literature

A Time for Comfort...(Martin x Lysa)

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The Elder Scrolls and all
characters and content are
copyrighted to Bethesda.

Lyrics to 'The Last of the Giants'
are copyrighted to George R.R. Martin
Please refer to Karliene Reynolds' 
rendition/arrangement for the
'version' Lysa sings
. Seriously, go
support this amazing artist. She rocks.


A Time For Comfort  For Mikalero  By Roslynnsommer by MikaLero
(Commissioned Illustration by Roslynn Sommers)

Evening Star (December) 3E 433 - Aftermath of "Blood of the Daedra"
                                         (~4 months after the death of Uriel VII on 27th of Last Seed (August))

    Harsh, bitter cold winds blew down from the Jerall Mountains, whistling and howling like a pack of banshees in the night. Its wailing could be heard even in the communal barracks beneath the Western Wing of Cloud Ruler Temple. Lysa dipped her washrag into a basin of lukewarm water, wringing it out and scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn spread of dirt and smears of tacky, dried Dremora blood on her neck. Kicking aside her shed, dirty small clothes over towards her armor, she frowned, tilting her head to the side and pulling her red hair out of the way - trying to scrub even harder over her left shoulder blade.  It didn't matter how many times she ventured into the realms of Oblivion, whether it was to combat the forces of Dagon, or free trapped souls at the bidding of Peryite, dealing with daedric filth left behind a clinging stink she couldn't stand. 

Having scrubbed away as much of her skin as she could without causing herself to bleed, Lysa grabbed and pulled a man's shirt over her head.  The sleeves were a little long, the threads a bit worn, and the hem reached down nearly to her knees.  There were few female Blades as a general fact, which generally dictated no real difference in provisions or accommodations at the Temple - it was considered a thing of note that she, Caroline, and Jena had a corner of the barracks screened off for a measure of privacy while dressing or washing. At all other times, they ate, slept, and trained alongside their male counterparts.  It didn't bother her one whit, though she had been a touch surprised at the casual, off-handed nature with which the rest of the Blades appeared to handle the subject.  She'd always been under the impression the southern denizens of Tamriel were a great deal more... prudish.

She sighed, chewing on her bottom lip.  She felt torn - worried and fretting. Jauffre had met her upon her return to the Temple, long after the sun had set beneath the horizon. As it was, dawn was only a handful of hours away. He had taken Spellbreaker from her on Martin's behalf to store in his chambers until morning.  Martin had apparently passed out from exhaustion slaving over the Xarxes again and been put to bed before her return.  His self-care had been lacking, particularly in terms of sleep, even before her retrieval of that wicked book.  The problem had only gotten worse in her absence.

    'I fear what that evil book will do to him,' Jauffre confided to her as they walked together up the courtyard steps, the lines of age in his face all the more pronounced as he frowned. 'He does nothing but pour over it all day and into the night. He must be cajoled into eating, sleeping, anything at all that doesn't relate to its study.'

She was so lost in thought, she walked face-first into her armored Knight-Sister Jena while rounding the corner of the dressing screen to get to her bedroll.

"Oi, watch it now," the Imperial woman exclaimed, though her smile and steadying hands on Lysa's shoulders clearly indicated a lack of annoyance or ill-will.  "I heard you were back. Are you alright?" she asked, brows knitting together a stitch when she got a good look at the other woman's expression.

Lysa smiled weakly, her cheeks a touch red. Had she lost all sense, wandering about like an absent minded fool?

"I am fine, Jena, thank you. Tired. Worried. How is Martin, truly?"

Jena's smile faltered, and she hesitated in answering. "He would do well to take better care of himself," she said at last.  "I'm going to go relieve Baurus for a few hours..." she added quickly, seeing her friend's crestfallen face. Martin wasn't the only one who needed sufficient rest, and she knew Lysa would have none tonight if her mind remained so unsettled. "Come with me?"

Lysa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and nodded quickly.  She didn't want to wake Martin and disrupt what precious little sleep he was getting, but Jena - who was quickly becoming one of her best friends - appeared to know exactly what would have the best chance of putting her mind at ease.  In the back of her mind, Lysa also offered up a silent prayer of gratitude that the other woman did not insist on such juvenile teasing as Baurus when her eyes followed Martin too long and wistfully, or her overly protective attitude sharpened her voice and put an edge to her words in conversation.  Her un-admitted feelings for the heir to the Ruby Throne were an open secret in the Temple - obvious and apparent to all except the couple in question.

The two women walked arm in arm, talking to each other in hushed whispers.  By the time they reached the stairs that lead up to the Emperor's quarters, Jena had succeeded in making her friend genuinely smile, and even laugh!

Halfway up the stairs, they heard a sudden, piercing bout of screaming.  Lysa froze, her face a picture of mute horror as she recognized it as Martin's all but immediately.  But just as quickly, she recognized something else.  Whether afflicting a grown man, or a young girl like her sister with a foot still in childhood, the soul-crushing fear of crippling night terrors was distinct and universal.  Jena had started first in a sprint up the rest of the stairs, but Lysa quickly recovered from the initial shock and overtook her.

When she reached the top, the door to his room was already open.  Continuing inside, Lysa saw Baurus struggling with Martin, having hold of his wrists with large hands.  Martin was covered with sweat, eyes fluttering and expression contorted as his mind was still deep in the clutches of his nightmare.  Rushing forward, she took the Redguard by the shoulders and pulled him back fiercely.  "Stop. You're making it worse." she barked at him.

Her fellow Blade stumbled back, looking startled as he had not heard her behind him.  "What in the...?" 

"Trust me," she said as she stepped past him. Lysa took hold of one of Martin's hands and pulled him towards a sitting position.  Quickly, she swung herself behind him, sitting on her knees.  Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed herself against his back and squeezed, pinning his arms to his chest.

Martin moaned loudly, pitiful and struggling.  His thrashing ticked upward in intensity for a few brief moments, and Lysa thought she might lose her grip.  He was not a weak man - hadn't been at least.  How depleted had his strength become that she could restrain him so?

"Martin... Martin, it's alright.  It's alright, it's just a dream, it isn't real," she whispered hurriedly in his ear.  Over and over again she repeated herself, murmuring an endless stream of comforts.  "You're safe, I promise.  Martin, it's alright."

His struggling began to slow and soon came to a stop.  His eyes remained closed and his chest heaved with each half-crying breath, and his entire body shaking. Lysa cast her hazel eyes over to Baurus.  Jena was beside him, and by now the sounds of Martin's screaming had woken and begun to draw what felt like half the Temple. She did not see Jauffre yet, but had little doubt that he would be there, and in very short order.

"Cold water, and a clean cloth," she stated very simply in a low voice. Jena turned on her heel quickly, pushing her way past the gathering Blades in the stairwell. Baurus lingered, hesitating until Lysa gave him a pointed stare and mouthed 'Go.'  Such things as this were difficult enough to calm in the most quiet of circumstances, and would be impossible with half the Order crowded into the room staring.

Once the door was shut and they were for the time alone, she gave a shuddering sigh and buried her nose in Martin's hair.  Keeping one arm firmly around him, she briefly reached up with her other hand to brush away the hair stuck to the side of his face. She blinked furiously to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling out onto her cheeks and began to sing a wordless melody.  Her voice grew in timbre and strength, the tune dusky and soothing.  It evoked a feeling of cold snows, tall trees, and the sharp, ashy smell of burning pine.

As his mind began to slowly work its way back to the land of the wakeful, Martin's hands found her arm and held onto her like a drowning man would a raft. She winced a little at how tightly his fingers dug into her forearm, but kept singing. As she felt him begin to relax a little, the words started to come.  

Oh, I am the last of the Giants...
My people are gone from the earth...
The last of the great, mountain Giants...
Who ruled all the world at my birth...

Lysa continued to stroke his hair, and with a well-practiced flow, eased into a very gentle rocking back and forth.

Oh I am the Last of the Giants...
Learn well the words of my song...
Or when I am gone, all our singing will fade...
And silence will last on and on...


By the time the rest of the song was done, and her voice dropped back to a hummed whisper, Martin's breathing had evened out.  His hands still bore light tremors, but if for no other reason except sheer exhaustion, his body had relaxed and stilled.  Half-lidded blue eyes looked off wearily at some unseen thing, and he took a deeper breath before attempting to speak.  

"Lysa..." he said, voice ragged and hoarse, half statement, half question.

She lifted her cheek from where she'd laid it against the back of his head and pressed a kiss there instead.  To Oblivion with inhibition and girlish hesitation. Blunt and to the point described most Nords, and she would not be any different.  

"Yes... my love?" she answered back, calmly and evenly, brushing her fingers through his hair.

There was a pause, and Lysa felt her own heart might leap out of her throat. With some reluctance, she unwrapped her arms, withdrawing them until her hands rested on the sides of his shoulders.  Martin's hands loosened to allow the movement, but let his fingers drag across her arm as if he didn't quite want to let her go.  Drawing a breath, he was about to speak when there was a light rap on the door. Lysa's eyes narrowed peevishly, but when the intruder turned out to be the Grandmaster, carrying the basin of water and folded cloth she'd asked for, she bit her tongue.

Jauffre set the basin on a small bench off to the side of Martin's bed, dipping and wringing out the cloth before handing it off to Lysa and taking a seat. She lifted the cool rag to Martin's forehead, which he weakly attempted to brush away  and sit up further. Pursing her lips, Lysa took a firmer hold of his shoulders and pulled him insistently back against her.

The reluctance of the other Blades to... manhandle their Emperor, while understandable, had in Lysa's mind been the largest part of what had allowed him to slip as far into the depths of utter self-neglect as he had. As such, if dogging his every step and hounding him like a retreating combatant was what it was going to take to ensure he didn't dig himself into an early grave, then by Talos, she had no qualms about personally seeing it done.

Martin's blue eyes cut sideways with mild, short lived annoyance in the direction of her face, though he couldn't crane his neck that far around. She had always been forward and direct with him, and more often than not he found it a refreshing comfort. When the cool cloth was pressed to his overheated forehead as she began to wipe the sweat from his face, he closed his eyes and gave a small, contented sigh.  

Jauffre watched closely, his sharp, studious gaze fixed very intently on both of them as certain wheels in the back of his mind began turning. Beginning to feel a nervous flush in her cheeks, Lysa was hesitant to look up from Martin.  To her relief, after another moment, the Grandmaster spoke.  

"Are you alright, sire?"

"Mmmmmhm," Martin answered, eyes still closed, turning his head to the side to let Lysa run the cloth down his neck.

The corners of the older man's mouth turned upwards just slightly. He took the washcloth from the pale, flame-haired Nord when she handed it to him and set it to the side. Clearing his throat to get her attention, his expression was again serious, but not displeased.  "Would you come and see me before you retire, Lysa?  I would speak with you."

She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by Martin placing a possessive hand on her knee at his side.  Opening his eyes, he looked up at Jauffre.  "Can it wait?" he asked in a plain, pointed tone. "I'd rather have her here for now if you don't mind, my friend."

Lysa could have sworn she saw something akin to a twinkle in the Grandmaster's eyes, though his expression itself did not betray a reaction one way or the other. "Of course sire," he said with a deferential bow of the head.  "Captain Steffan and Jena will be stationed outside if you need anything."

After the door clicked shut behind him, Martin sat up a bit and gestured for her to shift.  "You can't be comfortable like that." he mumbled. Lysa didn't bother protesting because at that point, he was correct.  Moving to lay beside, rather than sit behind him, she groaned quietly as she stretched out her stiff legs. He laid back, rolling over onto his own side to face her. His eyes were searching as they locked with hers - questioning and uncertain.

Despite the loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, Lysa pushed inclinations towards hesitancy aside and gave him a kiss. Martin's breath hitched briefly. This woman was ever a source of unending and unpredictable revelation for him. He returned her kiss, his hand moving to cup the back of her neck and pull her closer.  It was slow, tender, and exploratory. When their lips finally parted, it was Martin's turn to encircle her with his arms and tuck her head against his chest.

After a period of silence, only gentle and innocent touches passing between them, he murmured in her ear.

"Would you sing for me again, my dear?"

Lysa smiled broadly, giving a soft chuckle.  A request she was more then happy to oblige.
LYK OMG HOLY CRAP!  This muse came out of nowhere and beat me over the head with bricks until I finished it just now, at 4 freakin AM.  Curse you insomnia!  *shakes fist*

Anyway... :-)  I present you with my first piece of Martin Septim and Lysa Silver-Hawk love!  I had originally (again, rebellious muses ruin plans) intended for all of what we'd ever find out about them told in relevant flashbacks interspersed with the rest of the Appointed Time series. As you can see, they had different ideas.

So yeah... night terrors suck major A. And as with certain PTSD episodes, Autism fits, and/or night terrors, the deep pressure, full body hug technique is often employed as a calming mechanism.  You want a reference, Youtube Grey's Anatomy, Season 5, Episode 14 between Christina and Owen. Powerful stuff.

Now we all know what Martin looks like, but for a clearer picture of how I imagine Lysa in my head, Cate Blanchett's portrayal of Elizabeth when she was young and first crowned, or in the full suit of armor during the invasion sequence in the second film.

And as I stated in the mini-preface, YES, I know I ripped the song from Game of Thrones.  But Karliene Reynolds' cover of it is so amazing, and people have remarked about how Skyrim-y it feels, so I included it.  Deal.  Here's a link - www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4cqci…

NOW I can get on with the rest of my series... After I sleep. *ded*

Next Chronologically: Old Life in the Jerall Mountains...
© 2014 - 2024 MikaLero
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ChloexBowie's avatar
Poor Martin! This is such a beautiful piece of writing, great work!