Fifteen Years

by threeblueribbons

Summary:

Stressed and exhausted Dragonborn Avangeline does Vilkas a favor when he's at his worst. Fifteen years later, he returns to fulfill his debt.

Notes:

• For waffle_Atronach.

Does anyone read Skyrim fanfic anymore?

Chapter 1: A year and a half before the defeat of Alduin

The Dragonborn cringed as a tankard clanged against the stone floor of the Temple of Kynareth.

A tired sigh escaped her lips. It would appear, then, that the message Danica had sent was no exaggeration. One more problem for her to address, as though her fardel wasn’t heavy enough.

To say that Avangeline had been having a stressful year was a dragon of an understatement. As a Breton living in Skyrim, she had always been somewhat skeptical of their superstitions regarding draugr, the dangers of magic, and some mystical savior with the ability to Shout in the tongue of the dragons. She had thought to live a simple life with her own small farm, somewhere near the water.

Of course, everything had been upended last spring when a voice that shook the very stones of Whiterun summoned her to High Hrothgar. She was the Dragonborn – a hero of legend fated to kill Alduin the World-Eater. Never mind that she was out of shape and knew little more about combat than how to defend herself against a handsy bard. Never mind the farm, the water, the simplicity. Suddenly she was going on fetch-quests, negotiating with Jarls, and rubbing elbows with some of the most reputable and notorious groups in Skyrim.

One such group was the Companions. At their best, they were an honor-bound company of mercenaries, protecting the citizens from bandits, beasts, and thieves. At their worst, they were arrogant sell-swords, given to drunkenness, disorganization, and pinching the ass of an occasional serving girl.

Avangeline had limited business with them, and honestly found most of them to be tolerable. She admired Aela’s directness and Farkas was downright charming. The only one she decidedly did not get along with was Vilkas.

Vilkas, who had apparently just knocked a tankard out of a healer’s hand for a second time.

The problem with Vilkas wasn’t that he was a drunk, disorganized ass-pincher. It was that he was infuriating. A Nord through and through, he wasted no time in letting her know that he was smarter than her, stronger than her, and that her welcome at Jorrvaskr wore thinner with every sentence she spoke. He was thoroughly unimpressed at her moniker, even questioning the wisdom of the Greybeards in naming “some chubby Breton” Dragonborn.

Well, fuck all of that! Avangeline had made it a point to avoid him after that particular exchange, which was easy enough as her work with the Companions gave way to a series of more important tasks. For some reason, saving the world from Alduin also meant staving off a civil war, which was currently taking up most of her time.

“Dragonborn.”

One of the acolytes had noticed her standing in the Temple vestibule, weighing whether it was wise to proceed given Vilkas’s current mood. The woman was scowling, her pink robe of Kynareth rumpled as though she had been running around.

“You’d better get your Companion under control,” she continued tightly. Before Avangeline could answer, she scurried off to tend to another patient.

Taking in a deep breath, she made her way past the healing pool in the center of the Temple towards the curtained areas on the left.

While most patients were treated out in the open, those suffering from chronic and long-term ailments were given beds with privacy curtains. It was not difficult to identify which belonged to Vilkas, as his grating voice came into earshot.

“…will not drink more gods-damned water! I am not a heifer. Now let me up.”

“You cannot leave the bed if you wish to heal, my lord.”

“I am not your lord and I am not having this conversation again.”

Avangeline had heard enough. She stormed up to the curtain, ripped it back, and fixed the man in the bed with a scathing stare.

“Oh, fuck,” Vilkas muttered.

The two acolytes that had been arguing with him looked drained. One had clearly been splashed with water when Vilkas knocked the tankard out of her hand, and the other seemed about ready to smother him with his pillow. The patient was sitting up in the bed, one leg thrown defiantly off the edge like he was about to stand.

“I am trying,” Avangeline began, slowly and quietly, “to understand why I was called away from my duties as Dragonborn to deal with a grown man throwing a temper tantrum.”

He immediately fixed her with a defensive stare. “Then we have that in common. This does not concern you, whelp. Move along.”

Avangeline felt her blood pressure skyrocket. Whelp! How dare he?

“This very much concerns me, given that I am the reason you are being treated in this Temple at all. Or shall I remind you that Kodlak had to beg me to leverage my position to get you accepted here for treatment?”

Normally, the Temple of Kynareth’s infirmary was open to any ill or injured person wishing to undergo restoration magic. Particularly auspicious was that it was located just a short walk away from Jorrvaskr, a building full of warriors who quite often required the services of healers.

Rather, it was auspicious until Torvar was admitted for an overnight stay. Three acolytes quit the next morning, and Danica issued an edict: the Companions were banned from the premises until further notice.

“I never asked him to do that,” Vilkas interjected, a frown tugging at his lips.  “And I certainly would not have wanted him to try to call in a favor with you.”

Ignoring him, she continued, “You are only here because I pledged for you, as a favor to Kodlak. I rather think that makes you the whelp.”

“And you the bitch?” he snapped.

One of the acolytes shifted uncomfortably. Avangeline remembered that there was an audience to his insults and decided to deprive him of the satisfaction. “Kindly leave us. I’ll need a few moments of privacy to discuss matters with my…” she fished for a word, “companion.”

They did not need to be told twice. No sooner had the words left her mouth than the curtain was billowing in their wake. Avangeline released a long breath she had not known she was holding.

Now that they were alone, the little alcove felt eerily still. The sounds of flowing water, hushed voices, and healing spells pervaded the Temple behind them. For the first time since arriving, she took a real look at Vilkas. He was sitting up in bed, bare-chested, with his shoulder-length hair a sweaty, stringy mess. His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot. He looked awful. A question rose to her lips.

“What happened to you, anyway?”

“What’s it to you,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. She could see bruising around the tops of his ribs, but with the blanket bunched up the way it was, the extent was unclear.

“If it wasn’t something serious,” she reasoned, “the Companions would have patched you up at Jorrvaskr. So. What happened?”

Vilkas appeared to consider. Although he was still his usual petulant self, she could see that part of him was defeated after having spent a week under the care of the acolytes. They certainly weren’t the company he usually kept.

“We were clearing out a Forsworn encampment near Markarth. Those idiots barely wear armor, so I was slicing through them like bread until Nadja got herself knocked unconscious with a spell. Useless,” he added. It was oddly comforting to know Avangeline wasn’t the only one he ragged on. “Despite being outnumbered, I put down the rest of them. The real issue was having to drag Nadja into Markarth with my injuries. Carrying her on my back was a stupid decision that made everything a hundred times worse. Now these milk-drinkers are telling me I need another two weeks of bedrest and magic.”

“These milk-drinkers are healers. They know what they’re talking about.”

He scoffed. “They’re know-it-alls, nothing more.”

Avangeline couldn’t keep herself from barking out a surprised laugh. Vilkas rewarded her with a glare. “What?”

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

Vilkas looked absolutely murderous. “If you’ve come to convince me to play nice, you’re doing a gods-awful job. And I’m not going to stop complaining until they start treating me with a shred of dignity. Besides,” he huffed, “this place reeks of death.”

“You’ll reek of death if you leave too soon,” she countered. She could see him preparing a comeback and quickly added, “Whether you live or die is of no importance to me, Vilkas. But I staked my reputation on this arrangement, and I need to stay on Danica’s good side. So whatever you decide to do… behave.”

The Companion flopped back onto the bed. As he did, the blankets covering his stomach slid back. Avangeline tried not to cringe at how bad the damage looked. His skin was eight shades of purple and the discoloration appeared to wrap around to his back. Fortunately, he was scowling at the ceiling and didn’t notice her evaluation.

As much as Vilkas pushed her buttons, she could not keep herself from empathizing. It must be miserable to be stuck here, isolated, with none of his friends able to visit him, not to mention the considerable pain he must be in. The atmosphere at Jorrvaskr was drastically different. There, boisterous stories were traded over ale and arm-wrestling matches; here, the muted music of water and whispers must feel unbearable.

To be honest, Avangeline did not like the quiet either. Since she had been summoned by the Greybeards, she had filled every moment of her life with fighting and training and traveling, doing favors for citizens and taking odd jobs to build up coin for better gear. The inevitable battle with Alduin appeared still to be a ways off, but every moment until then she had to spend becoming the Nordic warrior of legend this world needed.

Avangeline had already accepted that she would not survive that day. No woman, especially one as unremarkable as her, could vanquish a world-eating dragon. Thus, she filled her days with noise to keep at bay the incessant thoughts of mortality.

As he stared grumpily at the ceiling, she walked closer to his bed and sat on the edge of it. Vilkas shifted but did not look at her.

“I, uh…” she started. “I’m sure it’s not pleasant, being here.”

“Hmmph.”

“And it’s understandable that you’re in a bad mood because of it.”

“You aren’t helping.”

Avangeline felt her patience begin to fray. “I don’t want you to get kicked out, Vilkas. Kodlak said—”

The man squirmed to sit up abruptly. “You needn’t sit here and mother me, Breton. Aren’t you supposed to be saving the world?”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s always Breton this and whelp that. Do you even know my name?” Though Vilkas was a few years her senior, she always got the impression that he saw her as something like a needy younger cousin, showing up upon occasion and tagging along for tasks because Kodlak (dad) said she had to. She couldn’t remember the last time they had exchanged more than a few lines of dialogue without an eyeroll or a put-upon sigh. If he wasn’t going to acknowledge the huge favor she had done to get him into the Temple, the least he could do was treat her like an equal and call her by her name.

“Tangerine?” he replied in a singsong voice.

She had just about had it with him – maybe she should start calling him Farkas? Although, given that they were twins, he’d likely been dealing with that all his life.

“What is your problem?” she spat.

“At the moment? I haven’t had a good fuck in days.”

Avangeline’s cheeks exploded into a blush. Although she was no virgin herself, she did not speak so openly of sex and wouldn’t dream of bringing it up in a conversation the way Vilkas just did. A number of half-baked comebacks crowded in her throat, but died before they could reach her tongue. Her visible discomfort made Vilkas smirk.

Although it was clear that he’d said it to get a rise out of her, she also had an inclination he wasn’t joking. Vilkas surely did well for himself. She recalled a few times she had stopped by Jorrvaskr after sundown and had seen him with a woman on his lap at the ale table. One morning she had stopped by to compare notes about a bandit group and had seen Vilkas lead a young woman who’d clearly spent the night to the door. She had scowled at Avangeline as she passed, which was downright comical – please! As if there was a damn thing she had to be jealous of.

The last thing she wanted to do was let him win whatever this little argument was becoming. Straightening up, she fired back, “And are you such a slave to your lust that you can’t behave unless you’ve got some poor woman on her back every night?”

“Honestly,” he rejoined with an unsettling glibness, “I’d take care of it myself if there was an ounce of damn privacy in this place.”

If Avangeline was blushing before, her face was on fire now. How the hell had she gotten here? Sitting on a bed with half-naked Vilkas discussing his masturbation schedule?

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” he cooed. “I didn’t mean to offend your Breton sensibilities. Surely you’ve never engaged in such barbaric behavior.”

Dammit, no! She wasn’t going to let him embarrass her into a bumbling mess. Powering through the discomfort, she said with as much coolness as she could muster, “I’m no stranger to self-pleasure, Nord. And for what it’s worth, I would also be a whiny bitch if I was deprived of my… nightly routine. But that doesn’t excuse you from being decent to the acolytes.”

She considered it a victory that Vilkas looked surprised at her response. It was likely because he had never considered her in any remotely sexual capacity before. She had lost weight since she started training, but still bore unflattering proportions, a blotchy complexion, and an undercut that men probably found off-putting.

The silence unnerved her, as her own insecurities began to creep in. “Besides,” she sputtered. “It’s not like you have no privacy at all. They do have this curtain.” Avangeline reached over to fluff it with one hand.

“Aye, but these people delight in barging in unannounced to tell me to drink more water or do some inane exercise.”

Except, not right now. Because the Dragonborn had specifically asked for a moment alone to speak with Vilkas. If there was ever a time that they could ensure no interruption, it was right now.

An image rose in her mind, unbidden: Vilkas, curled forward in close-eyed pleasure, as Avangeline worked his cock with her hand. It was… kind of, unbelievably hot, if she was being honest with herself. To see this irritating man completely speechless in the throes of pleasure – because of her! – was quite possibly too good to pass up. An opportunity like this would never present itself again.

And well, sure, she did find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? Although he wasn’t looking his best at the moment, there was no missing his lean and muscular build, his strong jaw, and those intelligent, silver eyes. His twin Farkas may be the stronger of the two, and certainly the more affable, but there was just something about Vilkas and his stupid, stubborn face and Nordier-than-thou attitude and… arrgh…

Before she could take herself out if, Avangeline made up her mind.

Adopting an air of indifference and duty, she announced: “I’m a busy woman, Vilkas, and I don’t have time to babysit you. So if the only way I can get you to mind your manners is to jerk you off, let’s get this over with.”

 

 ---

 

Perhaps Vilkas had never truly woken up after passing out in Markarth – because the Dragonborn surely was not sitting before him, perched on his bed like a prickly housecat, offering to get him off in exchange for good behavior.

The notion was beyond tantalizing. He’d had it up to here with this shithole and its self-important acolytes, swinging their magic around like oversized dicks, using the same tone he used with Vignar when the dementia began to set in. Worst of all, none of the Companions could visit. Ria had been kind enough to send him a couple of letters on behalf of the group, and Kodlak visited him at the beginning with Danica’s supervision, but that was a week ago now. And he still had two weeks to go! He was losing his mind in this place.

So any diversion was welcome, even arguing with the Dragonborn. He would have kept her here bickering for another hour if it meant he didn’t have to go back to lying in his bed like an invalid. But everything had changed with the last sentence she’d uttered.

Vilkas swallowed, hard.

“Y-you’re not serious,” he attempted.

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Dead,” she confirmed. “If you’re interested.”

For all his clever comebacks and sharp-tongued banter, Vilkas found himself stupefied. His body, independent of his frozen thoughts, was becoming aroused. If she kept talking like that it would be difficult to ignore his impulses.

The Dragonborn was… not what anyone had been expecting. First of all, she wasn’t a Nord despite the legend being thoroughly Nordic, and second of all, although she had never said it to him directly, it was clear that she did not want the immense honor associated with the title. At first he’d thought her callow and unappreciative of her gift, an unremarkable woman who could not rise to the task. But he had watched her over the past year, saw the toll it all took on her. He had assumed being Dragonborn meant learning the Voice and fighting a few dragons – he hadn’t realized how she would get sucked into the brewing civil war and pulled in all directions by organizations vying for her name and power. Every time he saw her, she looked stressed and exhausted. This morning was no exception, although this time he was the cause of it.

It wasn’t that he disliked her, not after he had observed her for a while. She was nothing like the female Companions he was surrounded with, headstrong and determined to prove herself, nor did she fit in with the maidens at the Bannered Mare he routinely talked into his bed. She was compelling, in a way, but he couldn’t get over the fact that an upstart Breton had usurped the title from a true Nord. Besides, it was easier to give her the same cold shoulder he did with the new recruits than to think too hard about this twenty-something who would be fighting the world-eater by the end of next year.

But he had never seen the Dragonborn like this. Confident, commanding – sexy? Definitely sexy.

“Vilkas,” she said in a saccharine tone, calling him back to reality. “Piss or get off the pot, darling. I haven’t got all day.”

“Yes,” he blurted. “Gods, yes. Let’s do the… let’s do that.”

The Dragonborn straightened, her smirk blossoming into a genuine smile. Her tousled hair fell over one eye as she tilted her head, and Vilkas pondered just how wrecked she would look by the end of this. That is, if this wasn’t some joke Torvar or someone had put her up to.

He didn’t want to waste a moment more caught up in his thoughts. Keeping the blanket over his lower half, he shimmied out of his trousers and kicked them to the edge of the bed. He let out a sharp exhale as he twisted a little too far in one direction and felt his ribs protest.

“Tell me what position will work best for you,” she stated in a businesslike manner that made his cock jump. What was going on? Most of the women he was with were enthusiastically submissive, and he’d frankly thought that was what he preferred. Yet something about the Dragonborn’s aloof air and command of the situation was driving him wild.

Lying down would be most comfortable, but he wouldn’t be able to watch her in that position. He could suffer through a bit of pain if it meant seeing her face. “This is fine,” he replied.

She nodded brusquely and began to cuff back the sleeves of her leather armor.

“You’ll need to be quiet,” she explained, without making eye contact. She glanced at the small dresser to her left, then stood to approach it. She opened a few drawers before she appeared to find what she was looking for – a pillowcase?

“For afterwards,” she clarified upon seeing his confused look, miming the action of wiping something clean.

Vilkas actually blushed.

The Dragonborn settled back down on the bed, much closer to him than she was before. He could feel the warmth of her exhales. Something heavy settled in his stomach. This was really happening.

She gingerly reached for the blanket bunched at his hips and drew it back. His half-hard cock, suddenly exposed to the cold air of the Temple, became the object of the Dragonborn’s appraising stare.

“Hmm,” she said with a little grin.

“What? ‘Hmm’ what?” he rejoined immediately in a strained whisper.

She emitted a chuckle. “Just trying to get a rise out of you,” she admitted. “You’re kind of cute when you’re not constantly being an asshole.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Well,” she whispered, her hand hovering over him as though deciding where to begin. “Let’s see if I can jerk the bad attitude out of you.”

Although their conversation had momentarily distracted Vilkas from his arousal, it came flooding back the moment she made contact with him. When he took care of himself (which occurred daily), it was usually a rough, hurried series of tugs designed to get him off as quickly as possible. If he had someone sharing his bed, they generally had other priorities than manual stimulation.

So it was odd, though not at all unwelcome, to feel the Dragonborn’s fingers slowly curl around him and engage in a few experimental pumps. She made a thoughtful noise, shifted a bit on the bed, and continued her work. Her strokes became more confident, but no less careful.

She touched his cock like it was something sacred.

Vilkas had intended to watch every moment of her ministrations, but he could not keep himself from tossing his head back. It still hurt to breathe let alone gasp, but the sensation in his core overwhelmed the pain. Although, maybe the pain wasn’t such a bad thing. He may have humiliated himself if he didn’t have something to temper the orgasm that was building far too quickly.

“You like this,” the Dragonborn informed him quietly.

He grunted as she sped up slightly. “D-don’t flatter yourself. A Nord woman would have already gotten me there.”

Why was he like this? Why did he feel the need to demean her, even as she was treating him to one of the most divine favors he’d received in recent memory? This urge to one-up her, to challenge even her innocent assertions, was so deep-seated that he was apparently even willing to jeopardize this.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” she murmured drolly, and somewhere in the back of Vilkas’s desire-addled mind he realized that she was enjoying this as much as he was. Well – maybe not quite as much.

When he finally felt capable of looking at her, he found that she had planted her other hand on the bed, effectively squeezing her tits together. Now beneath the determined set of her jaw was a tantalizing swath of cleavage that caused his cock to pulse.

She said something under her breath and removed her hand, only to gently probe the base of his shaft with two fingers. Although he ached at the loss, he watched with fascination as she continued to pet and poke various spots as though to gauge their sensitivity. He maintained a poker face until she brushed her knuckles against his balls, his eyes squeezing shut. For some reason, it felt like she had discovered a gap in his armor rather than a particularly sensitive area. But maybe she hadn’t noticed, because she had moved back to playing with his foreskin.

“Looking for something?” he teased.

“Gathering data.”

Her warm hand was suddenly back on his dick, but this time her thumb rested lightly over his balls. As she pumped him, she swept her thumb back and forth and Vilkas was forced to accept that this was not going to last very much longer.

Perhaps the Dragonborn had sensed this, because she finally looked up and made eye contact.

“Remember the deal, Vilkas,” she whispered, squeezing the slightest bit harder. “You need to be on your best behavior for the acolytes. I’m not ruining my relationship with the Temple of Kynareth over a man who doesn’t even know my name.”

His self-control was fraying at an alarming rate. Sucking in a breath that caused a stabbing sensation beneath his chest, he reached for the back of her neck and brought their faces together. Her expression was shocked, but her grip on his cock did not falter.

“Avangeline,” he breathed.

Their gazes locked, foreheads touching and eyelashes brushing, and he thought it may have been the most intimate moment of his life.

Vilkas was not particularly vocal during sex, but all bets were off with the fucking spell this woman had cast on him. To stifle the shout accumulating in his throat, he crashed his mouth into hers. The angle was murder for his ribs, but all cogent thought flew from his mind when she returned the kiss with equal ferocity.

The orgasm clamped down on him like a bear trap, shooting from his core to his extremities. He moaned into her mouth as delight flooded his body. Streaks of warm, wet ejaculate painted his chest and abdomen. He lurched back when the cramping in his side became too much to bear and planted both hands firmly on the bed behind him.

A calm settled over him that he had not felt for weeks. The trickle of water and shuffling footsteps were eclipsed by his own labored panting. A serenity that he felt deep in his bones began to replace the heady ecstasy of his release.

As he came to his senses, he was aware of the cum becoming cold and tacky, and his injury was throbbing. Although he wanted to come up with something clever to say to the architect of his pleasure, he felt capable of little more than collapsing back into the bed.

The mattress moved as the Dragonborn stood up. Although he could not see what she was doing from his angle, it was only a moment before he felt fabric on his midsection. As solicitously as she had first touched him, she wiped away his mess as he continued to get his breath back.

Before he could panic about what to say or do next, her delightful cleavage came into view as she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

“Be good,” she whispered.

If it was anyone but her, he might have made a joke about how he’d renounce vice entirely if it could earn him another hand job like that. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the swish of the curtain as she pulled it aside to leave.

Despite the thoughts buzzing in his mind and the ache in his side, it wasn’t long before Vilkas fell into the most restful sleep he’d had since arriving at the Temple.

Chapter 2: Thirteen years after the defeat of Alduin

Vilkas almost asked the carriage driver to turn around when the lone farmhouse by the lake came into view.

This was a mistake, a folly. He had been mad to think that the letter currently clutched in his white-knuckled grip was reason enough to turn up unannounced on the Dragonborn’s doorstep. It had been nigh on a decade since he had last laid eyes on her, let alone had a conversation.

And yet, he so vividly recalled the conviction he had felt upon reading the letter from Athis earlier this week. The Dunmer had been out on a long-term contract near Solitude, occasionally writing to his shield-siblings to let them know how things were going (that is, when he wasn’t penning steamy missives to Ria). The most recent one was sitting on the table when he woke up a few mornings ago, so he skimmed through it as he did with most of the communications. The job was going well, the client appeared happy with the services, and then in an unassuming paragraph near the closing…

I ran into the Dragonborn this week, would you believe it! Fighting a cold but otherwise well. She is living alone in Morthal on a small farm & says she is happy. She looks different – plumper, quieter, but peaceful, I think. Asked after all of you & bid me wish you good tidings.

At the time he had read those lines, it had felt like no clearer reason for a visit could have presented itself. He had scribbled a note for the Harbinger (who was no longer Kodlak, Arkay keep him), threw together a few days’ provisions, and hailed the first carriage he could track down to Morthal. On a whim, he’d taken the letter with him, as though the woman would demand evidence upon hearing the flimsy pretense under which he was visiting.

The carriage rumbled as the horse turned onto the path leading up to the cottage. A tendril of smoke was emanating from the chimney and the glow of a fire coming from inside cut through Morthal’s perpetual fog. At this point, she may have already realized she had a guest. Turning back was no longer an option.

The carriage came to a halt and Vilkas’s stomach churned with anxiety. What had he been thinking, showing up like this? He was in his forties, for Talos’s sake – not some callow whelp who acted on impulse. Maybe he could come up with some other reason for the visit, he thought franticly, like what if someone had sent him to check up on her, or—

“Sir? Help ya down?”

Vilkas looked at the driver, who had walked around to the back of the cart and was extending a hand. Usually, he would insist upon moving around by himself, but the bad weather was doing his leg no favors. He shouldered his pack and accepted the driver’s hand, grabbing his cane as he exited. The ground was stable, if not a little muddy, so he hobbled a few steps forward to gain his bearings.

The payment had already been taken care of, so the driver bid him farewell and navigated back to the road. That left Vilkas with nothing more to do than approach the farmhouse and carry out his idiotic plan.

To procrastinate more than anything else, Vilkas observed the corner of Skyrim that the Dragonborn had staked for her own. Beyond the farmhouse lay several small outbuildings and what appeared to be a forge.  A pair of heifers and a flock of chickens were grazing in the distance, surveilled by a tired wolfhound. Evidently his presence was no cause for alarm. To the west, the land sloped downward into a swampy lake, part of which was cordoned off with a series of nets. The eastern half of the property held a series of haphazard vegetable patches, some fallow, some sporting exotic crops he did not recognize.

He heard stirring from within the cottage.

Vilkas would not wait to be discovered hovering outside her home like some sort of stalker, so he hastened to the door and rapped on it before he could talk himself out of it.

In the moment before she opened the door, he was struck with a need to brush back his hair, straighten his jerkin, rub at the stubble that had surely appeared on his face since he last shaved. But none of that would make a difference. He was not coming here as a man who had anything to offer in the way of good looks. Not any longer. The day he’d lost use of his leg – an injury from which he would never fully recover, physically nor emotionally – was the last day he’d felt any degree of self-esteem. Unable to fight, he slowly lost his muscular build and his reputation as a fearless warrior. Women didn’t want the sadsack he’d turned into. Now he was just another loud, frequently drunk Nord who hung around Jorrvaskr to coach the new recruits.

There was only one thing he could offer the woman behind that door now, and he prayed to Talos that she would take him up on it.

The door creaked open, and there was Avangeline. She had indeed gained weight, as the letter had noted, and she had grown out the undercut. Her face and eyes were just as he remembered them, though – still as bright, but not as tired. A thick, knitted shawl fell from her shoulders almost to her feet, where two housecats were rubbing against her.

No one would guess that this was the woman who had bested the hellish dragon Alduin thirteen years ago, saving humankind from enslavement.

After the legendary defeat, the Dragonborn had rapidly retreated from public life. This confirmed what Vilkas always suspected: she had never wanted that honor, and was relieved that it was behind her. He even once overheard her speaking with Aela, confessing that she had no idea what to do with herself now post-Alduin. She had not expected to survive.

So she hung around Whiterun for several years after the battle, occasionally running errands for the Jarl or stopping by Jorrvaskr to offload some of the equipment she’d stockpiled. Crossing paths with Vilkas was inevitable, but conversation with him wasn’t. He could count on one hand the number of times they had spoken since… since the Temple. Did she regret it? Did she think he regretted it? He never got his answer, and before long her Whiterun home sat empty. Rumor at the Bannered Mare was that she’d bought a farm somewhere north and just wanted to live a quiet life, and that was as much as he knew.

Until Athis’s letter.

“Vilkas?” Avangeline said, her voice light with awe. Suddenly her face exploded into a smile. “Wow! I can’t believe it – two Companions in one week!”

Her joy was infectious. He chuckled and leaned against his cane. “In the flesh,” he confirmed, already feeling a lifetime better about this.

“How long has it been?” she asked with wonder. “Too long,” she answered herself. “Come in, come in.”

Avangeline and the cats stepped aside to let him out of the fog, and the warmth of the fire lifted his spirits. Her home was about as quaint and cozy as he could have imagined. Drying herbs adorned each ceiling beam, the playful cats were scampering about, and nearly every surface was filled with cluttered but organized belongings. The walls hosted a few relics that he recognized from her time as Dragonborn, but those were far outnumbered by rustic decorations and doodads that he would sooner associate with an herbalist than a warrior.

“Well,” she said, walking over to the stove where she began to fiddle with a tea kettle, “What can I do for an old friend?”

Friend was not exactly how Vilkas would have characterized any stage of their relationship. He wondered if her upbeat mood would help or hurt his chances, given that the only other time anything had happened between them was the result of a squabble. “Ah, actually,” he began. “Perhaps we could sit?”

“Of course.” Once she had the water on, she hastened to a wooden table and situated herself in a chair. Vilkas sat as well, his bad leg extending between them as he was no longer able to bend that knee. He rested his cane against the wall behind him.

Avangeline clearly took notice of his disability, but said nothing.

“So,” he said, withdrawing the letter and clutching it like it was a shield. “I – well, first – how are you?” he bumbled.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well enough. Yourself?”

“It’s just – when Athis wrote us, he said you had fallen ill. Seeing you now, I realize how foolish that sounds, but I guess – I guess I misinterpreted his words.”

Lies. Fighting a cold but otherwise well is a far cry from falling ill. Frankly he had no reason to bring the letter at all if he was going to sit here and misrepresent its contents. Sweat beaded his brow.

Avangeline graced him with a curious smile, patting a cat that had hopped onto the table. “I hope I didn’t give Athis the wrong impression – I really only had a case of the sniffles. Surely you didn’t come all this way for that?”

“No,” he blurted, “not just – I know you can handle yourself. Rather…” Gods, this was every bit as agonizing as he feared it would be. Should he keep dancing around what he wanted to say, or just spit it out? Approaching this the wrong way would ruin everything…

The kettle shrieked, and she left to tend their drinks. A moment later, there was a teacup in front of him, but his mouth was still devoid of an explanation.

Her tone was decidedly different when she spoke again, pulling him out of his spiral. She sounded much less like a woman playing hostess and more like the Avangeline he remembered from Whiterun. “Look. Vilkas. I’m no stranger to old friends showing up at the Dragonborn’s door for a favor. Tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“No!” he blurted quickly, nearly spilling the tea she had just set down before him. “It is the opposite. There’s something I wish to do for you.”

She cocked an expectant eyebrow, but there was a tiredness behind the gesture. His chest clenched as he imagined the others who had been in this very seat, reminiscing about the good old days and then slipping in a request to see if she would invest in a new business, or have her coerce some Jarl to turn a blind eye to a given activity. That wasn’t right. Avangeline had made a choice to end her involvement in Skyrim politics after the battle. It was only appropriate that they respect her decision.

Vilkas picked up the tea and downed half of it in a gulp. He slammed it onto the table louder than he’d intended, then vomited words to drown out the clatter.

“What passed between us when I was at the Temple of Kynareth – I – I think of it often, and I have always felt badly about how one-sided it was. When I heard that you were sick, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for me to compensate you. To – do for you, what you did for me.” His face was redder than a snowberry, and he had yet to make eye contact with her. “And of course, I realize how daft this all sounds. It has been many years and I am well aware that I am no longer the man I used to be.” Vilkas finally lifted his gaze, and found her blushing about as hard as him. “It’s just, to be honest, Avangeline, that was about the sexiest thing that ever happened to me. Let me repay the debt I owe you, at least in one regard.”

Avangeline’s gulp was visible. “So,” she began quietly. “What are you actually proposing? That you bed me?”

“No,” he responded immediately. “Believe me, I have no illusions that you’d want to do anything of the sort with an old cripple. But,” he said, managing a smirk despite the his lack of confidence, “if my hands can do for you half of what yours did for me, I hope to leave you with a smile.”

She choked back something that might have been a laugh. “And you still feel this way, even after seeing…” She gestured vaguely to herself.

He assumed she was referencing the weight she’d gained, the laugh-lines bookending her intelligent eyes, the strands of gray streaking her hair. Taking a page out of his twin’s book, Vilkas admitted with honesty and simplicity: “I think you look beautiful.”

The tension appeared to leave Avangeline’s body. An incredulous chuckle escaped her lips, and she replied, “And you’re no old cripple, Vilkas.”

This… was going well? This was going well! He had been so prepared for rejection or disgust that he had not dared to plan what would happen if she accepted his offer.

She stood up and straightened her housedress. “You must have had a long journey here. I can give you a moment to clean up, and I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.” She gestured to a door down the hallway. “Is that agreeable?”

“Yes,” he said, before she could rescind the offer. He retrieved his cane and hobbled to the basin as he listened to Avangeline head in the opposite direction. His heart was hurling itself against his ribs in anticipation.

Vilkas splashed some water on his face as he listened to the door click shut behind her. He looked down at his hands – still rough from his days wielding a sword, but no fresh callouses. He had made a big promise just now and was wondering if his fingers would be able to deliver, out of practice as they were.

With a final crack of his knuckles, he began resolutely towards the Dragonborn’s quarters.

 

---

 

Vilkas in her bedroom doorway was a vision.

Avangeline bit back a sigh as she started at the six feet of Nord before her. It’s true that he was over forty now and had a bad leg, but why did that just make him sexier? Maybe it was because it had been a long time since she had taken a lover. Her life these days was very solitary, which was more or less as she preferred it – but it did mean opportunities for pleasure were few and far between. Perhaps her standards had fallen since her last tumble at the Moorside Inn.

Or maybe he really was just that stunning. His hair was longer than she remembered, now pulled back in a band accentuating the shocks of silver at his temples. It made him look… distinguished, she decided. He still had those piercing eyes, but everything else about him was softer, somehow. Less muscular, less snarky, less infuriating.

The softness looked good on him.

Avangeline was seated nervously at the edge of her bed. She had been quite confident during their encounter in the Temple – which was apparently the sexiest thing that ever happened to him?? – but she wasn’t sure she could pull that off twice. Especially when she was knocking on forty herself and hadn’t Shouted a dragon to death in a few years.

“Shall I—?” he gestured towards the bed.

“Of course.” Avangeline scooted back to give him more room. She had taken off her underthings while he was getting washed up, just to avoid any awkward wriggling when they got down to business.

Vilkas leaned his cane against the wall – she was intensely curious about that, but would not inquire – and waddled the few paces to her bed. He gently eased himself down, bad leg extended. He let out a small hiss of pain with the change in position.

“Vilkas,” she started gently, almost reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t want him to get the impression that her words were coming from a place of pity. “Tell me what would be the most comfortable for you?”

“But this isn’t about me,” he insisted. She could hear anger simmering beneath those words, not at her, but at the situation. Perhaps at himself.

Avangeline considered for a minute, and then lit up. “I’ve got an idea that I think might work for both of us.” She rose to her feet and gestured towards the headboard she had just been leaning against. “Why don’t you get situated there, and I’ll sit in your lap? I think it will give both us… ideal access,” she finished with a smirk.

Vilkas’s eye went wide. “Oh,” he stuttered. “That – does sound good.”

It took a bit of shuffling, but he ended up sitting against the headboard surrounded by pillows, both legs stretched out in front of him. He looked a bit awkward, but the wide spread of his legs left a perfect cleft for her to sit. She tried not to let her eyes wander to his crotch.

Avangeline cast off the shawl and settled her ass between Vilkas’s thighs. She scooted up so that her back was against his chest, and gingerly leaned into him to see if it felt natural. It surprised her to feel his hands come to rest at her hips, tucking her firmly against him. A heat crept through her body. Although half an hour ago she could not have even imagined this scene, she rapidly felt herself sinking into a divine sense of comfort.

“How do you feel?” Vilkas whispered, massaging little circles into her hips. His voice sent a chill down her spine.

“Hot,” she breathed, even though that sensation was warring with nervous energy at the moment. She felt him smile against her neck.

With a sigh, she committed to letting the last bit of tension out of her muscles and truly sank back into his chest. He picked up on the cue quickly and migrated his hands to her thighs. Her big, stupid thighs, which chafed unless she wore something under her robes or frocks, that looked like pale tree trunks—

Her self-talk died as Vilkas let out a breath that could only be described as fraught with arousal. His fingers danced her skirt higher and higher until he was touching bare skin. She held her breath as his knuckles grazed her curls.

“You are so warm,” he told her tenderly. Avangeline was melting into this man, his solid chest, his honeyed voice, the perfection of his touches.

“Nnh,” was all she could manage in reply. He was so close to learning the truth – that she was not only warm, but desperately wet.

As he crept nearer to her core, Avangeline felt herself getting frustrated. “Vilkas,” she sighed. “You made me wait fifteen years for this. If you don’t get to business soon, I’ll make you watch me take care of myself.”

Vilkas cleared his throat and nudged her forward a little bit. She thought for a moment she had said something wrong when she felt his hand brush the small of her back. She heard the band on his trousers snap - he was adjusting himself.

So, the opposite of wrong, then.

In a swift movement he had pulled her back into position, his clothed cock snuggly tucked against her ass. He obediently put his hand back between her legs, but this time, she felt him dip his fingers into her entrance. She gasped in excitement.

Without pushing in too far, he gathered some of her wetness and slowly ran his finger northward. Her whole body clenched as he finally made contact with her pearl. An undignified sound escaped her.

For a moment it felt like they were both holding their breath – Vilkas stroking her with such gentleness it was cruel, Avangeline trying not to ascend to Dibella’s realm before they’d properly gotten started. After a few heartbeats, he found a pace that was to her liking, and her whole body relaxed.

“That,” she uttered. “Just like that.”

His touch was electric. It felt so good that she couldn’t help but squirm in time with his movements. Although she had only been concerned with herself in that moment, his reaction was instant. A visceral groan tore from his throat as she continued grinding against his cock.

“Woman,” he breathed. “Have mercy on me.”

“No,” she rejoined, humping his hand even harder. The sound he made was pathetic.

“Please,” he begged. “I – I want this to be about you, and I – I’m weak…”

Avangeline forced herself to stop. “Fine,” she snapped, enjoying the repartee almost as much as his ministrations. Almost. “Then use put your other hand to work up here.” She grabbed his other hand off her hip and swung it gawkily up to her chest.

Although her housedress was still on, her underclothes were not. There was no mistaking her hardened nipples through the fabric, and gods did it feel good to finally have some contact.

Poor Vilkas was frozen like a deer in an archer’s crosshairs. He gave a light, tentative squeeze, then jerked his hand back like he had done something wrong. “S-sorry,” he mumbled. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” she snarled, playing the part of a woman losing her patience. In reality she was flattered that she had turned him into such a bumbling mess. “Do you need me to show you how to fondle a breast, Nord?”

His laughter came out as a warm huff of breath on her shoulder. His fingers between her legs resumed their stroking as Avangeline sighed and sank back into his chest.

Vilkas’s talented fingers set a new rhythm, one akin to a horseless cart careening down a hill. Avangeline felt she no longer had control over the desperate thrusts of her hips or her graceless squirming when he brushed a nipple. She panted like an animal in heat.

“Your tits, Avangeline,” Vilkas uttered, gently squeezing like the experience was to be savored. “The nights I’ve dreamed about them… never, never this good… c-can’t believe this is real…”

“Me neither,” she breathed. “This… gorgeous man just shows up at my doorstep…” She paused to suck in a breath. “B-begging to finger me… for penance.”

Words became impossible after that, as Vilkas had discovered exactly the right tempo and positioning to coax an orgasm out of her. As she crested the peak of her pleasure, he blessed her with a whisper of “Avangeline” against her ear, the same thing he had said in the Temple years ago. But this time, it wasn’t a frantic response to her cajoling, a slapdash offering made in exchange for his release. It was a reverent whisper – and perhaps a tacit admission that he thought her worthy of reverence.

Floating back down from her climax felt serene with his strong arms wrapped around her. She nestled her head into his neck and enjoyed the quiet of her bedroom, the soft symphony of rain on the roof, and little snores from the cat sleeping in the corner.

It occurred to her that she was being selfish by getting comfortable when only one of the parties had been satisfied. Their arrangement be damned; after such a performance, the least she could do was return the favor.

“I should – let me –” She struggled to turn around to face him, but he arrested her with a hand on each shoulder.

When she met his gaze, his cheeks were pink. “No need,” he admitted sheepishly. Avangeline laugh, and he rolled his eyes with a smile that said the experience was worth the teasing that would surely follow.

Vilkas excused himself to change into a pair of trousers from his backpack. When he returned, he flopped onto the bed beside her. Their arms were touching, but he had not exactly wrapped her in an embrace again. Was he feeling the same awkwardness and uncertainty she was?

“So,” she began, unsure how to broach the topic of what came next. “I expect you’ll be missed in Whiterun if I keep you in my bed too long. Much as I’d like to.”

Vilkas gave a small laugh. She was flattered to find that he was still catching his breath. “To be honest, I was so nervous about how all this would go, I’d not given a single thought to afterwards.”

Avangeline was glad he wasn’t looking to leave right away. She absently put her hand over his and stroked the back of it with her thumb. “Maybe then, you should stay. For a few days, I mean. The journey wasn’t a short one, and goodness knows this place has enough room for company.”

“You’d have me sleep in a separate room?” he asked, feigning indignancy. “I must not have performed to your liking.” Before she could answer, he leaned in and whispered, “Shall I use my tongue next time, then?”

Oh. “For something other than bickering, I hope,” she quipped, and silenced him with a kiss.

Notes:

My fanfic writing-to-reading ratio is like 1:1,000,000,000 so I wanted to make a wee contribution. Thanks for your time.