#lein x argis

[monstersandmaw]

Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Fifteen (sfw)

*don't get excited - it's not a new chapter (yet)* I can't find this on my Tumblr, so I'm posting it here from my AO3. 16 is nearly done though :)

Snowfall, and a change in the weather. Blissful domesticity is interrupted, and Argis begins to ask Lein a bit more about being the Dragonborn.

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Lein and Argis’ exquisite bliss lasted uninterrupted for just over a week, at which point it was broken by the arrival of a curious and rather disorientated young giant on one otherwise unremarkable and snowy afternoon.  

Lein managed to scare the scruffy loner off with a few well-placed shock runes and fire bolts, and once they’d rounded up all the scattered livestock, and coaxed a snorting, plunging Sol back into his stall with the promise of a hot bran mash, Argis turned to Lein and chuckled. The sound of it was free and happy, and it set a chorus of whirling torchbugs loose in Lein’s chest.  

“What?” he asked, ducking to scoop the last chicken out of the back of Sol’s stall and tuck her easily under his arm.  

“This,” Argis said, gesturing broadly around at the ring of sturdy pines that protected Windstad from the worst of the weather. “It’s just… kind of ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculous?” Lein set the chunky, brown hen down with the rest of her friends and tramped back through the scuffed-up snow to join Argis, still standing in front of the stable, arms folded casually as he watched the warhorse munch greedily on the bran. “What’s ridiculous?” 

Argis was still chortling, shaking his head in disbelief.  

A whispering breeze lifted the foremost strands of his dark, flax-gold hair from his mismatching eyes, and Lein’s gut twisted knowing that Argis was his to touch now, whenever he liked.  

“Just a few months ago,” Argis rumbled as Lein joined him, “I was some illiterate grunt serving the Jarl in Markarth, and the worst I really had to worry about was some Forsworn nutter getting too close to him. But now? Now I’m learning to read, and I’m lying in bed with my lover late into day, cooking him meals, and watching fucking giants caper off through the trees with their loincloths still smoking!” 

At that, Lein barked a loud laugh that rang through the pine needles and sent a couple of crows spiralling up into the silver-clouded sky.  

“It’s just…” Argis faltered, setting his massive hands to Lein’s narrow hips as if to ground himself. “If you’d told me then where I’d be now, I never would have believed you.” 

Lein grinned and reached up to tug Argis down into a searing kiss that made his bushy eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. “But are you happy?” Lein asked in a hoarse voice when he drew back.  

In answer, Argis grabbed Lein by the hips and hoisted him up so that Lein had little choice but to hook his legs around Argis’ waist while Argis shifted his hands to hold him securely under his thighs. “Yeah,” he croaked, gripping hard. “Are you?” 

Lein nodded and kissed him again, more leisurely this time, with his arms snaked around Argis’ solid neck. “I never would have believed it either, you know?” he said between leaving tender kisses against Argis’ surprisingly full and soft lips. He couldn’t help lingering on the noticeable scars on one side, kissing him there over and over until Argis moaned and let his eyes flutter closed again. “I wish we could just hide away up here forever,” he added when he drew back with a sigh, eyes turning sad and distant.  

Argis frowned, perceptive as ever. “What do you mean?” 

Lein huffed a laugh and kissed the tip of Argis’ chilly, wind-reddened nose. He squeezed his thighs together like a rider trying not to slither off a careering horse and said with fragile nonchalance, “Dragonborn, remember? The one ‘destined to stop Alduin’ and all that?” 

This close up, he could see again the way Argis’ gaze didn’t match. His left eye tracked slightly inwards, milky and sightless, but his right eye was fixed on Lein with a serious, compassionate, and unwavering stare. Lein wondered fleetingly if Argis had any vision left at all in his blind eye, and again if the injury had happened in the hagraven attack. He didn’t ask though. Argis looked suddenly too serious to add more weight to his already heavy brow.  

While Argis continued to hold Lein firmly, he made his way over towards some snow-dusted logs that lay stacked up on one side of the clearing; all that remained from building the main manor. He rested his hips and lower back against them and let Lein continue to cling to him as though he weighed nothing at all. Beneath the lea of the wafting pines, he finally asked, “How far along with that plan are you? You don't really talk a whole lot about being the Dragonborn…” 

“No,” Lein breathed. “I don’t, do I?” He sighed and laid his cheek against Argis’ shoulder, luxuriating in the unusual sensation of simply being held. Being short and willowy had its advantages in his line of work more often than not, and this was definitely one to add to the list. 

“Do you have anyone helping you?” Argis asked in a quiet rumble. “Or are you taking everything on on your own as usual?” 

Lein chuckled. “I’m not that riekling-headed, you know?” he laughed, and then shivered as the advancing winter snuck its icy fingers down his thin collar. “Alduin is the flipping World Eater after all. Even I’m not dumb enough to try and tackle him on my own.” 

“Let’s go back inside,” Argis suggested, letting his hold on Lein’s lean thighs loosen, hands steadying him affectionately as he slithered back down into the snow. Once he was down, Argis kissed the side of his head before turning for home, and Lein grabbed a playful handful of Argis’ beautiful, solid arse, just to hear him grunt in surprise, and just because he could.  

The warmth of the fire blazing in the stone hearth washed through Lein as the main doors closed behind him. He hummed softly and looked around for Argis when the other did not immediately join him at the chairs in front of the fire.  

Argis had instead ducked into the small pantry-kitchen and he emerged a moment later with two tankards of warm spiced mead. “Here,” he said, offering one to Lein. 

“Mmm. I knew I was keeping you around for a reason.” 

“This morning didn’t count for anything?” 

Lein flashed him a dirty grin, the ache inside him resurfacing at the reminder, and raised his tankard in salute. “Do it to me again later, and I’ll consider it.” 

Argis just rolled his eyes and snorted, clinking his own mead against Lein’s before drawing deeply on it and then sinking into the chair beside Lein’s. “What does it really mean then… to be the Dragonborn?” 

Lein remained on his feet. He hugged one arm around his middle and cradled his tankard in the other hand, staring off unseeing into the fire for a moment. “Technically, it means I have the ability to consume a slain dragon's soul and absorb its knowledge and power — which you witnessed yourself up at Eldersblood Peak. I can also use the magic of their language through the power of the Voice, or Thu’um. It’s what the Greybeard's teach, among other things. You don’t have to be the Dragonborn to do that last bit though.” 

“Like Ulfric Stormcloak you mean?” 

He nodded, then levered his mucky, snow-damp boots off and tossed them onto the hearthstones to dry off. That done, he tucked one leg up beneath him, folding himself into the chair behind him in a position that anyone else would have found unbearable after only a few seconds. Argis’ mouth twitched a smile, but he didn’t interrupt.  

“Aside from that… it also apparently means I’m probably the only one who can kill the big lizardy fucker for good before he, you know… eats the world.” 

“And just how does one kill the World Eater, who can’t be killed by anyone but you?” 

Lein sucked in a breath through his teeth and then drained nearly half his mead in one go. The heady, sweet spices rushed to his brain and his belly, and he savoured the sensations for a long moment. Looking down at the hearthstones, he shrugged. Fragmented memories flared and pounded through his mind in a series of blinding flashes - the searing after-images of reading an Elder Scroll - and he screwed his mismatching eyes shut against the unexpected onslaught.  

“Lein?” Argis murmured, a sharp note of concern in his voice, and Lein caught the soft creak of the wooden chair as Argis shifted, right before the firm, warm weight of his hand landed on Lein’s thigh.  

Fighting down the spinning nausea, he opened his eyes and smiled briefly over at Argis before taking another breath and carrying on. “Sorry. I… uh… I read an Elder Scroll up on the Throat of the World, under the guidance of the leader of the Greybeards… I’ve actually fought Alduin once already…” He shot Argis a sidelong glance and saw that his eyebrows had risen, shock written clear on his face.  

“You… what?” he whispered, strong fingers twitching in surprise where they still rested on Lein’s leg.  

“Yeah. The Scroll let me see through a tear in time, back to when Alduin was first defeated, and I learned the Shout they used to bring him down. It’s… fuck, it’s a terrible shout, Argis,” he exhaled, shaking his white hair into his eyes with a shudder. “It translates roughly to ‘Dragonrend’. It robs them of their magic and brings them down from the sky so that you can fight them on the ground. But… it’s not a Shout that the Dovah themselves ever dreamt up; it’s man-made, and as such, it’s just… wrong.”  

He shivered again, recalling the cold void it had left inside him after using it, and the look of abject horror in Alduin’s glowing eyes when he’d tasted again the power of a Shout that he’d obviously presumed lost to time. Lein had even pitied the foul lizard for a moment then, right before the beast had rallied and called down great hunks of rock to rain down from the sky above. He’d forgotten his pity pretty quickly after that.  

“Anyway,” Lein forged on in a hollow rasp, “He finally realised that we actually had a real shot at beating him that time, so while I was still recovering from using the Shout, he recovered enough to take off. By all accounts, he’s vanished from Tamriel.” 

“But… if he’s gone,” Argis asked, “… why do you have to fight him again?” 

Lein shook his head and drank some more mead, more steadily this time. The spices warmed him and he tried to relax into the embrace of the chair. 

Argis released him but stayed sitting forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, knuckly, scarred fingers laced; thoughtful and tense.  

“He’s vanished,” Lein said, “But he’s not dead. I’ve still got to face him again. But… I’ll need a dragon of my own this time.” 

At that, Argis jerked his chin up and looked like he’d been slapped. “Huh?” 

Lein waggled his eyebrows and nearly laughed as he casually dealt Argis yet another staggering mental blow. A lingering hysteria bubbled away beneath his words as he said, “Paarthurnax, the leader of the Greybeards, told me I’d need to bring one of Alduin’s greatest generals to the only place in Skyrim that could actually hold a dragon - Dragonsreach in Whiterun. If I can talk some sense into the dragon, Odahviing, then maybe - just maybe - I stand a chance of finding out where Alduin went, and how to kill him for good.” 

Argis was silent for a long time, jaw grinding, but eventually he sat back heavily in his seat and breathed out a soft curse.  

“Yeah,” Lein said, finishing off his mead and setting the tankard down on the hearthstone with a soft clunk. “Exactly.” 

“When do we leave?” Argis asked after a long minute with only the crackle of the fire to fill the huge hall.  

“What?” 

“You heard me,” he growled. “If you’re facing down the most dangerous dragon of all time, I’m sure as fuck not going to let you do it alone, Lein.” 

Lein couldn't help but smile at that.  

He pushed himself out of his chair and crossed to Argis to straddle him and sink down into his lap. With his hands braced on Argis’ massive shoulders, his lips found their mark. “I love you,” he whispered, rocking gently against him. “You know that, right? You don’t have to say anything back, but… I need you to know it.” 

Argis’ face shifted into the sweetest and most awkwardly pleased smile Lein could ever have imagined, and he let his hands wander down to Lein’s hips. “Yeah,” he croaked.  

Without urgency, Lein kissed him over and over, rolling his hips against Argis’, losing himself in the blissful sensation of simply kissing him, until a loud knocking on the manor door brought a frown to his face and a grunt of startled displeasure from the pair of them.  

“Who in the name of the Nine…?” Lein sighed, clambering off Argis’ lap and heading towards the door, adjusting himself a little on the way.  

“I’ll go,” Argis murmured from behind him, having risen with the swift efficiency of a life-long soldier. As he passed it, he grabbed his longsword from where it rested unsheathed and ready against the pale plasterwork of the entrance hall. In the space of those six short strides, his whole demeanour changed. If Lein hadn’t been mildly concerned about who was outside, he might have found it deeply attractive. As it was, he summoned his magic to readiness and stalked behind Argis to the main doors of the manor house.  

The previously-relaxed set of Argis’ huge shoulders shifted to hold a tension that had Lein’s whole body thrumming. He was fairly certain that whoever lurked outside wouldn’t present a threat beyond anything they could handle between them, but nevertheless, he cast an armour spell on the pair of them. The teal light flickered in the entrance hall as it soaked into their clothes and skin, and Argis put his rough hand to the door.  

“Who is it?” he asked.  

“It’s me!” came a familiar female voice from the other side, giggling. “And Val. We didn’t just want to barge in, and Val’s got his hands full anyway!” 

The tension fled them in a heartbeat, along with Lein’s gathered magicka, and Argis yanked the door open to reveal Valdimar at the bottom of the wooden steps, holding Iona in his arms and preparing to carry his new bride across the threshold. 

Lein laughed in relief and stepped aside, and when Val noted the tingling remnants of magicka in the air and the crackle of enchantment around them, he grimaced a fraction. “Sorry, Lein,” he said. “I should have yelled sooner, but in my defence, I did have a face full of my wife’s hair in the way…” 

Iona’s long, golden hair fell loose and wafted about in the sea wind, and where Val was wearing his usual scale armour, she had on a heavy, woollen, forget-me-not blue dress that bore some intricate embroidery around the neck, cuffs, and hem, and a noblewoman’s fox-fur shawl. Her only concession to practicality appeared to be her sturdy, fur-lined boots and, like almost every Nord woman, she carried a long knife at her belt. They looked radiant together, and Lein’s heart soared with joy to see them so happy. 

“You’re both forgiven,” he beamed. “Come on, get in out of the cold. Are your packs still on the horses?” he asked, noting the fancy-looking beasts tethered beside a very unimpressed Sol in the stable across the yard. The stallion snorted and whinnied his disapproval of the strange horses, and Lein chuckled as he left the newly-weds and stepped out into the slushy snow again.  

“Now, now, none of that. Where are your manners, lad?” Lein said to the stallion as he approached the sheltered loose-boxes.  

Behind him he heard the low rumble of Argis’ voice and the answering chatter of Val and Iona. In the space of a few minutes, the manor house had filled with bustle and life again after a week of relative stillness and seclusion. Ahead, the two black mares watched him with ears pricked forwards and nostrils flared. He held his palm out to the larger mare and she snuffed at him curiously before deciding he wasn’t nearly as interesting as the full haynet that was lying on a bale of straw nearby.  

“These fine ladies hail from Jarl Elisif’s own stables by the looks of the insignia on their tack,” he murmured to Sol. “We’ve got to be polite.” 

Sol clearly had no intention of being anything other than unrelentingly hostile towards the two unfamiliar mares, and Lein apologised quietly to them as he untacked them and slung their large saddlebags over the stable’s central partition. Behind him, he heard Sol gnashing his teeth and stamping a huge hoof through the straw of his stall, huffing and shuffling conspicuously.  

“We’re not really equipped for more than two horses at a time, so you ladies will have to share a stall until I can take you back to Solitude,” he said, taking a brush to the dark coat of the nearest. As he groomed over her withers and down her shoulder, the sharp nip of Sol’s pincer-like teeth on his shoulder made him yelp and flail, dropping the brush with a clatter as he spun around. The sudden movement spooked the mares, but they didn’t break their tethers.  

“Ow!” Lein cried, elbowing the stallion in the cheek over the wooden wall between the two stalls. “Don’t be like that! And that’s going to bruise, you terror! What are you? Part dragon? By the Nine, that hurt!”  

Sol glared unblinkingly at him and snorted while Lein nursed the pinched flesh on his shoulder with reaching fingers. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the horse’s teeth had given him a nasty nip. It would leave a vibrant bruise on Lein’s paper-white skin for sure if he didn’t fix it, so he let a trickle of golden healing magic flow between his fingertips, all the while scowling straight back at the unrepentant horse.  

For a strange moment, Lein actually thought the snickering had come from Sol himself, but when he broke away from their staring contest to turn and look back to the house, he saw Argis trudging over to him through the slush, longsword now nowhere to be seen. He looked soft and relaxed and frankly delicious, with only his loose, linen shirt and dark, scruffy cotton trousers on, tucked into leather boots. He shook his head fondly as he took in the scene. “You getting bested by a horse, love?” he asked, and Lein’s stomach flipped over at the casually-offered endearment.  

“By my own stallion!” he yowled like a wet Khajiit, tying off the flow of magic and rolling his shoulder ostentatiously. “The betrayal!” 

“Maybe he’s the one who feels betrayed, what with your attention on these two mares,” Argis purred, stepping up close behind him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Lein shivered and rocked back against the bigger man’s warmth and muscular bulk.  

“You sure it’s Sol who’s jealous?” Lein shot and was rewarded with a low, earthy chuckle from Argis right in his ear. Adopting a lighter tone, in the hopes of coercing his awakening cock back into passivity, Lein turned to face him, laughed, and patted him patronisingly in the centre of his solid chest. “I promise to rub you down properly later, sweetheart…” 

Argis snorted a laugh and turned away. “I’ll take these inside,” he said, and lifted the groaning saddlebags off the dividing wall with enviable ease.  

As he watched Argis’ retreating back, Lein sighed. Bone-deep contentment seeped into him and left him feeling simultaneously grounded and giddy.  

The mare he’d been brushing before Sol’s interruption had quietened again, and now that the stallion had made his point and was quietly sulking in the loose-box next door, a stillness fell around them. It was going to snow any minute, he realised, and ducked his head back out from under the shelter of the rustic stable. The clouds seemed innocently fluffy, but a new bite descended on the air and he shivered. 

By the time he’d finished the first mare, Argis had reappeared and had already started on the second. For a time, the two worked in easy silence, breath frosting around them and mingling with that of the horses as the temperature dropped.   

“Did you get a horse in the guard?” Lein asked as he picked out the mare’s hooves, levering out a chunk of stone wedged between the soft pad of the triangular frog and the shoe.  

“No,” Argis replied. The regular rhythm of his hands passing over the mare’s black coat - palm smoothing out the hair after the bristles of the brush had cleared the mud and sweat away - was almost mesmeric as Lein straightened with a grunt to listen. “Too many of us, and no point really. My parents had a horse on the farm though. Ancient old thing. Tough as a bear though. We couldn’t really afford a horse, but I think they were too fond of her to put her down. No one would have bought her. My sister and I used to ride her out to the potato field and back in the summer.” 

Lein’s breath caught in his throat. Argis had only once mentioned his sister, and that had been at the shrine of Arkay in Solitude, with tears tracking down his cheeks. “Nessa…” Lein breathed.  

The steady motion of brush against now-gleaming black coat stuttered and he watched Argis’ throat work thickly as he swallowed. “Yeah,” he croaked.  

“What happened to her, Argis?” he dared.  

But Argis shook his head, teeth gritted, jaw set.  

From the house, Iona called something through the flurrying snowfall to the pair of them but neither reacted. Lein crossed to his lover, placing his palm on the small of his back. “I’m sorry I asked, Argis. Your grief is your own. You don’t have to tell me.” 

“I want to,” he said without looking at him, voice rough. “I just… I don’t know that I have the strength even now to… bring it all to words, you know?” 

“I know.” Lein pressed a kiss to the curve of Argis’ bicep. “I’ll head back up to the house.” 

He gave Argis the space to reorder his thoughts, and by the time the huge man stumped up the steps and shook the snowflakes from his hair, he seemed back to his normal quiet and stoic self. Lein glanced up as he entered the main hall from the entryway, momentarily tuning out Iona’s talk of the Blue Palace and the party the Jarl had thrown in her honour. Argis met his gaze across the table and a tiny smile graced his scarred lips. He blinked, nodded once, and then headed upstairs. 

When Lein looked back at Iona, he found that she’d paused and was looking at him intensely. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was listening. Val nearly started a duel when Bolgeir asked you to dance…” 

A slow, soft smile dawned on her beautiful face, and she leaned over to where Lein now sat in the chair that Argis had inhabited earlier, and squeezed his forearm fondly. “I’m glad the two of you finally worked it all out.”  

A lump formed in Lein’s throat. Gods, but he loved this little family of his fiercely. He prayed that this manor house of theirs would be enough for Iona and Val in the coming weeks and months of marriage. His vision blurred and tears welled as he thought tentatively of the possibility of welcoming a tiny child into the fold some day soon. 

“Lein?” she asked.  

“Nothing,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m just… I’m a very lucky man.” 

She rose and came to stand beside his chair, drawing his head to rest against her stomach and stroking his soft, white hair with her fingers. “We all love you to bits, Lein. I don’t know why it’s taken you so long to realise that.” 

“It hasn’t,” he said, letting his eyes close and feeling the warmth of the flames in the hearth flicker against his skin for a moment. “… I know.”  

She chuckled and stepped back, turning at the arrival of Val in the hall from the armoury. Lein leaned back in his chair to look over his shoulder and found the man with a lopsided smirk on his face and a brand new throwing axe in his hands. Lein’s brows rose — he could feel the enchantments on it even from that distance. “Wedding gift?” he asked, twisting in his seat. “Come on, Val, ’fess up. Who’s trying to out-do me?” 

“Iona’s father had it commissioned,” Val said. “Here.” 

Lein cleared his throat and stood, grateful for the distraction, and he took the weapon reverently from his housecarl. “Whoa,” he murmured, hefting the weight of it a couple of times. “That is some damned fine spellwork too. Who did this? Don’t tell me Sybille Stentor has stooped to enchanting weapons for you now?” 

Val snorted and shook his head. “You think I’d let a vampire like her put enchantments on a weapon? And it’s not mine; it’s Iona’s.” 

Lein raised an eyebrow and shot Iona a look. “He’s teaching you to throw axes now, is he?” 

She giggled. “I think my father was hoping I’d use it on him, not with him…” 

They all snorted, well aware of her parents’ snotty views on Val and, by extension, Lein. “Well, if you end up as good with one of these as you are with your knives and a bow, I can dismiss Val and Argis altogether. It can be you and me against the world. Watch out though, axes like this have a nasty tendency to bounce if they hit the ground on a throw…” 

“Val and I are a package deal now,” Iona laughed. “No getting rid of either of us.” 

“Thank the gods for that,” Lein muttered through a grin. 

He turned the axe’s sinuously-shaped haft over in his hands and let his magic connect with the enchantments woven into the gently-curved wood and the pattern-welded steel. He sucked in a breath. Poison and stamina damage could be a lethal combination. 

“This is a beautiful weapon,” he said to Iona. “You’re going to enjoy learning to throw it.” He turned to Val and added, “Feel free to stick a target up between the pines. I think we could have a little competition by the end of Evening Star.” 

Val’s bushy brows rose at that and he took the proffered axe from Lein. “You’re staying that long?” 

Lein shrugged. “Depends. I need to send a courier to Jarl Bulgruf in Whiterun, but the snow is going to start piling up soon. I’m not sure I really fancy going haring off into the wilderness this time.” He flashed a winning grin and added, “Getting old now.” 

“You’ve got to be the most Argonian half-Nord I’ve ever met,” Val snickered, letting the axe dangle idly from his fingertips. “First sign of a snowflake and you go scuttling for a fire.” 

Lein hitched a wonky smile and jutted his chin towards the armoury. “Feel free to put Iona’s axe on any of the displays. A weapon like that shouldn’t be tucked away in a chest to rust…” 

Val nodded and headed back the way he had come. 

Dinner that evening was a mellow affair, and Lein retired early. He didn’t linger in the tub that night either, heading up to his room with his hair still damp and smelling of lavender while Val and Iona talked at the fireside with Argis. He lit a candle or two with a tiny flame at the tip of his finger and curled up in bed with a book. He was four chapters in when the door creaked open and Argis slid sheepishly in.  

“Hello,” Lein smiled, setting the volume on the table and looking up at him, hands lying soft against his thighs.  

“Sorry,” Argis mumbled, shuffling about as he undressed.  

“What on earth for? Looking so gorgeous? Stealing my heart? Winning over my little hodgepodge family here so easily?” 

Argis flushed and laughed before meeting his gaze. “I thought you were waiting up for me.” 

Lein shook his head, his white hair loose and falling around his face. “Just reading.” 

The big man seemed quieter than usual, and Lein frowned. He shuffled over to the right hand side, which had quickly become ‘his’ side, and waited for Argis to climb in beside him. When he was settled, almost naked, Lein wriggled himself into a comfortable place at Argis’ shoulder and draped his arm across Argis’ huge chest. The steady drumbeat of his heart beneath Lein’s ear seemed a little quicker than usual, and he squeezed him tightly. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.  

For a long time, Argis didn’t respond. He just breathed and stared at the rafters above, but eventually he whispered, “Something you said earlier…” 

“Oh?” he asked as a shiver of fear shot through him. “Did I say something that upset you?” His thoughts instantly turned to asking Argis about his sister, but he knew Argis was still getting used to being in a relationship with another man. Perhaps he had been too free with his affection, even around only Val and Iona?  

“No,” Argis rumbled, tugging Lein close to him as he went slack with relief. “No,” he said again, more gently this time, and kissed the crown of Lein’s head. “You said you wished you could hide away up here forever.” 

“With you,” he added.  

“Mmm.”  

Again, Argis stayed quiet for so long that Lein nearly began to drift off to sleep in the warmth of his arms. His mind was just skimming the misty edges of unconsciousness when Argis spoke up again, voice little more than a rough whisper.  

“You’ve lived the most extraordinary life already, and you’re barely thirty. It doesn’t seem fair that you have to fight him after everything you’ve been through. I… I wish… I just…” He heaved a massive sigh and whispered into Lein’s white hair that partially covered his neck and lower jaw from where Lein was lying, “I just wish you could rest, Lein.” 

Lein’s chest tightened. Argis didn’t even know the half of what he’d been through yet, what with the necromancers who’d robbed his hair of colour and nearly robbed him of his soul, and the vampires of Volkihar Castle with their insane plan to blot out the sun that had seen him walk the Soul Cairn and face off against an ancient and powerful vampire lord, not to mention all the Dark Brotherhood contracts he’d taken on… He sighed, wishing he could express even a part of all that, but exhaustion washed through him and he slumped.

He hooked his left thigh over Argis’ leg, pressing the whole length of his body against the larger man’s and exhaling softly as sleep claimed him before he could respond at all.  

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[monstersandmaw]

What do you think is your best work so far? Like not what people liked most or what people talked most but what story did you like to write the most? what is the story you are most proud of?

Ooh! What an interesting question, thank you!

Ask me this on three different days though, and you'll get three different answers. I'm never truly satisfied with my writing, and whenever I revisit an older story that I used to think was the best I could have written it, I always want to change it and tinker with it, so it's kind of an ever-evolving thing, you know? Like the craft of writing itself, I suppose.

Mostly, the stories I'm most proud of don't do as well on here (or Patreon) as I think they're going to in terms of interactions and feedback. Dragon Heart, for example, or The Music of Us, for another.

For the sheer scope and effort and love I poured into it, and how much Odessa's character came to mean to me, I'd say Gabe & Odessa is certainly one of the ones I'm most proud of. (m. werewolf x f. human, 3rd person POV, 22 chapters, plus bonus 'Gabe's POV' chapter).

I have another story which isn't monster related and which isn't published anywhere, and which also isn't finished (!) but I'm pretty proud of that one too for different reasons.

Although I cringe at the writing now, I'm also proud of the Khuruz the orc's story because it's the very first story I ever dared share on here, and it's what kicked off this whole blog, so I'm proud of it from that sense, if not its writing any more because I've grown as an author since then.

I really enjoyed writing Brenn the Gnoll's story, for it's temporal scope, as it were, stretching from the reader's first interaction with him to their relationship years later.

And finally, my MM story Footsteps in the Snow will always be the dearest in my heart, and I think I wrote a few nice sentences here and there too, so I'm proud of it from a writing perspective as well as just being indulgently fond of Lein and Argis.

I think that's proof of my initial 'ask me this on three different days' statement...!

[monstersandmaw]

oh my god!!!! I love rhuarc!! and I'm very interested in the woman he saved; what kind of mage is she, how did she end up there, how did she catch the eye if the coven.... I just feel like there's so much more to her story! I assume that the story is set in a videogame but it's not one I play, but I just wanted to say that you explained everything really well and even though I didn't know what any of the creatures were before, I understood them in the story, which I feel is a sign of talent ⭐

Eeeeeeeeee thank you!! I'm so happy you're enjoying Rhuarc the orc!!

Chapter two is from Syl's point of view, so you'll have all your questions answered in that or in the following one, I promise.

It's set in the world of the video game 'The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim', but I feel like it's a really good stand-in world for almost any medieval fantasy setting really. I know there are a few 'Skyrim-specific' words/species like 'hagraven', 'Khajiit', 'Daedra', and 'Argonians', but I do try to describe them in a way that won't be annoying to people who do know what they are, but also accessible for people who don't (basically I treat it like it's my own fantasy world that I'm describing). I'm glad I seem to be getting that right! People said I did that with my male dremora (demon) x female character one too, and also Lein and Argis, which are both also set in Skyrim.

Thank you, and I hope you have a lovely day!

[monstersandmaw]

I hope this is okay to ask but in Footsteps in the Snow when Lein talks about the forsworn camp he is going to and Argis freaks out it seems like a big deal but it isn’t brought up at all yet? Is it something to do with the Hagraven marks he bears on his back or perhaps the death of his sister? Sorry if this has already been asked of you or if you plan to do a reveal later but it’s been driving me nuts since my first read! Thank you Ghostie!

*excuse me while I just squeal and wibble into a pillow with happiness that someone is asking about these two!*

(I did just write out a reply but my phone/app glitched into my notifications halfway through and I lost it.)

I don’t think that (unless there’s a comment on AO3 that I’ve forgotten about) anyone has asked about that moment in Markarth when they don’t know each other very well. The three incidents you mentioned are related, and Argis will be telling Lein about it on the next leg of their journey, which starts in chapter 17.

Thank you so much for asking about these two. It always makes my heart indescribably light when people care about these two enough to send an ask about the story, whether it’s a tiny question like ‘would Lein like hot chocolate’ or something like this which warrants a deeper dive that I can’t give you without spoilers.

[monstersandmaw]

Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Three

Hope you enjoy Chapter Three - thank you so much for your amazing feedback on this story. I never expected it to gather any support on a blog that’s mostly dedicated to monsters, but I do do fantasy fiction as well, so I guess it has a home here too. Enjoy!

Lein recovers after his brush with death, meets a sassy priestess of Dibella who sees *instantly* what his feelings are for Argis, and an old lover comes calling...

Table of Contents | Previous Chapter

Everything hurt. There wasn't a scrap of skin or muscle that didn't hurt. He ached, and sweat rolled down his temples into his hair. Moaning vaguely, he tried to remove whatever it was that was making him so Nine-damned hot, but his fingers groped too feebly and he cried out in frustration. All the sound that left him, however, was a dull croak and a whimper.

"Shh," a voice murmured from beside him. "Shh, rest."

Lein had the vague impression of a woman in orange robes beside him, and a shock of silver-blonde hair, before he slipped into fevered dreams once more.

When he crawled his way back to consciousness the next time, the aches had gone, but he felt terribly weak still. And cold now. Washed-out from the combined action of fever and potions, he shivered and rolled over, drawing the blankets up around his ears and drifting off again.

After sleeping the sleep of the dead for what might have been hours or days for all he knew, Lein finally surfaced and felt brighter: weak, wobbly, and watery as a new-born elk, but alive. He grunted, rubbing his eyes, and levered himself upright, blinking the vagueness from his vision and brain as he stared at his surroundings.

He was in the master bedroom of his house in Markarth. The door was open, and he could hear the friendly crackling of a fire in the grate next door.

His head swam only a little as he pushed the covers back and stood. The long, loose, linen nightshirt which he had been put into fell to just above his knees, and it flopped open a little at the chest. He tugged at it and saw two new scars, livid pink against the pale of the rest of his skin. One was a ragged star shape, where the arrow had pierced his lung from back to front, and the other was an angry slash across his abdominal muscles. 

"Gods, I was such an idiot," he whispered to himself as recalled his frantic plummet down the mountain-slope away from the dragon burial mound and right into a pair of necromages. His stomach growled and he felt faint for a different reason this time, and he turned to make his way barefoot towards the living room and kitchen in search of something simple to eat.

Sitting beside the fire, apparently lost in thought, was the figure of his housecarl. He had his back to Lein and seemed to be staring off into the flames. Lein smiled at the sight of him looking so still and calm, in stark contrast to his bulky warrior’s appearance and gruff manner. With a hand on the doorframe, he made his way into the room, and Argis jumped almost out of his skin at the sound of the door knocking softly against the wall.

"My thane!" he gasped, leaping to his feet and bolting towards him. "You shouldn't be up. Senna said you had to rest. Please... whatever you need, let me get it for you."

He held up a hand to quieten the enormous man's bellowing, and gave a soft, hoarse chuckle. "It's alright, Argis. I'm alright."

The housecarl's eyebrows knotted and he scowled. "Sir," he began, but again, Lein cut him off.

"Please. I want to sit by the fire. Is there anything to eat? Something simple?"

Reluctantly, Argis nodded. "Let me help you," he said as Lein swayed perilously.

He allowed the giant to steer him into a chair, and sat back with a deep sigh as he watched Argis move away and fetch a clean bowl from the table. As he turned to ladle broth into it, Argis cast him a wary look, which only made Lein chuckle again. "I'm alright, Argis," he insisted. "I'm not going to pass out or combust. I'm just a little weak."

"A little? You should be dead!" he hissed. "When you fell in through the door three nights ago, I thought it was an intruder. I came running down the hallway with my sword drawn, only to find you tangled up in a load of shit by the doorway, half crushed by your own backpack." He strode over and all  but thrust the bowl at Lein, and when he passed him an elegant dwemer spoon, Lein wondered fleetingly if he was going to stab him with it.

Argis watched carefully to see if Lein was too weak to hold the bowl, clearly afraid he'd send scalding hot stew all over his lap, and then went on with his story.

"I rolled you over and discovered there was more blood in your clothes than there was in your veins, and nearly had another heart attack." He drew a deep breath and eyed Lein's face. He added more calmly, "I thought you were pale before, but I've never seen anyone that white.” There was another pause. “I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry I frightened you," he said, blowing on a spoonful of simple but aromatic broth.

Argis shook his head, still looking angry. "I got you into your room, but the potions weren't working. I had to get someone from the temple to come and treat you. Senna said it was the poison from the wound that was counteracting the healing potions. She said necromancers use that sort of shit. What the hell were you doing pissing off necromancers? I thought you went to get a statue from the Forsworn?"

Lein had to laugh, even if it only came out as a hollow rasping in his throat. "I hadn't intended to, I promise you. I... I sort of fell into it... as it were..."

Argis wasn't amused. "I thought you were going to die. Fuck, I've not been your housecarl much more than a week, and I thought I was going to lose you already."

"It wasn't your fault, Argis," he sighed, beginning to shovel the stew into his mouth in earnest. "You weren't even there. How could it have been your fault?"

"That's just it," he said, falling back into his own chair across from Lein with a huge grunt. "I should have been. I'm sworn to protect you with my life."

"I'm more of a lone wolf usually," he shrugged. Waving his spoon at the broth, he added, "This is excellent, thank you."

His housecarl merely grunted again.

Lein sighed. "Look, I chose to go alone. I don’t know if you've ever served another thane, or what your expectations of me are, but this is going to take some adjusting to. I have titles in other holds, but Markarth is different. My housecarls in Whiterun and Hjaalmarch are... well... they're as much my friends as they are anything else. The thanes there don't behave the way they do here. There's no pomp and ceremony. You just turn up at the jarl's court, you have your meeting or whatever, your housecarl sits next to you, or buggers off to the inn if they don't feel like coming to the meeting, and it's all very relaxed."

Argis listened intently, expression mostly blank, mild incredulity creeping in at the edges.

"So coming here and seeing all the thanes parading around like peacocks, showing off and barking orders at their housecarls like... like hunters with dogs... I'm not used to it. And I don't like it. I'm not going to treat you like that. Ever."

"Is that why you didn't ask me to come with you?" he murmured eventually.

Lein nodded, taking some more of his stew. "I just assumed you'd ask me if you wanted to come along. Valdimar does, but Lydia never even asks. She still just trails along like a new puppy until I actually have to send her back to the house because she's nearly got us both killed." He chortled, blowing on the spoon before swallowing another delicious mouthful. "Gods, she was so green when we first met. Must be about five years ago now. She was barely seventeen, had had about a week in the city guard, and then she gets assigned to me because I killed a dragon and got myself made a thane. I think Balgruuf thought it'd be funny to give her to me and watch me have a go at courting her, since most of the men in Whiterun have tried to get up her skirts, but we actually ended up getting along really well."

"What do you mean?"

He snorted, realising he was just about to confess his tastes ran towards men, but he settled for the other side of the truth and said, "She's more interested in women than men. I think he thought it'd be funny to watch me try and get her to sleep with me, only to be shot down, or slapped, or have my cock cut off or something."

"Was it?" Argis asked, a strange catch in his voice. “Funny, I mean?”

Lein laughed fully this time, the last of his stew slopping around in the bottom of the bowl. "I never bothered," he chuckled. Tiredness washed over him and he sighed, resting the bowl on his thighs a moment. "I mean, she's pretty, sure, but... well... she didn't do much for me, let's just say."

Argis frowned, but didn't ask any more. "Can I take that for you?" he asked instead, gesturing at Lein's empty bowl.

Lein could barely muster the energy to lift the bowl from his lap. "Thank you," he nodded as it was taken from him.

As Argis' heavy feet stumped away, with a belly full of warm food Lein felt his eyes drooping and his head nodding, but he was asleep before he could summon the strength to return to bed.

A vague pressure around his shoulders and under his knees, followed by a lurching sensation, stirred him just above the surface of sleep, and he opened his eyes to find, to his utter mortification, that he was being carried back to bed like a child. The musky warmth of Argis' chest was so deliciously close that he would have been turned on under different circumstances, but as it was, he could barely bring himself to look up at the bigger man. When he did, he found that Argis was smiling softly, and he grinned down at him as he set him tenderly down onto his mattress.

"I'm sorry," Lein hissed, feeling vague with exhaustion. "You could have just left me there..."

Argis gave a whickering chuckle and pulled the covers over Lein's feeble body. "You need some more rest," he said. "And all you’ll get in one of those old chairs is a terrible crick in your neck."

He hummed a vague response, and let sleep claim him again.

It was a full week after that until he was strong enough to convince Argis to stop hovering nervously. "For Nine's sake," he finally grumbled. "I only fainted once, and that was three days ago. You don't need to keep orbiting me like some damned dragonfly..."

Argis laughed softly and mumbled his apologies.

"I'm going up to the temple to settle my bill with Senna," Lein announced as he moved down the stone ramp.

"Please don't decapitate me," Argis rattled quickly from behind him, "But you want me to come with you?"

"Now, do you want to see Senna's pretty face again, or to keep me from falling on my pretty arse?" he quipped.

To his surprise, Argis blushed a very pretty pink himself, and muttered something about better being safe than sorry.

Lein snorted indelicately and waved his hand. "Fine, come on then."

The two made their way silently along the stone walkways of the city, moving towards the stairs which led to the temple. A few people stopped to talk to Lein, the guardswoman who had let him in after the incident with the necromancers for one, and he laughed brightly as Adara bounded up to him shortly afterwards. He encouraged her to keep going with her training, and promised her he’d buy the first piece of jewellery she put up for sale when she’d completed her apprenticeship with her father. All the while, Argis stood there watching, observing from a couple of paces’ distance in silence, his expression inscrutable.

The ascent to the temple of Dibella took a bit more puff out of him than he’d been expecting, and he pressed a pale hand into the rock doorway at the top to recover, but when he caught Argis lingering at his elbow, he rolled his mismatching eyes and grinned. "I’m not on the floor yet, Argis," he smirked.

With nothing but a shake of his head, Argis followed him into the temple.

At the sound of the door opening, a priestess called from the back of the room without looking up. "The sisters are communing with Dibella. They can't be disturbed. You'll have to come back another time."

"It's alright, Senna," he called softly. "I don't need to see the sisters. I just came to offer my thanks, and give what's owed to the temple for your help."

"Lein?" she gasped, setting down the jug of water she'd been using to wash her hands and scurrying over. "Dibella be praised, you look so much better." She surveyed him more closely. “Which is to say you look as terrible as you always do.”

His laugh echoed in the high-ceilinged sanctuary. "Argis tells me that it’s thanks to you that I’m back on my feet."

She eyed the housecarl from under her golden hood and smiled, her strange tattoos stretching. "Not entirely down to me," she smiled. "He cleaned you up first. Gods though, you were a mess. Infected and oozing..." she grimaced. "I've not seen someone that close to crossing over since my training days. Still," she added more brightly, "Here you are, to live and pester me another day."

He held out a heavy coin purse to her and said, "Well, you have my thanks,” and he turned to his housecarl and added, “As does Argis.” He eyed the bag of coins and said to Senna, “See to it that this goes to helping others, will you?"

She smiled. "That's what we do here, Lein." She slid the purse into a pocket of her robes and spoke again. "You look like you could use some sunlight and fresh air now. Take it easy though... no more quests or contracts, you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"And Argis?" she barked at the big man standing slightly behind him, "You make sure he does as he's told, alright? No going off adventuring just yet."

"Yes ma'am," he smiled, bowing his head.

"You see, Lein?" she said, jabbing him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. "At least he listens to me."

"I told you I heard you," Lein smirked, flashing her his most disarming smile.

She shook her head with a wide, fond smile and bundled them both back out into the sunny morning. "There's a great difference between hearing someone and listening to them, Lein. If my charms weren't so entirely wasted on you, I'd have you wrapped around my little finger like every other man in Markarth. As it is, I have to threaten you instead."

"Threatening me with Argis?" he smirked, eyeing Argis’ colossal  bulwark of a body up and down. It was easy to see where he’d got his nickname. "Come on, Senna, look at him… Have a little mercy."

A light glinted in the priestess’ eyes and she hissed, "I know your type, Lein." She giggled, and actually smacked him playfully on the backside as he halted on the temple steps. His skin stung strangely, but it soon passed.

He rolled his eyes and trotted down the three steps onto the landing where Argis stood waiting for him, a baffled and slightly wary expression on his handsome, scarred face.

"Don't ask," Lein chuckled, turning and stepping off the first of the stairs which led back to the city below. But he missed his footing as his head spun unexpectedly and his vision blurred. He cried out in surprise as he tipped backwards.

Argis lunged for him and caught him with his massive hands. "Careful," he growled.

"Thank you," Lein frowned, casting a quick glance up at the temple doorway as his vision cleared again, the weakness passing as swiftly as it had come. Still holding him by the arms, Argis followed his gaze.

Lein called out to Senna, "Did you...?"

Her eyes went wide with over-acted innocence. She brought her finger to her lips and winked before shutting the door with a booming clank.

Lein growled in her direction, and patted Argis on the forearm.

"What was that about?" his housecarl quizzed, letting go, still staring at the door as though she might re-emerge and come at Lein a second time.

Laughing softly once more, Lein resumed his skipping pace down the stairs now that Senna's devious magic had done its work. "Never mind," he called. "The mischief of priestesses is a surprisingly well-kept secret in Skyrim."

Argis didn’t say another word to him all afternoon, and Lein wondered if he'd offended the big man somehow with all his playful irreverence. Perhaps Argis still expected a little more decorum from his thane, though Lein had been careful not to push it from playfulness into flirtation. He still had no idea of the housecarl’s preferences, and he wasn't about to make things a thousand times worse by flirting with him.

Perhaps Argis had cottoned on to what Senna had been playing at though, and perhaps that had freaked him out. Skyrim’s civilians were pretty open minded about people’s relationships, but it was a different story for those in military service. Lein had learned the hard way what guards and soldiers thought of men who liked other men. His ribs ached at the memory of a beating he’d taken at the hands of two Markarth Guards when he’d been just sixteen. He hoped that if his housecarl wasn’t interested, he was at least open minded.

He spared Lisbet the details of his difficulties when he returned her statue to her that afternoon, and he still received a handsome reward for his efforts. He also convinced her to buy a bunch of the crap he’d picked up on the way, as though he was no better than a hoarding magpie. However, Lein’s buoyant mood soured the longer Argis remained quiet in his company. Somehow it felt like a different kind of thoughtful silence from the kind he’d grown used to around the man, so that evening Lein excused himself and retreated to his enchanting room before supper.

The stone fireplace truly roared, the fire egged on to hotter temperatures by the flames he directed at every so often, loving the heat as much as a Khajiit or Argonian would have. The glow of it seemed to make his bones glow too, but it felt wonderful, driving the last aches of his injuries almost into nothingness. He’d cleared the stone shelf at one end of the room of all its junk, and, sitting in the comfy wooden chair beside the fire, he had his feet perched on it, one ankle crossed casually over the other, eyes on the last page of a very bizarre volume with the title ‘Withershins’.

When he heard Argis call that supper was ready and that he’d leave it in the pot for Lein, he replied that he’d be out in a moment. He finished the book and set it back on his shelf, stretching, feeling the restorative powers in his body almost glowing, the new scars creaking on his skin, and headed out to join Argis.

The housecarl was sitting at the stone table in the dining room, tucking into a massive piece of pot-roast venison when Lein emerged. Lein had just gone over to grab a plate when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, Argis set down his knife and fork, but Lein waved him to stay put. “I’ll get it. You keep eating.”

Argis complied, though his expression remained sullen, and Lein snatched up his favourite dagger and slid it down into the leather belt at his side. It wouldn’t have been the first time thugs had been sent to his door, and it never paid to be too careful.

He called out as he ambled down the slope. “Who is it?”

“Lein?” a soft, lilting voice called from the other side. The sound of it made Lein’s gut twist and his world tilt oddly. “Lein, that you?”

“Vipir?” he gasped, flinging the door open. “What the hell are you doing here, so far from Riften?”

The man who stood on the other side of his bronze door was tall and muscular, wearing his own custom version of the tough, supple leather of the Thieves Guild. His bare arms showed under the large, studded leather epaulettes, and a belt of small pockets hung diagonally from left shoulder to right hip. Lein knew they’d be full of lockpicks and other tools, and probably the odd diamond ring, snuck off a wealthy lady’s finger right under her nose. Vipir was damned good at pickpocketing.

Vipir was many things, and among them, he was Lein’s ex lover.

The brunet laughed softly and jutted his square jaw out at Lein. “You gonna let me in, or are you gonna make me freeze my balls off out here?”

“Just as long as you don’t ask me to warm them up, eh?” he snorted quietly, holding the door open for him. He yelled over his shoulder, “Argis, we got company. This is Vipir, and old friend from Riften.”

Vipir leaned in close to Lein’s ear as he entered the house, and hissed, “He your new lover-boy?” The sudden closeness was intoxicatingly delicious and it took Lein a moment to recover.

Lein replied in the same hushed tones, “Housecarl. I’m a respectable thane here now, you know? Don’t go sullying my good name now, will you?”

Ignoring Vipir’s snort of laughter, he walked up the slope back into the house ahead of him, just as Argis got to his feet, wiping his hands on a square of linen from the top of a fresh pile. When they were both in the room, Argis extended a hand in greeting to his thane’s guest with a steady gaze that weighed him up. Lein suspected Argis had worked out Vipir’s slightly weaker left side, and preference for a bow already.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Argis asked politely, his expression just about warm enough not to be called rude.

Viper laughed again, clearly unfazed. “A good mead would go down nicely, thank you,” he said, easing himself into a chair by the fire with a huge sigh. “By the Nine, Lein, it was a long carriage ride here.”

“You didn’t run this time?” he chuckled, easing himself into the chair Argis had recently vacated.

“Oh balls to that,” Vipir retorted. “You and Vex are never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

Lein shook his head and took a swig of the bottle Argis offered him at the same time as he handed one to Vipir. They clinked drinks and downed a good few gulps before Lein asked, “So, what are you doing here?”

“Job for Delvin,” he said evasively, swigging his mead. “Little Vexy told me you were planning on being holed up here for a while.” He squinted his dark brown eyes at Lein and added, “Gotta say though, you look like shit, friend.”

Lein barked a loud laugh and took another long draft of his own drink. “Yeah, well, I had a rather close brush with death about a weak ago. Still recovering.” He flopped down into the chair opposite Vipir and ran his finger thoughtfully around the rim of the bottle.

“Shit,” Vipir cursed, suddenly serious. Concern flooded into his warm eyes and deep, accented voice. “You ok?”

Lein nodded. “Yeah. Think I gave Argis the fright of his life when I stumbled in through the doorway in the middle of the night, bleeding to death, but I think he’s nearly forgiven me now. Is that right?”

The housecarl had returned to his seat at the table to finish his supper. Lein turned to look over his shoulder at Argis, who surveyed the two of them with a calculated stare for a while and then grinned. “I think you’ve got a little way to go before you’re forgiven for that, thane,” he smirked.

Vipir shot Lein a look over the rim of his mead bottle, but kept quiet.

“Where are you staying?” Lein asked. “Silverblood Inn?”

“I know you think I piss everyone off, Lein, but I do have some friends in the city.”

Lein cocked an eyebrow. “Bridges you haven’t burned? Vipir, I’m impressed.”

He rolled his eyes and slouched further into his chair. “I’m meeting my contact tomorrow,” he said, adding, “But yes. Silverblood Inn tonight. So when you haven’t been getting yourself killed, what have you been up to? Feels like ages since you stopped by the Ragged Flagon.”

Lein cast half a glance at Argis, who was nearly done with his meal, and said, “Taking contracts mainly…” he shot him a meaningful glance.

“Our brothers in Falkreath, or jobs for Brynjolf I don’t know about?”

“Both,” he smiled.

“Dancing with death and the law,” he whispered, barely audible above the crackle of the fire. Then he sat back and uttered his next statement just loudly enough for Argis to hear, and in such a tone that made Lein want to kick him. “You always did have a wild side.”

Lein shared his supper with him, and the two friends who had once been lovers chatted for hours by the fireside.

While Argis excused himself fairly early, Lein found it impossible to tear himself away. Vipir was one of those old lovers who had never done anything wrong. Their relationship had never soured, only grown distant as Lein had left Riften to roam Skyrim’s roads. It had never been serious, but it had always been heartfelt. The banter came as easily as it ever had, and Lein enjoyed hearing how the guild was picking itself up again now that Mercer was no longer dragging it down. “Brynjolf and Karliah are the next hottest thing in Riften,” Vipir laughed.

“Oh wow, predictable much?” Lein scoffed, cheeks rosy, a most of the way through his second bottle of Blackbriar Reserve. Vipir’s booming laugh resounded around the chamber yet again, and Lein wondered if they were keeping Argis awake. Feeling a pang of guilt, he yawned and set the bottle down, stretching out his shoulders. “Listen, Vip,” he sighed. “How long are you in Markarth for? Maybe we can catch up over breakfast or something tomorrow? I’m kind of beat…”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a yawn of his own. “Me too. I came straight here from the road. I got here a day earlier than planned, so I should go and find some lodgings at the Silverblood Inn. I’m due to leave again tomorrow. You want to meet at the inn at eight?”

“Nine?” he countered with a hopeful grin.

“No stamina,” Vipir chuckled. “Not like the old days.”

“You forget I almost died last week,” Lein retorted. “I’m not myself.”

“Yeah, well, you were always good at keeping your scars from me,” he sighed, standing and setting his bottle down on the edge of the fireplace.

Lein stood and felt the room spin.

Vipir let out a soft laugh and stepped close to steady him. Too close. “Never could hold your liquor either,” he murmured fondly, pressing his body against him, his strong, archer’s hand still wrapped around Lein’s forearm.

Lein bit his lip and groaned involuntarily. It had been a long time since he’d felt a connection deeper than a formal handshake, and he suddenly found himself aching all over to be touched, kissed, held, fucked…

Vipir read him as easily as he always had, and closed the last of the air between them by sealing a kiss onto Lein’s softly parted lips.

In an instant, passion flared in both of them, and it deepened. Vipir’s short beard scratched against Lein’s white stubble, while Lein’s hands raked through his shoulder-length brown hair, grabbing it, pulling it, shoving him deeper into the kiss. Teeth clacked before tongues began to explore further, and Lein moaned at his old friend’s familiar taste and touch.

Vipir was bigger and stronger than Lein, and he easily backed him up against a blank bit of wall. Lein let out a grunt as his back collided with the cold masonry, and Vipir chased the sound with another kiss. His hips ground against Lein’s and they each felt the other’s hard cock and gasped. “Been a while since you and I…” Vipir breathed. “You want…?”

Lein’s mismatched eyes flitted to the archway which led to Argis’ closed doors. “Keep it quiet,” he hissed.

Vipir didn’t even wait to get him into his bedroom before he’d stripped his shirt off and had undone the ties of his trousers. Lein knew he shouldn’t be doing this here, in his living room, but the sensations overwhelmed him and he suddenly found he had no objections whatsoever to Vipir jerking him off. Lein came loudly, an embarrassingly short time later, head thrown back, hands clutching at Vipir’s shoulders as he shuddered violently, knees buckling beneath him. Vipir actually had to hold him up as he painted his old friend’s hand and part of his own stomach white in the warm air of his own living room. “Thought you said to keep it quiet,” Vipir chuckled.

“Fuck you,” Lein growled vaguely.

“With pleasure,” Vipir answered, passing him a linen cloth to clean himself up. Vipir was still desperately hard, and didn’t wait very long for Lein to get clean before he was back, biting and sucking kisses into Lein’s collarbones.

A few heartbeats later Lein pushed Vipir back off him and stalked away to his own bedroom.

He never thought he’d bless Markarth’s stone beds, but at least they didn’t creak.

Chapter Four

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[monstersandmaw]

I just finished binge reading Footsteps In The Snow and I wanted to say that I loved it so so much!

Skyrim was my first real video game experience and you captured what I've always enjoyed about the game so well. And your writing was just so fun to read!

I know you mentioned you might rewrite it soon, and if you do I'm looking very forward to it!

Thank you so much!! I’m so happy to hear that, thank you!! I’m glad you found the same kind of joy I felt on playing it reflected in my writing :). Lein is very dear to me, and Skyrim was also my first video game. Not sure where I’d be today without it, if I’m honest!

I hope to be able to work on it some more soon.

[monstersandmaw]

Excuse the shitty photos of my monitor - for some reason screenshotting no longer works with Steam with my keyboard… if anyone knows a fix for that btw lemme know.

Anyway, I cannot with this man. Argis has no chill when it comes to Lein. He just has to be checking him out the whole time. That, or he’s making sure Lein hasn’t fallen arse over teakettle into another life and death situation. Or both. It’s probably both.

I fired up my old save to check out my besotted murder husbands Falkreath for the next instalment of Dremora lad, and they just looked so perfect I had to share.

[monstersandmaw]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by the lovely @irlaimsaaralath - thank you! Tagging anyone who wants to play along - consider yourself tagged and part of WIP Wednesday and get sharing! 

Not sure if there’s a wordlimit but here’s a bit from Footsteps in the Snow that I’m currently working on... You can read all 13 current chapters here on Tumblr or on AO3.

Here’s 400 words (sfw) of a soft domestic ‘morning after’ the events of Chapter Thirteen...

Contents: fluff, reminiscing, a character with scars, two blissfully sleepy and lovestruck bois...

___

Lein woke slowly, surfacing gradually, eyes and brain fogged with sleep. Beside him, the shallow snores of Argis nudged his mind further to full consciousness and he rolled onto his side. Outside, the wind tugged at the eaves and shingles of the house, no doubt whipping the snowflakes into wild, frenzied flurries, but inside all was still and quiet, for the most part.  

Cracking an eye open, Lein let his mismatching eyes rove over the huge, bare shoulders, the curve of muscle in his bicep, the sculpted back, the sweetly intimate glimpse of dark blond hair at the nape of his neck, and he sighed a private smile. How a man could snore like that while lying on his side was beyond Lein, but still. Now that he was awake, he intended to make full use of his time.  

Of course, the scars on Argis’ back could not be avoided. With the man facing away from him, soft and trusting in sleep, it was just as shocking the second time to see the damage that the hagraven’s claws had wrought in his flesh. What looked like a two-handed attack in the shape of an ‘X’- a sweep of the right followed by another from the left hand of the hag - was then cut in half by a vertical slash from the nape of his neck down to the middle of his broad back.

Tentatively, Lein brought his fingertips to Argis’ colossal right shoulder and inhaled slowly as he traced the raised lines of the scars. They were old, the skin hard, puckered, and the scars no longer the livid, raw, angry pink of newly-formed tissue. How had he become entangled with a hagraven long enough for her to do this to him, and to rob the sight from his left eye and scar his cheek too?

For a while, Argis slept on while Lein let his hand wander idly, tracing patterns on his Nordic lover’s surprisingly tanned skin. Perhaps he had trained, shirtless, in the stark sunlight of Markarth’s training yard during Skyrim’s short summers. Now that was an image. Lein smirked softly and pressed a chaste kiss against his right shoulder blade.

Lein himself was almost colourless he was so pale, and many a joke had been made at his expense in alchemy classes at Winterhold, comparing him to glowing mushrooms or asking if people thought that they would see magelight through him if the caster stood behind him.  

Thinking about his time at Winterhold - almost ten years ago now - made him chuckle softly, and the sound finally seemed to stir Argis from sleep.  

“Mmmph?” he grunted, half-trying to turn over.  

Lein kissed his back between his shoulder blades and gripped the solid curve of his shoulder. He felt Argis inhale slowly and then he relaxed beneath him. “Morning,” Lein murmured, kissing him again.

___

Probably a longer WIP than was intended with this tag meme, but hey. Maybe a couple of you will enjoy the snippet who have been wanting more from these two.

[monstersandmaw]

Cute elf boy headcanons yes please... ... Does he like Cassandra? Whats' his thought on Cole? Whats he like? I love DA: Inquisition so much so I'm so happy watching you work your way through it and fall in love with it the same I did

And because @theladypirate​ also wanted to know about Kaelas my elf boy, here’s an extraordinarily long set of headcanons and backstory for him…

Kaelas Lavellan is a male elf, about 22yrs old at the timeof the start of the Inquisition game timeline. As with game-canon, he was his clan’sFirst, a mage training to take over the role of Keeper one day before he wassent to the disastrous conclave… His name in his clan’s dialect (suspend yourdisbelief here, ok?!) means ‘one of embers’.

Buckle up for a bit of a sad backstory (tw for sibling death) andsome headcanons on relationships with the other main characters fromInquisition. The romance in my playthrough is Dorian-orientated too.

Kaelas has dark red hair, shaved short above his ear oneside and long to mid chest on the other (longer in my mind than the gamehairstyles will permit…). His grey eyes are piercing but actually he can’t seeclose-up very well – he has great long distance vision, but he probably needslenses to read… (which Dorian finds hilarious, as no amount of reading bycandle light has affected his eyesight at all). Kaelas is naturally lean, he’s quite fit, but he won’t be winning anyathletics contests at Skyhold any time soon. He’s very adept at storm magic, and is good with using his staff formagic spells but not at close quarters. He’s cut himself on the blade on the endmore time than he cares to admit… *seeCassandra’s role below…*

He has no vallaslin, (sacred facial tattoos) because the Keeperdecided he was not ready at the age of eighteen when most Dalish elves gettheir tattoos. It is a mark of great shame to him because he’s very proud ofhis Dalish heritage, and he would probably have born the mark of Falon'Din. (Falon’Dinis “the elven God of Death and Fortuneand guides the dead to the Beyond. He and his twin brother, Dirthamen, are theeldest children of Elgar'nan the All-Father and Mythal the Protector.”)Kaelas lost his own identical twin brother, Kaenas, (who was also training asan apprentice with the Keeper, and was a better diplomat than Kaelas though hehad no magical talent) when they were eighteen, the week before they weresupposed to get their tattoos.

I’ll stick in a ‘keep reading’ just to save people scrolling through… haha

Kaelas did not take Kaenas’ death well (whose name means ‘oneof the stars’: ‘kaen’ meaning ‘star’, while ‘kael’ means ‘ember’). In a screamof grief and rage while at his brother’s funeral, he half resurrected him fromthe dead by accident. He had had no training in necromancy, and had no interestin it, but because of his connection to his brother’s soul, the spell worked.Sort of. What he raised was a half revenant that wasn’t his brother, and which tookthree clan hunters to put to rest again… Because of this he was denied hisvallaslin for at least five years until he learned the responsibility of hispowers. He also has no desire totouch necromancy, but is learning from Dorian that it’s not all bad, especiallygiven Dorian’s history with blood magic. He left for the conclave a year beforehe was due to get his marks.

Kaelas is actually pretty naïve, despite the training and occasionalexcursions with his Keeper. His clan was more open to trade and contact withhumans than many, but that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily all that… adept. Heoften puts his foot in things by asking the innocent questions which just sort offall out of him before he’s had time to engage his brain. In that respect, he’sa little bit like Cole, though not quiteas oblivious. He always misses sexualinnuendos and flirting (queue Dorian beating his forehead against Skyhold’slibrary wall in frustration at how oblivious this stupid elf is), and he can bequite hurt by the sort of soldiers’ humour and jokes that were just intended tobe harmless fun, not realising their not serious…

Similarly, Kaelas takes most things, situations, and peopleat face value, which means he leaves himself open to being hurt, but he’llalways give people a chance to prove themselves. He is actually very warybecause he’s not good at reading people, and since all the ridiculouspoliticking that has come with his role as Inquisitor, he’s learned the hardway that people do not say what they mean, so he usually doesn’t trust peoplevery easily at all because he knows he’s gullible, if that makes sense. He alsohad absolutely no idea that Krem is trans. At all. Krem and Bull still teasehim about the expression he made when he found out because they both like towatch his ears go red. His ears go red very easily. He was so worried he’d offendedKrem by not realising somehow that he couldn’t speak to him for days, and Kremactually cornered him at the Herald’s Rest when Kaelas had had too much todrink and asked him if he’d made Kaelas uncomfortable by talking about himself.Kaelas was mortified that Krem hadgot the wrong end of the stick, and confessed that he’d never met anyone likehim – among the Dalish gender is all very fluid and all names are neutral etc.so it never occurred to him that someone would have to hide a side of themselvesfrom others like that. Krem and he laughed it off and they’re good friends now,though Kaelas is wary the Chargers’ humour as they all like to see if they canget him drunk and turn his ears beetroot red…

Cassandra was kind to him when he first set out with her forthe breach, despite her having no reason to trust him, and he appreciated that andrespected her for it. Much later he asked her if she’d teach him to fightbetter, so while he’s recovering from the avalanche and near death fromexposure on the mountainside after Haven, he begins his training with her, andthey form a rapport. He’s not intimidated by her straight way of talking, and infact, he likes it. He likes that she doesn’t mince her words or play prettyword games. She’s honest, and she’s actually a laugh in more private settings. Theytalk salacious fiction in private too, but don’t tell Dorian because he’s rudeabout it…

Kaelas doesn’t believe he’s Andraste’s herald, but herespects Cass and Leliana’s faith. He’s wary of Solas, but talks to him aboutthe Fade and about elves etc. because he’s interested to hear more about differentelves and their way of life (and he’s curious as to why Solas looks down on theDalish as provincial and rather backward…)

Cullen he’s a bit intimidated by, but he respects him andthinks his heart is in the right place.

He looks up to Varric a bit like a cheeky older brother,ever since he struck up a bond with him shortly after meeting him on the way tothe forward camp.

Kaelas would defend Cole to the death. He is unnerved by theway the kid spouts out people’s deepest thoughts, and is grateful that theanchor goes some way to masking some of his feelings from Cole. He knows that Colecan sense his deep grief from the loss of his twin, and he’s terrified thatCole’s going to start spouting out his pain around the others – he’s not toldanyone, even Dorian (yet), about Kaenas’ death). But he appreciates that Coleonly wishes to help and to heal.

And finally, Dorian. To say that to begin with Kaelas was extra ary of a Tevinter magespecialising in necromancy is a bit of an understatement, but he was. Dorianseems all brash confidence and flippant flare, until he gets to know him betterwhen he comes back to Haven with them. Dorian makes attempts to talk to Kaelasto get to know him better, and in time Kaelas starts opening up a bit, and theytalk about magic. They flirt a bit – Kaelas very poorly, much to Dorian’samusement – and when Kaelas is presumed dead in the avalanche, Dorian isdevastated.

Anyway, please feel free to ask me more about him – I wantto start writing Dragon Age fanfiction soon, but I should probably finish the gamefirst and get to know the world better. It will be Kaelas x Dorian though, abit like my series with Lein x Argis from Skyrim…

Thank you for asking me this, by the way. I’m always thrilled to get questions about my OCs. Seriously, you have no idea. 

[monstersandmaw]

Mistress Ghosti, May we know what your working on at the moment? I’m only curious and not pressuring for more stories as I know you’ve been working hard this weekend.

Aww, thanks :). Yes, this weekend was hard work - it was hot, and we were running our stall and doing workshops with hoards of kids and adults alike all weekend, from 9am to 6pm, which was good, but exhausting. My ectoplasm is a bit wibbly and faint today, but other than that, all good. Also, ‘Mistress Ghosti’ made me giggle.

So, *rubs hands together*… My to-do list includes:

Lein x Argis story Chapter Twelve (currently open)

Do a ko-fi thank you drabble

Finish June’s Patreon-only story, which this month is an alien x reader

Plan my other Patreon story which is to be released in weekly instalments (new feature for the $5 and up tiers)

Finish gnoll boy Brenn Part Three

Do Lansel the Tiefling’s story properly (I’ve got 3000 words of notes and snippets but not a full first draft yet, as the scope of the story is kind of vast…)

Breathe

Snuggle Mr. Ghosti as I’ve not seen him in a week 

Plan scarred fae boy Winter’s story properly for when I’ve finished Brenn’s storyline… 

Plan out gnoll boy x human male story that’s related to Brenn’s story and needs to have Brenn’s finished

Do all the metalwork/workshop projects I’ve been putting off for far too long… 

[monstersandmaw]

Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Twelve

Lein and Argis go to Solitude, meet Jordis, and dance around the fact that they're both falling in love...

Sorry it's taken me so long to do this chapter. Thanks for your patience, and for your support too. The next chapter is Val and Iona's wedding... :)  Next chapter sees Val and Iona married, and Iona has some words of advice for Lein which leads to a development in his and Argis' relationship that is about 60,000 words overdue... haha. Thanks for sticking with this 75,000 word slow burn so far!! Time to start fanning those flames now though...

Warnings for a bit of blood and violence at the very end, but it's only a couple of sentences...

<—- Previous Chapter | Table of Contents

Val was outside splitting logs when they returned to the front of the house. Argis let go of Lein’s hand the instant the distinctive sound of the axe hitting the firewood broke the silence, and Lein fought off a sigh. The regular two-beat swish-crack of the axe hitting wood mirrored Lein’s own thudding heartbeat. He still hadn’t been able to shake the expression in Argis’ eyes from his mind, replaying every second of that shared moment on the sea shore in excruciating detail. It was clear that the big warrior wanted him, but something was holding him back. Lein didn’t want to push him, but at the same time he wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear this.

Val raised a hand and straightened when he saw their approach, and offered to un-tack and groom Sol while the two of them headed inside to warm up and share some lunch. Lein slid down first and hovered while Argis handed the reins to Val with a nod of thanks.

Lein’s chest fizzed uncharacteristically with nerves as they stepped inside. He was hyper aware of Argis’ huge, quiet presence behind him, holding the door open for him and helping him out of his fur jacket with that gentle smile of his. The memory of his huge arms encircling him, those massive muscles soft and sweet, the feel of his chest buttressing him up, protecting him from the worst of the wind… Nine, it was just too perfect. To say that it was everything he’d ever wanted and more would be a cliche, but still, if the shoe fitted…

Iona bustled about in front of the hearth, and looked up when they entered the main hall, speaking before Lein had a real chance to gauge Argis’ mood upon returning to the hall. He suspected that his housecarl’s feelings were as in turmoil as his own, if not more.

“How was your ride?” Iona asked. “You’ve got some colour in those pale cheeks of yours at last, Lein!”

He huffed a short laugh, but his nerves seemed to drown it out. Had he overstepped with Argis? The massive housecarl had seemed so happy, so relaxed, and by the Nine, the way he’d looked at Lein standing on the seashore had been nothing short of sinful, but there was still a final barrier to get past. He sensed what it was, though perhaps there were even two barriers: Argis had been raised in Markarth, the city where Lein had been almost beaten to death for being discovered with Vipir outside the Warrens at the age of sixteen, and the two had only been caught kissing. With a background like that, it was no wonder Argis was reticent about having affections for another man. And then there was Markarth’s stuffy insistence on keeping and treating housecarls like trained dogs. Solitude wasn’t far off that, but away from the hold capitals it was vastly different. The people were more open minded, and anyway, why the fuck did it even matter?

He ground his teeth and was the next thing to growling out loud, when Iona laid a hand on his arm. “You alright, Lein?” she asked. “You look like you’re going to start spitting acid like a chaurus…”

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… thinking…” He flashed a look behind at Argis, but the taller man was busying himself with hanging their coats up in the entry hall. Lein prayed to all of the Nine that he hadn’t heard his exchange with Iona. The last thing he wanted was for Argis to lose confidence now. “Really, don’t mention it…”

She nodded and returned to stirring the soup.

Lunch was a quiet affair with all of them sitting around the table, and when they’d finished, Lein quietly suggested another reading lesson to Argis. Val busied himself outside, and Iona went upstairs to write some letters of her own for Lein to deliver when they went to Solitude the following day. Lein and Argis had the hall to themselves and set up the writing equipment on the long dining table. Argis diligently practised his letters after Lein’s brief refresher, and even wrote his name out a few more times. His progress was swift, but Lein wasn’t surprised after their previous lesson back in Morthal.

Lein periodically checked Argis’ study sheet, and they finished once Argis had written his last few shaky sentences, copied from a book on the history of the Dwemer, which he seemed to enjoy well enough. However, he had been more reserved than their very first evening together in Markarth, and Lein felt his heart sinking and his mood deflating.

As Argis stood and thanked him, his shirt pale sleeves cuffed up to the elbow in the warmth of the hall firelight, Lein grabbed his forearm and looked him straight in the eye. “Argis,” he hissed. “Tell me: earlier today… did I overstep? I have to know… I don’t mind waiting til you’re ready or comfortable, but do you want… this…? Us, ever?”

Argis’ expression twisted into one of anguish for a moment, before settling into his familiar, chiselled, sternness. “Lein,” he said his voice harsh and rough as a blacksmith’s file. “Yes… I… I do… but…” He broke off, his gaze falling to stare at Lein’s pale hand on his forearm. Divines, Lein, I want this so much. But…” He trailed off into silence, not meeting Lein’s gaze.

“It’s alright to be afraid, Argis,” Lein said after a moment. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear it.” He felt the ardour burning in his eyes, even as he spoke. “Not because of me.”

Argis’ scarred lips twitched then, and he let go of the breath he’d been holding. “I don’t know how to do this, Lein…”

The vulnerability in that hazel eye was breathtaking. “Just be yourself,” Lein smiled. “That’s all I ask. The rest will come.”

Argis puffed the air from his cheeks in a nervous laugh. “If you say so.”

Lein grinned and eyed the page of wobbly writing on the tabletop. “You made real progress today… Perhaps I’ll have you scribe out my shopping list for Solitude tomorrow…?”

Argis’ eyes twinkled. “You’ll need a military decoder to work out what it says, but sure.”

They shared a laugh, and Lein stretched his arms behind him and cracked a yawn.

“You look tired…” Argis commented, reaching for the pitcher of water on the table and pouring himself a glass. He held one up with a questioning glance, and Lein nodded. Argis passed him the tumbler and Lein drank deeply from it.

“I am tired. I had my usual nightmares… I think I’ll turn in early tonight. Did you want to see the glasshouse, by the way?”

“Sure,” he said, seeming grateful for some activity rather than more talking. That was alright. Words would come with time.

The trip to Solitude the next day began with a bit of excitement - namely Lein calling forth his ghostly skeleton horse, Arvak, from the Soul Cairn, while Argis was going to ride the more earthly and solid Sol. Argis’ eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, although Lein had warned him that Arvak was a little unusual. The bluish-purple of Arvak’s creaking bones added to the background of rustling and skittering and the squelching of feet as they rode through the swamp, but Argis, to his credit, just shook his head and grinned, accepting the strange sight as little more than another of Lein’s bizarre magic tricks.

It took them most of the morning to ride to Solitude, but with Sol’s and Arvak’s endurance, they were able to canter a large portion of the way, and arrived as the sun reached its zenith. The bustle of the city was a shock after the quiet of the manor and the open road, but Lein made his way first to Radiant Raiment. He hissed in Argis’ ear that the owner was somewhat catty, but that still didn’t quite prepare Argis for the acid tongue of the snooty Altmer who ran the shop. Lein paid her little mind and set about commissioning an outfit from her for Argis for the forthcoming nuptials.

Lein sank down onto the bench and waited while Endarie took a very nervous looking Argis off into a side room to be measured and fitted.

“I suppose we might have something that would fit a great troll of a Nord like you,” she sighed as she left the fitting room. The door was open a crack and gave Lein a quick flash of Argis, top naked and with only his leggings on underneath, looking extremely uncomfortable in the centre of the small room. Poor thing. He’d have to take him to the Winking Skeever for a drink afterwards, or maybe to Proudspire Manor for something a little stronger.

The next time Lein saw Argis, he was back in his everyday clothes, a slight blush in his cheeks, and Endarie had a grossly smug expression on her taut, pinched face.

“Everything alright?” Lein asked warily as he got out his gold purse.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Though when you see the silk purse I’ve made out of that sow’s ear, be sure to thank me, won’t you.”

Lein curled his lip at her but she shrugged and told him the price. He quirked an eyebrow and eventually bartered the price down to fifty septims. Argis just stood there quietly, eyes wide. Endarie told them curtly that they would be able to pick up the outfit by the end of the day, since she had most of what she needed to hand anyway.

Once they were outside, Argis hissed, “Thane, this cost nearly as much as new helmet… I…”

Lein waved his hand. “Look, Argis, this is my treat, alright? Don’t think on it. You wouldn’t need it if it weren’t for me.”

Argis sighed reluctantly. “Fine. Where to next?”

“Temple of the Divines,” Lein said. “I’ve got a letter to deliver for Iona. Then I suggest we get some lunch at the Winking Skeever. Although,” he added, clicking his fingers, “I want to drop by Proudspire and see if Jordis is home.”

“Jordis?” Argis quizzed, keeping pace with Lein’s quick pace over the cobbled streets.

“Erm… Yeah…” he laughed, feeling his cheeks colouring furiously. “My… Um.. My Solitude housecarl… I let her use the house while I’m not there, and she keeps it in order.”

Argis raised an eyebrow. “You have a lot of housecarls you know, thane.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” Lein asked, heading past the well and the marketplace and under the massive rock arch that supported a passage and exit from the castle.

Argis chuckled warmly. “No, Lein, I’m not jealous. I have no claim on you.”

Lein stopped dead, so suddenly that Argis slammed right into him and sent him reeling half a pace from the force. “Don’t say that,” he said fiercely, rounding on Argis as soon as he recovered his balance. “You do. You do have a claim on me, Argis.”

Argis glanced sideways as a couple of people started to stare.

“Fine. I won’t say any more now, but you’re not just my housecarl, Argis. Not anymore. Not if you want more as well. We’ll talk later.”

Argis nodded and followed mutely as Lein made his way towards the Temple of the Divines.

Entering the building was clearly an experience for Argis, and Lein supposed that after the brutal monumentality of Markarth’s architecture, this more delicate, slender, high-vaulted building was a world away. Where Markarth was hewn stone and stamped bronze, this was stained glass and cluster columns that went on for miles, their capitals lost in the clouds of incense and candle smoke that collected in the massive sail vaults above. Bells and chimes rang out to accompany the prayers of the faithful, and the murmuring which filled the air from niches and alcoves seemed to intensify the sacred atmosphere until the whole place thrummed.

Lein paused and looked up, about to whisper to Argis, but the words died on his tongue when he saw the awe on his face. His lips were softly parted, and Lein could see the scars on his lips and cheek in unbelievable detail this close up. His blind eye tracked the motion of his hazel one, but a little off, facing a little more inward, and Lein’s breath caught in his chest when Argis’ lips pulled upwards ever so slightly at the corner. “Wow,” Argis breathed simply.

And then he looked down and caught Lein staring, and flushed gently.

“I’ll go find Freir and give her this,” he said, fishing Iona’s letter out of the inside pocket of his jacket and tapping Argis lightly on his massive bicep with it. “You wander around if you like. I’ll come and find you when I’m done.”

Argis nodded, but stayed rooted to the spot as Lein walked silently away in search of the priestess.

When Lein emerged from his meeting with the priestess in a side room of the temple some time later, Argis was nowhere to be seen.

Lein meandered around the temple for a bit, and took some time to ground himself again. He’d never been one for the rituals of the Nine Divines, well Eight now he supposed, having been raised on Solstheim and taught to believe in the spirits of the land and in the All-Maker, but there was an undeniable atmosphere to the building which seemed something akin to holy.

As he rounded the corner, the soles of his shrouded boots making no noise at all on the smooth stones, he saw Argis kneeling before a shrine of Arkay, back bent forward, head bowed, and he was, Lein realised with a sudden jolt, apparently wracked with hoarse, near-silent tears. The sight of the big man kneeling on the stone floor before the shrine of the god of death sent an awful jolt through Lein’s chest and he darted a pace or two towards him before stopping himself and hanging back to think. Argis had never spoken of a lost loved one to him, but he supposed they’d not been in each other’s confidences all that long. Argis still didn’t know half of what Lein had endured in his life.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Lein hovered in a paralysing moment of indecision. Leave the man to his silent and private grief, or go to him and offer quiet comfort? He approached a little closer, and heard Argis whisper, “Nessa…” His chest heaved and he gulped desperately for a moment before seeming to rein himself in. “Arkay shelter her soul.”

Lein dropped to a crouch beside him and placed his hand between Argis’ shoulders, and the housecarl jumped, jerking around to show Lein his tear stained, blotchy face for an instant before turning abruptly away.

“I’m sorry,” he coughed.

“Don’t be sorry, Argis,” Lein murmured, still with his hand on his back. He stroked his thumb back and forth and then leaned down to press his forehead against Argis’ colossal shoulder. The smell of his skin and of the leather of his jerkin filled his mind for a moment. “Divines, Argis, don’t be sorry for your grief.”

Argis breathed heavily and unevenly for another few minutes, before smearing the back of his hand over his face and sucking in one huge, shaky breath, holding it, and then releasing it with a puffing sigh. “I’m alright,” he said, voice scratchy as a goodwife’s yard broom. “We should go.”

Lein stood first, and held out his hand to help Argis up. The housecarl stared at it for a few seconds, then his whole body went soft, and he smiled. They clasped forearms, and Lein tugged him to his feet. They stood there a little while in the apse at the end of the temple, a shaft of sunlight falling just beside them and illuminating Lein’s silver hair, until Lein finally reached up for Argis’ cheek and thumbed away the last traces of dampness from his cheek. Argis’ eyes rolled closed as Lein’s palm connected, and he leaned into the touch ever so slightly. Lein then slid his hand into Argis’ rough palm and gently led him down the lines of pews towards the exit without a word.

Outside in the strong winter sunlight, Lein released Argis’ fingers, and looked around him at the city. As he tried to decide whether to finish running wedding-errands for Iona and Val first or go to Proudspire, he felt the lightest touch on the small of his back, and twitched round to see Argis looking at him, eyes bright and still a little pink from crying. “Thank you,” he said.

Lein smiled, and nodded. He desperately wanted to know who ‘Nessa’ was, but he sensed that now was not the time, and that Argis would tell him when he was ready. “I didn’t know you were religious,” Lein said instead. The quiet devotion of the warrior was surprisingly endearing.

Argis simply smiled. “I don’t make a big thing of it,” he grunted.

“Fair enough,” Lein said.

Then Argis surprised him again by hitching a half-smile and saying, “Nessa was my sister. I’ll tell you about her sometime, and a bit more about where I got my pretty face and back from.”

“Only if you want to,” Lein said. “Fuck knows I’ve got my own stories that’ll make your hair go white, Argis, so I know about carrying that kind of thing around with you, and deciding who to share it with…”

“I’d like you to know,” he said. “But maybe over a beer sometime…”

“And not in the courtyard of the Temple of the Divines when we’ve got other things to do,” Lein grinned. “Fair enough,” he said again.

In the bustle of the city, and the rush of the remaining errands - checking on the wine from Evette, fruits from Jala, and fish for one of the courses of the dinner from Addvar - Lein watched Argis surreptitiously from the corner of his eye. The housecarl followed a pace behind him like a silently-observant shadow the entire time, never far from Lein’s side, never closer than propriety would permit. To any external eyes, Argis was the very model of a perfect housecarl.

Lein yawned, feeling the effects of yet another night of little sleep, but he shook his head and forced himself to keep going.

As they stepped from the mercantile district into the Blue Palace quarter, Lein groaned audibly, head rolling and feet faltering. A figure with a fine fur half-cape draped around his shoulders and a series of flashy gold and gemstone necklaces and rings came into view on the cobblestone path ahead.

“What is it, thane?” Argis asked in a soft hiss, leaning down to be tantalisingly close to Lein’s ear. “Trouble?”

Lein shook his head but slowed his gait while he spoke. “One of my esteemed fellows at Court here in Solitude,” he sneered. “It’s fine, but he’s an awful snob.”

“Duly noted,” Argis nodded, falling silent as the other thane approached.

The shadows of the Solitude hawks circling way above them slid over the ground and fragrant lavender blew on the breeze, despite the time of year. Lein tried to draw calm from it, but the sight of the odious man always made his blood boil.

As they passed by the Hall of the Dead, Eirikur’s lips curled upwards in a disdainful smirk when he spotted Lein. “Well, well, if it isn’t Jarl Elisif’s favourite little pet returned to civilisation after months in the wild?” he snickered, and Lein felt Argis tense behind him. “Get yourself a companion I see, dog?” he added, his piggy blue eyes raking Argis’ huge form up and down.

“Makes for better company than you, that’s for sure,” Lein retorted without missing a beat. He scrunched his nose up dramatically and added, “And is that incense from the Hall of the Dead, or is it your perfume? Forgive me, but it’s hard to tell when they both try to cover up the same stench of rot.” And with that, he walked away, leaving Eirikur sputtering like a horker whose salmon had just gone down the wrong way.

He cast a sidelong look at Argis, who was stone-faced as ever, and sighed. “That man is living proof that you cannot gild a turd,” Lein said dryly, and watched with amusement as Argis’ stern expression cracked into a gorgeous smile. “He really is awful,” Lein added, kicking a loose pebble with his toe into a patch of nightshade. “And rumour has it that he even sleeps with his sister.”

Argis’ face darkened again, but he said nothing, stepping easily to one side as a small pack of three yelling, dirty-faced children came hurtling around the side of the Hall of the Dead and carried on into the merchants’ quarter without so much as an ‘excuse me’ from any of them.

Moss hung like verdant banners from the eaves of many of the timber and stone houses, and lanterns swung, already lit despite the winter sunlight, from the peaks of some of the roofs. The lofty tower of the Bards’ College reared above the sloping roofs of the large townhouses in this somewhat exclusive district of the city, and again, Argis seemed in quiet awe of the buildings around him. His intelligent eyes took in the differences in the architecture and Lein could almost see him comparing the building styles of the Reach to this, detail by detail. Anyone who thought this man thick-witted had to be the greatest of dimwits themselves.

“That one,” Lein said, pointing to the building in the shadow of the College, “Is Proudspire Manor.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Argis commented without breaking stride.

It had cost Lein a very pretty penny, but he sensed no judgement from Argis, for which he was extremely grateful.

Lein let them into the manor through the thick, metal door of the basement, passing the small fire in the alchemy room which helped to maintain a constant humidity and temperature for the storage of his alchemical ingredients. The corner of the basement that he used for magic and enchanting was disturbingly full of spiderwebs, and he muttered something about ‘housing Babette’s little pet quite comfortably in there if necessary’ if he didn’t clear them out soon. It was one of the few places Jordis would not touch. Nords. Then again, he didn’t pay her to clean for him.

He called out as he reached the top of the stone staircase to the first floor, and heard a muffled yip of surprise from the small, cosy dining room.

A slender woman with shoulder-length, blonde hair and sharp, green eyes strode out towards them a moment later, her usually severe face softened by a smile. “Honoured to see you again, my thane,” she said formally.

“Jordis, please,” Lein scolded gently as she bowed to him. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you, my thane,” she said, letting her eyes flicker to Argis for a moment. This woman was Solitude born-and-raised, and though she had seen something of the outside world, and tried always to be fair, he knew she was still uncomfortable with Lein’s sexuality. He nearly sighed, but bit it back. It wasn’t her fault, and she was never hostile, just… unnerved.

The huge man was standing in the stairwell, waiting to be called forwards when Lein turned and beckoned him over. “Argis, this is Jordis, my housecarl here in Solitude. And Jordis, this is Argis, my housecarl from Markarth.”

“Pleasure,” she said, gripping Argis’ hand in a vice-like handshake. Did she relax marginally upon learning who he was to Lein? At any rate, Argis returned the gesture warmly, and his gaze flickered to the table behind her. “That’s a beautiful shield,” he said. “Is it yours?”

Her eyes went wide with horror and she whipped around. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” she cried, grabbing it and the cloth she had clearly been using to clean it and scurrying to place them in the corner. “Forgive me, my thane. I should have been doing that downstairs in the armoury, not up here, I know, I’m sorry…” She bowed her head.

“As long as you don’t clean it in my bedroom, I don’t mind what you do…” he grinned.

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks flushed. To Argis, she added, “It has been passed down my mother’s side of the family for generations.”

He smiled and reaffirmed that he thought it a beautiful shield, obviously embarrassed to have inadvertently shamed her like that.

Lein cracked yet another jaw-popping yawn and asked if there was anything good in to eat, and in no time, they were all seated around the table, tucking in to roast ham and soft rolls fresh from the bakery that morning. But with a stomach full of beer and bread, Lein began to feel the drowsiness creeping in around the corners of his mind, and when his head actually nodded while he was still at the table, he jerked awake and blinked, embarrassed. “Excuse me,” he murmured. “Look, I think I’ll take myself upstairs for a short nap, alright?”

Jordis and Argis both stood politely as he left the table, and the moment Lein left the room and had his foot on the first tread of the stairs, he heard conversation begin between them in hushed voices. He was too sleepy to care what they might be discussing, and crashed into bed, barely pausing to kick his boots off and shrug out of his jacket. His head hit the pillow, and the blankness of sleep reached up and pulled him under in seconds.

Lein stirred from vague dreams when the door of his room creaked softly, but he remained perfectly still, his breath coming in slow, easy draws. He cracked an eye open, however, and in the sliver of soft daylight from the room beyond, he saw Argis’ figure silhouetted.

“Psst,” another voice hissed from behind him, and Argis turned, knuckles still just visible on the door. “Leave him be for a while longer,” Jordis whispered. “He looked wiped out. Does he ever even sleep at all?”

Argis sighed and nodded once. “He does…” he said cautiously, and Lein could have kissed him for keeping his nightmares secret.

“Well, let him alone a little while longer anyway,” she said.

“We need to get going soon,” Argis insisted. “We have to pick up some clothes from the Radiant Raiment and then we need to get going before it gets too dark.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jordis said, “You and I can go get the clothes. Wake him when we get back.”

Argis nodded his acceptance of her plan, and closed the door with a soft click.

Lein smiled sleepily to himself, and then let unconsciousness claim him before he’d even registered its approach.

A gentle hand cupped his shoulder and then slid down his side to his waist. It was warm, and big, and achingly sweet. Lein inhaled deeply, eyelids fluttering open. Blinking the blurriness of sleep from his eyes, he rolled over and saw Argis sitting on the edge of the bed. “We need to get going,” he said, his deep voice gravelly and quiet.

Lein smiled again and turned to look at where Argis’ hand had come to rest at his hip. “Do we have to?” he mumbled.

Argis chuckled and squeezed his hip once before pushing himself upright and stooping to pick up Lein’s jacket from the floor where it had been dumped beside his boots. He tossed it at Lein and it landed over his head. At Lein’s disgruntled, muffled squawk, Argis laughed again. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” he said. “Don’t take too long.”

“Was that a veiled ‘princess’ comment again?” Lein snorted as he sat up, dislodging the jacket, and ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.

“Maybe?” Argis said at the doorway, grinning downright roguishly.

“Divines,” Lein swore in a whisper, “I want to kiss you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he clamped his jaw shut so quickly his teeth clicked together.

Argis’ breathing picked up, coming in short, shallow pants. Argis was obviously fine with the idea of getting close to Lein, but the moment it became reality, he stalled. Lein tried to force himself to remember the environment in which Argis had been raised, where even the vaguest hint of his preferences coming to light would, at the very least, have cost him his already tenuous hold on his place in the jarlsguard. Patience, Lein. Patience.

Lein looked away, embarrassed, and chuckled softly to himself. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said wryly. “Let’s just take this as it comes, yeah? I’m not going to push you. And Argis…” he looked up, wincing in anticipation of his next words, “If you decide you’re not comfortable with anything - and I mean anything - you fucking tell me, alright?”

Argis nodded once, his scarred knuckles pale as they gripped the door, and then he smiled. “Appreciate that, Lein,” was all he said before he turned and left the room.

“Fucking idiot with your fucking big mouth,” Lein snarled under his breath once Argis’ footfalls had retreated. Flinging the covers back and kicking the leg of the bed with his toe, he spat, “Keep your fucking mouth shut for once.”

Anger seethed inside him like chaurus venom, but he masked it as he dressed and headed back downstairs. Jordis nodded politely at him as he emerged, but Argis was nowhere to be seen. Noticing that he was clearly looking about for the other housecarl, Jordis smiled and said, “He went to look at the weapons in the armoury downstairs.”

“Ah, alright, thank you. Look, while I’ve got you here, can I just check that you’re still alright with Val and Iona using the house for a week or so after the wedding? I’m going to go back to Windstad of course, but I’m giving them the place for at least a week. It means you’ll be without a base though.”

Jordis looked at him for a moment like he’d asked her if she thought the floor was made of frogs. “Of course it’s alright!” she said, eyes wide. “Thane, it’s your house!”

He chuckled. “I know, I know, but you live here, Jordis. I don’t want to intrude on your plans and just chuck you out.”

“Actually,” she said, blushing. “I… Um… I have plans to spend that week with someone else, if that’s alright? If you’d prefer I didn’t, you have every right to ask me not to, but since you’ve already got Argis with you I figure you won’t need another housecarl…”

“I am blessed with a surfeit of housecarls at the moment,” he smiled. “And I think Argis should be enough to stop me tripping over my own feet and falling headlong into a chaurus den, don’t you?” She gave him a flat look, and he barked another laugh. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that. But Argis will do fine, I promise. You go and enjoy yourself.”

She nodded, lips twisted upwards at the corners. “Thank you, thane.”

“Suppose I’d better go and find him then and make a move. It was good to see you again, Jordis. You’re looking very well. Are you happy here?”

She grinned and blushed. “I am, thane. Very.”

“Oh come on,” Lein said, “I can’t take this any more. Spill. Who is it?”

She laughed and her eyes flashed briefly to the staircase behind Lein. Lein turned to see Argis lingering in the shadows, and was relieved when he offered him a shy smile. Jordis didn’t seem to notice as she began to confess to Lein that she was seeing a young steward up at the castle, and that it was starting to get serious.

“I’m pleased for you,” Lein said. “Better find you an amulet of Mara so he knows you’re serious…”

She flushed prettily and said, “I’ve got one. Anetta bought it for me and told me to stop pussyfooting around. I just haven’t had the guts to put it on yet…”

“Anetta is a wise woman,” Lein grinned. “Put the damned amulet on. Chances like this don’t come round very often - trust me. Now, look, we’ve got to be going or we won’t make it back to Windstad before midnight, and I don’t want to give Iona worry lines before her wedding day.”

Jordis shook Lein’s hand, and then Argis strode over to shake hers, and they left through the basement and headed out of the city gates, down the hill towards the stables in companionable silence. Argis had his package of clothes tucked under one arm, and Lein was desperate to see what Endarie had picked for him, but Argis only shook his head and held the bag out of Lein’s reach when he went to grab it. “Nope,” he laughed. “I promised Endarie that I wouldn’t let you see it til I’m actually wearing it.”

“Sneaky fucking elf,” Lein grumbled goodnaturedly, which only made Argis laugh harder. It was infectious, and Lein soon found himself smiling, shaking his head and looking at the dirt path beneath his feet.

They collected Sol and, once outside the city, Lein summoned Arvak again, and they cantered the large part of the way back home, arriving after sunset, but before Iona began to fret.

Iona insisted on taking Argis’ clothes from him and pressing them, promising to hang them in her own wardrobe so that Lein wouldn’t see them.

Argis left Lein to go and do that while his thane un-tacked Sol and rubbed him down. The mundane task took his mind off the effervescent nerves in his chest. He’d not felt this way about someone since he’d first fallen for Vipir, but even so, this felt different, more mature somehow. More serious, I suppose, he dared to hope.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the approaching bandits creeping through the grasses until Sol reared and screamed, the palomino stallion’s hooves flashing mere inches from Lein’s face, and he dropped into a crouch and ducked behind the shelter of the stable wall, heart thudding. Laas ya nir, he whispered, the Shout immediately illuminating the figures of three bandits closing in on the house.

He ground his teeth as Sol barrelled out of the loose box, and Lein summoned a bow from Oblivion, his own stowed inside, and loosed two arrows in blindingly quick succession. They lodged in the throat of one bandit before he had time to cry out, and as the heavily-armoured chief lunged for Lein with a mace the size of his own head, he banished the bow, rolled to one side, and summoned a pair of blades instead. A mage is never defenceless, he thought as he hamstrung the chief and then plunged both swords into his back, the armour useless against the ghostly, purple, shimmering weapons. The third attacker was an archer, and an arrow whizzed past Lein’s cheek close enough that he felt the breeze of its passing. With a growl, channelling all his pent up frustration and nerves, Lein used the first full shout he’d ever learned from the Greybeards, and shot forwards in a whirlwind sprint, surprising the archer and decapitating him before he could do anything more than let out a short shriek of surprise.

Blood sprayed through the air and up Lein’s pale face and he stood over the corpse, breathing heavily for a few seconds before the front doors of the manor burst open and Val and Argis charged out, steel bared, gazing around. When Argis’ eyes found Lein he let out a choked cry and ran towards him. “Are you hurt?” he said when he reached him, still surveying the hillside for any further threat. His tanned face looked unusually pale.

Lein banished the weapons and staggered slightly as the rush of magicka left him. He gripped Argis’ forearm, partly to steady himself and partly to reassure the housecarl. “No,” he said. “I’m not hurt. Sheathe your sword. They’re all dead.”

“By the Nine,” Argis breathed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“I took care of it,” Lein said grimly, and he turned to begin stripping the attackers of their armour. Once they were bare of all but their small clothes, Lein burned the bodies with fire and asked Argis and Val to drag the corpses to the shore for the bears and wolves to finish off while he went inside and had a scorchingly hot bath. The look on Argis’ face had been sweetly reassuring at least.

Iona called out to him and asked if he wanted any supper when he came out, pink in the face from the searing heat of the water, but he shook his head and insisted he was going to get an early night.

He closed the door of his room and looked at the empty bed before him. He couldn’t help wondering if he and Argis would ever get to the stage where they could lie beside each other. The memory of waking beside Argis sent a deep ache through his chest and he closed his eyes for a moment before climbing in and snuffing out the candle beside his bed.

Iona and Val’s wedding was nearly upon them, and he had other things to think about than the curve of Argis’ shoulder and the sensation of his solid chest rising and falling as he breathed in his sleep. He prayed his dreams would be of that, and not of the formless terrors that usually came to him in the dark of his unconsciousness.

Chapter Thirteen