#telara

I wanted nothing more than to rest my weary body and enjoy a tankard of mead, but it seems such relaxation is a luxury I cannot afford tonight. Not with my overexcited companion sitting next to me, words spilling from his mouth faster than the rapids of the White River. If I had known babysitting would have been on tonight’s itinerary, then I would have perhaps reconsidered my decision to make an appearance at the tavern. Even worse still, he is not actually intoxicated--no, my dear friend does not drink--this is just simply how he is.

“Can you shut up for five minutes, please, Teldryn?” I snap finally, slamming my mug onto the table.

“--yeah, we used to throw rocks at cliff racers for sport. Surprised none of us got kill...Did you say something, outlander?” he asks, pausing his relentless speech at last.

“Yes,” I hiss, propping my head up with my hand and closing my eyes. “Please. Stop talking...for just a moment...Gods.”

“Not up for conversation, eh? If you had wanted to get a room instead, all you needed to do was say so,” Teldryn replies. I can hear the edge in his voice. He’d like that, wouldn’t he?

When I had first hired Teldryn to be my protector and guide for the time I was to spend on Solstheim, I couldn’t possibly have accounted for how much more he would actually become to me. He is my closest friend and my truest ally. If I had never met him, I’m sure that I would be the same dewey-eyed, fearful woman I was when I first arrived here. Every moment that I spend with him helps me grow into myself with confidence and ease. I love him with the ferocity of the dragonblood that flows through my veins, with all that I am. My heart sings for him. Yet, for as loudly as I can throw my Voice at my enemies, I cannot possibly make those three simple words pass through my lips.

“Ah, yes. A room. To be rid of you. What a lovely idea,” I say, lifting my head and opening my eyes so that I can pantomime my joy at the prospect.

Teldryn laughs with genuine mirth. “Spare yourself the excitement. I’ll sleep on the floor with my bedroll as I always do. Can’t have an errant assassin slipping in during the dead of night and slaying the Dragonborn, now can we?”

“How lucky I am to have such a thorough bodyguard at my side,” I grumble.

“Oh, I can be much more thorough than this, outlander. Just give me the word,” he says, standing up from the table. Before he leaves, he catches my eye with a suggestive wink.

As I watch Teldryn find the barkeep to buy us a room for the night, I can feel the red flush blooming over my face. In the same way that I obscure my affection for him, I also obscure my desire for him. When I let my eyes linger on him for longer than what is appropriate, my mind goes wild with the thought of his large hands on my skin, his tattooed, muscular arms holding me tight against his body as we make ardent love. Such vulgar things I would let Teldryn do to me. I embarrass myself with my own thoughts, especially when I know that our flirtations are nothing more than a joke to him. What achingly little does he know about the way I feel for him.

He returns to me a few minutes later, key jingling in his raised hand. I gather my belongings and leave the table, following behind him as he leads us to our room. The patronage in the tavern has thinned out since we first arrived here, but I know there are still inquisitive eyes prying into our affairs, what they must think about Teldryn and I sharing the same room. My arrival in Raven Rock, especially because of who I am, has brought excitement into a town where there is little else to busy oneself with. Ordinarily, I would be nonplussed by the attention, enjoy it even, but I fear that it will bring notice to the truth of my love for him.

When we are finally in our room, the door shut behind us, I can allow the burn of everyone’s eyes to cauterize and slough from my skin. Yet, my relief is only temporary as I am soon reminded of who occupies this small, warm, dimly-lit space with me. How he looks at me with restraint pulled taut over the sharp planes of his face. How it seems as if something sits on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the right moment to come tumbling out.

No. Surely not. My mind plays tricks on me.

“Can I help you with your armor?” Teldryn asks after an eternity had begun and ended in the time of our silence.

I nod.

This is our intimacy. Him standing before me and undoing the buckles for my hands that often shake too much for nimbleness, lifting the plates from my battle-worn body, shedding the heavy mail that brings an ache into my bones. I am disarmed when I am with him. He absolves me from my pain and heals me of my wounds. I cannot fathom anyone else seeing me in this fragile state. How could I not love the man who does these things for me so freely, so selflessly?

When Teldryn has finished with my armor, he moves to hang it from the rack in the room then begins the process of removing his own. I use this time to slip out of my underclothes and into my tunic for sleeping. Though I still face away from him out of learned modesty, I know that he would never violate my privacy. As much as this is our intimacy, it is also our long-held routine, a trust born out of many nights spent together similar to this one.

I’m already in bed when he finally unfurls his bedroll on the floor next to me. Once everything is arranged to his liking, he leans over and blows out the lantern sitting atop the table. I hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls off his shirt and lays down in the bedroll. My eyes are turned to the ceiling, but I know I would be able to see him by the light that spills underneath the door from outside. I hold myself back from looking at him. If I do, I fear that now might be the moment when my truth decides to betray me. With every shred of willpower I possess, I force my eyes to close and my body to submit to fitful slumber.

As I lie in the fringe between awakenedness and sleep, Teldryn’s low voice rises like a whisper of smoke through the grey space of my nascent dreams.

“Fjoara?” his voice asks, then pauses. “I love you.”