The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Tamriel and its inhabitants belong to Bethesda. Zephyr Silvertongue is an original character.
Do not read if you are easily offended by fanfiction, romance, or an Imperial Dragonborn who snogs gods.
This story takes place in Sovngarde, just after the defeat of Alduin. While not “smut” like the previous installments of this series, it is a fun little interlude involving true love, temptation, and headcanon about the Dovahkiin’s relationship to Tiber Septim.
I’d actually written this many years ago, but didn’t want to publish until I’d finished the previous chapter, “The Dunmer of Debauchery.”
1,250 words.
– J.L. Hilton
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A TSUNNY DAY IN SHOR’S REALM
With the dark fog of Alduin World-Eater lifted, color and light poured into Sovngarde like Cyrodilic brandy into a silver chalice.
I stood, swathed head to foot in dark leather, a spectre in the sparkling glade, and tried to conceal my disappointment. The Nord afterlife pleased the senses, but offered no treasure, no cunning crown, rare scroll, nor gold coin to steal back to the mortal world. I settled for a blue mountain flower—fragile and faintly aromatic as any in the land of the living—which I plucked and slipped into my alchemy bag. Delivered by the Dragonborn from the fields of Shor’s Realm, it would have the worth of a thousand sapphires in Skyrim.
Teldryn Sero might have suggested I gather pebbles, too, and sell them at a roadside stand outside the Thalmor Embassy. But, here, my snide Dunmer lover could not accompany me. The dragon Odahviing bore only one mortal to the ruins of Skuldafn, and I alone battled the dragon priest Nahkriin to enter eternity.
Bare-chested immortal warrior Tsun waited near. He served as sentinel of the Whalebone Bridge and the Hall of Valor, still and sturdy as an oak, ever watchful. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like a storm, shaking the boughs of the trees.
“Tarry not too long, the land of the dead is not meant for mortals to linger. Tell me when you are ready to return.”
There was a nip in the air despite the blossoms on the mountainside. Not cold but invigorating. I removed my Nightingale mask and drank in the idyllic landscape, wishing Teldryn could share it with me.
“Give me time, I implore you, mighty Tsun, to taste Aetherius and savor the soul hearth of the Nords, for I shall never walk here again.”
“When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you with glad friendship and bid you join the blessed feasting.”
Ah, yes, feasting. Piles of meat and sweet pies filled the tables of the great hall, ale flowed like water, and swords clashed in friendly combat. Not unlike Jorrvaskr, but not my idea of paradise.
“I am pledged to Nocturnal.”
He stepped closer, radiating magical energy that prickled the hair of my neck into gooseflesh. The glow of him was not seen with the eyes but felt deep in the bones and in the spirit, a radiance that soothed aches and eased burdens I wasn’t even aware I had until I felt them cease. His hands moved over my shoulders as if dusting void salts from my armor.
“Aye. Shadow clings to you.”
I turned, my nose level with the guardian’s heart. In Skyrim, my height equaled any Nord, Dunmer or Imperial. But he stood head and shoulders taller than even Knight Paladin Gelebor the Snow Elf, and twice as thick. I tore my eyes away from his fur loincloth and the steel tassets over his impressive thighs, and looked up at his face.
“I’m an Imperial, not a Nord.”
Tsun hooked his thumbs under the edge of my hood and slid it from my head, cupping my cheeks in his enormous hands, reverent as if drinking water from a holy well. “The river of your lineage flows from the blood of Tiber Septim.”
The honorable shield-thane of Shor was no liar nor a fool, but the Septim dynasty had ended centuries ago, during the Oblivion Crisis. Or so said bards and scholars.
“How is that possible?”
He threw back his head and laughed, a robust laugh that echoed in the heavens. Then he smiled at me, his eyes sparkling. “In the usual way.”
“There’s no rumor nor record of any living Septim after the sacrifice of brief Emperor Martin.”
“Blood may flow without a name. Some songs are sung in darkness.”
“Ruling requires more than mere words – even those given to me by the glorious guardian of Shor’s Hall. For me to become Empress would require mighty deeds.”
He stroked my hair. “By such deeds as the doom of the soul-snaring worm Alduin, so the valiant Dragonborn will return to Sovngarde.”
I felt light-headed by the intoxication of his touch and my lips curved in a reckless grin. “Are you trying to convince me to come back? Or reluctant to let me go?”
His eyes turned hungry, as a bear might gaze upon a salmon in a stream. Was there not as much fornicating as feasting and fighting in Sovngarde? Truly, not the forever for me.
“Long has time been since I beheld a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood, and longer still since that hero be a shieldmaiden.”
“You are the lord of trials,” I said, standing on tiptoe and combing my fingers through chest hair that glinted like Dwarven metal in the holy light of the afterlife. “Would seducing you be as difficult as winning my way across the Whalebone Bridge?”
“Seduction is not the trial, Dragonborn, but the act itself would be formidable, unless you are as brave in bedding as you are in battle, as I hope you are.”
Of course, a legendary fighter would have a legendary “blade.” The thought evoked an elemental clash of heat and dampness in my core. I’d not bedded another man nor mer since my first night with Teldryn, more than a year ago. This, however, was no man nor mer, but a god. Could I deny him Dibella’s holy ministry of pleasure?
I pressed as close as my leather armor would allow, my chest crushed against the ornate steel buckle of the fur belt girding his waist. He bent to kiss me and the silvery ornaments binding his thick, russet braids tinkled like bells. He smelled fresh as the wind and tasted like a mountain stream, lips supple as kid leather. I stretched my arms around his massive neck as he lifted me from the ground with surprising gentleness for such a hardened barbarian. The curved torc at his throat hummed with a host of enchantments, cold as ice against my skin.
I thought of the heat of Teldryn’s ash-gray flesh with its scent of lavender and leather, the long, precious points of his ears, and the web of deep creases around his red eyes. His lean elven physique fit mine like a hand in an enchanted glove. How nimble Teldryn’s lips would have danced across mine, around my ear and down my neck, while his musical voice whispered depraved desires. A sudden yearning for my dark elf overpowered the radiance of Sovngarde or any promise of powerful bedding.
Tsun set me on my feet and stepped back, straightening to his full stature. “The Night Mistress is not the only one who claims you.”
I belonged as much to Teldryn as to Nocturnal. He knew, with that preternatural knowing of a god, connected to the currents of magic and time that wove through all things, from a moth’s wing to an Elder Scroll, though I wondered exactly what he knew about the forces that bound my soul.
Stern and inscrutable again, he seemed disinclined to continue his daliance with me. I left my questions unasked, weary of arcane knowledge and the intrigues of Aedra and Daedra. The revelation of my birthright weighed heavy enough, and I had more to deal with in Skyrim, where the civil war would resume upon my return.
“Then I should go.”
He nodded. “Return to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need. Nahl… Daal… Vus!”
And thus I left the afterlife.
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Read more Skyrim…
Skyrim smut 1: “Come with me to Sovngarde”
Skyrim smut 2: “I need another stamina potion”
Skyrim smut 3: “Tickling the angry troll”
Skyrim smut 4: “The Dunmer of Debauchery”
Skyrim smut 5: “A Tsunny Day in Shor’s Realm”
Skyrim smut 6: “Return to Solitude”
How I left my husband for a man with pointy ears
~ J.L. Hilton
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