A/N: Told y'all I'd be right back! Let's get to it.
Also, yes, I use Roman numerals because I'm extra.
…
The sun is leaning westward when Marcurio leads the horse up to the Riften stables, his husband knocked out cold on its back.
Some of the dragons must still be a little pissed off about Alduin's death; along their journey from Ivarstead they met four of the fire-spewing creatures, and only in the space of a few hours. Dalamus took it like a champ, meeting each one shout-for-shout, but the fourth soul that slammed into his chest had nearly knocked him off of his feet. The words never came out of his mouth but he was begging for a break, and the mage was determined to give him one—their meaningless spat ended with him up on the horse, and he was asleep before Marc even notices.
But now he's asleep, and they've arrived, and it's going to be a pain in the ass to wake him up.
"Dal. Dal, wake up," he tries, shaking him a little, though he doesn't even know why he's trying a gentle approach. The elf sleeps like a rock, and he knows this already. It's going to take much more than this to do anything effective. He shakes harder, but all that gets him is a little moan of complaint and a sleepy frown.
So he shoves Dal off of the horse, because screw it.
And Dal wakes up when he hits the ground, landing with a grunt and a gasp. It takes a second for him to get his bearings, if the wary panic on his face is anything to go by, but Marcurio just leans under the horse's neck with a smirk. "Good morning, sunshine."
"What the fuck?" the Dunmer asks flatly, as the adrenaline surging through his body settles down.
"I had to wake you up somehow," is his excuse, and he's sticking to it. Dalamus growls, rising to a crouch, and tackles him. Marc catches him right in the gut and they go rolling down the little hill in front of the stables, the horse completely forgotten in favor of wrestling in the dirt. They scuffle like little kids, laughing as they try to render each other immobile, and even though the mage catches an elbow in the chin and the Dovahkiin gets the back of his head banged into a rock they don't stop until Hofgrir gets sick of their shit.
"Hey, hey!" the horsemaster roars, clapping as he approaches them with long, rushed steps. He gets a good handful of Marcurio's robes, right between his shoulder blades, and yanks him up and off of the Dunmer. "You two are acting like children."
"So?" Dal is still cackling, panting in his place on the ground, his limbs and armor and face smudged with dirt. "We were having a good time."
"Not in front of my stables, you won't," Hofgrir grumbles. He looks meaningfully between the two of them before releasing Marc, taking the horse's reins and leading it up to the stables.
The Bee and Barb is quiet and mostly empty, only the same few ever-drinkers hunched over their mugs in tables pushed against the walls. Not much business in the middle of the day; everyone is busy with their jobs. No time to drink until after the sun goes down. At least, it was quiet, because as they approach Marc throws the doors open with both hands, entering the inn with the cry of, "What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?"
"Marcurio?" Talen-Jei is already almost laughing when he finds the pair from across the room. "What are you doing here?"
"What, we can't just stop in for a visit?" Dalamus asks, crossing the room in the direction of the bar. He grasps the Argonian's forearm and gives him a firm pat on the back before settling on a stool before Keerava.
"We've got a fort to clear out a little west of here," Marcurio is quick to follow, sitting beside him. "Figured we'd stop by while we were in town."
"Well we're happy to have you," and Keerava puts a mug of fresh, cold mead down in front of each of them, her toothy maw widened in a smile.
Talen-Jei goes back to cleaning the floors, moving purposefully around the room with his broom. The pair of adventurers go through a few flagons of mead before Marc reaches into his coin purse, dropping a generous handful on the bar counter.
"Oh—Marcurio, there's no need for all that. It's on the house."
"Don't be ridiculous. This is for the mead and a room, and keep whatever's left over."
"Well, thank you," she doesn't argue again, sweeping the coins over the counter and into a chest at her feet. "So you'll stay the night and complete your contract in the morning, then?"
"That's the plan," Dal answers, tossing another mug of mead back.
"So what will you do until then?"
"We're going to see Maramal," the Imperial answers breezily and the Dunmer sighs, looking down into his empty cup.
…
"Dalamus, you are acting like a child!"
"If I'm acting like a child, then so are you!"
"You fucking promised!"
"No, I fucking did not!"
This conversation most certainly is happening in the doorway of the Temple of Mara, if anyone was confused. They're whisper-arguing, and the mage has a fist gripping the front of the Dragonborn's armor, while said Dragonborn's hands are firmly planted on either side of the temple's door. It's a close-quarters tug of war, and one that Dalamus should have no problem winning, given his clear muscular advantage over the Imperial, but somehow they've managed to settle into an uneasy stalemate.
"I wish you'd come in; you're letting in all the cold air."
Maramal's voice catches the both of them off guard, but Marcurio recovers faster than his husband does, finally getting him inside with a sharp yank on his armor. To his credit, Dal's biceps ache after having resisted his pull for so long.
"What can I do for you?" the priest asks, his voice low and kind.
Marc looks at his companion, waiting for the Dunmer to say something to Maramal, but doesn't have the patience to be passive-aggressive about this with him anymore. "We need to talk to Nura. I think Dalamus is sick. Is she here?"
Maramal's brows dip in concern and he turns to point them in the direction of one of the side rooms, gesturing with an arm. "She's back there. Mara go with you."
"Thank you." Marcurio takes the Dragonborn's hand, more to keep him from leaving the temple than just to hold it, and walks in the direction Maramal had sent them. Nura smiles from her seat, politely asking the adventurers what they need.
"Dalamus is sick," the mage says before Dalamus can even open his mouth. "He can't keep his food down; he's been throwing up for days, and he's tired all the time. He was up in the middle of the night yesterday with stomach pain, but I can't find anything wrong to heal. You must be able to do better than I can."
Nura listens to all the mage has to say, nodding thoughtfully, and when he's done her eyes flick over to the elf in question. "Is there anything else?"
Dal takes a breath, pointedly not looking at his husband when he speaks, "I can't eat a some of the things I usually do. I mean, well, I could—physically—but I see some things and by body's just violently opposed to the idea of putting it in my mouth."
"Things like what?"
"Sweets, mostly," it's muttered, and he feels like he's shrinking under an attentive amber gaze. "Which is weird, because I love sweets. And alcohol."
"But we were just drinking an hour ago."
Dalamus shrugs, still not looking up as he addresses his husband's comment. "I didn't want to give anyone anything to worry about, so I got through it. But it came back up when I went to take a piss."
Nura is silent for a moment as Marc rubs a hand down his face, looking exasperated. "Have you had interactions with any of the gods or Daedric lords recently?"
"Sheogorath turned him into a woman around two months ago," the Imperial says quietly, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed.
"And when did you become a man again?"
"After a few days," Dal takes a seat on a nearby bench, surreptitiously moving away from his husband and closer to Nura. "My being in a different body didn't disrupt our lives as much as he'd planned for it to, so he decided it wasn't worth it."
"Did the two of you have sex while you were female?" the priestess has a gleam in her eye as she says it, like she's onto something, and Marcurio doesn't like it.
"... Yes," the Dragonborn murmurs, finally lifting his eyes to meet the other man's. They'd fucked almost nonstop, reveling in the differences from their usual circumstances. And Marc hadn't pulled out, not once; they'd assumed from the start that Dalamus would be back to his normal self in a timely fashion.
But it doesn't hit him until Nura actually voices the question. "Do you think you might be pregnant, Dalamus?"
Marcurio can actually feel the blood draining from his face, and his throat clamps shut, and his stomach sinks so hard and fast that he thinks it may be attempting to fall out of his body.
"Wait," Dal had asked breathlessly, her face still flushed a deep violet after her second orgasm, as Marcurio kisses up her body again, pausing to lavish her breasts in attention. "You came inside me… Is this safe?"
Bright amber eyes, a little dilated with excitement, lift to her face. "Of course it is. You might look and feel..." the word is a groan as he buries himself inside her again, "... like a woman, but I doubt Sheogorath went through all the work to change your insides around. Plus, you should be back to manhood before any questions of that sort become a problem."
Gods, how could he have been so stupid?!
When he comes back to himself the first thing he sees is Dal sitting hunched over on his bench, elbows on his knees and hands fisting his hair. His eyes are glued to the Dunmer's form, how vulnerable and overwhelmed he looks, even as Nura continues, "If you have any doubts, there is a spell that can prove it one way or another."
Marc waits to see what Dal wants, if he'll have anything to say, but he just sits there, unmoving and silent. The mage turns to Nura, a little curious despite the enormous news she's just dropped on them. "Would Detect Life not work?"
"It is Detect Life, or at least a variant of it. Midwives and healers have been using it for generations to determine early pregnancies. If there's a name for it, it isn't one that I know."
The spell really isn't that different from Detect Life at all, and Marcurio has it down in mere moments. Dalamus moves as he's told, sitting back on the bench and lifting his shirt, but his face remains a stony mask that the mage dare not comment on. The new spell is a pink aura around his palm, and he holds it a hair's breadth away from the Dunmer's skin, looking for… something. Nura says that he'll know it when he finds it, if there is anything to find, and he has more than enough magicka to search thoroughly.
He'd expected to feel something magically, a little bump or buzz of foreign magic, or even just a sudden void of magicka, as if an unborn child has yet to develop any. But it is a Detect Life spell, after all; instead of any sort of feeling, he finds a little pink spot the size of a snowberry, glowing somewhere behind and below his navel. His gasp is completely unbidden, as is the smile that finds its way creeping across his face, but it doesn't have long to be there before Dal lurches off of the bench, shoving him out of the way in his rush to exit the room.
The front door to the temple opens and shuts in the emptiness following his departure.
…
A/N: I'm on a roll! Let's go. New story line is dope. Next chapter when I'm done with it. Hopefully in a week. xo