"I could trace them forever, you know." Vilkas fingers followed the tattooed lines from her hairline over her forehead and eyelid until they lost themselves somewhere on her cheek.
"No, you can't," Falka sighed. She lazily opened one eye to look at him. "They will find us eventually and we'll have to return to Whiterun."
With a sound splash, the hand that had been tracing the simple patterns on her face fell into the water. "Way to spoil the moment, Red."
"It'll be your brother," she continued, not heeding his interjection. "Eventually, they'll drive him crazy and—"
Vilkas silenced her. "Can't you not think about them for a moment? I really don't want to worry about my brother or the Circle or any other Companion right now."
She sighed again and slid further down into the water, until only her face was not submerged.
"They'll be fine, Red. And I've surely got more important business to attend at the moment."
"Like tracing my tattoo?" It was meant to show disbelief, but a smile curled his lips.
"Aye. That." Vilkas leaned down to kiss her. "And such." Another kiss. "So don't you dare" – the threat was emphasized by yet another kiss – "to spoil the moment with talk about my brother."
Her laughter cut through the quiet evening.
"Or Aela." Vilkas underlined the name with another kiss.
"What about Torvar?" Mischief shone in her eyes.
Vilkas pulled away from her, complaining. "Now you've done it." He flicked his wrist and water splashed over her face.
"Oi!" Falka hoisted herself into a sitting position, lashing out with her own arm. A small fountain of water washed over Vilkas.
He countered, and soon the air was filled with the sound of splashing water and laughter. Vilkas plunged Falka into the wet, and a moment later she emerged in an immense fountain of water. She puffed and blew water and went straight for a counter attack, ramming him and causing them both to go down.
Eventually, their fight died down. Panting heavily, Vilkas reached out of the water for the bottles of ale they had brought with them. One he handed over to Falka, the other he kept for himself. He clinked his bottle to hers. "Cheers."
"Slainté."
After he'd drained his beer, Vilkas pulled Falka into his arms. She curled up close to his body, enjoying the moment.
"Vilkas?" her muffled voice asked.
"Mmh?"
"It's beautiful."
"I know." He grinned. And just because he knew the effect it would have, added, "I almost feel like one of the warriors of old, bathing in dragon's blood."
Falka's rich laughter pearled up from her chest, echoing through the empty landscape. "Way to spoil the moment, my dear."