Work Text:
She smelled delicious. She always had. Eola hadn’t noticed the first time they’d met, surrounded as they’d been by the corpses of Markarth’s finest citizens. But later, when they’d faced the draugr in the cave, she’d caught a hint of the scent. And later still, at the feast, it had been unmistakable. The smell of Namira’s Champion called to her.
Eola accepted at once, when Namira’s Champion asked for her company along the road. How could she deny herself the chance to remain with someone so tempting? And after all, she was one of Namira’s faithful. To serve the Champion was akin to serving the Lady of Decay herself.
They headed to the far north, where cold enveloped Eola’s body like a shroud, stifling her. After two miserable nights spent shivering in her bedroll, she heard the Champion approach. Without a word, they settled into bed, bodies nestled together beneath the furs. Eola drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the musk of the Champion’s skin and that unique perfume that was hers and hers alone.
She was no fool, to deny her desires. The Champion had always made her mouth water, her heart beat faster with anticipation. But now her hunger had changed. She wanted more than to taste the Champion’s flesh, to bite and chew and devour. She wanted to feel the woman’s hands on her body, seizing her, clutching her tight. She wanted ecstasy and exhaustion, sweat and desperate gasps. It felt wrong to covet anyone that way, as though doing so made her less of a priestess, less devoted to the Lady of Decay. Her thoughts lingered on the Champion, leaving no room for Namira’s worship. It was blasphemy, and Eola couldn’t make herself care.
Nights became a challenge, her muscles stiff from repressing the desire to turn and ravish the woman sleeping just behind her. But she could not risk being rejected. If she were cast out, forced to return to Markarth, she would be unable to protect the Champion in battle. The Champion needed her skill, her magic. She could control herself. She had to.
The return south was torturous. As the weather warmed, green peeping out from beneath the snowbanks, Eola felt her heart fracturing. They were camped on the border of the Rift when the inevitable happened. The Champion laid out a bedroll for herself and climbed into it, alone. Bereft, Eola attempted to sleep, but there was no chance. She yearned for the feel of the Champion’s skin against hers. She felt her chest tightening, her spine curling inward. She had not cried in many years, but her tears flowed freely, mourning the loss of the comfort and safety that the Champion’s body had provided.
Cool night air licked at her skin as the bedroll was pulled apart. An achingly familiar scent enveloped her. She looked up to find the Champion gazing at her with so much understanding that she couldn’t find words to speak. Silently, the Champion leaned down and kissed her with such passion that it was obvious Eola had not been suffering alone. Elated, Eola wrapped her arms around the Champion’s shoulders and pulled the woman down on top of her.
It was everything she’d hoped for. It was more. Sensual, hedonistic, yet strangely pure. As they lay together, dawn’s first light chasing away the stars, Eola tried to make sense of her world. She had had a purpose before meeting the Champion, she was certain of it. She had served Namira, mocked those who wasted their dead and did not feed. But now everything seemed different. Her senses were oddly dulled. She felt no more hunger to devour, and the only scent on the air was that of pine trees. Panicked she looked over at the Champion, but the woman was dozing peacefully. Her scent, that rare and beautiful smell, had disappeared. Eola blinked, mind racing, until at last she found the answer. She could no longer crave flesh and sniff out prey because she was no longer a priestess of Namira. The goddess had withdrawn her favor and, in doing so, granted a gift unlike any other. Eola did not need to fear harming the Champion or feel guilt for neglecting to worship her Lady. She was free to serve whomever she wanted, and love without shame. Settling into the crook of the Champion’s arm, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Lady of Decay, I thank you.