I dreamt that I was gang-fucked by an almost endless procession of Khajiit, orcish, and Argonian males. Following, I gave birth to a grotesque, sexless child with Khajiit tail and ears, warty green Argonian skin, orange-red eyes and fangs. Then I became this monstrosity as, grown up into a gross composite of dragon and Shrelle-baby, I ravaged the countryside, spewing streams of cum from my throat that drowned victims instead of consuming them in fire or frost.
I dreamt that Vilja rejected me, told me I was worse than Halvdan, her repugnant erstwhile suitor; she slapped me with a slaughterfish. I dreamt she tied me to a tree, swam naked in front of me, teased and posed lewdly. Aela gave her a foot massage as, using various implements including her flute and a dagger, she alternately masturbated herself, the Huntress, and Serana; the dagger nicked her, causing her to bleed, though this appeared to only arouse them all the more. Suddenly she was in another bacchanalia, this time with the vampiress, Aela, Mjoll, Aerin, Borgahk, Lydia, Farkas and Vilkas, plus half of Skyrim (I was sure this was a dream) whilst I remained bound, infuriatingly naked but unable to even touch myself. Turning into a werewolf, I burst my bonds, lunged to rend them all to pieces – but was abruptly unable, frozen and powerless as Vilja ensorcelled me and mocked me, calling me her ‘funny little puppy’.
I dreamt of power; that I could fly, riding upon a dragon and as a real dragon (the latter was a dream, the former not). Of becoming Jarl of Winterhold (I loathed that fact that Maven Blackbriar had been ‘appointed’ by the Empire); or was it Hjaalmarch? The Reach? Perhaps it was High-King of Skyrim. Empress Shrelle the First?
I dreamt I was a werewolf and this time killed everyone at the orgy except Serana, who joined me, wearing her father’s visage; we tore everyone apart, ate all in a revel of blood that lasted an eternity of sunless nights…!
I awoke.
“My thane.” Jordis.
I was home, in Solitude, whence my children abided. All was silent.
I surged from the bed, suddenly terrified that I would… do something egregious, if I had not already.
“My thane,” the housecarl repeated, laying her hands on me; pressed me back into the bed. “What do you wish? I’ll get it for you – you must rest.”
My fears subsided, as did I, momentarily. “No. I have rested enow. “Where is my armour… weapons?” I would kill the dreams. “I must find Vilja.”
“You wonted to towk to me?”
She wore her blue dress, my favourite, matching her eyes. I half-sat up for a moment, heart lodged in my throat. Approaching from the bedroom door, she made as though to hug me; I reached for her, suddenly appalled as I noticed fur on my hands, long talons sprouting whilst the hunger leapt, a red haze before my eyes—
I awoke, sweating. Bright sunshine pierced gaps between the planks of the walls; dust motes swirled. I heard children playing in the street outside, the distant call of hawkers from the market.
“My thane.” Lydia, this time.
Unsteadily I reached for her, glanced blearily at my hand as I clutched her bare arm; it was normal. I squeezed, ascertained that my housecarl was real.
A dark eyebrow rose. “My thane?”
I snapped my head about the room – a little too quickly, as a wave of dizziness swept over me; Vilja was not here.
“I…” My throat felt like the entire Alik’r Desert had invaded. Yet, I took that as the final proof that I was actually awake and cured; I had felt neither hunger nor thirst, other than as an illness, for what seemed like ages.
Lydia handed me a goblet of water; I emptied it, messily; she refilled it. “Are you hungry, my thane?”
I told her thought I could eat an entire ‘flock of mammoths’ (as Vilja once put it), and beg for seconds.
As it happened, Vilja found me anon. I am uncertain that my fervent wish for her – I may even someday admit that it was a prayer – was mere coincidence or not. All I know is that I emerged into the daylight later that day (or was it several days later?), paused upon the steps of Breezehome, turned my face toward the sun; closed my eyes and tried to absorb it.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to jest towk a little, you and I?”
I dared not open my eyes for fear that I was dreaming again. Slowly, I cracked them; Vilja, in her blue dress, stood in the street at the base of the steps, blonde hair shining, just as I pictured her in my dreams…
“Shrelle?”
Sinking into her shocking blue eyes, I read the myriad questions therein. I felt myself trembling, jaw working; countless thoughts and feelings washed over me at once, like the wind of a swooping dragon. Tears threatened; I could not answer past another iron ingot in my throat.
“Are you all right?”
“N—Yes. I am now.”
She smiled, melted into my arms.
“I am sorry,” I began to sob.
“Shh… No matter, sweetheart. Shhhh-shushhh…” She stroked my hair as I simply held her, perhaps a little too tightly, as though afraid to let her go again, lest she disappear…
“M-Marry me, Vilja.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Of course I will marry you.”
XXI Conclusions
Withal, it was not as simple as that. I bought a ring for her, but Solstheim girls apparently had other traditions, and Vilja was determined to follow them, one of which included me finding her several wolf pelts and then several more, in order that she could make ‘wolfcry’ armour for us both. She then sent for her parents, and as we awaited their arrival in Dawnstar we resolved a few more quests (one resultant in finding whence Alduin dwelt, though I was yet unsettled regarding my role in the inevitable confrontation with my demi-god kin). Upon their arrival, we were obliged to settle the matter of my bride’s stolen trousseau; her father and I slapped more bandits about for that.
Ere we went any further, however, I felt the need to reach some kind of a conclusion with both Aela and Serana; to know, once and forever, what they meant to me. Strangely, I felt nothing when I met the Huntress for the last time at Jorrvaskr. She was still a werewolf; still followed a routine of almost nightly hunting with her new pack that she had recruited as effective leader, now that I was absent. I told her that Vilja and I would marry.
“We all have our price, and a pain threshold,” she stated, still cryptic as ever. I thought she meant the price we are willing to pay, for what we think we want. Followed by the pain of actually getting it, whilst (almost) losing what we really need.
I left Whiterun, my mind changed about seeking my erstwhile vampire companion. I was uneasy about it, as though I did not trust her any longer not to try to turn me again. Moreover, a part of me still baulked at seeking her, as if it would be some kind of admission of weakness, having as much as banished her from my company.
“You are being stupid.”
I stopped saddling my horse, nonplussed that Ingjard would say such a thing, let alone why. Facing her as she prepared her own mount, I demanded to know her reasoning.
“You owe Serana much,” the vampire hunter answered, pausing in her own preparations. “More than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
She told me. I turned toward Fort Dawnguard.
I met the vampiress, wandering alone about the near-empty cobwebbed hallways. I no longer felt lust for the undead woman, or love, only something like pity and… regret?
“Thank you, Serana.” Ingjard disclosed that I assuredly would have died had Serana not fed me with her own blood during the long trip back from Solstheim. The vampiress did so again ere we set off to find me the cure, this time enow so that I at last regained consciousness, whilst leading me to believe that Florentius Baenius had ‘healed’ me; of course, he could not. How had I been so willing to overlook that simple fact?
Serana shrugged, said nothing.
I told her about my upcoming marriage.
“I congratulate ye both,” she responded. Though her expression told me nothing, my own reaction satisfied me more than her answer; I now felt content with her decision not to take the cure and thus be ‘available’ for me.
Interested to know how she was tolerated, I asked, “How are you… getting along here?” Did not the Dawnguard fear that she would snack on one of them at virtually any moment?
“I am fine. Thou needs not concern thyself with me.”
“Even so, I wonder… what will you do? You will not go home, to Volkihar? Or to your mother?”
“Mayhap. There is no one… at Volkihar.” I sensed she was about to add ‘for me’. “I no longer know whence I belong.” She may have seen the concern deepen in my eyes, and thus repeated, “Yet, be not troubled. I slept and dreamed a few thousand years; I have a few thousand more to consider my place in this new world. Mayhap I have none; it matters not.”
“What about dragons?” I proposed.
“What about them?”
“Perhaps you wish to fight them?”
I had piqued her curiosity about joining the Blades, but she reaffirmed her intent to stay to contemplate life – or at least un-death – a while longer. Which may be some time indeed.
I left, thanking her again, feeling guilt and more regret – that I could not help her? I was unsure. Ingjard and I returned home, Ingjard as my wedding guest, after which she would join the Blades.
Anon, my nuptial day arrived and I made my way by myself toward the Temple of Mara in Riften. As was Solstheim – or local, I knew not which – custom, rather than everyone awaiting the bride, the bridal party, as well as the rest of my friends, plus some local guests and dignitaries, waited thence. I had agonised briefly regarding what to wear, deciding upon my daedric armour, although I eschewed the helm. Briefly, I considered wearing an Amulet of Mara as a joke – knowing how Vilja disdained the traditional token of availability for most Skyrim inhabitants – finally opting instead for her mother’s gift to me, an Amulet of Infinite Patience. I had left all my weapons behind in Honeyside, my Riften home, aside from my daedric battleaxe – for ceremony, I told myself. Yet, no longer a werewolf or vampire, I felt helpless without some sort of weapon.
Which was just as well, since none other than Halvdan and a comrade confronted me in the courtyard just outside the temple. I warned them away, but they would not yield.
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