A/N: Y'ALL! Thank you again for your patience! I hate that it's taking me so long to write, but alas, I promise you the story will suffer if I don't. :) Big THANKS to my buddy WilSquare for often prodding in just the right ways and keeping me going. Not title for this one yet as the title fairy has not blessed me today. -.-
Enjoy!
"Are you really sure about this?" Vanya asked as she leaned her hip on the edge of a small table in the washroom of the barracks. The rough stone of the wall was warm against her back, infused with heat from the perpetual steam that swirled through the room from multiple cauldrons and buckets, as well as the large hearth on the adjacent wall.
"Of course," Teldryn replied as he placed a small, well-worn block of soap next to a bowl of warm water he had prepared.
Then he picked up the razor- her razor- since he'd gotten it into his head that she was qualified to help him shave. No amount of arguing or complaining had been able to convince him otherwise thus far. He was so bound and determined that he had crept through the darkened sleeping quarter in the Netch, leaving Vanya outside the door to intercept Sadesi and assure that she would sing Llero every lullaby she knew should the child be awakened. If the prospect of looking after an over-tired child hadn't seemed even more exhausting at the time, she just might have sabotaged the whole operation.
Teldryn had emerged victorious- with the razor, her bandaging, and even her spare night gown- and received her hearty congratulations on being a perfect sneak-thief. 'Dear Lady,' he'd said so smoothly that she'd all but fallen back into his arms when he had swept her up again. 'It's not stealing if it's ours to begin with. Or was that not the lesson of your Robin Hood?'
A small debate had ensued as to the real moral of the fable, though it deteriorated quickly as Teldryn offered increasingly ridiculous theories. She had been nearly gasping from her laughter by the time he'd closed them into the washroom, shushing her as he wedged one of the chairs under the door handle to keep away unwanted visitors.
The room was a veritable sauna, and though it still lacked a tub or anything resembling a shower, there was plenty of water kept hot and the large drain on one side of the floor meant she could definitely dump a bucket over her head. She could almost be irked that Teldryn had not brought her up here before, now that she thought about it. Maybe there was some rule barring civilian use, otherwise wouldn't everyone in town be using this place to bathe? She was certainly going to from now on, even if it meant creeping in during the dead of night every time. And she supposed if she had an escort...
Currently, said escort was standing at the table in only his pants as he gave her razor a good examination, the amber glow of the fires painting their warmth along his back. Firm, dark contours that she knew every inch of in meticulous detail. The blade caught the light, and her attention, as he tilted it. She ran her tongue over her lips, mostly to be sure she hadn't just been drooling.
"When is the last time you sharpened this?" he asked as he flicked his thumb across the edge.
She scrunched up her face. "Ehhh..."
His grin was one of resigned knowing as crouched down to his discarded armor, digging into a pocket for his whetstone.
"It still works just fine," she said loftily.
He snorted as he sat down in the chair next to the table. "Perhaps for the down that is the hair of your legs."
"Perhaps you don't realize how much I cut myself when it was super sharp."
"Your improvement is not due to the blade dulling," he said lazily, concentrating on his work.
"Well," she hedged, her eyes tracing the line of his beard under his chin. "There aren't life-sustaining arteries in my legs."
He huffed out a short breath that sounded suspiciously close to annoyance. "Then I won't ask you to work on my neck, alright? I'm achy, exhausted, and I feel that I have a pelt on my head. Help with that, at least, and I can manage the rest."
As his dark-rimmed eyes raised to hers, the most surly puppy dog look she'd ever seen, the already faltering excuses that remained went ahead and laid themselves to rest. How could she say no to a face like that? If he could manage to get the tips of his ears to droop a little, who knows what he could convince her of then.
"Alright," she relented. "But I'd better take the chair. You don't want me wielding a blade and trying to keep my balance."
"By all means," he said as he got up and out of the way.
Once she was situated, he plopped down in front of her and she gave him room between her knees to lean against the edge of the seat. He tilted his head back onto her lap with a satisfied hum. "I don't know if you noticed," he said with a wicked curve on his lips. "But I like your legs around my ears."
She pressed her thighs together on his head. "How do you like that?" she taunted as she leaned over him.
"What? I can't hear you, come closer." His hand hooked around her neck, pulling her face nearly level with his. Her lower back protested the sharp angle and she disguised the pained huff that escaped with a laugh, which turned more genuine as she realized he'd managed to get her breasts pressed to the top of his head. Hot puffs of breath spread on her neck as his own laugh reverberated over her skin in a gentle, lulling tickle.
She pinched his chin, giving a little shake. "Naughty boy," she scolded against his lips before pulling away, the hand on her neck releasing somewhat reluctantly. She lifted his head from her lap, pushing it up straight before he could inflict the persuasion of the devilish expression he was wearing. "I can't very well shave anything if you're sitting like that."
Still chuckling, he rolled his neck, groaning softly when he stretched enough to induce a crack. She reached for the soap, her attempt at a cleansing breath stifled by the humidity as she dipped it into the water and began working up lather. She spread the foam through the short, coarse hair of his head, drawing more pleasing noises from him as his shoulders visibly relaxed. She massaged absently, absorbing the heat from his body and the warmth of the room. A bead of suds slid down his neck in a tantalizing trail as if beckoning her hands to follow, slow, deliberate, glistening wet.
Fuck.
She pulled her fingers away and grabbed the towel to wipe her hands clean. Focus. She picked up the razor and though its handle was familiar, she felt as if she'd never used it in her life.
"Um..." The newly honed edge gleamed, threatening her with disaster. "Where do you usually start?"
He tilted his head to one side, gesturing along his hairline. "Around the front, naturally. But you can start wherever seems easiest."
She huffed a nervous giggle. "Easiest. Right." The front was as good a place as any. She bit her lip as she hovered the blade over his skin. She had learned it was best to go with the grain of the hair, but she hadn't paid any attention to the direction of his hair growth before she had covered him with soap. And what about the mohawk? What if she cut into that? What if it turned out lopsided? Azura help her, if he managed to get out of this bloodlessly he was surely going to end up completely bald.
His hand closed around her wrist and she realized she'd been holding her breath. "Vanya..."
She exhaled, instantly regretting that he might tell her to forget about it after all. She did want to do this for him, she just needed a second...
"Remember what I've said so many times," he said as he turned a little further to peek up at her. "Don't think so much. Go through the motions. I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think you could." He released her hand and settled back around. "I've seen your handiwork."
Somehow, her next breath felt as if it were the first full one she'd had in days. She did have a lot of practice. And as long as she was careful, how bad could it be?
"Okay," she finally agreed with some measure of determination. "But have your healing magic at the ready, alright? Just in case."
He hummed in agreement as she began gently, working back toward his ear. The density of his hair meant shorter strokes, and she had to clean the blade off far more thoroughly than she would for herself, but soon she seemed to have found a rhythm. He allowed her to maneuver his head this way or that to get the right angle and though she was sure it was taking far longer than he was used to, he sat quietly without complaint. Between the soft scraping of the razor and the crackling fire, she could almost call it therapeutic. And by the time she had finished one side, she might even be able to say she'd made the line of his mohawk a little bit neater. It was still crazy impressive that he could do this on his own, but she felt pretty proud of herself anyway.
"Survived one side," she said as she pressed lightly with her fingers to indicate he should turn his head the other way."Why do you wear a mohawk anyway?"
"Mohawk..." he drawled.
"Mm-hmm." She pushed the tip of his ear down a little to carve around it. "Earthlings who wear this style are usually just trying to look cool."
"Trying?" He turned his head to give her a side eye, causing her to quickly yank the razor back. "What is it that you imply, Khes'yi?"
She tutted as she pushed him back into position. "That you'll look significantly less cool if you don't sit still." With a grin, he settled back down for her to continue.
"Vohrimal luhn," he said after a few moments. "That is what I would call a mohawk. In Dunmeri, that is. Crescent moon in Cyrodiilic." He took a breath. "Why do I wear it? I could say that it's simply because it makes wearing my helmet more comfortable but that's not the entire reason. I wear it because my father wore it," he said softly. "and he wore it in honor of Saint Nerevar."
"Nerevar..." Vanya mused on the name, trying to place him within the sprawling pantheon of gods and saints. Not Aedra, not Daedra- though she had heard the name before. But where? She ventured a guess, "Did he have something to do with the Tribunal?"
"You could say that," he replied drily. "He was an ancient ruler, the first First Councilor who went on to become the patron saint of House Redoran..." he trailed off into his own thoughts as memories of his father's teaching resurfaced. Lessons of valor and glory, of noble aims that could transcend one's own lust for power. Moon-and-Star, a steady presence and guiding light, the idol after which his father had modeled himself. "He was a great warrior."
A martyr for his own folly.
"It suits you," she said as her fingertips pressed into the back of his head so she could finish the nape.
He sighed as he lowered his chin. "You're probably right."
His mind's eye followed the warm blade along the last few strokes, reveling in the light tingling of his newly exposed skin. There was a unique comfort in having another do this work for him, even more so for it to be her. He sank further under the weight of the sweltering air and her feather light touches, grinning at the fact that he had actually prepared his healing spell on the tips of his fingers earlier. Only a precaution, in the event that nerves got the better of her.
"There." Her voice and the towel rubbing against his scalp brought him back to full awareness. "How does that feel?"
He ran his hands over his head. "Better."
"You're wel-come," she enunciated, nudging him with each syllable.
He rolled over onto his knees, holding the edges of the chair as he leaned toward her. "Thank you." The kiss he thought to steal was thwarted when she turned her head as he drew near.
With a slight look of contrition she said, "Too scratchy."
Fair enough. He backed off and raised to his feet, figuring he'd better continue her work and similarly liberate his face.
By the time he had retrieved his razor and looking glass from his pack and refreshed the bowl of water, Vanya was in the washing area pulling her gown over head. Despite having to be cautious while maneuvering with his tender wrist, shaving his face was instinctive enough that he could allow himself to catch the occasional glance of her hair slicked down her shoulders, finding himself envying the water as it traced all of his favorite parts. She made her way to a bench against the wall, the lurch in her movements giving him pause. His distraction shifted from the usual places, onto the new and still unfamiliar as she caressed the wash rag over them. Dark channels of pain and misery that ran much deeper than the surface, healed in name only.
Never to be the same.
He gazed back at his own reflection, curling his lips in to pull the blade along his chin. Within the oppressive heat of the room, the northern chill that had buried itself in his bones finally worked its way out with a slight shiver. Treachery was on the wind in whispered warnings that urged him to keep ahead of it. The instinct that had always told him when to move along squirmed in his gut against his reasoning. He could not leave now, not when the shroud remained, not when his mother was due to walk right into it, and as for Vanya...
After giving his cleaned face a final once over, he set his tools aside and picked up the towel to wipe away the remainder of the soap. She had dressed by now, still sitting on the bench as she fiddled with her bandage in her lap. He got up to finish the rest of his washing, making quick work of it as he offered small quips and comments. She replied vaguely, seeming more interested in rolling up the strip of fabric only to let it unravel down over her legs, then start again. Once he was pulling on a clean set of clothing, she began wrapping her leg.
"Feeling more myself now," he remarked as he settled down beside her. "How about you? A little better?"
She inhaled deeply from behind the limp veil of her damp hair, focused on tucking in the edges of her bandaging. It almost seemed that the power of her exhale is what caused her to sit up straight and she rolled her head back as she pushed her hair out of the way. There was an edge to her gaze as it shifted toward him, the flickering hesitance that she'd been carrying from the moment he returned that pricked at his senses each time it surfaced. "I'm cleaner," she said briskly and with a failed attempt at a smile. "And very, very tired."
Tired. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he watched her push up from the bench and onto her unsteady feet. Perhaps that was all there was to it. Too many threads twisting in his mind, entangling the more he tried to unravel them. Most assuredly, his predicaments would persist after he rested. For now, he could be content, if just through the night.
She was a few paces away, headed for the table to presumably collect her items. He followed her, gently grasping her elbow to offer support. The way she pulled away, somewhere between a flinch and a recoil, set everything in his mind aflame.
"What is it that you think I want from you, Vanya," he said sharply as he stepped in front of her.
Her eyes snapped to his, shocked and bewildered.
"What assumptions have you made in your mind that cause you to act as if I am a stranger?"
"That's not-" she stammered. "That's not what I-"
"Have I done something then? I would have you tell me, if so."
"No," she breathed, shaking her head. "It's...not you."
Her evident sincerity alleviated his anger somewhat, though it did nothing to stay the burning question. "Then what is it."
Silence. Her mouth opening and closing as she no doubt searched for a way to give him as little as possible. He turned toward the table and began packing up his kit. If she would not speak, he could not force her to. And yes, he was tired. "Do you have a key to Milore's or will she be waiting for you?"
"Teldryn," she said in a voice that he knew was accompanied by tears. He closed his eyes, knowing he would break if he saw them. Should he try to comfort her now, would she even accept?
"Please, I'm sorry. I don't want that. I just- I hardly understand anything myself and...it's late. We can talk tomorrow, okay?" A light touch on his arm prompted him to look her way, into dark eyes that sapped his resolve. "I don't want to be apart."
The words he wanted to hear, said like a plea as if she were not already entitled. "Khes'yi..." He turned toward her as she stepped into his embrace, savoring the feeling of her softening against him as she relaxed. "As long as you want me, we won't be."
