Dianthe remained in bed for a week more, thwarted at every attempt to use a crutch and escape the dull room by Tachkal. He didn't quite dote on her but where she needed help in moving around he was willing to lift her. When she requested items and the broken furniture be replaced he obliged, only leaving for brief spells of time. She'd only broken down once, crumbling into a sobbing mess when the reality of her injury finally sank in. Tachkal had allowed her to lean against his chest, let her rub her wet face against his tunic while he kept his hands knotted into the pelts. When he'd not responded with anything other than silence Dianthe swallowed down her tumultuous state of mind and forced herself to calm. After that she restrained herself, throwing her focus into figuring out how to get moving again.
With Glover Mallory's aid, she did.
"Netch leather for the straps, Dwemer metal so it won't rust, and fresh Solstheim lumber from the north," the blacksmith slapped Dianthe's new wooden calf, "looks better than most. Even if it isn't alive." He stood holding her forearms while she balanced precariously across from him. The prosthetic fit perfectly, holstered with leather straps and metal buckles around the thigh and descending into a dark wooden calf. It was sculpted to match her other leg; the new foot even had dents in it to suggest toes. Small spots of shining golden Dwemer metal glinted back from the joints, peeking around the dark purple netch leather at the knee and ankle. Carefully Dianthe shifted her weight, surprised it held.
"Will probably be a while before you can walk on your own but I figure you and the daedra are already attached at the hip," Glover smirked. Tachkal ignored him, the Dremora's attention held fast to the newly sculpted limb. Dianthe had never seen such unrestrained curiosity in him, his eyes wide and ears slightly perked. The blacksmith took her through how to care for the prosthetic, what waxes and oils to buff what with and how frequently. When they finished their little tutorial she awkwardly lurched two steps and grabbed onto Tachkal's arm, leaning heavily on the offered limb.
"How much do I owe you?" Dianthe asked, trying to regain her balance. Glover waved his hand, "on the house for finding my bonemold recipe awhile back. Stay out of trouble, kids," he dismissed, turning towards his grindstone. Tachkal began to lead her back to the Netch but Dianthe dug her heels into the ash. She slipped, dropping to a knee and hanging off the Dremora's arm as he raised an eyebrow at her.
"I've been cooped up for days. Let's go down to the Earth Stone," she begged, clinging on as Tachkal lifted his arm, briefly allowing her to dangle in the air before she righted her feet.
"You can't walk. I will not carry you," he growled. Dianthe sighed through her nose, "then to the docks at least." When the Dremora glanced back to the Netch Dianthe squeezed his thick forearm. "Please."
Tachkal muttered something in his native tongue before hauling the crippled girl along. Dianthe found an odd way of swinging her thigh to propel the limb forward. She clunked slowly behind her daedra until the two of them came to a stop on the docks in front of the dilapidated houses at the northeastern end of the settlement. Wiping sweat from her brow Dianthe sat down, swinging her good leg over the edge of the boards. The Dremora joined her, hanging both his long legs over the water. Dianthe sighed, arching back in a stretch and groaning luxuriously at the pops in her spine. Tachkal stared blankly forward, idly watching the Northern Maiden's crew attending to their ship.
"So your armor's feeling alright?" Dianthe asked, tugging on his spiked pauldron. Glover had managed to get the daedra hearts in early and had made short work of repairing Tachkal's cuirass. Not a moment too soon either, seeing as how their Dawnguard armors were utterly destroyed. Dianthe had fallen into the habit of wearing a red set of Dunmeri clothes while she waited for Gjalund's crew to hunt down another crossbow and set of light Dawnguard armor for her. Tachkal grunted, letting her grope at his cuirass and dig her fingers in against the newly repaired portions.
"That's good," she yawned, rapping her knuckles across her wooden leg. They fell into a quiet lull, listening to the harbor waters lap against the docked boats and the occasional shout from the Redoran Guards to the sailors. Dianthe turned her attention to the dock, scraping a blunt fingernail against the wood grain.
"I know you don't care and you're just doing this because you have to," she began, pausing to find the right words, "but I want to thank you for all you've done, Tachkal." The Dremora blinked down at his mistress, his brow furrowed. Dianthe pushed the hair back from her face as the wind picked up, skin taking on an embarrassed pink beneath the scarf. "It's just you've been a lot of help. I don't exactly have friends but I'd like to think – " she stopped herself, not meeting the daedra's attentive eyes, "never mind, I'm being stupid."
"Then it is no different than usual," Tachkal rumbled, "speak."
"I'm happy to have you around," she huffed, growing more flustered, "thanks for watching my back. I wouldn't have made it this far without you. Neloth's ring works perfectly, I can sleep again, and now I've got you and the Razor to keep Vaermina's faithful in check. I mean I don't have a leg now and I'm still addicted to moon sugar but besides that I haven't felt so peaceful in years." Taking a deep breath, Dianthe grasped one of the tall spikes adorning Tachkal's pauldron and tugged him closer. Unsure why he didn't resist, the Dremora leaned in.
The kiss was barely a brush against his ebon cheek. The quickest of butterfly soft touches against his hot skin. In the brief moment before Dianthe repositioned her scarf Tachkal saw the girl's cheeks glowing cerise, even her ears burning. He remained hunched over, his chest tight while he dug his claws into the dock, splintering the old dry wood beneath. Squirming uncomfortably, Dianthe began to awkwardly climb to her feet using the daedra's shoulder.
"We should get back to the Netch – " her words caught in her throat when Tachkal yanked her into his lap, hard dark eyes boring down into hers. She couldn't move, immobilized by the oily obsidian gaze. Her small hands tightened against his cuirass, her toes curling as he hesitantly closed the distance between them. Her breathing hitched, lips tingling with the warmth of his breath. She felt his heavy arms curling around her tighter, pulling her against his chest.
Tachkal didn't understand the draw of Dianthe's lips. He didn't want to make her suffer, as was his normal fascination with her weak body. Something about her fragile state had changed his views. Where he was rock and blood she was spun sugar and soft touches. Curling a hand into the back of her hair he dipped forward, ripping the scarf from her throat with his teeth. Dianthe gasped, jolting in his arms when he pressed his dark lips against her pale flesh. He nuzzled the point where her jaw curved to her ear, deeply breathing in her honey and earthen scent.
"What are you do – doing?" Dianthe's voice hitched as Tachkal bit down on her thin skin, suckling. He licked at the bruised mark, pulling back just enough to growl, "shut up," before delving down back to her sweet smell. She pushed her fingers through his hair, grabbing onto the ivory horns proudly curving back from his skull. Tachkal bent possessively over her as Dianthe's breathing became progressively more uncontrolled. She arched, pulling him closer by his horns as the Dremora dipped his tongue into the hollow of her clavicle. He drew his fangs across the creamy skin leaving streaks of stinging red in his wake. A reluctant mewl escaped Dianthe's parted lips, her fingers tightening around his solid horns.
"You two want to move this inside?" a Redoran guard called. Dianthe jumped, slapping her hands over her now flushed face. She was red from her ears to her toes, absolutely mortified. Tachkal unlatched from his mistress, sparing a withering glare at the guard. It didn't take long for the Dunmer to hurry along down the docks. The Dremora turned back to the girl in his lap to continue where they'd been interrupted only to have a hand clapped over his mouth, stopping the movement.
"No, he's right we shouldn't be out here," Dianthe shook her head, already struggling out of his lap. She was having trouble sidling away; trying to unlatch from the daedra's arms while her new clunky prosthetic leg complicated not falling into the harbor. Shaking her hand off Tachkal stood and lifted her up along with him before setting her on her feet. There was a brief moment where her abused throat was exposed before Dianthe readjusted her scarf, and the marks coloring her flesh stirred his loins. He helped her limp back to the Netch, fully expecting to continue exploring her. When Dianthe plunked down into a seat across from the sellsword in the back of the taproom Tachkal's hands tightened into irritated fists. She turned her back to the Dremora, ordering a drink from Geldis.
Letting a snarl rip from his chest Tachkal stalked off, slamming shut the door to their room. Heavily he dropped onto the mattress, the bedframe creaking beneath his weight. Baring his fanged teeth he glared at the stone ceiling, running a hand through his hair and spitting daedric curses under his breath. He traced the spot on his cheek where Dianthe had given him the smallest of kisses. It burned.
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/AN: Poor Tachkal, the most sexually frustrated character I've ever written/