Faendal x Camilla (A Skyrim Misadventure)

This isn’t going be your typical blog post because I’m currently knee-deep in deadline panic and have already written 1,500 words today! But a blog post there shall be, following up on last week’s post on Skyrim. I’m a little traumatized from some in-game events that took place a few minutes ago in-game, outside and inside my very own home. (Hey, I wrote 1.5k words today, I needed me some Skyrim.)

I know I said my High Elf was going to settle down for a while. It’s just… you see, I realised that my wife Camilla was having an affair.

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Faendal here had the gall to tease me by showing up outside my very house. The smugness in his voice could not be mistaken; this pointy bastard was sleeping with my wife.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not flying off the handle here for no reason. Camilla and Faendal have history, you see. Upon my first arriving in Riverwood, she was locked in a vicious love triangle with him and another pursuer named Sven. I don’t remember who approached me first, but each of them wanted me to fake a letter from the other to give to her, but I ended up simply marrying her myself after saving the world and proving that I was the better elf. Beforehand, however, I ended up faking a letter from Faendal and tipping the scales on Sven’s behalf. (Don’t worry, Sven met an unfortunate end before any of the events of this blog post happened.) As a result of this, and probably due to the subsequent marriage, Faendal held a fair amount of resentment towards me.

Oddly enough, Camilla kept the faked love letter and put it up for sale in our shop:

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Well, anyway, let’s return to today. After going rogue for a while and ultimately completing the Thieves’ Guild storyline, I decided to drop in on my wife and kids and let them know I was alright. Upon entering the premise, I discovered that my daughter had adopted an adorable little puppy! This was great news. I was home. The fire was going. The kids weren’t arguing. We had a puppy.

And then, to my left, came his voice. “Greetings, friend! It’s nice to see such a friendly face so far from home!”

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What.

What.

My world shattered. My eyes darted to my wife, who stared back at me with her eternal, unblinking gaze. I returned to Faendal. He eyed me from the shadows. They didn’t even care that I knew. Even my children were happily playing in the other room, probably happy in the knowledge that Uncle Faendal was home again, never mind their dear old Dragonborn Dad.

I had to make him leave. I couldn’t harm him, not here, not-

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Dear Talos, the bastard was asking for it. He was mocking me in my own home, cuddling up to my own wife. I understand that I’d not been there for her. I get that I’ve been absent. But she’s my wife.

This was inexcusable.

I was a law-abiding elf, once, intent on saving the world. But then I got roped into the civil war. I killed brave men. Lost Lydia. Lost Sven. Guilt consumed me, drove me to the Thieves’ Guild. The wolf’s blood ran thick in my veins and this abhorrent act was now punishable by my own hand, with no regrets.

It was time to be rid of Faendal.

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Camilla couldn’t watch; she turned her head away as her lover was murdered in front of her, the horror and guilt unreadable on her endlessly placid face. But damnit all, I was justified. This smug bastard came all the way from Riverwood to destroy the sanctity of my marriage. And I-

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Oh fuck.

Raised voices were heard. Guards were called. This one arrived at my house within moments of Faendal’s… dispatch. In a state of disbelief, this young milk-drinker turned to me and uttered out his duties as a guard; I’d committed crimes against the people of Whiterun. I was to be punish-

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You’re god damn right.

The guard left. Grimacing, I turned to face the wrath of my wife. I’d already taken her dear friend Sven under my wing and ended up killing him in a wolf-out; now I’d murdered her other friend in our own home, in cold blood. Surely she’d not forgive me for this. Life would be forever changed and Faendal, the bastard, will have won.

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My wife is either a cannibal, a necrophiliac, or a blank sheet of paper. All she did was thank me once again for returning the golden claw to her brother in Riverwood, before continuing to stir that pot of oh so lovely mammoth stew, and smiling. In a way, her indifference to the situation was more terrifying than my reaction to it. Taking this into consideration, I nudged Faendal’s corpse into the flames and took an early night’s sleep.

And we all lived happily ever after.

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