She woke before he did and for a long moment, luxuriated in the warmth of his arms. It was a while before Aya finally cautiously slid out of bed as gently as she could. She needed to pack as much dried meat as they could carry just in case the pickings were slim along their route. She also tossed her bone needles and horse hairs in one of her pouches. She'd fix his underclothes when they'd camp next.
Her mouth watered as she bit off a mouthful of venison. Nothing beat the wild flavour of deer. Natural spices in the meat allowed for very little seasonings needed (In Aya's opinion none were needed). She sat on the bed as she finished her meal and reached behind her to jostle the still-sleeping Altmer.
"Breakfast," she swivelled her torso towards him and wiggled a slice of jerky beneath his nose.
The amber eyes slitted open slowly and glared (he seriously was!) at the food. His eyes then focused on her for a heartbeat before he sat up very deliberately. He didn't stretch or yawn, rather he stood and adjusted his robes. She waited until he finished before handing him the meat. She half-expected him to grimace rather than eating it, but he didn't (she would have laughed at him).
"We'll leave when you're ready," she said, peering into the wilderness.
He swallowed his mouthful before he answered her, "I'm ready now."
Aya nodded and walked outside not bothering to look back. She knew he'd be behind her. In order to grab her camping gear, they needed to backtrack some before heading towards Winterhold. They actually came close to where he'd been attacked.
"You can barely tell a battle took place here," he mused from behind her, his voice soft.
"Sabrecats and wolves," she explained as she continued westwards. "I suggest we keep moving."
They reached her camp just as the sun was making its first appearance through the clouded sky. She was quick to pack up her bedroll and supplies. He remained just on the edge of her camp and watched her toss everything into a backpack.
"All right," she grinned at him, shouldering her pack. "We're going to stick to the forest as much as we can."
He said nothing, merely followed her in silence. By the first night, they'd managed to walk around the southern side of the Throat of the World. His brow had furrowed when she'd mentioned it.
"Wouldn't it have been faster to take the road?" he'd asked as she set up camp. She paused in her work and grinned at him.
"Of course it would have," her grin widened when his eyes narrowed, "Do you really want to use the road in Stormcloak territory?" she explained arching an eyebrow at him.
He was silent for moment before he clicked his tongue and made a sound of disgust in his throat. He didn't make any more comments on her directions after that.
She got a small fire going and had set up a small lean-to with sticks and branches. She tossed her bedroll at him (he didn't even say thank you) and pulled out her wolf pelts for herself. Three pieces of rabbit jerky later, she glanced at the silent Altmer from the corner of her eye. He was eating without so muh as making a sound.
"You should hand me your underclothes that I know you are still wearing," she pulled a needle from a pouch, "I'll mend it so that you don't freeze once we reach Winterhold."
His eyes slitted and he glared at her in silence for a full minute before his studded gloves reached for the fastenings of his robes. She watched as he pulled his arms from the top half and let it bunch up around his waist. He then slowly removed the undershirt that she'd cut open and handed it to her.
She smiled at him and grabbed the shirt. It was bloodstained and she peered at him as she laid it out on her knees.
"You know," she began conversationally, "Wolves can smell blood from miles."
"Perhaps," he answered, pulling his robes back over his naked torso and buttoning them up, "But from experience, Skyrim wolves don't require much to die."
She chuckled at his tone. "One on one," she conceded, "but in a pack you wouldn't think that about our beloved wild canines."
"And that is what Chain Lightning is for," he answered cooly.
She couldn't help the laughter that bubbled from her throat. She raised both hands, palms facing him (needle held in on hand) as though defending herself. "All right, all right, you win this round."
His amber eyes narrowed on her as though he didn't quite understand the joke. She returned her attention to her mending.
"I'll make you a new undershirt," she said, "when we get to Winterhold, that won't be bloodstained."
"That won't be necessary," he replied almost immediately.
"I insist," she grinned, rather enjoying his sullen company. She'd been alone for such a long time she didn't mind his caustic attitude one little bit.
He remained silent and arranged the bed roll close to the fire. She watched him slide his long body inside and snuggle within the comfort of her bed. She wrapped the wolf pelts tighter around her body and resumed her mending.
She almost screamed in surprise when a blueish magelight suddenly appeared in front of her and lit her up (and her work) nicely.
"Talos!" she gasped putting a hand to her chest where her heart was pounding. "You scared me!"
The Thalmor sat up then and his amber eyes focused on her with penetrating intensity. "Talos?"
She blinked at him, her eyes squinting in the magelight.
"What about Talos?" she asked deliberately being obtuse. Aya knew full well exactly what he was going on about.
"The worship of Talos has been banned by the Empire," he spoke cooly, his voice matter-of-fact.
She lowered her hands as she paused in her mending to look at him. "Has it now?" she spoke deliberately.
His eyes narrowed. "Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Okay." And she resumed her sewing while his eyes became slits of suspicion.
He didn't say anything as he stared at her and she kept her own counsel. Not knowing what to say to him exactly. She'd be in a whole pile of trouble probably if he started questioning her. Curse her for being honest...
"Have you renounced Talos?" he finally asked as his magelight went out.
She sighed heavily ( giant pile of trouble…) and stopped what she was doing to look at him. His eyes were reflecting the firelight and she was strangely mesmerized. "You have gorgeous eyes," she found herself murmuring thoughtlessly (ugh… Really? Face meet palm).
He looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes widened before he caught himself and his eyes narrowed even further, "Don't change the subject," he snapped, obviously irritated.
"I wasn't!" she looked away, and closed her eyes as she blushed, "I just noticed!" she was making things worse for herself she knew it, "It caught me off guard is all!" She'd have a better time trying to put her foot in her mouth hand-less.
Another ball of magelight appeared between them and she arched an eyebrow at him. "Have you renounced Talos?" he persisted.
Her shoulders slumped. "I'm suppose to say yes to that, aren't I?" she mumbled.
"Yes," he answered.
"Then yes," she beamed at him, her smile radiant.
"You're humouring me," he was impassive, and utterly not amused.
"I believe I am," she answered avoiding to look at him. She never said she was the sharpest knife on the belt.
"So you haven't renounced Talos." It was a statement not a question.
"Look…" she trailed off realizing that she still didn't know his name, "You seen my house," she peered at him, "I don't exactly have neighbours, and the closest settlement is miles away. So what, a hunter worships Talos, in the middle of buck fuck nowhere. Who am I hurting? The Thalmor?" she looked at him defiantly.
"You believe because you live alone, in the backcountry, that you are above the law?" he countered, "Are we to turn a blind eye to everyone who lives alone then and breaks the law? Be they murderers or thieves or Talos Worshippers?"
"You can't really compare worshipping Talos to murder," Aya rolled her eyes at him, a smile tugging at her lips.
"I do believe I just did," he snorted. She actually burst out in laughter.
"It's not the same," she chuckled, "That's like saying stealing an apple is equivalent to murder!"
He was glaring at her now. "Many are dying for said apple ," he hissed, and then continued mercilessly, "Refusing to relinquish the fruit at all cost, including a civil war that has cost and will cost hundreds of thousands of lives, both man and mer alike."
She'd stopped laughing as his words sunk into her brain. "There was no need to make the apple illegal ," she peered at him, "it is a gift from Nature."
"Talos is not," he was calm as he spoke, "He was a mortal man made into Divine. A preposterous notion if I've ever heard one."
"But why?" she asked, truly curious, "Is it because he's Nord? Had he been Altmer then it would have been fine, I suppose?"
"Are you listening to yourself?" It was his turn to roll his eyes, "He was mortal , girl. Altmers are not—"
"Don't give me that horseshit," she muttered, cutting him off, "Everyone knows mer are practically immortals. I am faintly surprised all your great heroes haven't ascended, considering," she half said under her breath.
"Most of our great heroes, as you call them, are still alive." She was looking at him with a smirk on her face as though he'd somehow proven her point. "We are mortals too," he grousled, "You wouldn't have saved my life otherwise. We age differently—"
"How old are you?" Oh but she liked interrupting him. It made his eyes flash amber fire for a split second.
He sat up straighter. "Five hundred and forty three years old." (Internal wince)
"And I'm pushing thirty," she grinned, "You're going to live for how many more years?" she peered at him owlishly. He swallowed but remained utterly silent. "I got a good sixty years left if Skyrim doesn't kill me before," she answered casually and resumed her mending. "You're going to begrudge me my apple for what could be considered a phase in your long, long life?"
"Enough with the apple analogy," he glared at her. She smiled at him.
"You may ban the physical worship of Talos," she spoke softly, "But you can never stop us from mentally worshipping him. You can take the Nord away from Talos, but you will never take Talos away from the Nord."
"Then you only hold onto to him because he was Nord?" he eventually asked after she finished fixing his undershirt. He was quick to remove his Thalmor robes to pull the bloody undershirt on.
"Partly," Aya conceded, and then quickly added (cause he was starting to look condescendingly triumphant), "But that he was mortal and ascended mainly. Helps that he was pretty impressive in his own right."
"Information on your Talos is convoluted," he stifled a yawn and made himself comfortable in the bed roll, "You realize his race is not even certain. He could be a Breton as well as an Imperial."
"Or even an Atmoran," she added and then giggled when he turned his head to glare at her (he'd obviously not expected her to join in).
"We should turn in," he changed the subject, turning his back to the fire. She wrapped her wolf pelts about her body tighter, fully agreeing with him. They were going to have a long day on the morrow. She wanted to cross both the Rift and Eastmarch, and jump directly into the Pale. They wouldn't be in as much danger once they reached the Pale, Winterhold was a hop, skip and jump away.
She threw a couple of smaller logs on the fire and curled curled into a tight ball against the wall of the lean-to. Her pelts didn't make for the best blankets but they sure were warm on the furry side. It wasn't long afterwards that she was completely asleep.
Again it wasn't so for the Altmer. Gorgeous eyes... she'd said he had gorgeous eyes... Ancano was awake for a long while after the fire died, staring at the stars in the night sky. His thoughts returning to their conversation on Talos, and her in particular. She hadn't denied it, though he was sure she had more than mocked him. Her smile… he swallowed and then glowered at nothing in particular. It wasn't like him to be such a… he trailed off, not really understanding the emotions he was feeling and not really wanting to explore them either. He was on a mission.
He was going to have a hard time of it if he didn't get to sleep. He doubted she would be accommodating if she realized he'd spent most of the night mooning over nothing. He forced his eyes closed and willed himself to sleep.
This time, when his dreams came, there was no dragon fire, merely lush Nordic lips that tilted just so with her ready smile, and laughing blue eyes.