He stood there in agony for an eternity while she clung to him and sniffled. Or maybe not an eternity. Logic said that it was only a few minutes, but it felt like forever. When Dagny finally calmed down, and the burst of tears had dissipated, he reluctantly let go of her.
She turned away quickly, embarrassed. He watched her swipe at her eyes and shove some wild curls back from her face. He kept his eyes on her, absorbing it all as she took a moment to collect herself. It was endearing, the way she caught the same curls more than once and tucked them back behind her ears. The way she sniffed and wiped at her face, trying to remove the evidence. She moved jerkily, obviously irritated, and that was all the more adorable.
He still didn't know what to make of this situation though. Dagny was a very intelligent young woman. He guessed she was of mixed heritage; at least part Breton, judging from her height. (And since Dagny was a traditional Nord name, he could guess the other half.) The Bretons took great pride in their education, but here she was, incredibly smart and completely unable to read.
Perhaps not completely he conceded to himself. He did not know if she did not read at all, or if she just lacked real skill.
With a great sigh, she finished gathering her wits and turned back to face him. She stood mere inches from him, and aside from a certain redness around her eyes, he would never have known she had cried.
"You weren't supposed to find out," She said, scowling. He watched her lips, soft and rosy and plump. Her brows knit, low over her gorgeous blue eyes. He wanted to smooth away the crease between her brows. Wanted to kiss the frown off her lips. But she was furious, and now wasn't the time. "Why'd you have to write me those stupid letters?"
"Well," Vilkas hesitated. He had been prepared to confess his feelings to her when he was miles and miles away from her, when he wouldn't have had to see the expression on her face. But now she was here, and he found that he didn't have the courage. So he deflected. "Didn't your parents try to teach you to read?"
"They tried." She shrugged, not quite looking at him. "I mixed up letters and words, and it never made sense. I got mad, and I'd stop trying, and then they got mad and…" She hesitated. "They stopped trying, eventually."
"Oh," Vilkas couldn't imagine what his life would have been like if he hadn't been able to turn to books and reading to learn about the world. He'd read anything he could get his hands on as a child. He was a Companion through and through. He relished the ability to help those in need, and to raise his sword in defense of those who could not defend himself, but books had also been important to him. They had taught him whypeople fought, and how people thought. They taught him to use his brain as much as his muscle.
Dagny didn't speak. She didn't seem to know what to say, and neither did Vilkas. He had heard of people who had troubles like she'd had, but he didn't know how to help them, or if they had ever learned to read. It wasn't something he'd encountered in any of his books.
"It's alright," Dagny shrugged again with a forced nonchalance. "I've gotten by this long without knowing how to read. It's not so difficult."
She was right, of course. Plenty of people throughout Tamriel would never read. But it was unimaginable to Vilkas that someone could exist happily that way. Few others shared his passion for books, especially those in the Companions, but he knew how much easier life could be. How much richer it could be.
He had to help her.
