Skyrim: Oathkeepers
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OKAY…THIS IS ONLY SORT OF OLD AND DOESN’T SUCK AS MUCH.
“What if pain - like love - is just a place brave people visit?”
― Glennon Doyle Melton
The Cunning-Woman was there when Iona woke, her eyes fluttering open to see the hazy outlines of sweetgrass, rosemary, and sage smoke dancing in the night air, the ghostly tendrils forced low by the cramped space of the loft.
"Careful, child," the elder cautioned as the Khajiit rose shakily. "Your soul has been on a long journey. Even for a dragon, that could not have been easy." The gnarled hands passed a tankard of water and a wooden bowl of stew to the exhausted younger woman. "Eat. Drink. You'll be no good to him weak."
Iona nodded and slowly began to lift the spoon to her mouth. She'd only been out for a few hours, the moons still kept their ghostly watch as they had before the potion had taken her, but it felt as though she hadn't drank anything in days, her tongue was dry and felt too large in her mouth as she began to eat and drink. The extract of yew had certainly done its horrible work...the young Cat felt as dry as a bone.
"Is she alright?---" Farkas' natural growl of a voice was muffled only by his heavy steps as the large Nord approached the makeshift bed she shared with Ulfric's prone form.
"For Gods' sakes, pup, yes she is," the witch hissed, her gray head snapping towards him with impatience. "Have a little more restraint. The ritual has just concluded...your Harbinger needs peace and quiet to rest---"
Farkas dipped his head slightly in apology, but continued towards the bed where he barely sat on the edge of it, his hand resting gently on her shoulder for a moment as she looked down at Ulfric's chest as though her eyes measured each rise and fall. Following her gaze to the nearly too still body of the Jarl of Windhelm, he took in a deep breath and let out an apologetic sigh, "Iona, you've done all you can for him."
"Why is he not awake yet?" her words tumbled out like gravel, tired and mumbled. As though afraid the slight weight would crush him, she gently laid the open palm of her hand upon his chest.
The chuckle from the old woman made her pin her ears in irritation at first, but the reassuring tone of her words calmed her. "Your soul was made to traverse more freely between worlds, Dovahkiin. His was made to do it only twice...once at his birth and once at his death. Give the man time. Talk to him so that he might find his way back."
Her hunched form rose as high as her feeble years would allow, and she smiled warmly at Iona before gesturing for Farkas to follow her. "Come, young one, someone needs to hunt for us as I'm sure the Bear will be hungry when he wakes." The three-beat lobbing rhythm of her shuffling feet and cane lead the way to the ladder, and Iona could just see the disturbance of dust motes and the swaying form of hanging herbs in silver-blue moonlight as her ancient body wavered towards the dim firelight from the floor below.
"I'm not leaving her," Farkas argued, trying to keep his voice down. His ice blue eyes cut towards Iona for direction and then back to the witch, scrutiny burning in them. "She just survived that poison you brewed up..."
"Farkas, it's alright," Iona interrupted kindly, her eyes slightly squinty above a tired smile as she regarded her brother. "She's right. We've been eating her food for days now. Please, do this for me...I'm not dying tonight."
A crooked grin crossed his face, and he rose obediently in spite of feeling the duty to keep watch with her. "Fine, but that old man owes me big when he wakes up. Not too fond of damn near losing another Harbinger."
Heh, Old Man. She wished she could see Ulfric roll his eyes at that one.
Iona watched him as his steps quickened so that he could help the old woman out of the loft. Once the floor boards had ceased their moaning and squeaking, she turned her attention back to her former general. Carefully, she wiped the cold sweat off of his brow with her sleeve and began tracing the lines of his features. Her fingers trembled as the familiarity of each facial feature was called forth, and she felt as though she could weep at how much she realized she'd missed just touching him.
"Come back, Ulfric Stormcloak," Iona whispered, muzzle against his cheek. "If you truly belong to Skyrim...come back. She needs you.”
Her blue eyes poured over his face, searching for any sign of consciousness and dropped immediately, seeing none. The black line of her mouth pulled taut into a worried frown, and she settled down beside him, looping one arm underneath his head and one around his chest. The stillness of the night around them, the slight chill, made her feel even lonelier than she had before, and she held him tighter. “I need you.” The truth came out in a whisper against his jawline, told through teeth clenched in pain and loss, and was followed by the briefest tear wetted kiss. “I don’t want a world without you in it, whether you’re mine or not. You owe me that much, damn you. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave.”
She hid her face in the space between his neck and shoulder, weaving her legs with his without feeling the need to feel shame or apology for clinging to a man who was no longer hers...if he ever had been. Still moments ran together, ran long, and she couldn’t even tell if she was crying anymore, her face and his hair equally wet with her mourning and desperation. Then, the silence was broken by a slight scratching that came from behind her, a rustling noise, a faint clacking of a beak…
“No,” she snarled, eyes glowing in the moonlight as she turned to face the open window, knowing what stood to greet her. The raven tilted its head in abrupt movements, its intelligent eyes meeting hers, uncaring. “I stood against your Master in the other world, do you think I will not stand against him here too?”
She tensed, her fatigued body shaking but her spirit roaring forward, fangs gleaming…
“Peace, Iona.” The words were slow and tired, the hand on hers was heavy, nearly dead weight, but the palm was warm instead of clammy and cool as it had been. “He’s not taking me to Sovngarde...not yet.”
She swore by every Divine that this was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen, and she’d seen several upon this particular face. “Ulfric,” his name born from her tongue curled along with her lips as she moved forward, hands stretching towards him, eager to touch, eager to confirm that he was, indeed, alive, and that they were not both back in lands between the living and the dead.
He was quicker than she’d thought a man who’d just wandered out of near death would be. Fingers wove through her hair, pulling her face down and pushing her forehead against his. “I didn’t think I’d ever be this close to you again.” Ulfric’s words sounded like they were spoken through a sob and a disbelieving laugh at the same time.
Tears flowed freely from her eyes even though she smiled as her fingers ran across the tops of his hands, his wrists, his forearms. “Well, were circumstances different, I might care that your soon to be wife might not like us being this close,” Iona laughed, rubbing her soft pink nose against his once he loosened his grip upon her face, glad for a chance at brevity
“That,” he groaned, wincing as he moved his stiff form so that he could lie completely on his back, “that is an irksome situation now...what with a damned assassination attempt and all. Really puts a damper on what I’m sure would have been “wedded bliss”.” Though he tried to manage a fair amount of contempt for Elisif in his words, he instead found himself losing most of his anger for the moment and instead concentrating on the woman in front of him. “I’m fairly certain that arrangement has met its end.”
Iona nodded solemnly, rising up on the stack of soft pelts beneath them. She needed to distance herself, and she knew it. Though every fiber of her being wanted to be near to him, to continue to touch him, it was not her place. Not even with Elisif’s betrayal in the mix. Stretching forward, she began to gingerly climb over him before she felt one of his hands grasp her left arm.
“Don’t…”
“You haven’t had a proper drink of water in two days, I need to…”
“Stay,” Ulfric whispered, and it sounded pleading. “It can wait a few minutes more.”
“And this,” she gestured down to her arm, “cannot wait as well?”
“I’d prefer it not to.” She looked down at him with an eyebrow raised, whiskers twitching in mild disbelief. “Dammit, woman, I followed you back to the living, is it not obvious that what I want...need...right now is you?”
She heard a flutter of wings and turned to see only the sheen of moonlight on wood where the raven had been. Great. Even the gods had left her now. Alone except for Ulfric Stormcloak and all of the things that had ever happened between them...the good and bad, instances of love and hate, their shared pride and shame in how they’d dealt with each other, all things said and unsaid.
“You’ll follow me into death and stand between me and Shor himself like the bull-headed fool you are, but you’re quick to leave me now that I’m right here before you,” the Jarl observed, voice going from incredulity to awe. His hold on her became a light touch as she settled back beside him, leaning against the wall, looking out onto the black lines of the surrounding trees as though she could find any answer better than the truth. “Iona, please talk to me.”
“What is it you’d like to talk about?” Nervous, she reached down for one of his hands, playing with the surprisingly graceful fingers, tickling over them, missing them somehow more now that she held them.
He smirked, and the boyish expression tugged at her heart even as she tried to look away. “Well, you could start with how, in my quest to be wise, I’ve been so very stupid. How this whole unite Skyrim through a loveless marriage between Elisif and I was a fool’s errand at best,” Ulfric answered softly, and the smirk became a sincere, if a little sad, smile. His hand rotated in the cage of hers and clasped one with a gentle squeeze.
“I never felt that way,” the cat countered, trying to sound as detached as possible even though she could feel the tightness in her throat, the threat of either sobs or screaming just behind her tongue. “I never said you were stupid to accept Elisif’s proposal.”
“But I was,” Ulfric said before gently tugging her hand forward, asking her to lie down with him. His heart lifted when she obliged, her lithe form snaking beside him, wonderful points of contact that had been dormant for far too long...a feeling he missed more than any other he’d ever known. “Iona, I pledged my hand for Skyrim...not for myself…”
“I know that. You told me as much. I also told you that you had my respect for the decision.” It was hard to attempt to be so emotionally distant when he was so very close, when she’d fought so hard for him to live, when he was beginning to lay his heart so very bare. “Ulfric, just stop. If you won’t let me get you something to drink and eat, you at least need to rest.”
“No. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a chance to say all of this after tonight, and I’ve stayed quiet about the wrong things for too long,” Strength was slowly returning to the naturally deep voice, and the steel gray eyes regarded her with that strange power and passion she’d always seen in them. “I still hurt you. I’m so very sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she chuckled, her arms naturally finding their places underneath his neck, draped across his chest. “Humility doesn’t suit you, Bear of Markarth. Future High King.”
“Maybe it should.” The wood beneath them let out an audible squeak as he forced his weight upon his elbow and leaned up so that he could look his once-lover in the eyes. “I want you to hear this. Elisif might have sat in the throne beside me, but she would have never been my wife.”
The words settled in her ears, and her mind began to dissect from them the deeper meaning. Not his wife? He’d said similar things when the decision had first been made, when they’d both been made completely out of emotion and fear and loss. “If you wanted a queen who could have been your wife and joyfully borne your heirs, Ulfric, you shouldn’t have chosen a woman whose husband you had killed. Another Highborne would have been better…” Moons, this was hard to speak of...
She was getting nervous, and he could tell it. His hand cupped her face and pulled her closer with barely any effort at all. “No matter who might have shared the throne with me, none would ever have had my heart.”
Iona felt the cool of night replace the warmth that had been there when his hand dropped from her face, but her pulse practically surged through her veins when she felt his hand grab hers and pull it towards his chest, his fingers clasping hers so tightly against the muscle there that she could feel the heartbeat beneath it. Her eyes were wide with confusion when they flew up from their entwined fingers to meet his. “Ulfric…”
“You are in my heart. There is no room for another woman. Hasn’t been since...gods, could I even pick a moment?...”
“Ulfric, you don’t have to…” Godsdamnit, man! What does it matter?
“I’m serious,” Ulfric said, leaning forward so that his nose softly touched hers, “Iona...by the time I kissed you, I knew the truth even though I tried to run from it. Maybe it was when you first came into my palace and demanded an audience with me. Your damnable stubbornness, eyes glaring right through me. You challenged everything I was and everything I’d ever be...I’d never met a woman like you in my life. My heart fell for you before my mind could know it.”
She was speechless.
He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. Tears that had been threatening to form finally pooled at the corners of his eyes and flowed over his face. He’d held so much so closely to his chest for so long that he’d forgotten how bare, how exposed such truths could make a man feel. “Iona...I never wanted to…”
“Hush, Ulfric. You wanted me to talk, so you’ll need to listen.”
“Huh?” Her soft pawpads lovingly wiped the tears off of his face as she gazed at him with more understanding than he felt he deserved.
“I still love you. Promising your hand to Elisif did not change that,” Iona sighed, the words going from a joyful releasing of the truth to anguished resignation.
“Though I never said it, I swore my heart to you, Iona.” He moved closer to her, rubbing the side of her face with his, nuzzling into her hair first and then lower into her neck. “I might belong to Skyrim as I always have....”
Oh gods, don’t say it...don’t say it. Though she refused to breathe until the words came, she chanted it over and over again in her mind. As though everything they’d ever done for one another hadn’t already made this hard. Don’t say the words. Don’t say what will only make this harder...
“...but just as much of me belongs to you.”
His nose traced a sensitive path through the thick fur of her neck and along her jawline. Even if had she wanted to put up any resistance, her head tilted, and that familiar intoxicated feeling of wanting him returned in full force. His kiss wasn’t a demand this time, and though they’d shared innumerable gentle embraces in the past, this one was soft as a dream. It was a request, an admission that he had no power left where she was concerned, nothing to bargain with other than himself. Her lips opened, and she ran her tongue in a slow line along his bottom lip before pressing her mouth harder onto his, pushing him back into the furs. The kiss broke in an unhurried fashion, as though neither had been fighting for life only hours before, and Iona could swear that she could see every feeling each of them had had for the other floating in weaving lines with the dying smoke trails of the incense that still burned in the close corners of the room. Ulfric’s eyes shone once more with life in front of her, and she told herself that for the moment she could be content with everything in spite of the months she’d spent apart from him. Months spent pining for something she knew she had no business wanting.
“Iona,” the Nord spoke, his voice low but ringing with conviction, “my heart will always be yours.” His hands grasped hers tightly and released them. A half grin she could only define as self-deprecating tugged at his blonde beard, and she did her level best to keep herself from reaching upwards and playing with the facial hair fondly. “Regardless of who I must share the throne with.”
Soooooo, of course things could not go smoothly for this couple. Ulfric, at some point, accepts a proposal from Elisif for the two of them to get married in order to stop the bloodshed of the Civil War and unite the country. Ulfric, tired of watching his countrymen die, killing them by his own orders, accepts begrudgingly. Iona, respecting his decision as someone who has come to love Skyrim as a home still cannot stay in his service as she does admit that she's in love with him. And so she leaves, returns full-time to the Companions and becomes Harbinger.
This happens shortly after a nearly successful attempt on Ulfric's life. At the very least, members of Elisif's court are involved, Uflric knows it damn near immediately, and Iona has proof of it in correspondence she and Farkas accidentally intercepted.
So this is the piece where I think I sort of started getting better at humans and getting braver with perspective and anatomy and all that good shit. Things stop sucking so much from this point forward in the finished pieces folder.
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 1280 x 1072px
Listed in Folders
This is one of my favorites from you, the entire scene is just sublime. The mood, their expressions, the background. I'm particularly in love with the little herbs hanging on the window.
This makes me really nostalgic of venturing into the wilderness of Skyrim and finding random abandoned shacks in the middle of nowhere. ❤️ Thank you for sharing this beautiful work with us! Always here for Iona and Ulfric!
This makes me really nostalgic of venturing into the wilderness of Skyrim and finding random abandoned shacks in the middle of nowhere. ❤️ Thank you for sharing this beautiful work with us! Always here for Iona and Ulfric!
You seriously could grate cheese on the Norseman's abs.
The soul-wrenching boob-smoosh. I'd crawl back from hell for that...
If you disregard the fact that ulfric is a racist cunt and that this is highly improbable this is pretty wholesome.
Lol how is he racist? I think you need to just take your attitude elsewhere.
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