[Fanfic with pics] Dragonborn, the Mistress of Skyrim

[Anbeegod]

Warning: Incest and adultery contents

 

 

Background - you don't need to read it, but doing so might help you comprehend the story easier:

 

 

 

Morhja Manerius is a 17 year-old half-blood Nord woman, who was born and raised in Cyrodiil. Her father was Ankjolf Manerius, the count of Chorrol, and her mother was Amilla Cerstus, daughter of Bruma's count.

 

Ankjolf was born in Solitude, who had an imperial officer from Cyrodiil as his father and a native noble of Solitude as his mother. Ankjolf and his father joined the imperial legion during the Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion, and triumphed numerous battles. But in the great battle of the Abecean Sea, Aldmeri warship destroyed the ship in command of Ankjolf's father.

 

After the Great War, Ankjolf Manerius was granted the title of Count of Chorrol, as his predecessor was found treason. He became the ruler of the city, and married the daughter of Bruma's count to forge a political alliance. The two never loved each other, and Ankjolf was found cheating for countless times; however, the couple tried their best to maintain the marriage, as it was the symbol of the alliance between the two family.

 

Decades after the war, Ankjolf still saw the Aldmeris as the murderer of his father, and swore vengeance. He ensured in every way that his children will share his hatred against the Dominion; however, none of his children truly cared about their grandfather. Family bond meant nothing in the Manerius family; only power and benefits can interest them.

 

Morhja was such an example. Despite her young age, she showed great interest in politics. Her greatest wish was to marry the heir to the Ruby Throne, became the empress of the empire, and use her husband as a puppet. She believed that all besides the royal bloodline were unworthy to marry her, and turned almost every suitor down.

 

The son of Cheydinhal's count once openly pursued Morhja, hoping to make her his bride. She publicly refused him, said, "You're unworthy," and left the embarrassed heir in the ballroom to be laughed at.

 

No one expected such a day would come, that the powerful Manerius family was destroyed within a week. Ankjolf was accused of treason, by secretly cooperating with the Redguards of Hammerfell to spread terror and attack citizens in Cyrodiil. The accuse was false, but when it comes from the emperor himself, it becomes right. Ankjolf's hatred towards the Dominion has created much troubles to Emperor Titus Mede II, and wrecked his strategies against the High Archon of the Aldmeri Dominion. If the emperor wants to proceed with his plans, the obstacle must be taken care of.

 

Titus Mede II once respected Ankjolf as a war hero, but that time had passed, and he must face the future. The emperor sentenced Ankjolf Manerius to die, and ripped all titles and lands the Manerius family once had. Besides Morhja's countess sister Jorlda in Anvil, all Manerius had lost all of their property. Amilla, Morhja's mother, went to Anvil and seek her daughter's aid, but Jorlda herself convinced her count husband not to help her family, as this would greatly offend the emperor.

 

In desperation and the betrayal of her own daughter, Amilla committed suicide, leaving Morhja to face everything alone.

 

Morhja swore vengeance against the crown and her sister, and went to Bruma to seek her grandfather's aid. The count of Bruma accepted his granddaughter as a guest, and promised her a safe shelter. However, everything changed when Morhja's uncle Sathius betrayed his father and took over the castle. Morhja feared the death of her grandfather would also mean her end, but Sathius promised her life - in condition.

 

Morhja must go to Skyrim, deliver a magically sealed letter to Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the Skyrim rebels, and join his banner to win his war. When Skyrim is no longer under the Medes' control, Sathius shall take the Ruby Throne, and marry Morhja to his eldest son and the heir to the Ruby Throne. She will become what she dreamed to be - the empress, provided that she do what her uncles told her to do.

 

There was not another choice, and neither would Morhja choose the other choice.

 

Morhja knew what was happening in Skyrim, or at least she knew the "Official Version" of the events. In her mind, Stormcloaks were nothing different with the Redguards - savage, uneducated, insane barbarians, knew only to gain power, cared nothing about the common people. But if she wanted to live, or if what her uncle said about being the empress is true, she must work with the Stormcloaks.

 

The woman slept with her new master, and left Cyrodiil through a secret passage deep within the Jerall Mountains, under the protection and surveillance of her uncle's guard. Morhja entered the passage, and so the guards left her to the darkness and guard the entrance. She gave her homeland a final glimpse. She might not be able to see it again.

[Anbeegod]

 

"This passage has no end," Morhja thought, "I'll simply hope that no one is chasing me behind. Thousands of people want the heads of my family."

 

When will there be an end?

 

Is uncle tricking me from the beginning, sending me to an ambush of the hostile powers?

 

This was not the first time Morhja has such doubts. As a noble lady, she had numerous enemies, gained by her father mostly. She could not trust anyone. The daughter of Chorrol's count knew deeply, that even siblings would be glad to kill each other, just to gain what their father own.

 

Her father had close friends, and strong rivals. In his time of need, only rivals were willing to keep their relationship.

 

Perhaps rivals were closer to people than friends.

 

 

 

"This is it," Morhja whispered, as if she did not want anyone else to hear her, "the damned passage is over. I'm free."

 

She swore in her heart, that even if she was to be granted ten Ruby Thrones, she would not walk in such dark, damp and dirty dungeons.

 

Gods knew this is bullshit.

 

 

 

"Ah, so you're that lass Galmar mentioned? Stormcloaks certainly need more pretty faces like yours. The women in our army are less than desirable," the blonde Nord man said, then turned around and led the way for Morhja.

 

"I thought I'm going to be the first and only woman in the ranks of the Stormcloaks," Morhja spoke indifferently.

 

"Why would that be? As long as you have passion and love towards this land, men and women from every race are free to join our cause," the man replied without a second thought, but discontent was shown in his eyes, "I get it. Folks in Cyrodiil don't usually speak the truths, right? Another reason for you to join the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim."

 

Morhja sneered, and followed this man to whatever end he was leading her to. She began to have a thought, that she might know not even a thing about Skyrim.

 

"You haven't told me your name yet, handsome," Morhja patted the man on his shoulder.

 

The man turned around, and felt surprised, as if he never thought that the woman would ask him such a question.

 

Morhja stared at his eyes. He moved two steps backward, feeling uncomfortable when a woman looked at him in such a way.

 

"If you continue calling me 'handsome', I'll be more than pleased... but, call me Ralof, if you wish to," he smiled shyly, "however, I will insist on calling you 'lady' because..."

 

Morhja caressed the man, smiled, "Oh, dear Ralof,"

 

All in a sudden, she relentlessly punched Ralof in his face, showed a smile of victory; while Ralof curled on the ground like a worm, holding his belly, and painfully screaming.

 

"well said. You should be calling me lady."

[Anbeegod]

"Ahhhh!! Fuck you..." Ralof stood up with pain retaining in his belly, tried to punch Morhja back.

 

Unlike High Rock and Hammerfell, women were not looked down in Skyrim; as long as a woman is formidable enough, she is respected as equally as a capable man - while this also means that women were not treated more courteously, like what a knight would do to a lady, in the realm of Skyrim.

 

Morhja seemed scared, and involuntarily jumped backward for a meter. Ralof's fist came down, and hit only the cold, wet air; he looked at Morhja, rushed to her, and made a second attempt. When Morhja moved leftward to dodge his attack, all in a second, Ralof stopped his action.

 

"Oh, sweet Talos, what have I done...?"

 

The anger of Ralof was gone; instead, a fearful expression appeared on his face, "don't tell Galmar or Ulfric, I beg you. I'm begging you."

 

Morhja snickered. She knew this fool never have a chance against her; even if he did, he wouldn't have it against those demanding her arrival.

 

"Well," as a victor, Morhja showed a face of pride and joy, looked down on the man before her, as if she was his better, "we still have a long way together before Windhelm. Even after that, with bad luck, we still have to see each other in the army for a long time. I won't suggest we allow such things happen again."

 

The woman tried all she can to make it sound serious, but she could not. She broke out the mad laughter.

 

Ralof felt relieved.

 

"Yeah, still much time with each other," Ralof smiled stiffly, he found no fun in all this, "well, I'd never forget the impressive dexterity you've shown when you dodged my attack. Would be good if you become our agent."

 

"No. I won't be on the front line. I think I'll be an adviser, strategist, or liaison, or... something like these," Morhja frowned. She just realized that her uncle told her nothing of what she would be doing in Skyrim, but simply "deliver the letter" and "join the Stormcloaks".

 

Her doubts might be correct, but she was already on the way her uncle planned for her, and the realm behind the passage was no longer her place.

 

There was no turning back.

 

 

 

"Look, a pack of wolves," Ralof's word awoke Morhja from thinking, his tone was steady and calm, "I can handle these, but of course, your help is..."

 

"Don't be absurd. I've been hunting beasts larger and fiercer than the sum-up of these dogs since 7 with my father in the Blackwood. Let me do all the job, I bet I can do much better."

 

Ralof guffawed, patted Morhja on her back like an old friend. If they were in Cyrodiil, Morhja would have already smited him to the ground and summon the guards to take this satyr down.

 

But this was Skyrim.

 

"Might and number are two entirely different concepts. Bear this in mind if you're giving any advice to our king."

 

They drew their weapons, rushed to the wolves, and unleashed a storm of massacre.

 

Morhja had not felt the pleasure of slaughter since 15.

 

 

 

Two wolves came to Morhja, desiring to devour her pretty face.

 

"Even the rabbits in the Blackwood are more cunning than you, dogs!" Morhja yelled, and relentlessly kicked a wolf's chest. It fell to the right-side ground, wailed. Another wolf heard the painful crying of its companion, thus lost confidence against Morhja.

 

Seizing the opportunity, with the speed of lightnings and the might of a bear, she thrust her dagger into its skull, ended a wolf's miserable and short life. Blood spilled to everywhere, and Morhja's clothes were tainted by the filthy red liquid. She pulled her dagger from the motionless corpse of the wolf, more blood splashed, thus fed the grasses with the essence of the wolf.

 

Morhja looked at the wolf on her right side. It was still trying to stand up, but all its efforts shall be in vain. She would not waste her time watching a beast suffer, and so she grabbed the remaining wolf's ear, turned its head to the other side, and used the dagger which claimed its companion's life to slit its throat. Blood ran out again, but it would not affect Morhja's clothes this time.

 

"Hey, gimme a hand if you're done with'em!" Ralof yelled.

 

 

 

Morhja turned around and looked at the man. He killed a wolf with his axe, but two remained, trying to find a interstice and launch an attack; his hand was full of wolf blood, he bite his lower lips, feeling nervous and frustrated, as if he could not win this battle.

 

"Somehow I remembered a confident, staunch Nord man saying that he could slay all these beasts. Oh, I must be wrong," Morhja laughed.

 

"Just get your mother-fucking daggers and kill these mother-fucking dogs!"

 

"Fine, admit it, you expected my help right from the beginning," Morhja sneered, and rushed to the wolves. She targeted at one of the wolves, readied her blades for one another life.

 

The wolf did not notice the arrival of Morhja, but when it did, its throat was already slit opened. Morhja single-handedly finished off something that Ralof could not have done.

 

She expected herself to save an idiot from the bloody devouring mouth of a small beast, but she was, in fact, not surprised to see Ralof holding a wolf's smashed head, breathing rapidly as he was exhausted.

 

 

 

"One bastard remains... hiding from my eagle-eyes," Ralof took out his bow and an arrow, targeted at a point, where Morhja could see nothing but grasses, "that's it!"

 

He unleashed the arrow, which flit as fast as winds; they knew the arrow had hit something, as a horrifying scream came to the two's ears.

 

A small wolf, tried to hide behind the grasses, was slain with a single arrow.

 

Morhja ran to the grasses, and found the wolf's corpse clean, only graze and the wound caused by the arrow was found on it. Blood kept coming out from its mouth, tainting the ground with its stench.

 

 

 

"Impressive," Morhja looked at the wolf's dead body, said; this might be the first time she praise her Nord companion, "perhaps you're a better archer than warrior."

 

Ralof did not know should he be embarrassed or joyful, but he chose the latter.

 

"Well, didn't expect some wolves giving me that much trouble," Ralof smiled, "you're not the first one telling me to be a full-archer; but no, archers are cowards. Give a true Nord an axe, he can cut an entire mountain into half."

 

Morhja sneered.

[Anbeegod]

 

After they defeated the wolves, Morhja and Ralof continued the journey.

 

"We will rest in the nearest village, Riverwood, for half a day. It's my home, my sister can give us supplies, then we'll go in the next morning," Ralof said.

 

Morhja glanced at Ralof, showed a grumpy face; but apparently, her Nord companion would never see it, as he was walking in the front.

 

"I thought we're gonna take care of the blood on our bodies first," Morhja yelled to Ralof. The blood stinks, and disgusts, "surely the folks in Riverwood wouldn't want to see two... bloody people."

 

Ralof giggled.

 

"This is Skyrim, and we're at a civil war, while dragons and vampires come out from nowhere and assault people. Are you sure anyone would be surprised seeing anyone in blood?" Ralof stopped, and turned his face to Morhja, "besides, the river in this region is worse than filthy, villagers from Riverwood pee and pour their shits into the water. A fair lady such as you won't like bathing here."

 

"Did I hear sarcasm?" Morhja snickered, but soon she became disgusted and frowned, "nevertheless, Thanks for telling."

 

The two then laughed out loud, just like two old friends.

 

"Hey, look over there!"

 

 

 

"Bleak Falls Barrow. Two years ago, I was standing at this point, telling another person about this mountain," the man seemed to recall something, and became clouded by anguish, but this did not interest Morhja, "I thought we're going to bring the empire down and liberate Skyrim together, what a fool I was. Should've never trusted a non-Nord! That Breton bastard slept with that slut Elisif, held by the imperial cunt!"

 

"Elisif? High Qu.. Jarl Elisif of Solitude?" Morhja was called back from the great view of the barrow, which she dreamed having sex with 4 big man on the snows of the mountain.

 

"Indeed, Elisif the Fair. Her lover Aedas fled from the imperials in Helgen with me, saved my life for twice. If I ever see him again, no one will be saving his life from me!" Ralof's anger and hatred was so deep, that Morhja could feel it a dozen miles away; if some wolves made appearance again, Ralof would surely tear them apart without hesitation, "somehow, Aedas was granted a land in Whiterun Hold, named Riverhelm, and claimed himself as its king. It's outta expectation, that Aedas didn't marry his 'queen' mistress to consolidate his power, but instead married a suspicious woman called Serana. That woman gave him a son and a daughter. We'll figure it out. Dragonborn or not, he cannot stand against our might, and the Stormcloaks will destroy his city and have his head on a spike... when the time comes. His wife and children will not live to tell that glorious triumph of the Sons of Skyrim."

 

Morhja's family was annihilated just a few days ago.

 

"Of course you will."

 

They moved on.

 

 

 

"Look, Standing Stones. It's said that you can gain..."

 

"I don't need foolish blessings from some fictional gods or imaginary constellations. These things bring nothing but trouble. Damned stones, just like the damned beings they represent." Morhja showed disdainful eyes to the stones, which soon gain Ralof's discontent, and she saw it.

 

This would be a debate about religions.

 

"It's not my place to comment on your beliefs, but perhaps it's your disrespectful attitude towards the gods that dooms your family," Ralof loathed.

 

Morhja did not expect such cruel mock from a fool such as Ralof, but it was more unacceptable that he linked two unrelated matters together as an argument.

 

"Mock me, if you wish, but my family was destroyed by a filthy bastard dog named Titus Mede II, none of the so-called 'gods' or some mystical miracle made appearance in the whole incident; if you must remember something, bear this in mind: I'm joining the Stormcloaks to gain any advance taking the tyrant's head myself, someone called a god who's gone from the world's sight for more than an era is NONE of my concern!"

 

Last time she had been this furious was two years ago, when her beloved brother Karnvar was taken from her by the Redguards.

 

Morhja wanted to express her wrath, but it was pointless.

 

They still have a long way before Windhelm.

 

"I will," indifferently, Ralof said to the woman, "of course I will, my comrade."

 

 

 

 

ps. Aedas is my old char.

[Anbeegod]

 

It was a road sign showing the ways to Riverwood, Whiterun and Riverhelm. Morhja and Ralof would arrive at the village within an hour.

 

Ever since the incident at the Standing Stones, the two seldom talked to each other.

 

 

 

"Riverwood, my home," Ralof showed no emotion in his words, and wished to finish the sentence as quickly as possible, "we find my sister Gerdur, she gives us supplies and a place to rest, then we go tomorrow."

 

Morhja was surprised. Some fictional entities can make a grown man as grumpy as a troll for almost half a day, perhaps even more. The woman did not regret saying what she felt and believed to Ralof.

 

That man was no one, unworthy, and there was not a need for a noble lady to put up her mask before him.

 

The mask of the Manerius.

 

Morhja's family often appeared as sincere believers of the Eights, who went to the Chapel of Stendarr and prayed to the divine every week. In truth, Morhja, Ankjolf, and all of the Manerius, cared about religion no more than a snake in Akavir. In their hearts, gods were just tools of rulers and priests, to manipulate the minds of their people. 

 

Those who held power claimed, that it was the divines who created the world and the races that dwell on it; bullshit was what the Manerius would call such a claim, as the divines were the ones that were created by those who wanted to make use of them.

 

Akatosh, Mehrunes Dagon, they were proven real by history, but nothing could prove that they created everything. They were powerful, perhaps invincible beings, just like Mannimarco and Potema who lived after them, but divinity and godhood were fictional concepts that never existed.

 

But in the scramble for power, men and women from every family must put on their masks, and hide a dagger behind their backs when they show sincere smiles. Emperors of Tamriel, High Archons of the Aldmeri Dominion, they were all actors and actresses, they must all participate in the most fascinating and bloody play in this world.

 

 

 

A boy came to Morhja, along with a furry dog.

 

Cyrodiil had its dogs, but they looked more noble and elegant than those in Skyrim. Morhja recalled her dog Priscilla, which she and her brother Karnvar saw as their own daughter. It was the most proud, innocent creature that Morhja had ever seen, which was even more noble than any officer of the empire or cadre of the Dominion.

 

Because it held one thing that they would never have.

 

Loyalty.

 

Priscilla was taken from her by dystocia when she was 11. Its babies did not live long after their mother's death. Morhja and Karnvar were forced by themselves, to bury Priscilla and its babies under the sands of the Nibenay riverside, where the mistress and the dog met for the first time.

 

They loved each other so much.

 

"Hey, you my uncle's friend? He shits near the river every night, don't tell him that I told ya!" The boy said with joy, there was no agony nor worry found on his face.

 

"I'm telling him right away."

[Anbeegod]

Morhja did not care about the boy's idle curses and damnation, instead, she followed Ralof to his sister, Gerdur. The woman had already encountered numerous noble lads far worse than that boy, every time she uses wisdom and cunning to shame them; but it was unnecessary shaming a harmless, meaningless, and useless peasant boy.

 

"Everything here in Skyrim is worse than those in Cyrodiil," each step Morhja made, the thought was strengthened in her mind.

 

 

"Gerdur! My dear sister! When was the last time I saw you?" Upon seeing Gerdur, Ralof's dumb face was gone; instead, he showed a face of joy and... something strange. It did not matter to Morhja.

 

Gerdur, just like his brother, was naturally blonde. Her face was rather simple in Morhja's thought, but was far better than her expectation. Almost all Skyrim noble women she saw had not desirable faces, let alone saying their "beauty"; whereas, her body shape was pretty good, probably because those nobles made their servants do all the work and thus lacked exercise, while the women in this realm had to do everything for themselves.

 

"Ralof, it's... good to see you, my dear. Frodnar and I missed you so much - and that old bastard Hod, he missed gettin' drunk with you too," Gerdur smiled, but Morhja could tell that she was hiding something - excitement, if she got it right.

 

"Let's go find a place so we can talk, I don't want the others hear what we' say," Ralof's face became a bit more serious.

 

"Of course. Hod, you goddamned old fat drunk, get down here!" Gerdur shouted to the lumber mill.

 

A Nord man, looked a few years older than Ralof, walked slowly towards the woman. He looked around, trying to find the source of the shouting, and located Gerdur after a few seconds.

 

"Wot tha helis go... Ralof!" The man sobered, and showed a face of doubt, but soon it turned into exaltation, "old friend, what are you doin' here? Ain't Windhelm need any able man? Is Ulfric going to liberate Whiterun? I tell you, Riverhelm is the real th..."

 

"Get, down, now."

 

 

 

Morhja snickered. Such useless men were meant to be controlled by their wives.

 

She just hoped her cousin is such a little man as well.

 

 

 

The boy who damned Morhja ran to Gerdur, with joy beyond Morhja's comprehension, and tried to hug Ralof; but when Gerdur gave him a hint with her glance, the boy retracted his hands with a glimpse of disappointment.

 

"Uncle Ralof, is what pa said true? The king's liberating Whiterun? I've awaited this day for so long! Blood taints the walls of Whiterun and corpses hanged on the watchtowers, that's great! Just think of it, I'm gonna see that bitch Braith gangbanged by Stormcloak soldiers again and again, and that dickhead Nazeem's brain and heart cooked in the castle of Dragonsreach! That Redguard cunt, I stole a cabbage from his farm and he commanded his sidekick hit me half-dead! Ohh, I just can't wait to see their demise! Please, make it happen, make it happen!" The kid was disappointed that he could not hug Ralof, but was still joyful that he saw his uncle again.

 

"Aye, Frodnar, by then all of Whiterun shall shiver and tremble before the great mighty general Frodnar of the Stormcloaks!" Ralof, apparently, did not take a child's word seriously.

 

He laughed, and so did the boy Frodnar.

 

"Ralof, when the Stormcloaks are ready to take the hold, the martyrs of Riverwood will head to Riverhelm disguise ourselves as traders, and hide some magical bomb within the city. Took us thousands of Septims, but it will help when you attack Whiterun City. Aedas and his army won't be able to assist that traitorous Balgruuf," Hod went to Ralof, slowly, "these days, I've been contacting folks of Ivarstead, they provided us many coins to buy the bombs, and will provide us men in the action."

 

Ralof was shocked, and seemed angry.

 

 

 

"Hod! For how many times have I told you, don't think of such idiotic plans? They want to join our cause, they go to Windhelm, but this sneaky Redguard heterodoxy... There isn't a difference between this and the hags of the Thalmor!" Ralof was furious, but he tried to lower his voice, lest the others hear what he said, "this is but nothing compared to the foolishness that you're getting yourself involved in this. Taking Riverhelm... that's suicide. Aedas has his zombie-summoning pet dragon, watching his enemies from the dark; you can't even withstand his dragon, let alone standing against that fire-and-force-breathing spellsword - you'll all get killed before you could reach Riverhelm's gate! Who would take care of my sister and nephew should you..."

 

"I understand, old friend. Gerdur has already agreed my plan. Even if we don't deal with Riverhelm, Aedas will bring his men to slaughter the Stormcloaks. We'll fight or die well to win time for you, for the liberation of our motherland. Aedas can't kill people separated in different corners of the city within that much of time, and his dragon can't show up in his city to scare people."

 

Hod patted Ralof, wanted to calm him; moreover convinced him by action.

 

Ralof sat down on a broken tree.

 

 

 

"Gerdur..." Ralof looked at her sister in a strange way, "is this... what you want?"

 

As anger passed, sorrow and regret appeared in Ralof's blue eyes.

 

"I trust the man I loved, as always," Gerdur was staunch when she said the word, but as she looked at Hod, her husband, she frowned.

 

"No opinion then."

 

 

 

"So be it. I'll get you two some supplies. Stay for a night, you need some rest, and a good meal," Gerdur gazed at her brother, she missed him, as if she would not be able to see him for years again.

 

And as she was gone, Ralof fell into deeper sorrow.