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Harbinger	By : madnad Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 4497 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls universe & Skyrim belongs wholly to Bethesda. Original character Lyara belongs to me. I make no money from writing of this story and it is for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter List
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When she got to the mead hall, Farkas was waiting for her. He had his armour on covered by a thick woollen cape, with a large pack over his shoulder, which she presumed he would be fastening to his mount once they got to the stables. He also had a sword at his hip, and a large two-handed axe strapped to his back. They made their way to the stables while Farkas detailed the route they should take. She trusted his judgment as he was more familiar with Skyrim than she.
He appeared in high spirits, and she was glad to see it. He had been very distant towards her since Kodlak’s death, and she had greatly missed his companionship. As their horses rode side by side, she watched his face as he talked about a time he and Vilkas had headed to the area of the Rift Hold, where they were heading now. The two boys had been sent to oust some rebels, and it had proved to be a great fight.
She felt her heart swell when he laughed, and Lyara had to admit to herself, it was hopeless. There was no way she was able to quash the feelings she had for Farkas. His strength and quiet companionship had become a rock to her. His proximity seemed to offer her some shelter from the weight of her responsibilities, and brought clarity to her thoughts. Spending time with him, she even allowed herself fanciful moments to imagine a normal life, one outside the warrior’s life that involved a home and a family.

By the end of the first day, they made it over the border of Whiterun Hold and into the lands of The Rift. They had hoped to make it all the way to Ivarstead, but the progress was slow as there was thick snow on the ground around the foot of the Throat of the World Mountain. They made a small camp, and Farkas prepared them a meal. As they ate, they talked quietly between themselves, and he asked her about her childhood.
"If that is not being too intrusive," he apologised. "I remember you saying to me that you felt you were a disappointment to your own family."
Lyara nodded, and it pleased her that he had remembered.
"Yes, I was. I didn't grow up in a loving or supportive home."
"Neither did I," he interrupted with a snigger.
"Nor did I have any siblings for company," she continued, but she smiled at him none the less.
She went on to explain that her mother’s family was from Arenthia, in the northern part of Valenwood, the land of the Bosmer elves. Her mother was a skilled leatherworker and apparently made the softest of leather for miles. Tradesman from Cyrodiil would regularly seek her out to trade. One such tradesmen that regularly visited was a Nord from Bruma, and they became good friends, before falling in love.
Farkas listened intently, and when she paused he urged her to go on.
She told that her mother, Firaro, had asked her parents’ permission to marry the Nord, but they had refused and forbade her to ever see him again. They relocated to Haven, in the south of Valenwood, hoping that her mother’s lover would never find her. Unfortunately, they didn’t intercede soon enough as she was already pregnant. Firaro died in childbirth, and so Lyara had been raised by her grandparents.
Her grandparents seemed to blame her and her unknown father for Firaro’s death. They fed and clothed her, but never showed any affection, or encouragement. They felt that all her faults were due to her Nord ancestry, including her disregard of the Green Pact.
When Farkas looked puzzled at the mention of the Green Pact, Lyara explained that the ancient Bosmer had made a pact with their deity, Y’ffre, to protect the forest and not to eat any vegetarian products. While Lyara did favour a mostly carnivorous diet, she didn’t object to using plants occasionally.

Lyara’s face was gloomy as she finished her story and he regretted asking her about her past, but he was pleased she had confided in him. He knew from the moment he met her that she was unlike any other Bosmer he had ever met, and now he knew why. Her passion and aptitude in the ways of the warrior could only have come from her Nordic ancestry.

Their meal finished, Farkas said he would keep first watch and allow Lyara to sleep. The area they were in was full of wolves and bears, so a watch would be advisable.
She had a fitful rest, her mind plagued with strange dreams of her childhood in Valenwood. When Farkas woke her to take over the watch, she noticed that he had let her sleep quite late. She admonished him gently, saying he should have woken her sooner. He brushed off her comments saying he would have ample sleep. She understood a little of what he meant, because he was snoring gently within seconds of closing his eyes. She let him sleep until the sun had risen and she had loaded their belongings back on the horses.
She watched him surreptitiously as he stretched and yawned, his muscles rippling under the skin of his long limbs. He put his breast plate back on, and took the offered breakfast of some dried venison.

Their second day of travel was even slower. The weather was steadily getting worse and Farkas suspected that it would put an end to their plan of reaching Ivarstead by nightfall. By mid-afternoon, the snow-storm was so severe that their visibility was almost zero. Farkas was finding it difficult to keep the horses on the track, as the track was not discernible from the forest. In the distance, he could just make out the vague silhouette of a ruined tower and thought this would provide shelter from the worst of the storm.
He leaned over to Lyara, and shouted that they were to make their way towards the tower. She lifted her head slightly, and nodded, and he was alarmed to see her lips had gone blue, her face was so pale it was almost translucent.
He was annoyed at her for not alerting him to her condition sooner, but also annoyed at himself for not considering it.
They made it inside the tower and found a room in a far corner that still had its roof intact and so was reasonably protected from the elements. The temperature was still cold, but at least it was dry.
He got to work straight away on a fire out of some fallen timber beams, and instructed Lyara to start removing her armour. He had to get her warmed up as quickly as possible. As he nurtured the flames he watched with concern as with shaking fingers she fumbled with the fastenings of her armour. As soon as the flames took hold of the kindling, he went to her to assist.
"Your undergarments are going to have to come off too. They are wet through. I'll hang them over the fire while you climb into the bed roll. We will have to share but our joint body heat will hopefully prevent you getting hyperthermia."
There was no ulterior motive to his words. It was plain practicality. He knew that if her core temperature wasn’t raised quickly she could get very sick. Very sick indeed.

Despite the removal of her armour and wet underclothes, goose bumps covered Lyara’s frozen flesh and her teeth chattered loudly. With a concerned face, Farkas nodded at the bed roll indicating she should get in first, as he took off his own undershirt.
It was the second time she had seen Farkas shirtless, the last time being after his werewolf transformation. This time, he still had his breechcloth on, so despite her chill, she couldn't miss this opportunity to satisfy her curiosity and have another look.
Once again she found herself entranced by the thick cover of hair that ran across the broad expanse of chest. Her eyes followed the line it formed as the hair came together down the centre of his muscular stomach, before ending in a thick patch at his groin. She was in awe at his form. He had to be the perfection of Nord men; tall, strong, ferociously loyal and incredibly brave.
He noticed she was still stood there and barked an order to get into the bedroll. She had already stared longer than was appropriate, so she scurried in right up to the edge, and turned her back towards him.
She was not concerned by her own nudity. Being naked was just another state of dress as far as she was concerned, and normally she was unaffected by nudity in others. With Farkas, like a lot of things, it was different. She suddenly felt uncommonly self-conscious that her nipples had tightened to hard nubs at the site of the barbarian, and she hoped that he did not notice her arousal. If he had noticed, she prayed that he would attribute their state to the cold.
The snow-storm continued to rage outside their shelter. The flames on their small fire danced in the breeze, and did little more than illuminate the room, but it should give off enough heat to dry their underclothes that hung high above the flames on sticks.
Lyara heard a rustle as Farkas slipped out of his cotton breeches, and then she felt him slide into the bedroll behind her. He pressed his chest against her back as he reached behind him to pull and tighten the laces of the bedroll’s fastening. His manly smell assaulted her nostrils, but it was not unpleasant. His skin felt cool at first, but quickly warmed. The hairs on his chest gently tickled the skin between her shoulders and she sighed with pleasure.
"Are you okay?" he asked, misunderstanding the cause of her moan.
"Yes, I'm fine," she responded, still shivering.
"You should warm up soon. I'm already feeling warmer, but then I'm more used to the blizzards of Skyrim than you are."
Farkas had to stop himself from inhaling sharply when his companion pressed her naked form closer to him, as she nestled into the bedroll. Her body had held an allure for him almost from the moment they met, so having it naked and pressed so close to him was testing his ability to remain courteous.
He was pleased when she stopped shivering. He had been genuinely concerned for her welfare when he noticed her lips starting to turn blue. Their shared body heat should build up within the bedroll soon enough, and hopefully prevent any lasting effects from the cold.
It was a real risk for elves like Lyara that came from the lush tropical forests of Valenwood. The Nords had, over generations, become acclimatised to Skyrim’s harsh conditions. Farkas himself was known to go hunting in just his cotton vest and chest plate even on the coldest of days.
The woman that lay next to him, though a close companion, was still much of a mystery to him. She had been a stranger, then a Dovakiin, then his shield-sister, and now his Harbinger. She had confided in him, and told him some of her background, but he still wondered what events had started her on the warrior’s path.
She had proven herself in battle many times working with the Companions. He'd noticed several scars on her body when he helped her numb fingers to peel off the snow-sodden undergarments moments ago. He didn't consider them ugly, as most would. Scars were badges of honour, the Nord felt. They showed that you had met your challenges and survived to vanquish your foes.
Strength, courage, and honour were qualities that Nords appreciated in others, and usually formed the basis of an attraction to a potential wife or husband long before a full bosom, or trim waist was considered. The fact that his Harbinger had these qualities in abundance, as well as a full bosom and trim waist was not lost on Farkas. His initial attraction to her had grown over the past few weeks into genuine affection, but he was at a loss on how to approach her on this matter.
He had thought about asking his brother for advice, but Vilkas had never really liked Lyara; yet he seemed to have been less hostile since they came back from Ysgramor’s tomb. He was still unsure of his brother’s reaction should he speak to him about his attraction to the wood elf.
Vilkas was the one with the smart words, which is why growing up, he always seemed to do better than Farkas with women. He was never more envious of Vilkas’s smooth tongue than now. It wasn’t that Farkas didn’t get attention. Someone the size of Farkas doesn’t go unnoticed by tavern wenches. A wench however, was much easier to handle. You just grabbed a handful of their rump, pulled them onto your lap and pressed your tongue into their mouth. He felt this kind of behaviour towards Lyara would result in an arrow to the knee.
Now, here he was in an impossible situation. One he had longed for perhaps, but yet under much different circumstances. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to blot out the memory of her naked form, even as he could feel the heat and tension already starting to build in his nethers. He prayed to the Nine that his body would not betray him further.
Lyara could feel her body start to warm up, and her cold muscles relax. The goose bumps had long faded, and her teeth no longer rattled in her head. Instead, she was presented with the exquisite agony of having the hard contours of Farkas’ muscled body pressed against her. The same man she had been unable to stop thinking about these past few weeks, and who had been the subject of her dreams. The object of her affections was now lying next to her, and yet still out of reach.
"Are you comfortable?" Farkas asked. His deep voice, usually strong and powerful, was now gentle and protective.
"Maybe you could move a little closer, and put your arm around me? My legs are still quite cold," she replied without any hint of her true selfish need to feel him closer.
Farkas closed his eyes and cursed silently to himself. He had been deliberately holding his lower half away from her, so that she wouldn’t feel his semi-erection. With resignation, he draped an arm over his companion, and moved his hips forward slightly.
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Harbinger