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daedrabait · 2 years ago

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Balimund x Veris (trans male Dunmer) - 4617 words

I finally finished this. This is the SFW version.

Nsfw version posted on ao3.

Contents: Dialogue heavy. Some mildly suggestive language. Fluff and heavy, difficult conversations with brief mentions of past hurts. Minor descriptions of injury. Redemption themes.

Hope you like feelings cause there's lots of them here.

"Ten pinches of fire salts should do the trick."

Veris was almost sure that the smith was the only genuine person who resided within Riften's walls. That was a pretty astute observation, coming from Veris, who was hardly a saint himself. The irony wasn't lost on him. But he was self aware enough to decipher between those who had a dark heart like he did, and those who didn't.

On most occasions, Veris saw those with such sweet temperaments as targets - something to sink his claws into and devour, to suck clean every bit of generosity he could. That was the starved, ever yearning part of his battered being, the part that had kept him alive all those years in Windhelm. But something about Balimund and the way he looked at Veris, made him want to help. Not for just his own gain, but to get the man to flash him another smile, to see his eyes warm upon him as they had before.

Veris was used to running errands. It was large part of his life, doing things for people for something in return. He was trying to build himself up here in Riften, a city teeming with opportunity: from guilds of thieves looking to expand their following, to crooked politicians wanting things swept under rugs, to merchants needing menial errands ran for them. And then there was the Nord blacksmith whose presence was like a warm breeze amongst the cold, cutthroat atmosphere of the city. Balimund.

Strange. Veris usually hated feeling indebted to anyone, and did services only to gain and keep himself in high-esteem. He did not care about the opinions of others. Or did he?

Veris's bitter temperament seemed to be changing as of late, he noticed. Was it thanks to the little vials of magical hormones he had been ingesting? The kinds that were changing his body slowly, helping it to match his mind?

He had come to Riften for a new start. People who didn't know him, places that he had not graced in a past form that he could no longer stand to take. He could do things his own way, now. He could be recognized for who, and what, he was. No longer Windhelm's Dunmeri wench. He didn't have to lay with men that he'd rather slit the throats of. He was reclaiming himself.

Veris missed a lot of things. He missed being able to dress the way he liked most of all. Dresses. He liked dresses. But he wanted to be seen as a man in a dress, instead of the woman that he had been perceived as. A pang of chest-deep discontent hit him. He didn't completely hate his body. But he wanted it to change.

His voice had dropped in pitch, and there was hair growing where it had not before. His hips were still wide, but there were parts in the middle that had filled out. His arms were becoming more toned by the exploring and swinging swords he had done, as well as the medicine. The life-saving medicine. He was extremely happy with these changes, even if they made some things more difficult for him.

The trek back to Riften was strenuous. He had spent too much time in the wilderness executing bandits, gathering ingredients, and delivering ore samples. But he had achieved most of what he had set out to do.

Veris would be lying if he said he wasn't eager to deliver the fire salts back to Balimund. Tired as he was, his muscles knotted and sore, he still walked across the city to where the blacksmith worked diligently. It was getting late, stars twinkling in the sunset bathed sky, but there Balimund was, hammering away at his forge. He always worked late. No one else in Riften seemed as dedicated or as honest in their work as he was.

"I have the salts for you, sera," Veris's voice was rasped, and though he was born and raised in Skyrim, living in the Grey Quarter with the rest of the Windhelm Dunmeri for so long had given him a whisper of their ashy Morrowind accent. It was even more tangible now with the deepening of his voice.

Balimund looked up at Veris with those warm brown eyes of his, his square face streaked with soot from the forge. And then he smiled, and it lit up his entire face, smoothing the crease between his bushy, furrowed brows. The sight made Veris's chest warm.

Pathetic, he thought to himself. Pathetic to let a man you barely know make you feel so soft.

"You do?" The man stood up straight, placing his hammer down. Veris felt dwarfed by the Nord, coming up to his chest in height. He felt his cheeks warm as he dug into the satchel secured to his hip, drawing out the jar he had collected the salts in and holding it out to the blacksmith. "Thank you so much. I didn't expect you to pay so much attention to it, really. I know travelling Skyrim isn't exactly easy right now."

The Nord's brown eyes were shining as he took the jar, examining it. His deep, raspy voice was soothing. "Excellent. This'll do perfectly."

Veris's cheeks were aflame. He wondered if the blacksmith noticed. He hoped not. "It wasn't that big of a deal," he said, the words sounding a bit feeble to his own ears. Where was the man who had effortlessly seduced guards out of collecting the endless bounties that were on his head? "It was on the way."

That wasn't the entire truth. But what reason would he have to say more than he had already? He'd embarrassed himself enough.

Balimund smiled at him again and then motioned to the forge before him. "How about I show you some things about forging your own armor? I know you're a mercenary; it could be very helpful to you."

Veris's stomach fluttered. The thought of being taught how to smith by such a man was both enticing and daunting. The complicated feelings Balimund gave him made him want to turn tail, but he couldn't deny that spending more time in his presence sounded delightful. And that the learning experience would indeed be helpful to him.

It wasn't a secret that Veris was doing mercenary work, but something about being referred to as a blade for hire without the disdain that usually adorned such titles felt strange. Everyone knew that mercenaries usually did the bloody and less savory work that their employers would rather not get their own hands dirty with. But this didn't seem to bother Balimund.

Balimund was patient as he showed Veris how to shape metal. He was obviously passionate about his craft. They stood close together, sometimes brushing; every point of contact sent warmth through Veris. The Dunmer hadn't realized that it had been so long since he had felt the touch of another. It had been even longer still since the touch came from someone he actually liked.

Balimund didn't talk as much as he grunted and made gestures to whatever he was showing Veris. It was oddly comforting, the way he preferred to let his hands do most of the talking. And what lovely hands he had. They were large, and roughened by his work. His wide fingers were stained with soot, blonde hair dusted over his lightly scarred knuckles. Veris knew the Nord's hands were warm. The thought of them settling upon his hips crawled up into the Dunmer's thoughts.

Pain surged through his own hand in that moment, surging and sudden. Hammer. Veris realized he was holding a hammer in one hand and a sword in the other, and instead of striking the sword, he had struck himself square in the knuckles. Reflexively, he released his grip on both the sword and the tool he was using to meld it, withdrawing and holding his injured hand to his chest with a hissed swear.

Balimund reacted fast, going to him and placing a hand on his shoulder to steer him toward the Temple of Mara, where healers were present. Veris cursed himself for not being more knowledgable in restoration magic; the last thing he wanted was for a priest to heal him. He felt incredibly unclean as he crossed the threshold into the temple. He was angry and embarrassed, but the warm and gentle hand on his shoulder kept him steady. It felt ironic that a punishment for the slightest of impure thoughts was going to be magicked away by priests of love. He felt a smile creep onto his face despite himself.

"I should have paid better attention, I suppose," Veris muttered as they approached Maramal. Balimund grunted and rubbed his hand on the Dunmer's shoulder sympathetically.

"It happens to us all, friend. Especially as apprentices," he said softly, his tone gentle. Veris's heart throbbed. He clamped down on the feeling.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?" The sentence came out with more bite than Veris had intended. He immediately regretted it, which was a strange feeling in itself. Veris usually didn't care about offending others.

The big blacksmith took it in stride, his chuckle filling the gaps in the air as the priest diligently took Veris's hand to heal his broken knuckles. He didn't feel the pain anymore after the initial hit; he had always had a good tolerance, and had even grown to enjoy pain in certain situations as a coping mechanism. But it was a hand, which was a very important part of him - and it needed mending. Bones popped back into place, blood flowing warmly and leaving a tingle in his joints as the warming, golden aura of restoration magic restored his hand to its former glory.

Veris wiggled his fingers to test their efficiency and after feeling no pain nor stiffness, he nodded to the priest. The man gave him a dazzling smile that only those deep within the worship of a higher power could. Veris sure felt wholly out of place here. But he also did not feel any contempt. This temple was a good thing, and he had been helped here... so he felt it right that he leave an offer to their charity. After handing the priest a palm full of septims, which he gratefully accepted, Veris exited the Temple with Balimund in tow.

"That was a good thing you did back there. I already knew you were a good sort, but I don't think you give yourself enough credit for it," Balimund said softly. Why was his voice so soothing? It made Veris want to be angry. But he couldn't muster it. If only the sweet man knew the atrocities that he had committed.

"Just because I did a few things for a few people doesn't mean I'm a good person. Besides, both of you have helped me in some way. It isn't as if it was a... selfless exchange or anything," Veris said as he rubbed his hand over his own chest. The words sounded feeble to his own ears, even if he had meant them to be firm. He never liked compliments that weren't material. He felt like he was lying to everyone all the time (and sometimes, he was) with the person he presented on the outside. He didn't like people having expectations of him. It made things complicated. He had disappointed so many in the Grey Quarter; for some reason, he didn't want to repeat this in Riften. Especially not in front of the sweet blacksmith that he actually liked. Yet what choice did he have? He could no longer bare to pretend to be something he was not.

"Besides - It was five septims," he added, a bit too late. Balimund was gazing at him as they neared his shop again, and the way he was looking at Veris made him want to squirm. Such open, honest brown eyes. How could he let himself be so open in a place like this, where kindness and honesty were viewed as weaknesses to exploit? It was bewildering.

Balimund shook his head, what looked like amusement sparking in his eyes. "It's not about the amount. Besides, you don't have much to give, do you? The fact that you even thought to was a good deed in itself. You could have walked out of that place without speaking a word to Maramal and he still would have healed you and wished you well."

Veris looked to him, shocked. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you could have taken without giving. You had every right to, and even if you had, it doesn't make you a bad person. But you chose to give, and that matters too."

Veris raised an eyebrow at the man. "I'm no saint."

Balimund laughed again, and the Dunmer's heart gave a flutter. "I never said that. But you don't have to be a saint for the little things you do to count. That's all.

Veris shrugged, unsure how to respond. He was getting all sorts of warm feelings from the man and this conversation that he didn't know how to process.

"I can give you more lessons tomorrow, if you would rather rest up after harming yourself. I wouldn't blame you for it. Taking a whack to the knuckles with a hammer is nothing to sneeze at. You took it remarkably well, though," Balimund said, sounding impressed. Veris's cheeks warmed. He couldn't well admit to the man that he had grown to enjoy pain after years of having it used as a weapon against him. It seemed a heavy subject to lay upon someone he had barely become acquainted with.

"Thank you. I think I'll come back tomorrow," Veris told him, flashing him a smile. Why was he nervous? It wasn't as if he hadn't flirted with and slept with many people. Simply talking to and getting lessons from Balimund should not nearly have been as nerve-racking as it was. But when he looked at Veris with those warm brown eyes of his it simply stripped away all the hard outer armor the Dunmer had carefully cultivated all these years. Those eyes made him want to be honest. And honestly was foreign to someone who grew up within the consequences that Veris had.

The Nord was looking at him with those eyes right now. "Where are you staying?"

The elf had no reason to lie. So he didn't. "I'm staying at the Bee and Barb. I don't... have a place here, yet."

The blacksmith smiled and approached Veris slowly, his posture lose and open. "You could join me for dinner instead. I have an extra spot inside the shop, since I have no apprentice right now. You wouldn't have to stay in a crowded inn for the night, and I've been told that I'm a decent cook."

Veris was shocked. He didn't want to assume Balimund was coming onto him, but heat still colored his cheeks. He was extremely attracted to the big blacksmith,

He must have been quiet for a beat too long. How could he as a worshipper of Dibella be so bad at such things? "There's no pressure, of course. I don't wish to make you uncomfortable," Balimund added, his voice gentle and tentative.

The Dunmer's cheeks were on fire. There's no way that the Nord couldn't see it. "I'd love to spend time with you, Balimund. Really," Veris said softly, letting his voice drop low. "You needn't worry about offending me."

The Dunmer noticed the slightest hint of color on the other man's cheeks. Internally, he patted himself on the back. It wasn't as smooth as his line deliveries usually were, but other times it had come natural. Now, well... he wasn't sure what it was about Balimund that made him overthink every move.

An inner part of himself squirmed. Veris was transgender... He had boundaries now to keep his mental well-being safe and not have repeats of the past. Balimund was a lovely man, but would he understand? A part of Veris knew he would. But the other part cringed at the possibility of rejection or the prospect that the other man would have certain expectations of him.

If he were to become intimate with the big blacksmith... Well, it would mean something, he was pretty sure.

He subconsciously shook the thoughts from his head. He was too deep in his own mind.

So instead he allowed the Nord to lead him inside of his shop and let go of his tight hold on the situation. Whatever happened would happen. Maybe they would just have dinner together and he'd fall asleep within the big man's embrace. That wasn't a bad idea. When was the last time he'd cuddled someone?

The shop was dimly lit and warm, a fireplace near the entrance with a chair on either side of it. "I'll be back in a moment," Balimund said softly as he walked ahead, "Make yourself comfortable."

Veris sat in one of the chairs and cast his hands over the fire, using a flame spell to set the low burning logs aflame. The warmth seeped pleasantly into his bones, and he found himself instantly relaxed. The house had Balimund's aura leeched into it, warm and smelling like the earthy fire. It was nice.

Something in the back of his mind whispered to him. The Nord had left the strange Dunmer he barely knew alone in his home. Veris was a thief who had stolen from many people, even some of the people he had cared about. Why would the blacksmith trust him? Or maybe it was a test.

A little part of him itched to try it - to at least dig around for something valuable. But he did not want to. He would not steal from this man who had been so kind to him. He didn't need to do such things so much anymore, and breaking the Nord's trust wasn't something he wanted to commit lightly.

Veris flinched slightly at the sound of the blacksmith's footsteps steadily approaching, a cool spark of shame skidding down his spine at the thoughts he had before and guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. But he hadn't done anything wrong, so why was he feeling so badly over mere thoughts?

He looked up to see Balimund smiling at him, the soot from earlier washed from his face, his smithing clothes replaced with a common, clean tunic and trousers. His blonde hair was brushed over his shoulders. Veris's heart fluttered. He was very handsome, and the fact that he had bothered cleaning up was even more attractive.

"Thank you for stoking the fire," the Nord said softly as he sat in the chair across from Veris.

The elf smiled, humming softly. "I used one of those fancy little flame spells, so don't credit me too much."

Balimund laughed softly, his brown eyes gazing warmly at him. "That's even more impressive than poking at it like I would've, honestly."

Veris raised an eyebrow. "You think magic is impressive?" Most Nords were wary or even afraid of magic. While Balimund was different from most Nords, it still stood up to chance about how he felt on the subject.

"Sure. I've never been any good at it, and I don't know many people who are. It takes a lot of focus," Balimund responded, sounding amused.

Veris laughed and shrugged, his cheeks flushing again. "I suppose so. I'm still working on my skills. I fight as a spellsword, mostly," he said softly, brushing aside the purple curls that fell into his face as he leaned forward to cast the flames higher.

"That's smart. It's good to have more than one skill to fall back on," Balimund commented appreciatively. Veris smiled to himself, thinking about the way he'd practiced with daggers before working up to swords when he was younger. It had taken him a while to build up the muscle to wield fluently, naturally small and frail as he used to be. Both his own work and the hormones he was taking were changing that. He felt strong, and feeling strong was lovely after being weak for so long.

He glanced at the blacksmith, who was watching him with those warm eyes. The Dunmer's heart fluttered despite himself. Why? Why was it so easy for him to incite such a stir in Veris?

"For what it's worth," he said slowly, "Smithing is no joke. You're strong." His eyes wandered to the Nord's thick, bare arms. Golden hair carpeted along his forearm, and he had half a mind to reach out to stroke it. So he did. Balimund's skin was warm, and his hair was surprisingly soft. A sweet and well-groomed man? What had he gotten himself into? He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the blacksmith's lap.

Balimund's muscles jumped slightly under Veris's fingers as the Dunmer stroked along the length of his forearm, letting his growing nails trail lightly on his skin. "Thank you," the Nord breathed, and Veris wondered what for. Oh. The compliment. His brain was barely functioning.

"You're very handsome and sweet to me, Balimund..." he said slowly, his voice dropped low, "Is there something you want from me?"

Balimund's hand covered his, taking it firmly but not unkindly. Veris looked up at him, a little confused. Had he done something wrong?

"Veris," he said softly, his thick and callused fingers stroking over the Dunmer's, "I think you're a very lovely man, and I wouldn't say no to being intimate with you. But that isn't why I've been being kind to you."

A spark of warmth spread through Veris at the words and the affirmation of his gender. He logically knew Balimund seen him as a man, but to hear it after years of mostly being sexualized as female by potential partners... It made him incredibly happy.

But what was he saying? Veris wasn't used to people being honest. He was only flirting and not trying to accuse the man of anything.

"It's okay, Balimund," he said softly, chuckling a little as he stroked the man's fingers with his own in return, "I didn't mean anything by it."

"I want you to know that you deserve kindness, as you are a decent man," the Nord said softly, pressing his lips against Veris's fingers. His mustache tickled against the Dunmer's knuckles. He watched the blacksmith with wide eyes, bewildered.

"Balimund... No offense, but you have no idea what kind of man I am. I've done... terrible things," he bit out, his body tensing as the euphoria from earlier turned to dread. Expectations. The one thing he was most afraid of: the very thing he always disappointed everyone in.

Balimund was looking at him with those open, honest brown eyes again. It made him want to shrink away.

"That doesn't matter. I'm not talking about the past. I've watched you for a while now; you walk around this town, doing things for people and donating to the needy."

Veris straightened. It was true that he had been doing things for many, but that was for coin. As for donating to those in need... "I know what it's like to not have enough to get by. It's the least that I can do. I'm no hyper charitable soul by any means."

"You don't need to be," Balimund said as he enveloped Veris's other hand in his, kneeling near his chair. Veris watched him with widened, bewildered eyes. "I'm no fool. I know what this town is like. I know what drives people into doing bad things, and I know that everyone is much more complex than they seem on the outside. You have a good heart. That's all I care about."

Veris's notched eyebrow raised despite himself. "You don't care that I'm a liar, a thief, and a murderer?"

Balimund watched him with steady eyes, the firelight bathing him in a warm yellow glow. It was beautiful against his pale, Nordic features, and illuminated his eyes from their usual rich brown to amber. His eyes were truly beautiful. The brown was much lovelier than the usual blue Veris had seen on most Nords. "I think you're more than that."

A shaky laugh broke free of Veris's lips. "So I'm not just a liar, a thief, and a murderer? That makes it better?"

The Nord's lips pressed into a hard line, and Veris felt the crushing weight of guilt settle upon his shoulders. He was disappointing this lovely, patient man. But better now than later, right?

"Look, I should probably just go at this point," he blurted out. But he couldn't move. Not with the big man knelt in front of him. It wasn't that Balimund was barring his exit; it was the weight of this conversation anchoring him to the chair. No one else had ever spoke to him this way. No one else had ever cared to let him unburden his heavy conscious to them.

"You can, if you want," Balimund said, his voice impossibly soft. It yanked at Veris's heartstrings in a way that mere gentle spoken words should not have made possible. The man was offering him an out. The Dunmer had spent his life stuck in situations, forced to endure with no way out. But here he was, offered complete and utter control over this whole situation.

"I... thought about stealing from you, Balimund." The words spilled out of Veris's lips before he could stop them. He immediately regretted them, but something in him, some small point of pressure, deflated with relief at the confession.

The Nord said simply, "But you didn't, did you?"

Veris stared at him. He really, really didn't understand the man. "I... I mean. No."

Balimund smiled, and the elf felt faint at how dazzling it was. "Then what does it matter?"

"I thought about it - That's why it matters! I was going to, but..."

"But you didn't." He said it, and it felt like the closing of a book - the resolution of a conflict. He pressed both of Veris's fists to his mouth, kissing each of them.

Veris stared at him behind cloudy eyes. "I don't understand why you're doing this," he said, strained. It sounded accusatory. Maybe it was. The whirlwind of emotions that Veris was feeling right now because of the blacksmith wasn't fair. It didn't make sense.

"You matter," he said simply. "You deserve to recognize that."

Veris shook his head slowly. He spent too many years being brushed aside, being wrong and bad, to understand that. "I don't," he bit out, "Do you even understand where I'm from and what I did to get here?"

"We're all a product of our upbringings, Veris. But you can choose your own path. You aren't unmalleable. You can take whatever path and whatever shape you desire."

It was too much. But he didn't want to leave. He wanted to be held by this blacksmith, the only man who had expressed genuine concern for his well-being. So he leaned forward as he took Balimund's face into his hand, and kissed him. The Nord melted into the kiss, one of his hands very gently cupping one of Veris's face. His hands were warm and gentle. His facial hair brushed across the Dunmer's skin, giving it a pleasant tingle. The loveliest, kindest man who had ever spoken to him was kissing him now, and he never wanted it to end. What did this mean for him?

Veris found himself ready to move on. He was ready to be happy. He was ready to be better, to hear what the blacksmith was trying to make him understand.

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