Work Text:
There was a bittersweet taste to the beauty of Summerset Isles. Under any other circumstance, Vares would have fallen for the area head over heels – the high-society mannerisms, the wine, the immense respect for all things magic. He didn't even mind the racist comments thrown his way too much, the casual mumbles of nebarrah and whatnot. In fact, they made him feel more at home, reminded him of good old Ebonheart.
He'd considered the possibility of staying a few times. Chances were he'd have a better access for study material there than anywhere else in Tamriel.
Maybe he could even secure enough funds from his healing jobs to get himself a nice inn room to frequent.
Yet the taste was twirling around all his plans, lingering, squeezing the hope within him with long, cold fingers.
What would staying be worth if everything around would just remind him of her?
Her. It was always about her. Every jealous mutter to himself, every sigh. Even that night, in the furthest corner of the tavern, he sat alone, consumed by his thoughts. The bottle on his table was near empty already, despite how young the evening still was. It was far from the finest wine, as the best bottles cost a small fortune – he did need to save up, after all.
For what exactly was yet to be determined.
The Dunmer groaned to himself, holding his face in one palm. The drink was making him woozy. Yet he was grabbing the bottle again with his free hand, soon pouring himself another glass.
How many glasses would it take to forget about the heartache tonight?
Sunset would always dye the white limestone in such beautiful shades of pink and orange, befitting the amount of pink cherry blossoms around the island. Even now, with the late sunrays filtering through the large windows into the inn, everything was clad in the hue. These were the types of moments he'd dreamt of capturing reflected in her eyes, shared together, hand in hand. Face to face.
What a fool he'd been.
Thinking their worlds could ever entwine and become one when they were so far apart.
A righteous warrior and a morally dubious scholar.
That could have only ever spelled disaster and he felt himself a moron for having thought otherwise.
”...wench”, he mumbled to no one but himself, cringing at the word. It was wrong to call a friend that. Wrong to let the jealousy take over so completely.
Yet he couldn't help it.
The bottle emptied before darkness fell, before the tavern could properly fill with people. He watched each new person arriving for a while before tiring of them, keeping a mental count of the different races he saw. Altmer. Altmer. Breton. Bosmer. Altmer. Khajiit. He'd rarely seen this much variety of people back in Ebonheart, so it was mildly curious keeping track. Especially knowing how the Altmer felt about strangers in their lands.
Nothing he gave that much attention to, but it was a welcome pause from the increasingly self-depreceating thoughts that were deepening Vares' frown.
He was the first Argonian to enter the tavern. A big man, wide frame, thick enough tail to almost knock someone over when he turned. Around that time, Vares was ordering another bottle, and took note of the waitress' gaze on the lizard upon her return behind the counter. She wasn't the only one stealing glances at him, he noted. There were myriad of curious eye pairs on the deep green scales, observing the man as he spoke to the barkeep.
Frankly, it pissed him off.
Of course a guy like him would gain more attraction, with bulking muscles and so much skin- …scale revealed, chest bare.
And the mask. Fucker didn't even need to show his face to gain favor.
He tried to ignore his building hatred for the stranger by another effort at drowning his emotions.
Only to find himself still stealing glances at the man.
Turned out the guy was a bard. The lute playing sort. He didn't recognize the first few songs, the notes blurring in his head as he drank and sulked.
Bet that bastard who stole her from him played the lute too. He looked the type.
Sneaky tricks of gaining favor, instruments. Vares cursed under his breath, mumbling spiteful words about how there was ”no respect for intellect these days”.
The first few notes of one of the songs stabbed him right in the chest, the nostalgia making him take a sharp breath.
Brave Little Scrib.
The Argonian didn't sing the lyrics, of course, voice no doubt muffled behind the wood of his mask if he'd tried. He didn't need to, either. They echoed in Vares' mind, his heart bouncing in rhythm of the bouncy melody.
Play, play! Life's an adventure!
...it had been, huh. Before the incident in Ebonheart he'd have never dreamed of seeing as much of Tamriel as he had in the past months. He wondered if he would have ever wanted to, either, no doubt too busy breathing in the dust of old books in his study instead.
He couldn't tell if he preferred it like this anymore.
Little scrib, she's such a wonder!
Sweet little scrib.
He hid the sniffle with a cough, trembling hand lifting to wipe off the pooling tears onto his sleeve. Fingers across his forehead, thumbs pressing against his ears, he held his head in his hands. But even through the buzz of the alcohol, the melody rippled against his ears.
He wanted to hiss, wanted to cuss out the Argonian. Wanted to weep shamelessly, bawl into his own arms from shame and grief and...
Loneliness.
It hadn't even been long since their adventuring party had disbanded, yet he felt so, so lonely.
No, it was beyond that. He'd been lonely for far longer.
Ever since he'd told them the truth.
That sinking feeling of judgement, despite the words of comfort...
It had never left.
You think any of this will change how she thinks of you?
He swallowed. Once. Twice. A deep, tired sigh escaped from him as the buzz grew louder, the noise of the tavern slipping further and further.
”Hey.”
The greeting almost startled him. It took a few seconds for Vares to gather himself again, straightening his posture and fixing his hair, pushing a messy strand aside. He lifted his eyes almost hopefully, wishing for a familiar face.
Only to be faced with a wooden muzzle.
He didn't know if he should be angry or embarrassed.
So he ended up being both.
”What?” Vares groaned, eyes dipping down from the tall Argonian back onto the table. In the edge of his vision, he could see the man shift his weight, a hand to casually on his hip.
”You've been eyeing me a whole lot tonight, bud. So either you wish looks could kill or you like what you see”, came the a soft response. The Argonian's voice was surprisingly pleasant. Low with a slight gruffness to it, but overall smooth. Definitely a singer's voice.
Another annoyingly attractive aspect. Vares felt himself gag.
”And?”
”Which is it tonight, then?”
The snort came out instantly, but with very little amusement behind it. It was more a mock, like metaphorically spitting at the Argonian's feet.
”Don't make me laugh. You don't care”, Vares scoffed, voice as cold as his glare. ”You've got plenty of options for company. Piss off.”
The mask hid the man's expression far too well for Vares' liking. The Argonian tilted his head.
”And if I'd prefer you?”
Vares muttered a few more curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. It was horrible enough that he was increasingly aware of his earlier tears still burning the corners of his eyes, but now this damn beast was... mocking him?
That couldn't have been genuine flirt.
He sounded that gentle and soft with everyone, no doubt.
He hated how it made his heart skip a beat regardless. The low tone, the muscular frame...
You're not a bad person, boy.
Vares just barely stifled a sob, inhaling.
”Look, I don't do men and I don't do lizards.”
The Argonian stood still for a moment. Vares couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel them. It made him avert his own gaze, hugging himself as he bit his lip and glared at the light of the fire flickering against the wall.
Finally, a sigh, echoing against the wood ever so slightly. Vares could see the man raise his hand. He expected him to leave. Hoped for him to leave.
He heard a seat being moved against the floor, the clunk of something being placed onto the table.
”I'm not looking for sex. Just company.”
Finally daring to take a peek, Vares saw the Argonian's wooden mask now gone along with the black hood he'd had up. The scales of his face were large and defined, the notches between them deep and sucking in light, leaving dark shadows across his complexion. His jaw was wide, befitting his thick, muscular neck and his left nostril was pierced with two rings. Vares stared at the rings a bit longer than he'd care to, mind puzzled over how painful it would feel to pierce through scales – before realizing the metal dipped in the space between them.
He felt stupid again.
”You could find someone better suited for that”, he mumbled, once again turning his face away.
The Argonian gave a chuckle. Vares felt his gut twist.
Of course he was mocking him.
”It's fine if you don't want me. Just thought I'd offer. No fun drinking alone, after all”, came the low voice again, so tantalizingly soft and... friendly. Vares' heart ached and he tensed under the sheer effort of holding back tears.
The Argonian watched him for a moment, then continued.
”...some dark stuff people do, when drunk and alone.”
He hated how easily he relented, groaning and waving a quiet ”fine” to the other man.
He could hear the smile in the Argonian's voice as he leaned back in his chair.
”Alright then. So what's gotten you in a mood? Lay it on me.”
And gods, did he ever do just that. It felt easier to open up with one and a half bottles of wine foggying his mind and softening the edge off of his pride. He still emitted parts of the tale, both to keep the explanation shorter and to stomp dead any evidence of how much of a loser he actually was. ...well, attempted to stomp dead, anyways. His mouth easily betrayed his pettiness in begrudging whines and sulking groans.
The weight of Sirania's judging glares in Vvardenfell.
The messy rescue of a slave he didn't care about.
All the comfort he'd so carefully worded to her after the warlord had showed himself.
The long caravan and boat trips, trapped in such close proximity to the lady who showed him more kindness than he felt he deserved.
The ever growing fondness that blinded his brilliant brain with visions of affection and panic over the state of his hair and clothes, of how he looked like in front of her.
The night in the Stitches, with Sirania's eyes glimmering with more beauty than the entire galaxy above them.
The more relaxed shift in her posture as they wandered through Valenwood.
Watching her fall asleep next to him, in the same bed, wishing for that moment to last forever.
The blade of the assassin slicing the back of his thigh.
The accusatory stares. Being pinned to the mossy ground, the truth of his feelings forced out of him in a moment of pure panic.
The Argonian listened to it all. No snickering, no frowning. Simply watching Vares with a calm expression.
For the longest time he didn't feel judged over honesty.
He felt heard.
The bitterness accumulated towards the end as he spoke of Erandil. Of his stupid pretty hairdo and stupid handsome face, how tall he was, how sculptured his body looked. About the softness with which Sirania spoke of him, the longing stares into the stars as she grieved over him.
And their reunion.
Vares had to pause for a moment just to take a long sip of wine and sigh, hiding his face in his hands again.
”...so that's how adventures just end, I guess”, he muttered voice calming from it's bitter thorns into a low, despaired drawl of a man who's given up. ”No lasting victories. Hero doesn't get the girl. Hero gets a stupid bird that won't leave him alone.”
The notion of the bird left the Argonian waiting for continuation. When the Dunmer merely sulked, however, he hummed softly and leaned his head to his palm.
”You got friends. I wouldn't say that's nothing.”
Vares snorted.
”Yeah. Friends who abandoned me the second they got a chance to.”
”Sounded more to me like you ditched them and not the other way around, though.”
Another groan. Though Vares had been keeping up the looks, sipping from his glass until now, he now grabbed the bottle and took a sip right out of it. His crimson eyes were hazy and tired, yet the glare the Argonian received from them was full of annoyance.
”You couldn't possibly understand”, the Dunmer sighed in frustration, planting the bottle back on the table hard enough to cause a thud. ”They had me around for convenience. Not like anyone that pure and... moral would enjoy hanging around a necromancer if they didn't have to. I helped get the job done. That's it. That was my role.”
”I think you just gave up too soon.”
That hurt to hear. The thing Vares knew deep within him as the truth. He couldn't admit it to himself. Too much pride. Too much...
Fear.
Suspicion.
Even if he did take the leap, even if he trusted that the people he'd met genuinely cared, it wouldn't stop him from being right. It wouldn't stop them from hating him if he showed his true colors, eventually.
There was only so much faking one could do before being found and called out.
Though Vares was proud of his skills in deception, he'd been burnt before. Still was.
Knowing he could never return home was a wound that ached often. No matter what his cousin Indriian would say in her letters, Vares knew better.
He'd pissed off more than just his own house with his bullshit.
The hurt flared up in gritted teeth and a slightly louder cursing than Vares would have cared for.
”What do you know, dammit?! You're attractive! You're nice! You don't have to struggle just to get started!”
The Argonian took the shouting without even as much as flinching, giving only a short glance around to check if the other patrons were bothered. It made Vares feel more self-aware, too, and he shrank back into his chair mumbling a quiet ”sorry”.
Finally, the scaled man opposite to Vares sighed.
”You see the issue, then. You say it out loud yourself”, he stated, eyes firm on Vares' pathetic, shrinking frame. ”You're not genuine. You put in a lot of work for a lady, but you don't do it out of a wish to grow and learn. You do it for looks and then revert to your old netch shit the second folk turn their backs. People can see through that crap.”
”And what else can I do but lie? I'm not exactly a great person, as you might have noticed.”
”Grow. That's what most people do. That's what you clearly were doing until you gave up on yourself because some girl rejected you.”
A moment of silence. Vares slumped more against the table, slender fingers grasping the neck of the bottle but without the energy to lift it.
”It's not giving up. It's realism”, came his quiet, miserable voice. His eyes were glossing over again, tears blurring his vision. ”I'm a piece of shit.”
Vares could hear people giggling in some other table over the Argonian's silence. Some part of his brain scolded him, mocked him.
They're laughing at you.
They know you're a loser.
He was nearly choking holding back a sob.
”Doubt you would have helped her to begin with if you were a pure scumbag, tho”, the Argonian spoke finally, his voice closer than Vares remembered. When he lifted his eyes, he noted the man now sitting next to him, instead of across the table.
His large hand felt good in his hair. Nostalgic.
”Maybe you just can't accept that some people are... just shit”, Vares said, sniffling and rubbing tears onto his sleeve again. It was getting uncomfortably moist.
The Argonian sighed, then hummed in thought for a moment.
”You know how fertilizers work, right?”
Vares snorted in dry amusement.
”What, you're going to lecture me about gardening now?”
”Well yeah. You don't exactly behave like the type that does their own gardening, if you catch my drift.”
He felt like he couldn't respond to that without sounding like a prick, resulting in him staying quiet and just giving the Argonian another hand wave. Go ahead.
The scaled man could see the frustration, though, and squeezed the Dunmer's shoulder in encouragement.
”Just hear me out”, he insisted. ”So you have a pile of shit, right? Guar dung. Horse shit. You name it.”
Vares noted the guy was the type to talk with his hands as well as his mouth. Gestures. He watched the flex of the scaled wrist, the curling of the thick fingers. The metaphorical shit was held in a cupped palm, waved a little for emphasis.
”It's shit. It smells bad, looks bad. Contributes nothing, right? Everyone wants to get rid of it.”
He didn't like where this metaphor was going.
”If you're going to just insult me-”
”Shhh, shh. Listen”, the Argonian hurried to stop him. If there was imaginary shit in his hand, it fell down as he signaled a stop at Vares with an open palm. Vares sort of followed where it fell out of instinct, staring at the nonexistent pile with an uncomfortable squeeze in his stomach.
The Argonian watched him for a second and sighed.
”Okay. So no one likes shit”, he continued, voice slower this time. ”Everyone likes... pumpkins, right? Bosmer probably don't but let's just... okay flowers. Everyone likes flowers.”
Vares groaned.
”Are you getting somewhere with this?”
The Argonian brought his imaginary shit covered fingers to his temple, rubbing for a moment.
”Are you just going to keep interrupting me or do you want to be that pile of shit forever?”
”...fine.”
More gesturing. There was a patch of flowers on the table now, apparently.
”So the flowers need food. Water. All that stuff. Some soil is better for that, some worse. And that's where fertilizer comes in.”
The metaphorical dung was somehow back, cupped inside the Argonian's hand again. Vares held back the urge to note that he'd never picked up the original, which was still stinking up the table.
”You have your pile of shit and you have your compost.”
The other hand was cupped now too. Compost hand. Got it.
”You load all the shit in with some other shit. Wood shavings, egg shells, whatever. And then you close it up.”
After shoveling all the imaginary ingredients into the palm compost, the dung hand was laid over the other as a flat lid.
”There's these lil bugs and whatever that will take all of that stinky, unwanted stuff and slowly mold it. Break it apart. After a year or so you open the compost and you can just shovel the stuff right into a flowerbed.”
He used both hands to pat the fertilizer onto the table, then swiping them together twice to clean them.
”Flowers flourish. Stink gone. Everyone's happy.”
It wasn't the most encouraging thing, being compared to a literal pile of shit. Vares watched the imaginary flowers rise from the surface of the table.
Black roses. The shade she'd decorate her lips with.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head.
”...you want my misery to feed someone who's not as horrible as me.”
”No, no! What I'm saying is-”, the Argonian started, pausing to sigh and rub his forehead with the side of his fist. ”...okay maybe that wasn't the best metaphor for it. What I'm saying is that if you just put enough work in yourself, you can plant some flowers. Make yourself presentable.”
There it was again. The hand movement.
”The flowers sprout from that mulch, that soil that you fed. In essence, you can become that flower.”
His large hand snaked up from the wood of the table, opening as it sprouted into a flower.
Vares waved the image off and pinched the bridge of his nose, tired.
”What even makes you think I could pull it off?”
”Faith.”
Faith, huh?
For someone raised an Indoril, Vares had very little faith in anything left in him. Vivec's vague riddles brought little comfort when he most needed advice. Almalexia would have straight up had him executed for his crimes against his family. He wasn't sure what Sotha Sil's attitude towards him would have been if he offered the living god a prayer, but he had a feeling he wouldn't look too kindly at his past either. Somehow Vares had a feeling the man cared little for Dunmer outside of his circle of clockwork apostles.
Godhood really distanced one from the troubles of mortality, huh.
Even Nocturnal. As much as Vares had tried to console himself with the thought of gaining her favor through feeding birds, letting that lone raven follow him around, what good had all that done to him in the end?
He still ended up hurt and abandoned.
That didn't feel like good luck to him.
”...blind faith”, he spat out. Whether it was faith in gods or faith in him, it was all misled. He wasn't trustworthy. He'd lied to his friends for months.
Faith was only a path to more pain.
”Maybe someone should slap some reality into your head”, he continued, as the Argonian didn't object. His crimson eyes glared at the lizard in cold rage, but below it all, his hurt was evident in the little flinch his own words gained from him.
”For someone who's kind has seen the worst of my kind, how can you- ...how do you believe in people after that? Are you stupid? We enslaved you. We killed you.”
It was the first time he saw the scaled man's calm facade falter slightly, his head drawing further from Vares and gaze averting. It stung in the Dunmer's chest, that look of discomfort, but he pushed it aside.
This was him being cowardly again.
If he upset the Argonian enough, he'd be left alone with his misery again.
Just like he deserved.
Yet, just as he was sure the man would get up and leave, he saw the corners of the lizard's mouth tug upwards.
”I've seen the rotting underbelly of dark elves, alright”, he spoke quietly. ”...damn. You really do sound just like her.”
”...her?”
The Argonian rubbed the back of his neck as he straightened his posture, then stretching his arms. His eyes- well. The one remaining. Vares noted the left one was blind, a dull, brighter shade than the other yellow one. Unmoving. Scars running down his face across it.
Vares felt a sting from seeing it, too.
But the healthy eye looked into the distance, wistful.
”The shit metaphors make a lot of sense when you've lived a shit life, I guess”, the Argonian laughed. ”Used to be a slave. You're a Great House boy. I bet you know the kind of crap that folk does for their slaves.”
A shiver ran down Vares' spine.
Oh yeah. He'd seen.
And he hadn't cared much.
Felt horrible now, thinking back on it.
The Argonian saw the little cringe in Vares' posture and nodded, sighing.
”Yeah, wasn't great”, he continued, smile slowly fading. ”Who knows. Maybe she was just a creep, wanting a test run with something, someone, more exotic. But without the little kindness that she did show me, I wouldn't be here today.”
He hummed softly, lost in thought for a moment.
”Never did understand why she was so rough on herself. She did what she could to help me and my kin, put herself in danger for us. If it was just to get a piece of me, for a few nights, why the self blame? So I know it had to be genuine.”
His eye returned to Vares, a soft smile gracing his features.
”Who knows. Sometimes the prettiest flowers grow from the shittiest ground. Even if the petals still stain from it, I don't think it makes them any less valuable.”
Vares almost wanted to laugh at the return of the shit dialogue. And he did. Just a little. A chuckle that he hid in his hands while holding his face, his brain fog growing as the wine high was starting to reach its peak. The laugh didn't last long, though, soon followed by his eyes opening to watch the flowers again.
Such a persistent mental image.
Man sure knew how to make some good imaginary mulch.
”You're a better man than I am”, he muttered, absentmindedly flicking one of the black blossoms with his fingers. He watched the flower shudder and shed, petals cascading down onto the table like a short black waterfall.
”Only if you keep that attitude”, the Argonian replied. He was relaxing again, leaning back. ”I've done bad shit too. Made people upset. I make up for it. I apologize. That's growth.”
Another flick. What remained of that one rose was only a stem now.
”People are not going to stick around to wait for me to get better.”
He felt the Argonian's gaze on him, observing.
”They will if you keep showing them that you'll keep trying.”
That sounded exhausting. Vares side-eyed the man, his mouth hidden behind his hand as he leaned into it.
”Would you?”
Whether it was a challenge, a test or just a rhetorical question, Vares didn't even know himself. Yet he felt himself tense waiting for the lizard's response. He could feel his stare, feel the weight of the wait.
Felt like being glassware sitting too close to the edge of the desk, waiting to be knocked over.
He frowned to himself thinking about it. He didn't particularly want a friend out of this man. There wasn't appeal to him in that. A weirdo who talks about literal crap wasn't really someone he'd want to spend time with on the regular, never mind an Argonian.
It wasn't really about racism as much as it was about the trauma hitting him over the head at the sight of scales. Would be exhausting in the long run. Not worth the pain.
Was any friendship, really? If it just led to being found out and scorned.
The Argonian hadn't even commented on the necromancy part.
Had he?
”Dunno”, came the answer. The larger man mirrored Vares' position, leaning his arms onto the table, resting his face to his palm. Head tilted. Watching.
”Maybe. Sell yourself to me a little. Tell me why you think people should want to be friends with you.”
A challenge for a challenge. So that's how it was.
Vares picked up one of the imaginary petals between his fingers and played with it, staring at it as he thought. The wording sounded crude, inappropriate even, but it made sense.
Sell yourself.
Show yourself as an object of desire.
He crushed the petal inside his palm and sighed, eyes pressing closed. What was good about him? Why did people want him around?
His talents were convenient.
”...I'm a skilled healer.”
”I'm not looking to hire you. I'm looking to befriend you. Dig deeper.”
So annoying.
”I uh... I'm not very loud.”
”Better. Go on.”
It was like trying to squeeze water out a piece of charcoal. He opened his mouth a few times, hesitant, but only ended up groaning and shaking his head.
”This is ridiculous.”
”Think about what you're like. Are you funny? Good storyteller?” the Argonian paused for a moment, a grin spreading onto his face. ”Dick game good?”
So annoying, so crude.
Why was he laughing?
”I... I try to be polite?” he suggested. The appreciative nod he got in response felt good. Egged him on. ”I'm logical, so I can help solve problems when necessary. I've been learning to be better at comforting people. I... I'm observant, I see great things in the people I'm with.”
”Like?”
”Like... like your feathers. They look well groomed. I think. I'm not an expert, but they look very... neat.”
The Argonian froze up, staring for a second. He lifted his hand and ran it through his feather mane. It was, indeed, a sight – the longer frontal feathers sprouting from his forehead and standing upright like a crown, while the shorter ones behind cascaded to the back of his head. Like hair. Though his hand pressed the front feathers down at first, they perked right back up as soon as he pulled his hand back.
The grin was so bright Vares felt his heart skip.
”That's more like it!” the Argonian chimed happily and patted his shoulder. ”See? You can be a charmer.”
Vares himself was frozen in awkward, cold sweat.
Did he just... compliment this guy?
This... this guy? The shit metaphor guy?
This loneliness was lowering his standards futher than he could have feared.
”I guess”, he breathed out, almost making a face. ”...I'm not flirting, though. It's not like that.”
”Aw, and here I was going to compliment you back!”
Damn his stupid pride.
”...how?”
The Argonian hummed softly, eyes briefly peeking at the ceiling.
”Your hair is very vibrant. Almost wine colored. Very beautiful. The little beard is cute, too.”
The Dunmer's face felt hot. He huffed, almost offended, despite how his heart jumping in delight.
Oh how he craved more.
His head was getting heavier, though.
”I could go on, you know. I could even sing you a song praising you.”
So annoying.
But so tempting.
His head was starting to pound now, threatening to make him nauseous. Vares peeked at the bottle, finding it empty now.
He knew a certain Nord who would have laughed his ass off over his lack of alcohol tolerance.
”I would really prefer you not-” he started, his words cut off as the Argonian started singing, drumming rhythm with his fingers.
”Oh, there's a lanky fellow
would not call him yellow
a specimen from mushroom lands
With fingers so mighty
would hold them so tighty
were we ever blessed to hold hands!
His beard it ain't much
but I'd love to touch
those slender cheeks all the same
oh how I'd adore
hearing wisdoms galore
but the mystery here is the name...?”
He wanted to die.
Right there. Right then. Stupid Argonian. Stupid Summerset. Stupid wine.
He could hear chuckles from nearby tables. Despite hiding his face, the bard's waiting gaze burnt him hotter than his face already felt.
Vares hit his forehead against the table and groaned.
”...Vares. Name's Vares. Please don't sing anymore.”
The brightness of the man's aura was making the Dunmer's headache so much worse.
”So? What do you say? Down to keep this lizard company?”
Why was he laughing again.
”I'm heading to bed.”
His feet could barely hold him up, not that he could realize it from the headache. He thought he'd taken a few steps away from the table already when his vision went black. When it returned, he found himself upright, pressed against a particularly muscular, scaled chest.
So warm. Inviting.
”...I don't want company.”
”I know, bud. Just helping you get there. But if you change your mind, I'll stick around in Shimmerene for a few more days before I head to Alinor.”
He could have fallen asleep right there, still standing up. He barely even noticed himself walk.
Though almost anything else told to him in that state would probably have slipped his mind come morning, the invite sunk down deep.
And it lit a nice warmth in him.
A hope.
”...maybe”, he mumbled, feeling his head hit something softer. A pillow. A blanket. More warmth.
A scaled snout nuzzling briefly against his cheek.
”Sweet dreams, silly little Great House prince.”
It somehow didn't feel like an insult.