He didn't press her while they found a place to camp. He wanted to. Wanted to force the confrontation they both waited tensely for. But he was still worried she would bolt, and for all his thoughts about this very moment, he had not expected things to play out the way they had, and he was unprepared.
What was Dagny doing?
He didn't know. He couldn't know. Her face was blank, and she didn't speak as they went about the task of setting up their camp in a small cave. It was nicely hidden, and well sheltered. They were not the first to find this place and decide it was ideal; a small fire-pit had already been built in the center. Wood was stacked nearby. But a cursory examination revealed that it had been sometime since anyone had been here; dust and cobwebs lay heavy over everything.
In the corner of the cave, Dagny's horse snuffled at some grain she'd given it.
The true object of his attention was Dagny. She had gotten the fire started, and now she was digging around in her pack, pulling out a metal pot and some grains they could cook something in. If he had not been watching so closely, he might very well have missed the bits of parchment in the bag. But he saw them, and recognized his letters to her.
He wished he understood what that meant. Why it was that she had neither replied nor discarded them. If she truly did not care for him, she would have used them for fire-starter, or she would have sent them back. But she hadn't. She had kept them.
"Dagny?" He hadn't intended to speak, but the questions were overwhelming him. He needed to know what was going on, and he couldn't bear to wait even another minute. "Why didn't you reply to my letters?"
Dagny froze. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. He wasn't even sure she was breathing. And then she looked up at him, her face schooled, devoid of emotion.
"I haven't had time."
The words rang false, and he could tell by the way that she hunched her shoulders, she knew it. She was not a good liar, probably never had been. Twice now she had tried to lie to him, and he had to wonder what had someone who was generally so honest trying to deceive him.
"Dagny," His voice was plaintive. He needed an answer. He could not bear this uncertainty. If she truly cared for him, then he would be the happiest man in Skyrim. If she wanted nothing to do with him, he could begin to move on, but as things stood at the present time, he could not do anything. It was agony.
"I couldn't read them." She didn't look at him this time. Instead, she seemed to be staring at her feet. Her voice was small. She looked like she wanted to disappear.
"What?" He didn't know what to think. It was impossible to think that the reason he had not received a reply from her had been so simple. So, awful. It was this disbelief that made him hesitate before he continued. "You can't read?"
"No." She said. He could hear the tears in her voice, but she still didn't move.
Vilkas was petrified. He had poured his heart out in his letters. He had said things he perhaps should not have. And she had not read a word of it. He didn't know whether it was pride or something else which had kept her from having someone read to her. There were scribes across Skyrim whose sole job it was to read and write for those who could not. But Dagny had apparently not sought any of them out.
And then she made a small noise. The sort that comes just before the tears come in earnest. Without thinking, Vilkas rushed to her, and enfolded her in a hug.
"Oh Dagny," he sighed. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him. And then she did begin to cry, and he tried not to panic. He had never been able to handle women crying. He had learned to deal with many things through the years, had faced giants and bandits and all manner of beasts, but he had never been able to confront tears.
For lack of any better ideas, Vilkas held onto her, and tried hard not to think about the fact that he had made her cry. But he had. And it made his stomach churn. He had thought about how things might happen when he finally found her, but he had never anticipated making her cry.
