Worthy

The Dovahkiin considered. Lydia was no weakling, her sword-arm had contributed to the demise of many foes, even if it had not been recently. She was worthy, and he did not begrudge her desires...in or out of their bed.

"Very well." A man of many words was the Dovahkiin.

"I have scouted a cave hours away from here," Lydia confessed. "I believe it was a crypt of ancient Nords. The air was frigid inside, even near the mouth, and I could hear distant sounds of something I cannot place."

She paused. "It would be a worthy battle."

The Dovahkiin was more pleased at the prospects. He enjoyed conflict and battle, but not the long waits of searching in between. The beauty of Skyrim, pervasive, was something he had observed for far too long to continue noticing it. In his life, he yearned for only further challenges, to set himself against the best nature and dark magics could offer.

"Tomorrow you will lead me to this cave. Ready yourself battle and collect your armour." The Dovahkiin took another bite.

"One more thing." The words were hesitant, halting, and less certain than before. They had been married for long enough that even the oblivious Dovahkiin could see a strange swirl of emotions on Lydia's face.

Confusion, trepidation, joy, mischief...

"What is that, wife?"

Lydia took a deep breath. "Bring Aela."

The Dovahkiin emerged from Breezehome the into morning sunlight. Whiterun had a hard kind of Nord beauty, a functionality and baseness that passed the more urban settings of Windhelm and other towns the Dovahkiin had visited. Above it all, though, as if to remind the town of the true ruler of Skyrim, were the looming mountains. Only Dragonsreach, the hall of the Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun rose to the challenge, and it was a feeble one at best.

Not one for wasting time, the Dovahkiin was already dressed for battle. His iconic horned helmet hid the top of his head, exposing only the lower half of his hard face and dark eyes. It lent him an almost demonic appearance, amplified only further by his near legendary status as a conqueror of Skyrim's evils.

Denizens found their eyes drawn to him and his form. A few of his female conquests favoured him with furtive smiles. The Dovahkiin ignored all of it. He had no time to waste, as he strode forward determinedly.

As he approached Jorvvaskr, he saw some of his fellow members of the Companions. While the secret of their nature as werewolves were known to him, he did not let it faze him in the slightest. The Dragonborn gave a nod to a sparring pair of burly Nords, the brothers Farkas and Vilkas. The Companions themselves were among the only people in the town worthy of his notice and respect.

Aela was in the middle of her morning workout already as he stepped inside Jorrvaskr once again. She was swinging with her fists at a workout doll, striking with surprising strength. But it was the kicks that the Dovahkiin remembered most from so recently, which she unleashed less often, but more devastatingly, rocking the doll.

She was beautiful. Slim, for Nord women as a rule favoured towards athletic, toned, strong, and balanced. Her arms were thin but corded with muscle. Her toned thighs awoke a number of memories of their last coupling two nights past. The curtain of red hair, framing the fierce tattoos on the face, was tangled in sweat but that somehow made her all the more endearing.

"Aela." The Dovahkiin stood in the doorway, huge and armoured. Aela finished a series of blows, then brought a cloth-clad hand up to wipe at her nose, panting slightly. Her eyes met his and her face broke from its still, determined mask to favour him with a smile.

"Dovahkiin. How can I serve." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but the Dovahkiin had no time for such now. Death and battle awaited first.

"Armour yourself, Companion. You will have the privilege of joining me in battle."

He paused. "And Lydia as well. You once told me that was what you wanted."

Aela contemplated that with the sly smile of a minx.

"Delightful." Aela's normal tone was deeper than most women, but still managed to convey a definitely noticeable note of sultriness. "Sounds like fun."

The morning was not old when the three of them set out from Whiterun together. As they passed into the green, uneven fields surrounding the town, the Dovahkiin took a moment to reflect on the surroundings.

He had seen around Whiterun hundreds of times by now, since he had chosen to make it his home over the other potential settlements of Skyrim. By now, he had explored much of Skyrim, from the very bowels of the earth to the Throat of the World. He had seen so much that he had perhaps ignored sights that might have inspired others.

It was undeniably pretty though. An idyllic environment of pure nature, and perhaps it had some extra power to him to view it through company, particularly the company of two women.

Lydia, clad in her housecarl outfit and dark hair braided for combat, took a joyful breath of the clean, pure Skyrim air. There was a sense of joy about her. The frigid mask and coldness of the household, cloistered Lydia was gone. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her legs bare. A faint smile played among her face. It had been some time that Lydia had looked so fair in the eyes of the Dovahkiin.

Aela herself was more serious and reminded the Dovahkiin of a formidable serpent poised to strike. Her sinewy form bore her own standard combat outfit of cloth that slashed down to reveal the curve of breasts and the pale chest. Her eyes were keen, her hair windblown, expression poised and serious.

Aela was the Huntress, and she was looking for her prey.

Together they marched for several hours, well into the uninhibited wildlands of Skyrim. They passed a giant walking along with some mammoths, shuffling along on huge, shambling legs with downcast eyes. The Dovahkiin approved of giants. Fierce fighters when roused.

The only conflict emerged at midday when a pack of wolves found the courage to attack them. Perhaps regarding the Dovahkiin as the most threatening, one each dove instead at his companions. Lean grey creatures, products of a harsh environment, wolves were formidable foes. But not formidable enough, As the Dovahkiin brought his own Daedric longsword up, gleaming dark but glittering with enchantment, to ensure no further wolves approached, each of his companions gutted their attackers. For good measure, he gave a ferocious Dragon Shout to drive away the pack, who fled yelping with their tails between their legs.

Lydia's sword was red with blood from where she had thrust it deeply into the wolf mouth. She was breathless, and looked even more excited than before at the experience. The Dovahkiin studied her with approval, as Aela herself methodically wiped her own blade off, already prepared for battle again.

As the sun was sinking into dusk and evening descended, they finally found the cave.

It was a large fissure in the rock, with a total darkness inside that would have daunted many common travellers. It only served to excite the Dovahkiin and his two beautiful companions. After receiving a nod from Lydia, the Dovahkiin led the way inside.

To address the darkness, the Dovahkiin shifted his sword into one hand. From the other emerged a bright fiery ball of threatening magic. The sword itself shone with enchantment and lent a low light, as the Dovahkiin descended, a huge form lighting up the darkness.

Queer sounds echoed through the cave as they descended, and the culprit was soon caught. As the Dovahkiin passed an open coffin, the skeleton inside it suddenly stirred, bearing an ancient Nord sword and with cold eye sockets glowing with bright blue light.

The Dovahkiin did not even bother to throw his fireball at the creature. It would have been too easy, and it was his preference to keep it in reserve for further threats. His sword swing sheared the skeleton's weapon arm in half, dropping the sword from his hands. As it clattered unnaturally at him, he swung his sword again through its neck, decapitating it. The bones fell to a pile below him, now devoid of magic.

All around him he could hear the clattering and stirring sounds of more skeletons. The Dovahkiin smiled, and plunged into the fray, his companions following.

It would have been a slaughter, if sending skeletons back to the grave could be counted as such. A dozen attackers drove towards them, and the Dovahkiin sped through them like a whirlwind of destruction. One skeleton was deprived of a steely end by a fireball that incinerated it where it stood.

It was not all that easy, however.

There was a strange sound, as if some cloth were being faintly parted. The Dovahkiin cast his eyes upward to see the thick white web and spindly black legs slicing through it. And then there came a louder sound, a hiss from the above, and a huge spider clawed through and began to fall onto Aela.

The Dovahkiin shouted, but was unable to act, parrying the blows of two skeletons to drive his sword into a third. Aela looked upwards to see the horrible sight of the spider falling down at her and then suddenly there was a flash of steely light. A sword suddenly sprouted from the spider's round backside, piercing deeply into its vitals. It was thrown with such force that the spider's diving attack was driven off and it fell off to her side.

Aela looked at the spider and the sword thrown into it, then her attention was driven back towards the skeleton attacking her. The wounded spider, huge and horrible with its mandibles clacking, leapt forward again.

And a huge sound filled the chamber.

"Fus Ro DAH!"

A huge hurricane of sound and air passed Aela's side, setting her hair flying. It struck the spider square and drove it backward from its second attack. It hissed in confusion and fury, sword hilt still protruding. The creature began to stir for another attack.

It never happened. A fireball followed, a huge, hellish inferno of power thrown by the most powerful man in Skyrim. Some creatures were capable of dodging such, but certainly not a dazed spider struck by a fierce Dragon Shout. The fireball struck the spider square, and its body simply liquified. If the creature could have screamed it would have, but its face and mouth were point of first impact. The legs twitched horribly and then they too disintegrated, until there was nothing left but a foul stench and cinders.

Aela dove under her skeleton's blow and raised her own sword in a vicious uppercut to shear the skeleton's skull in two, the front of the skull falling away. As it reeled she swung her sword in another blow to decapitate it, the best way to deal with skeletons.

Hers had been the last. Silence fell on the cavern.

The three stood there, panting. The room was the last of the cave. Inside the coffins were a variety of goods, the odd gem and heirloom buried with the skeletons. A traditional Nord burial site.

"Was that worth the walk, husband?" Lydia commented. She no longer bore her own sword, which was now completely disintegrated, a casualty of the fireball that had claimed the spider.

The Dovahkiin nodded, then turned to loot the cavern. Availing themselves of any equipment they deemed worthwhile after the battle, the Dovahkiin and his companions made ready to depart. Through the darkness, their feet often met the bones of the defeated skeletons.

Lit by the light of the Dragonborn's sword and fireball once more, they made their way out to see a dark night that paled before the darkness of the cave. As they continued forward, the Dovahkiin saw Aela throw a curious glance at Lydia, but no words were spoken.

They would need to camp for the night.

All three sat beside the roaring fire as the darkness descended around them.

Aela's strange eyes flickered with the reflected light as she pondered to herself. On the other side of the fire, Lydia was studying her new sword with the trained eye of a warrior. With the loss of her previous one, and the journey that awaited them on the morrow, she had been forced to make do with the best they had found in the caves.

The best of the collection was an ancient Nord sword formerly wielded by one of their skeleton enemies, and probably even living creatures before that. Years of neglect had left it well spotted with rust, but the blade had looked the sharpest of the lot. Lydia brought out a grinding stone down upon the metal, trying to clear away the rust, sharpening the blade to lend it new life.

On the third side of the fire, the Dovahkiin had opened his pack to begin eating some of the meal they had prepared for their journey. A large man, particularly after the day of travel and fight at the end, needed his strength. Particularly since the Dovahkiin had needed to use both his magics and a Dragon Shout. Nothing was quite like the last to work up an appetite, as the Dragonborn proved, tearing into a loaf of bread with bare hands.

Words were fleeting as the trio instead listened to the fire crackle and the rasp of the sword sharpening. They would need to be on their guard tonight, here in the wilds of Skyrim with a fire blazing. The wolf pack would return, or a variety of other enemies of the wilderness.

It was Aela, turning away from her ponderings in the flickering flames of the fire, who finally broke the silence.

"You saved me, Lydia."

Lydia paused a moment mid-stroke, then continued. "I suppose I did, Aela."

Aela turned her eyes from the fire to look at her. "You didn't have to. You could have let me die."

"Why would I do that?" Lydia commented neutrally.

Aela studied the dark-haired housecarl shrewdly. "Because you know. About me, and the Dragonborn."

Lydia stopped. Her face was still as she studied the red-haired Companion, but her face grew a little more stoic and hard.

"I suspected it."

The Dovahkiin was discomfited by this discussion as if he were not there, but he instead filled his mouth with a powerful ale. Sometimes, even he knew better than to speak.

Aela looked evenly at Lydia. "Your husband is a strong man. One of the best of Skyrim."

"I know that." Lydia paused, then pressed on. "I know you are not the only other woman he has met after our marriage."

Well, now at least it was in the open. For good or ill. The Dovahkiin looked at Lydia, but it was not in him to apologize. "Lydia. You-"

"I've always known about the way you were, Dragonborn, from the day you first walked into Dragonsreach." Lydia paused a moment, then continued.

"I've always known he was not the marriage type. When I accepted your proposal, I knew who I was getting into. I would have the finest man in Skyrim, who would not change for anything. Even if I sometimes wished it was otherwise."

Her face was strange, as conflicting emotions were wrought themselves upon it. As if to distract herself, she sharpened the sword again, continuing her dialogue almost benignly.

"I confess I am not exactly pleased my husband is sleeping with other women. But I knew it was possible, even likely. Perhaps I clung onto the small hope that it was all untrue, despite the evidence. The late nights."

Silence descended. Then Aela spoke up again. "Then why did you save me? One of your husband's...lovers?"

Lydia looked at Aela steadily.

"Because, compared to the many in Skyrim that I know my husband has been with, you are the worthiest, Aela. Of him."

She sighed quietly, then went on. "I've always seen you from afar. You are among the best of the Companions, a far-famed Huntress. A true Nord woman. Why wouldn't my husband be drawn to your beauty, your strength? Even I-"

Lydia suddenly stopped mid-sentence. She looked like she had said too much. Some colour suffused her cheeks, though it was hard to tell for certain by the firelight.

Aela didn't say anything for a moment. "High praise from the wife of the Dovahkiin. One woman in the many that he actually chose to marry. I hope you realize, you must be very special for that."

Lydia did not respond to that, but the colour in her cheeks did not fade.

Aela rose. The Dragonborn tensed slightly between bites, ready to swiftly act. But he knew better than to interfere unless it was absolutely necessary.

The Companion Huntress strode around the fire, walking carefully, swaying slightly in that sultry way that the Dovahkiin approved of. She reached her destination, and bent her head down.

Lydia had been carefully studying her sword for rust marks when she felt the pair of calloused, yet still somehow delicate warm hands grab each side of her face. Her face was raised upwards to see Aela's pale-eyed stare.

And then, fearlessly, the Huntress brought her face lower, and brought their lips together.

Red-haired and dark, the two Nord women sank into the joy of their first kiss. Lydia tensed for a moment, then she seemed to deflate into the experience. The sword and sharpening stone fell from her hands, which instead snaked upwards to grasp Aela's own face. Their faces moved, and the Dovahkiin saw their tongues snaking between each other's lips.

After a while they broke apart, breathless. Aela smirked as she moved backwards. Lydia's eyes closed, as if to try to savour the memory.

"Well, I see a bit of what the Dovahkiin does in you," Aela commented wryly. "I would like to see a little more."

Lydia's eyes opened. They were sparkling with hunger and joy, and above all, lust.

The Dragonborn rose, but Lydia looked back at him. "No, my husband. Not yet. Soon."

His wife rose to stand with Aela and this time initiated the kiss herself, snaking her arms around the red-haired Huntress. Aela felt joy; Lydia was a strong worthy woman, and they both wanted this. This only proved it.

Normal women would be fumbling in their lustful zeal. But these two were trained warriors, their hands steady. Before the Dovahkiin's eyes, kissing and embracing one another, they began to discard the other's clothing beside the roaring fire.

It was much faster for Aela's clothing, of course. Lydia simply had to place two hands on each side of the inside of her vest and push outwards. Below the dueling tongues, the red-haired Huntress' small breasts came into view, pale with hard nipples to indicate her heady arousal.

Aela herself had removed the armor from Lydia, leaving her in a cloth tunic. The Companion smiled briefly at Lydia, making the housecarl flush, then gripped the bottom of the tunic and lifted it upwards. Lydia unresistingly raised her arms so Aela could easily remove the garment.

They were both unclad above the waist now. Their kiss broken, the two women took a bit of time to stare down at the topless beauty of the other. Lydia's own breasts were larger, her nipples dark instead of pink, but the way they jutted outwards indicated that she was just as excited about events as Aela was.

Then they kissed again. Of roughly equal height, the two Nord women snaked their arms around each other's back. Their breasts pressed together, each feeling the pressure of their own nipples digging into the other's.

It was quite a sight for the Dovahkiin, as his eyes drew downwards from their dueling tongues to their compressed breasts, rubbing lithely against each other with sinuous turns of their heads. He restrained himself. This was not a sight to interrupt. Yet.

As they kissed, Aela snaked a hand downward from Lydia's back. She gave one of Lydia's breasts a squeeze even as it pressed into her own, then snaked the hand into Lydia's pants. Lydia broke the kiss. She gave a contented little sigh as Aela's hand snaked downward. Looking into the pale eyes of the Huntress, she felt as the other woman reached her sex, the moist burrow between her thighs. Lydia let out her first moan of pleasure.

Aela slipped a finger into that wetness, and Lydia moaned again. Her dark hair shimmered in the firelight, her eyes locked onto Aela's as she felt her depths fingered again and again. Lydia would not be merely conquered though. She slid a hand of her own down Aela's leather pants. The housecarl felt her hand pass through a nest of pubic curls and then the sticky wetness that marked Aela's own core.