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Thalmor ARE Good for Something

By Draconicon

Skyrim used to be a place where an adventurer could make their way through life in peace. The guards stuck to the capitals of the holds and the big towns, rewarding those that did good deeds and paralyzed by duty when it came to chasing down those that broke the law. The holds themselves didn't talk to each other very much, so as long as someone kept moving, they could almost break the law with impunity, rotating through the holds, waiting until their bounty went down before going back to where they started, either continuing their life of crime or doing something a little more upstanding.

That had been the way that Serrek had lived for months; the dark green Argonian had started in Riften, and made his way in a circle through the different cities, going from Riften to Falkreath, to Markarth, and making his way around until he ended at Whiterun, returning to Riften again shortly after. Not once had the guards pursued him further than a mile from the city, and even that had been rare, only happening because he'd gotten into a fight with the Jarl's family in Dawnstar.

He'd been planning to keep making his way between the cities after that. The traveling bug had bitten him hard, not to mention the freedom he had to wander and not be remembered by the authorities when he got in trouble. The Argonian also had a few...friends...in the different cities, each of which were more than happy to give him a bed for the night as long as he gave them something in return. Something that he was usually very happy to give.

That had changed when the Thalmor started their 'protective' patrols through the province.

Serrek almost couldn't believe it when he heard that they were sending another five hundred of the Altmer into the province, all of them mounted and trained for combat. It was more like an invasion of the elves than any peacekeeping force, no matter what the Imperials said, or what the Jarls said; that many people trained to fight were there to fight, not to catch bandits, not to keep the roads safe.

A part of him had wondered if the Aldmeri Dominion had struck some sort deal with the Imperials in order to deal with the Stormcloaks; after all, they were fighting to throw both of the governments out of the province, and neither would want to lose Skyrim and the fighting men there. It seemed somewhat logical, if ridiculous to him.

Then they started 'apprehending' Khajiit and Argonians on the road. The patrols always gave good reasons - that they were attacked, that the 'beasts' had been attacking some travelers, that they were found with stolen goods - but they never actually arrested anyone else. No Nord, elf, or human was captured or hauled behind the horses in chains. Only the beast folk.

Since he traveled so much, Serrek got to see what most of the guards and Jarls didn't. Camps of cages, collars, and spikes that held the 'prisoners' like animals, where the Thalmor brought in buyers from other provinces to take a look at the 'merchandise' that they had. Both Argonians and Khajiits were sold for hundreds, if not thousands, of Septims, carried away naked save for a glimmering collar on their neck. The grins on the faces of their new masters told Serrek all he needed to know about what their intentions were, and he shivered a bit at the thought.

He wasn't normally a crusader for a cause, but seeing the camp forced him to act. Hastily putting together a plan, Serrek mounted an assault on a smaller camp in Falkreath one night, trusting his stealth to get him in and out safely.

Serrek was half right; he got in safely. Getting out, on the other hand...

#

Arrows and spells flew through the air around him, clipping leaves and branches off of the trees that Serrek ran between. The Argonian grunted, half throwing his hands up to cover his head before he stopped himself. "Not gonna do any good, that," he muttered under his breath, bare feet clawing at the ground as he pulled himself along.

The camp had been quiet as he'd made his way in. The guards were distracted, the fires placed just far enough apart for him to find a blind spot, and the various prisoners hadn't made life hell for him when he was sneaking in. A bit of begging here and there, but nothing loud enough to give him away. Hidden in shadows, he'd made his way almost to the center of the camp before stopping at one of the cages.

That was where he'd made his mistake. He didn't check the lock for any spell guards, any wards, and as soon as he'd touched a lockpick to the thing, it went off, screaming and wailing like a demon in the night.

He ducked again as another bolt of lightning crackled over his head, nearly taking off one of his horns and scorching one of the feathers. Growling under his breath, the Argonian was tempted to turn around and unleash a firebolt of his own, but common sense prevailed; there were too many to fight alone. He had to keep running and hope that they didn't pursue him too far.

Of course, the fact that he was equipped for stealth rather than combat didn't help; dressed in dark leather armor and carrying only a few daggers, the Argonian hadn't planned for a long standing fight. The most he'd expected was to cut a few throats on his way into the camp, maybe use a spell or two to deal with something in the distance that he couldn't reach with a thrown dagger. His stash of potions was too far away to be of much use, either; he didn't dare bring them along, with the way that they tended to clink together.

A bright flash against the tree trunks ahead of him warned him to find cover, and Serrek leaped behind the next tree.

Watching a large ball of whirling frost magic go rolling by, the Argonian panted, his tail held tight against his thigh. "Cold, Thalmor, very cold," he muttered under his breath. He leaped over the path of ice crystals that the ball had left behind, wincing at the near misses from a few arrows as he set off in another direction. They were still hot on his trail, elven voices calling out directions as they kept sight of him.

If only they would take their eyes of him for a few seconds, he might have tried an invisibility spell, but there was no time. The shimmer of his invisible form would still be seen, even in darkness, making it useless, and that was disregarding the fact that he had no time to stop and cast it.

Hot pain cut through his thoughts as an arrow sliced across his leg, causing him to stumble and clutch at his thigh. "AGH!" Serrek growled, leaning against one of the nearby trees. Another arrow slammed into the trunk of the tree as he pulled himself around it, taking cover from the archers.

As the barrage continued for a few seconds, he looked down at the wound. Thankfully, the arrow hadn't buried itself in his leg, just cut across his thigh. It hadn't hit anything big, but as he tried to put his weight on it, it was clear that it had done something to his muscles. Poison, maybe, or perhaps it had just cut across the muscles in his leg; either way, he'd be able to fix it later, if he was given half a minute.

Shaking his head, Serrek debated taking advantage of his cover to heal, but decided against it. Now that they were doubtlessly getting closer, he needed every bit of magicka that he could summon. And if they knew just who he was, they were going to be prepared for a struggle. He needed to make sure that every spell counted, and he needed to know that he could hit as many of them as possible.

"Lizard!"

Clenching his jaws, Serrek slowly turned his head around the trunk, peering out at his pursuers.

Six of the Thalmor were kneeling down, about five to eight feet between each of them, and their bows were nocked, half-drawn. Too far away to get them with a fireball, he thought to himself. His eyes flicked back, seeing another four elves with magic crackling between their fingers. Armored just like the others in that infernal shining elven metal, they looked prepared to burn him to a crisp if the arrows didn't get him first.

One of them was the speaker for the group, and continued to shout. "Lizard! You're hobbled, and you are outnumbered. If you surrender now, you will be allowed to live out the rest of your life as a slave. If you resist, you will be taken down like the beast you are. You have until the count of ten to make your decision."

"Don't be stupid, of course I intend to resist," Serrek muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said, why don't you come over here and say that?" Serrek said a little louder. "Give me a fight with honor, or do the high elves no longer remember that?"

"There is no honor in fighting beasts, merely profit," the elf said. "I will count to ten. If you haven't stepped out from behind the tree with your hands behind your head, you will be destroyed."

Ducking his head back behind the tree as the elf started counting, the Argonian looked down at his leg. It still throbbed with pain, but there was no more blood sliding out of the cut. Could he run, he wondered as he tested his weight on the leg.

The shock of pain answered that question for him, and he barely suppressed a grunt of pain as he settled back against the tree.

So...it looked like it was going to be a fight.

"Five....six...." the elf continued to count as Serrek looked at his hands. His palms, formerly empty, gradually lit up with the light of fire. A burning little flame, cupped in the palm of his hand, his fingers curled around it to not give away his plan to the elves on the other side.

His other hand burned with another fire spell, and he slowly pushed them together. The fires circled each other before gradually melding together, and he could feel a pressure from the heat, trying to push his hands apart. Rather than yielding, Serrek pushed them tighter together, focusing the heat and the destructive energy in the fire into a tighter and tighter ball. He honestly didn't know how many of these he'd get off, so he needed to make it count hard from the very beginning.

"Eight..."

"Just...shut...up," he muttered under his breath. The elf was going to get what was coming to him, and it wasn't even anger speaking that had him saying that. The speaker was one of the mages, and they were more deadly anyway.

He looked around the tree again, making sure of his target. The speaker's arm was up in the air, as though readying a signal for the archers. Let him, Serrek thought; it would be the last thing he ever did.

As the elf began to lower his hand, though, he was interrupted by the sound of a loud crack, the sound of wood sliding and smacking against wood. Turning his head to the source of the sound, Serrek only just managed to catch sight of a steel rod shooting through the air, almost like an arrow but heavier, more solid.

It slammed against the elf's shoulder, breaking through the armor and sticking there. It wasn't a bad shot, the Argonian supposed, but it seemed more like something that would get someone angry than -

An explosion of lightning, centered on the bolt, zapped over four of the Thalmor. The speaker, and three archers, were completely covered in the magical lightning, falling to their hands and knees as they screamed. The crackle of lightning almost overwhelmed their screams. Almost.

Not daring to waste his opening, Serrek leaped out from behind his cover. The fireball in his hands leaped towards the two magic users that were clustered together, the burning magicka spreading over them like sticky, fiery oil. Their screams WERE drowned out in the crackle of fire and burning flesh, and what little sound they could make was diminished further as the fire went down their throats.

It was such a distraction that Serrek was able to get behind another tree, getting into another angle around the elves. He grunted a bit, pressing a hand to his leg from the pain, shaking his head. "Whoever's out there, good shot," he muttered under his breath. He still didn't see where it had come from, but it had turned the course of the battle around in a second. From four mages and six archers down to one mage and three archers, the odds had been tilted back into his -

"Ugh!" the Argonian grunted as he went to his knees, ducking away from the shower of splinters as a fist of ice punched through the tree above his head. He hit the ground hard, but managed to get off a bolt of fire against the ice before it pulled back. Water dripped down halfway to his head before it evaporated in the heat, and he rolled to the side just before the arm returned, punching through the tree again.

It creaked as it fell down to the side, and the Argonian found himself looking up at something he hadn't anticipated. "I guess they brought friends," Serrek muttered as he stared at the Frost Atronach; it was almost twice his height, and was formed of living ice, ice that could be thrown very painfully if the Atronach decided to do that.

Behind it, he could see the mage that summoned it, as well as the remaining archers, scattering to better positions. So much for this being an easy battle, he thought to himself.

But still, if he could get rid of the Atronach...

Pushing himself to his feet, he glared at the ice creature. "Do you have...any idea what you're dealing with?" he said, more for the benefit of the conjurer than the atronach, but if there was any recognition, it had no effect. Well, no effect but to have the Atronach advance.

Serrek pulled out his dagger, pulling it up just in time to shove the Atronach's next ice thrust off to the side. Not by much, and his hand felt like it was going to freeze off if he did that again, but he bought himself a bit of time.

Spinning along the outstretched arm, Serrek pulled himself in close. Burying his dagger into the Atronach's 'chest', the Argonian channeled the fire from his hands into the blade. He watched the metal go from metallic gray to burning red, almost melting inside of the ice, and a small smile crossed his snout. "Burn, Atronach...burn for me," he muttered as he let go of the dagger.

It continued to burn through the ice creature, sliding deeper and deeper into it. The Frost Atronach continued to flail around, but it wasn't so directed anymore. It was more like it was training to end the pain than it was trying to get at the Argonian, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the thing actually getting melted down into water. That didn't happen very often to these things.

As it melted, though, he lost track of where the mage was. And the Thalmor surprised him by appearing right behind the melting Atronach, with a lightning bolt spell at the ready to cast.

He froze in place, unable to look away from the white and purple light that flared between the Thalmor's hands. The footsteps of archers moving into place brought his eyes around, seeing them take up a line beside the mage. Their bows were pointed at him, and their arrows glinted with some sort of enchantment. Any and all of them could do severe injury; together, they could kill him and turn him to ash.

"You should have surrendered, beast," the mage said, his gold-skinned fingers wrapped around the lightning ball in his hands. "Now I'll show you the power of the Thalmor. Have you ever been hit with a lightning bolt?"

Serrek started to shake his head.

"You won't be saying that again."

"And you won't be saying anything again."

Both Altmer and Argonian eyes turned to the side, looking for the source of the new voice. In the dark, it would have been impossible to see anything, were it not for the giant ball of lightning between a pair of black scaly hands, three times the size of the one in the Thalmor's hands and pointed right at them.

No sooner had he been spotted than he unleashed his spell. It wasn't a single bolt of lightning like the Thalmor had threatened, nor a set of chain lightning like with the bolt earlier. This was a stream of burning, thundering energy, streaming out in a straight line from his hands. The elves were shoved back against each other, the crackling lightning burning through one after another in rapid succession, turning them into little more than dust.

The whole thing took only a few seconds, and Serrek was left staring at the four piles of ash that had formerly been the deadliest threat to his life.

Slowly, he turned his head from them to his rescuer.

It was another Argonian, he could tell that much, though one that was much more dark colored than him. A few lines of red scales lit up the face a little bit, and Serrek couldn't help but smile at how many scales his fellow Marshbrother showed. Rather than wear armor, it seemed that this one preferred to wear as little as possible. Two rings glimmered on each finger, and he thought he could see a ring or two on at least a few toes; a medallion hung around the black scaled one's neck, burning with a fiery light, and Serrek wondered if it was serving to keep him warm or if it was some sort of fire shield.

Apart from that, the other Argonian wore only a loincloth and his weapons. At his waist was a sword that almost looked like it was made of bone, and at his back a crossbow, one of the new weapons that had started filtering into the province of late. His fingers crackled with magical energy, little sparks flicking from finger to claw and back again, and he walked with care, as though he was half afraid he was going to break something.

Serrek offered his hand to the other Argonian as he approached. "Thanks for saving me, but did you have to cut it so close? I was starting to think I'd be a pincushion by morning. A sparky one."

The other Argonian took his hand, and Serrek felt several rough scars along the other's palm. "Arga," he introduced himself as. He looked over at the ash piles, shaking his head. "You were a good distraction, but they're getting better; that armor held it off for an extra second longer than last time."

An extra second? Serrek shook his head, not pursuing that thought. "Why are you here?"

"Same reason you are, probably," Arga said. He leaned against a tree, looking in the direction of the camp. "The prison down there."

"Not bothering to call it a camp, huh?"

"Are you?"

"No, I'm calling it a vacation home; what do you think I'm calling it?" Serrek shook his head a few times, leaning against a tree himself. His hands glowed with golden light as he pressed a restoration spell to his leg. "Oh divines, that feels better..."

The two of them stood in silence for a bit, and then Arga looked at him again. "What are you good at? Swordplay? Sneaking? Magic?"

"Bit of fire, bit of stabbing," he said with a shrug. The wound was just about healed, and he smiled. "Not to mention some pretty good tricks; usually I can walk up to a Jarl, squeeze his ass, and walk on before anyone knows I was there."

Arga's eyes opened a little wider, and Serrek smiled a bit. "What, you never decided to play around with guys a bit? Never gave one a good feel, or turned around to lift your tail for....what are you doing?"

The other Argonian had turned around, his tail lifting and bringing his loincloth up with it. Rather than stay standing, Arga bent forward, pressing his hands against the tree in front of him. This brought his tail up even higher, and showed off his ass under the loincloth even more. He was toned enough that just spreading his legs was enough to show off that hole under his tail, just slightly loose looking, like it had been either used a lot, or used fairly recently. Maybe both.

Blushing brightly, the dark green Argonian walked over to his rescuer. He leaned forward, looking at Arga's eyes. They were glazed over, looking sleepy, or...

"Hello...hello, Arga...wake up!" he said, giving him a shake.

That turned out to be the wrong move, as Arga not only woke up, but woke up violently, shoving him back to the ground. Serrek slid along the dirt, grunting as he hit the trunk of a tree. He lifted his head up, and his eyes went wide as he saw that Arga was pulling his blade out. "What did you just do? What did you just say?!" the black Argonian shouted as he advanced.

"I just said...said lift your tail," Serrek said.

Just like last time, Arga froze, turning around and sheathing his sword before going to one of the trees. Just like before, he bent over, showing off his ass, and then went still.

He couldn't help staring at his rescuer. "This is getting weirder and weirder," Serrek muttered under his breath. Getting back to his feet, the Argonian walked over to Arga, looking over him, but not touching him this time.

At first, he didn't see anything, but then...

A little flicker at the back of Arga's neck caught Serrek's attention. He leaned forward, holding up one hand and using a bit of fire to let him see better.

It was almost buried among Arga's neck scales, but there was something of a gem hidden among the scales. Most of it was below Arga's scales, but there was a small bit sticking out. If Serrek had to guess what it was, he would have said that it was some sort of a soul gem, but he had no idea.

However, there was something else there, something that made him stare in shock. Upon the gem facet were two small symbols. The first didn't make much sense, almost looking a little bit like a foot, but the other was the symbol of the Thalmor. It was inscribed deep into the gem, like it was their...like Arga...was their property.

"Oh, by the eight..." Serrek muttered, shaking his head a few times. He looked Arga in the eye again, shaking his head. "So that's what's going on with you..."

He pulled back from the other Argonian, leaning against a tree as he thought about it. That mark was the same as were on the slave collars that the Thalmor fit their 'merchandise' with; that meant that, at some time, Arga had been held by the Thalmor. But that gem was something deeper, firmer in his body than any collar, and it gave other people immense control over the Argonian. He looked so intimidating, but...with that kind of weakness....

And with that kind of power...

A small smile started to grow on Serrek's mouth. Arga would need some help, but he never did anything completely for free. And if the Thalmor had put this phrase into Arga's head, Serrek would bet that there were more in there as well, things that could be activated for others to disable his Marshbrother and abuse him while he was helpless. He might go along and bring Arga with him, to protect his fellow Argonian...and have a little fun along the way with the trigger phrases that he found out.

Cautiously, he approached Arga from behind, unable to keep from smiling as he reached out, stroking a hand along that black ass. There was no reaction from the Argonian, no sudden waking like the last time; apparently some behaviors were accepted while others weren't.

He dragged his fingers along the scaly rump in front of him, feeling how muscled it was, how tight the cheeks were. It was clear that Arga kept himself in shape, and those muscles were hard and strong. Serrek had to fight the temptation to give that ass a spank, not wanting to wake Arga too early; he still needed to find out the boundaries for the key words.

There was a little guilt in his head as he started to take off his armor, but Serrek didn't pay much attention to it. Arga, by the look of his hole, was used to this kind of treatment, and he would probably welcome it from a Marshbrother rather than from one of the Altmer, or some of the other races here in Skyrim. Back home, or so he heard, it was fairly common for male friends to lay with each other, even if they never actually went so far as to have further bonds than that. He hoped it was true; he didn't want Arga to be too bothered by what he was doing.

Despite his somewhat clumsy efforts, or how long it took for him to get himself out of his leggings, Arga didn't move or react. It was like he was glued to the tree, unable to move, unable to protest as Serrek stared at his ass. He chuckled a bit to himself as he walked over to the black Argonian, shaking his head as his shaft filled his hand as he stroked it. "This is going to be fun," Serrek muttered under his breath.

He came up behind his paralyzed rescuer, laying his hands on those black hips. His cock throbbed as he pressed it against that eagerly exposed hole, feeling it pucker lightly against the tip of his cock. "Ooooh, eager," Serrek said with a small chuckle. "Well, I can give you what you want."

Sliding forward was surprisingly easy. Whether it was some other spell that was laid on top of the black Argonian's body, or because he'd been used that much already, his hole accepted Serrek's cock without any struggle, and barely any lube other than the bit of pre that he was leaking. He bottomed out in less than a second, seven inches sliding into Arga's ass in the space of a second. Blinking in surprise, he wondered just what kind of stuff his Marshbrother had been taking up his ass to make him this loose and ready.

Suddenly, the looseness disappeared as Arga's ass clamped tight. Serrek's eyes went wide at the sudden vise grip on his cock, and he looked down. "Oh, by the eight...that's good...So that's why anyone would keep using you," he panted. "That...that is a talented hole."

Arga was silent, saying nothing in response.

Shrugging, the green Argonian started to slowly slide in and out. There was a strange sort of slickness to Arga's hole, letting him move back and forth more easily than he thought; must have been something else that the Thalmor had done, turning their property into more of a toy, he supposed. In any case, it made it all the better for him, giving him almost virgin tightness to go with a slick, eager hole that rivaled that of a courtesan's cunt.

He grunted and moaned as he held himself close to the still lizard beneath him, panting and shuddering in pleasure as he took his fun with his rescuer's ass. It tensed tightly around his cock, squeezing, releasing, pulling him in almost at times, but never stopping him from pulling back out.

Serrek shuddered in need, moaning louder as the fucking continued. It was almost eerie, having Arga completely silent beneath him, but he did his best to ignore it, wanting to enjoy the moment, wanting to enjoy the tight hole beneath him.

Despite the stillness, he could tell that that there was a part of Arga that liked what was happening to him; the smell in the air wasn't just of his own musk, after all. Serrek reached around, finding Arga's cock and wrapping his fingers around it. It was surprisingly large, pressing the loincloth out to the side, and it dripped steadily, letting out a little more pre with each thrust into that eager ass.

Surprisingly, he found a knot at the base of his Marshbrother's cock; that didn't belong there, he thought. "The Thalmor did a lot to you," Serrek muttered between his moans. "Can't wait...to find out...each and everything..."

Arga didn't answer, but then, Serrek didn't expect him to. He just wanted his companion to stay there, and let himself get fucked.

It didn't take long for Serrek to feel his orgasm starting to bubble up from his balls, and he didn't try and hold it back. Gripping those muscled hips harder, he started slamming in harder, faster, making wet smacks every time that he slammed his cock inside of that black ass. He panted, moaned, and tilted Arga's tail back, biting at the tip lightly as he slammed himself in and out.

He could feel the pre dripping from Arga's cock down to the ground, some of it flowing down over his green feet, mixing into the ground and making a little bit of mud. Not that that bothered him much; in fact, it almost made it better for him.

Seconds later, he hit his climax. Moaning against Arga's tail, Serrek held himself hilted inside of him, emptying his balls deep into the other Argonian. It was so hot, so wet in that ass, and he loved the feeling it made when he came, squeezing his cock and pulling out more and more of his cum.

He fell back, sliding out and almost falling on his ass from the strength of his orgasm. "Wow," Serrek muttered under his breath. "Gonna have to do that again." The look of cum sliding out of Arga's ass was the icing on the cake, and he shivered in glee, suppressing a chuckle. "I guess that the Thalmor are good for something."

Hurriedly getting his pants back on, he managed to get clothed just as Arga started to wake up. The black scaled Argonian slowly shook his head, grunting. "What...what just..."

"Sorry about that. You slipped when you were flailing around, and I leaned you against a tree until you woke up," Serrek said. He smiled a bit, patting Arga on the back. "Come on, there's a camp not far from here, and we can rest. Plan for tomorrow night."

"Sure....sure, that sounds like a good idea."

#

The one night turned into three as Serrek explored the various things that the gem made Arga do. He learned so much, but the most important thing was that he could control Arga anywhere, any time, simply by continuing to go barefoot. There was some sort of signal in the black lizard's brain that turned him into an obedient, lustful slave as soon as he looked at the bottom of a bare foot. It was a fun tool, and it let him try out a few things that he'd never dared try before.

Better still, Arga never remembered anything after he was used. It was like it was completely separate in his head, like it was a different Arga that did that than the one that fought, ate, and slept next to Serrek at night. So, he was able to do anything he wanted with his new companion, and he never remembered being so pervy, or slutty, or anything. It was just about perfect for Serrek.

And better than that was the sheer magical firepower that Arga brought to the table. There'd been a few examples that showed the black Argonian to be a better swordsman than he was, though not by much, but it was in Destruction that Arga really shone. With all the rings and enchantments that he wore, it took his already considerable skill into the heavens, and he was able to call forth destruction in a way that Serrek had never seen. Not much good with most other magics, but that was enough.

Four nights later, the two of them were lined up on the ridge overlooking the Falkreath camp. This time, Serrek thought, things were going to be different.

This time, he was going to win.