How is it possibile that I want to have sex with half of the characters in GoT? Men and women alike, doesn’t matter.
I just realized I blush whenever Cersei is on screen, for example.
27- frustrated PhD student-science lover-fangirl. Here you'll find lots of Harry Potter, The Hobbit, Tolkien stuff, Skyrim, Sherlock and some bullshi about me. Hope you'll enjoy :)Any question, darling?
How is it possibile that I want to have sex with half of the characters in GoT? Men and women alike, doesn’t matter.
I’m watching Game of Thrones.
WHY oh WHY is Rast so sexy to me?
WHY Rast too?
WARNING: Violence. Lots of. And some sex. And disturbing stuff. If too sensible, avoid reading.
As for many other people, my first memory is my mother. I will never forget her embrace, her face, the crow eating off her eyes.
She’d been dead a day; an attack by robbers or something like that. She had tried to protect me with her body and succeeded.
They found me still alive, in shock, stuck under a stiff and cold corpse, its swollen and deformed face already prey of wild animals.
Of course, I can only suppose that woman was my mother; those who found me thought it was obvious and the people who took care of me afterwards never wanted to investigate any further about my ancestry.
As too many other unlucky little creatures I ended up relegated in Riften’s orphanage, a depressing, cold and cruel place just like the world outside where I would have been thrown after almost ten years between those moldy walls. At fourteen I would have been considered old enough for a brilliant career as a whore, beggar or –if lucky- scullery maid.
At least, this is what Grelod, the orphanage’s director, claimed. Grelod the Kind, as children and servants called her, one of the most gratuitously evil creatures I ever met. I never understood what brought her to take charge of such a delicate task as children management: she clearly hated us above everything in the world. Maybe she decided so because of hunger, but this doesn’t make her more likeable to me: she treated us like beasts. She didn’t care about us being happy, well dressed or with full bellies since she considered us the worst part of future society and wasn’t interested in improving our condition. She even had the nerve of saying we would have thanked her for the hard lessons she taught us, when we would have grown up.
But very few of us grew up. Riften is an unhealthy town, filled with the mephitic humidity rising from the canals. Rats are everywhere, clothes always smell of mold, even if freshly washed. I knew it hadn’t always been like that, I knew there had been some kind of splendid and glorious past to talk about in taverns, during the gloomiest days. Apparently, though, that past left no trace in that town of grey people and furtive glances.
Riften was dying. Those who could afford it left, and those who stayed were not recommendable people. Us orphans were the only children on the streets and nobody ever came to adopt one of us.
I’m still wondering how people could want to live in such a city; someone told me they had business to take care of, someone else that they were too old to leave, or too poor, or too tired. For some people, Riften was just home.
Well, not for me. Riften’s not my hometown as much as Skyrim is not my motherland. I have nothing such a motherland. Even if I try hard, I could never be mistaken for a local, though my accent is clearly similar to that of the people I’ve been living amongst for my whole life. Where Nords are tall, fair giants, I am Breton: short, dark, I always looked like a child if compared to those huge warriors around me. Maybe I look like my mother; if so, I strongly wish she looked better in life than how I last saw her.
Of my first years at the orphanage I mainly remember physical sensations. I was a petite, calm little girl, often alone; I always tried not to be noisy, not to annoy anyone. Grelod terrified me: that woman could have punished a child just because he sneezed. I spent my days unsuccessfully trying to avoid undeserved punishment.
A “naughty” look, a “too loud” word, and here came ear pulling, beating, fasting.
Grelod laughed at me; when I sat quiet and still for hours, pretending not to be there, she called me “dolly”. I seldom talked, there obviously was something wrong in my head, she said.
I never dared to answer; I let her laugh and say horrible things (“you’d better be dead too, like your mother; one less mouth to feed!”) while I tried not to cry. Whenever I failed my task and sniffed, Grelod was triumphant: she had a chance to punish me for being a whining brat. And, since I was a “dolly”, she closed me in a dark, smelly closet. This is one of my so called childhood’s most distressing memories; the closet was in an attic, probably projected to host brooms; it actually was empty, the wooden floor so dirty it looked like clay. There were no windows, no chairs, so I spent endless hours in the dark, huddled against the cold wet wall. Time went on slow and silent, then it came. A small, far sound. Nails scraping on the floor. Light, small steps, sometimes a muffled squeaking.
I could not avoid them. As much as I screamed and hit the door and prayed Grelod never let me out. As soon as I leaned against the wall, exhausted, trying to be invisible, rats approached. They walked on my bare feet, they bit my hand and clothes; they smelled like urine and were wet and vicious. I hated them, and I still do, after so many years.
Long story short, my first eight years in Riften were not so interesting and very depressing. Time passed and I grew up a bit; I was still thin and short, but when I was twelve it became clearer that I was no boy. While Nords my age were starting to bloom into tall, ungainly girls with long feet and uncertain hands, I entered adulthood more gracefully. So, even if I had to trim my hair short to avoid cooties, I started to look like a girl.
We orphans, during the day, stayed gladly out of the way; Grelod was busy –or so she said- and the less she saw us the less likely it was for us to be blamed for breathing her own air. The boldest ones smuggled apples from the market, while some others took advantage of an haggard little face and trembling lip to obtain some coins from passers-by.
Unluckily, I was unfit for both activities: too scared of punishment to steal, too shy to beg, I only wandered about the town, more unnoticeable than cobblestones on the street. And still, had I really been unnoticeable, my life would have been much happier.
One day I went taking water to the well. It was a monotonous, hard work, to be repeated many times during the day; buckets were heavy and tended to tip, so my feet were soaked before I reached the top of the stairs to the orphanage. Still, that day I was fumbling with the chain; it was cold and my fingers were stiff.
A hand leaned on mine; I looked over my shoulder and I saw a large, sweated face smiling at me from under a big mustache.
“Poor child, let me help you… it’s heavy, isn’t it?”
I blinked and removed my hand from the stranger’s sweated one; still, he did not seem evil, so I nodded.
The man chuckled and with few strong movements pulled the full bucket out of the well. Meanwhile, I stared at him: I had seen him before getting in and out of the big house near the tavern, that one with lemon trees beside the door. I knew he was a merchant but not his name, so he became the Merchant for my whole life.
He was rich, with his fur-lined hat, jewels and the big, round belly of one who ate often and well.
The Merchant laid the bucket on the ground without spilling a drop and puffed.
I stayed aside, my hand clasped and a vague sensation of anxiety. I surely was doing something wrong, so I was quite surprised to see the Merchant smile at me.
“Thank you, sir” I whispered keeping my stare low. After a while I felt a gentle touch on my chin and raised my head.
“You’re such a lovely little girl… where are you from?”
His voice was sweet, high pitched; the question was pretty silly but I thought well-educated to answer.
“I’m at the orphanage, sir. And now I should go back there, or Grelod will be angry…”
“Don’t worry about this. But… aren’t you cold? With such thin clothes you might as well go around naked!”
I looked down at myself. I was barefoot as usual, and my dress was so old and worn-out that it actually was transparent on my elbows and shoulders.
“Just a bit, sir, but I don’t mind it”.
The man frowned and shook his head. There, I made him angry.
“That’s not good, little girl. I bet you’re hungry, too. You should come with me, I can give you something to warm you and maybe a piece of cake, if you wish”.
He reached out his hand; I looked at him for a moment, then at the orphanage, then again at that hand.
“If-If I’m late, Grelod will punish me, sir. And I don’t want to…”
“Don’t be afraid, darling. I promise nothing bad will happen to you”.
My stomach chose that moment to remind me that I hadn’t eaten anything since last night. I swallowed and took the Merchant’s hand.
It was the first real house I entered. And it was like stepping into a dream.
The house was big, with two floors; the stone walls kept out the humidity and there was no moldy smell in the air. It was warm, and the big fireplace produced no smoke.
My eyes were wide open as my mouth; the glass at the windows was clean, colourful and intact. Someone, somewhere, was baking bread.
The first floor amazed me as well, from the marble twisted stairs to all the fresh potted flowers.
“Are… are you a prince?” I asked. The Merchant laughed heartily and let me enter a large room at the other side of the corridor.
“No, my dear, no, I just spared some money!” he said closing the door. The key clanged twice in the keyhole but I didn’t notice.
The walls were covered in bookshelves. I approached them on the tips of my feet and indulged in touching the leather rim of a tome.
“Can you read?”
“No, sir. Grelod says we don’t need it and nobody aver taught me”.
The Merchant sat at a vaste desk. “And did anybody ever told you a story?”
“Then you should really come here. Sit on my lap”.
I reached him; he had took off his cape and hat, revealing a shining, almost bald head. He smiled and I noticed he missed two teeth. His gaze was elusive and kept on darting from my face to the strings of my ruined shirt. He took me by the waist and placed me in his lap. I thought it comfortable, with all that natural stuffing, but something hard was pressing against my tight and the more I moved to settle the worse it was. Thw merchant swallowed and panted faintly.
There was a book on the desk; I clearly remember the twirls of the words, the black ink and creamy paper. He started to read and made me repeat the words, one by one, slowly, while caressing my neck, and then my back, and my legs.
He caressed me and his breath broke. I stopped amidst a word and looked at him in concern.
“You’re not well, sir? Do I weight too much?”
“No, no, my sweet child, my princess. I’m fine. You don’t need to be afraid, you know?”
“What should I fear, sir?”
“Nothing, just… just let me touch you. And don’t worry”. And I did not worry when he touched my lips with his thumb, nor when his hand dropped searching for unexisting roundness. I was getting uneasy.
The Merchant closed the book. “We… we will be more comfortable on the bed. What do you say, my dear?”
I shrugged. To be honest I had already eyet that wonderful mount of feathers and quilts, with heavy velvet canopy.
I got off the Merchant’s lap and went sitting on the bed’s edge. I couldn’t help but laugh. For a moment I really was a child: I fell backwards and spread my arms, it was soft and warm and smelled like lavender.
I didn’t notice that the Merchant was undoing his pants or that he was getting undressed with trembling hands while approaching the bed.
He slipped a hand under my skirt and before I could do anything his dark shape crawled above me.
“BE a good girl” he whispered in my ear.
And I tried, even though I didn’t understand what was going on. I only knew that it burned and scratched and hurt. I cried, I wriggled and I tried to scream, but a heavy hand closed my mouth.
It didn’t last long. One, two thrusts and a muffled moan shook him. And then he laid on me, lumpy and motionless; the very hand who shut my mouth was now weak.
I couldn’t breath, with that heavy mass over me; I had bitten my lip and now I felt blood on my tongue. After a moment the Merchant stood up, sleepy. He kissed my forehead and my lips; his tongue touching mine felt strange.
“You’re such a good girl! So long since I didn’t find one as good as you… you deserve a prize!”
I tried to get up and not to sigh; something slimy dripped off me.
The Merchant was cleaning himself with a white towel and stared at me, nodding. Only then I noticed how limp he was, his belly covering his crotch and two flaccid breasts.
He dressed up and wore his hat, as iff nothing had happened.
I sat there, still, shocked at the fact that I was clearly pissing myself. I was not going to get up with him there to notice how I ruined his fine bedcover.
The Merchant went back to his desk, took something from a drawer and handed it to me. It was a small leather clinking bag.
“You deserved this. You can stay for a while, if you wish”.
He patted my cheek and left, singing.
I waited some minutes, the small bag in my hands. When the sound of singing and whistling died in the distance I dared open it: there were coins, in there, more than I ever seen all together! I could not count them, but I knew they were many. I dried the tears with the back of my hand: yes, it had been painful, but also very fast…
I stood up, euphoric; my legs trembled. When I tidied my dress and turned around a wave of terror filled me.
There was a drop of blood on the sheets.
Was I hurt? But he didn’t use any weapon, it was impossible. I briefly touched myself: yes, it was painful, but not as much as an open wound.
My breath rushed: I needed to leave. If they’d found me I would have been punished for staining the bed. A second, worse thought lightened up: what if someone though I stole that money? Or they thought that was the Merchant’s blood, that I attacked him to get the money?
I was such a naive girl…
I held my breath and listened. Nobody was approaching, I still might leave without troubles.
I tucked my skirt around my knees and hid the bag between the folds, hoping that the clinging was not too loud.
I could be very silent, if I wanted to. I ran the stairs and almost fell on my back when a sturdy shape appeared in front of me. Some coins spread on the floor.
I was screwed.
I raised my eyes on what turned out to be a freckled mid aged woman, with a wide waist and strong arms. Her light blue stare was reproachful.
“Mind your… oh!”
The small blue eyes softened almost ad once; she took me by the arms and pulled me on my feet.
“What are you doing here, little girl?”
My throat was clenched with anguish. I tried to speak but I only sighed.
The woman shook her head, picked up the coins and held them to me.
“Don’t worry, dear. I don’t want to hurt you, I’m not… him”. She placed a warm, calloused and friendly hand on my shoulder.
Still, I was panicking, breathing fast and my lips tingled, my hands cold.
“Poor, poor little thing. What happened? Ah, I wish I didn’t know, I wish I could help you… it’s terrible…”
“No”, I yelped shaking my head. “I did not steal the money, my lady, I swear! The other sir gave it to me!”
“Be quiet”, she said in a firm voice. She placed her other hand on my shoulder and shook me. “I know you didn’t steal anything and that the master gave them to you. I know I shouldn’t talk about him like that but…”
She pressed her lips together with contempt.
“Come with me, okay? You… you don’t have to talk about him. The others never want to. But they cry”.
She left me and I stared at her, dozed.
The woman placed her fists on her broad hips and frowned. “I’m serious. Follow me, I won’t harm you. You could use some flesh on that bones”.
My belly moaned again. The stranger smiled; she missed a front tooth.
“Come on, let’s go to the kitchen. Some hot milk and a slice of cake will be useful… at least for your hunger”.
I licked my lips and followed the woman, down the stairs and beyond a secondary door.
The warmth and light in the kitchen hit me like a fist, even if the rest of the house was far from being dark.
In the big fireplace an orange fire roared; on it there was a spit: the roasting animal spread a delicious smell.
I was starting to drool. I was concentrated on the copper pans hanging from the walls, the bundled herbs, all the messy vegetables on the tables to notice the sad looks in the servants’ eyes.
I hid again the bag in my skirt and climbed a stool. After a while a cup of steaming milk appeared in front of me, followed by an enormous slice of soft cake.
I stared at those marvels then looked up at the woman, shocked: “Is… is this all for me?”
“Eat. You look like a scarecrow”.
I hurled at the cake. The firs bite was so sweet and delicious made my jaw hurt. I choked and quickly drank a sip of milk. It was warm and sweet and I tasted honey.
The woman who took me there smiled.
“What’s your name, dear?”
I swallowed and cleaned my mouth with my sleeve.
“Alina, my lady”.
Well well, there it goes. My first time translating some of my works.
English is not my first language so I’m pretty worried about the results! :)
I’ve been playing Skyrim for years, now, and I still get excited when the main theme starts at the beginning of each game. There are such a lot of storylines and amazing characters… I couldn’t resist telling my Dovahkiin’s tale. It will be pretty long, I think :)
The title comes from one of my favourite bands, Two Steps from Hell: I listened to their music while writing and found them so inspirational and epic I thought they deserverd some kind of acknowledgment! Also chapters are named after Two Steps from Hell’s songs (both for how music and title sounded).
Hope you’ll enjoy and please, please feel free to point out anything uncorrect: I still need to improve!