of brotherhood -and my own reputation and power- would be sufficient to keep any civil war from rekindling, never mind growing or expanding.

“I know…” I sighed at last, voice quiet, even tired. “I’d be lying to you if I said that I hadn’t considered that, worried about it. But the alternative was standing on that dragon’s corpse and telling them only what they wanted to hear, what would give them pleasure or satisfaction, and I think that would have cost us badly in the long run. I won’t flatter them or try to pull the wool over their eyes. The loyal and hopeful and devoted-to-the-cause make the very best of soldiers, but if you add in ignorance and overconfidence they become the very best of victims instead.”

He looked startled for a moment, looking at me with slightly widened eyes, before giving a bark of genuine -if somewhat reluctant- laughter.

“You know, for all that I’m intellectually aware of your true age, I look at you and forget at times. At least until you do something like that to remind me. Young men don’t think or speak the way that you do, aren’t as willing to make themselves unpopular if it means things will be better in the long run.” he shook his head before clapping my shoulder. “Go on then, get yourself ready and speak with your sisters. This time of day, you’ll probably find Uthgerd, Jenassa, and Carlotta all in or around the market, so get things arranged with them. And are you sure you don’t want…?”

“Positive. That axe is yours, my jarl, and should stay with you. A good steel blade -and armor- will do me well enough for now, certainly until Adrienne and Eorlund can finish figuring out how to rework the ebony I gave them.” which could very well take a while, though I had faith that they would manage it sooner rather than later. They were both very good smiths, after all, and their combined brainpower and skillpower was doubtlessly sufficient for the task. He nodded in acknowledgement, making a small gesture of polite dismissal, and I turned on my heel to head for the stairs to the main level with a bit of trepidation.

I had five women to speak with, and two of them weren’t likely to be terribly happy that I was leaving so soon after fighting a dragon. Proud and excited as my sisters might be by my nature as Dragonborn, neither was oblivious to what the consequences might be, and neither was happy with what might result. As a result, I was probably in for no small amount of fussing, lectures, advice, and dire threats of a painful fate should I get myself terribly injured or dead.

Truly, little sisters were the most dangerous thing in the world.