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(Skyrim: Marcurio/wood elf Dragonborn) The slight unsteadiness of his legs and the heft of their breaths fogging the air before their faces told of the long and difficult climb. The weariness clung to them like the frost and seeped in with the cold. Cobbled streets and torchlight offered little comfort and both turned their thoughts to an inn and some rest. But, Marcurio was first to voice those thoughts. “I look forward to a warm fire and an equally warm drink,” he huffs with a sigh. Bellariah brushes wisps of her ivory hair back along the braids they have escaped from. Flakes of snow slicking them into place as they melt slightly beneath her chilled palms. Pale skin still far too warm to preserve the delicate snow gathered upon her. Her crimson gaze flashes beneath the moonless silver sky as well as a soft smile. A stark contrast to the sharp red of her irises. Despite the uncanny hue of Bosmer eyes, Marcurio had come to find them less intimidating. Bellariah was wonderful company in spite of her haunting appearance. And he had come to see the beauty in her unparalleled fairness, no longer perturbed in the slightest by her or her looks. “I hope the inn is not far then,” she tiredly muses. The occasional guard shuffles past them on their way down the streets but, the night is otherwise silent. Unsurprisingly, no guard gives them enough pause to answer their queries on the direction of their destination. Bitter cold makes for bitter souls it seemed as they would only crankily lament about wanting to return to the barracks for some mead. Marcurio could not blame them much as, he too, wanted little more than to be indoors with a stiff drink to warm the gut and soften stiff muscles. Luckily, it did not take too long to find their accommodations on their own. The warped old doors of The Frozen Hearth peeked from the porch as it came into view. Its greyed wood swollen and tattered from the moisture of snow settling into the grain and freezing. The wood was thick and sturdy, keeping the onslaught of the cold and blistering storms at bay and the damage shallow. Inside, lit by the dancing flames of the fireplace and sconces, he wood retained its original soft brown and smooth cut. The plucked notes of a lyre ring and a myriad of smells are unleashed as those doors had groaned open to let them in. Marcurio perks up beneath his cowl and draws it back from his scalp. He wastes no time marching to the counter, a new pep in his step. Ordering bread and cheese with two hearty bowls of stew and spiced mead, a whole jar. Sharing the cost evenly between both their coin. And at last they both sink into a chair at a rickety small table in the back. “Much better!” he chimes after a swallow of stew and a swig of drink. Across from him Bellariah cups her hands to her bowl, warming them with the stews heat. “It is certainly much warmer,” she says softly. He peeks at her with curiosity, an inkling of disdain emanating from her. She holds her head low as though trying to avoid eyes to her existence. A quick gaze around the establishment gives him the answer to her shyness. It is now that he notices the place is brimming with Nords and foreigners alike. Full and packed corner to corner. An outsider relatively new to the vast land of Skyrim, Bellariah was the sort to be nervous of unwarranted attention from such strangers. Yet, she hated being alone. But, she greatly feared causing upset by making mistakes regarding unfamiliar customs. Certainly, she was not the kind to seek conflict which was unfortunate regarding her circumstances as Dragonborn. It was the destiny of her very existence to fight. A pity but, that’s what he was here for. A hired companion to keep her from loneliness and to aid in combat. Besides being compensated well for his services, she had become a great friend. So he offers an encouraging grin. “They are far too concerned with their drinks and keeping warm to even notice you or what you are doing, my dear. So relax, drink up, and fill your belly. We can’t very well keep trekking through these freezing mountains without the sustenance.” With a wary glance or two to prove they were paying her no mind, she straightens a little when no eyes meet hers. A few spoonfuls of stew and a bite of bread and she starts to forget the atmosphere as he eases her into conversation. Distracting her with topics of the peculiarities of magic and the versatility of different spells. A favorite subject of his. He coaxes laughter with recounts of the many minor mishaps of journeys previous. Until they have had their fill and both are lulled into a drowsy stupor. “He ended up face down in the brush and mouth full of dirt. It took a whole waterskin to wash it all out. He decided to never use horses for travel without absolute necessity again from then on.” Her giggle is stifled by a sudden yawn and he follows after with one of his own. “I hope they still have a room available,” she mumbles. “The only way to know is to ask,” he tosses over his shoulder as he shuffles to the counter. His request to the hostess is met with a point to a door down the hall. “It’s the only room we have left,” she warns, “So you’d best be sure to make it work and keep the noise down.” His confused stare did not prompt an explanation to clarify the latter part. The hostess merely bustled off to clear a few tables of their plates, bowls, and mugs. With a subtle shrug Marcurio drags himself back to the table where Bellariah sat waiting. Dozing off slightly into her hand as it propped her face up from the table. She stirs with a grumble as she forces herself to wander off to the room he pointed her towards. They breach it together to find a single rather small bed. Just big enough for the two of them. A single bed and the hostess demanded they keep rather quiet…. Marcurio rubs at his face that is now burning from ear to ear, blush full blown across his features. “Oh, do we have the wrong room by mistake?” Belaariah questions behind him. “No, this is the only one they have,” he groans, “I did not know there was only one bed.” “Oh…. I see,” her breath catches in her throat mid reply. He turns to face her furiously attempting to control his expression, “I suppose I will be trying to sleep slumped in a chair for the night.” Instead of appeasing her, this earns him a frown. “But, that won’t let you rest well and we have a long way to travel still before us.” “No,” he pauses with a sigh, “but it seems it cannot be helped.” She does not move to let him pass, delicate fingers embracing the bone crafted brooch at her cloak. “It is only one night, perhaps-“ He gawks at her, not sure what to make of the unspoken suggestion. “Is it really something that matters? Is it taboo to just sleep in a bed like this here?” His brows furrow, “Well, won’t it bother you?” A head tilt to the right indicates she doesn’t quite understand. “Well, I have not been so physically near someone since leaving home like this. So it might be a bit strange. But, what is the harm in it.” He swallows his rising nerves. He knows she doesn’t mean to imply they “enjoy” one another the way the hostess assumed they would. But the thought raises excitement anyway. He figures her people must not complicate things such as this since she seems less disturbed by the prospect in comparison to him. Truth be told he’d rather not spend the night in a stiff unforgiving chair. Marcurio nods slowly, “Alright, I suppose it will be alright for one night then.” He backs into the room. “So long as you don’t mind.” She shyly shakes her head and steps in as well, closing the door behind her back. In silence they lay out heir cloaks to dry and only undress ever so slightly. Just enough to be free from any cloth dampened by snowfall. Then each takes a turn to tuck under the blankets and furs, both afraid to break the silence. They lay backs to each other, alone with their thoughts and the loud nothingness between them. Marcurio can feel her lithe frame pressed to his spine and it stirs a little lust in him much to his dismay. It has been long since he last had a lover or the thrill of passion. And he cannot deny a feeling of attachment to his companion. He smothers the feeling in shame trying to just let exhaustion take its course. Bellariah takes note of the warmth spreading into her back and shoulders. As awkward as it felt to be this close to someone not of her kin, there was comfort. She doubted she could have made it this far on her own and was ever grateful for help Marcurio provides. He may simply be akin to a mercenary, loyal to whatever the coin requests of him. But, deep within, she wondered if there was ever a possibility they could be more than a business arrangement. Friends at the least, for she already considered him as such, maybe closer. Close enough to stay near each other and not have to go separate ways and forget the other’s existence. Close enough to avoid disgust at having to just sleep side by side. She felt bad for his discomfort at being so close to her and wondered if this had pushed distance between them. She was the first to succumb to sleep. But, Marcurio was not far behind. ********** In the grogginess of morning’s call, Marcurio found Bellariah’s face coming into view through the fog of sleepiness. His whole being tensed as he took in the situation. He found his arm hooked about her waist and her head nestled into the pad of his breast. Her breath brushing his chin as she slumbered still. In alarm he first thought to move away but, something kept him still as stone. The guilt of starting her awake would not allow him freedom of movement. He forced himself to unclench and hoped like mad she would not be upset when she at last awoke. In the meantime, he could not help but realize how cozy this felt. The added heat of her body next to his, how perfectly she fit against his chest, and the sensation of her warm exhales on his skin. If only this didn’t have to be an accident.