Headcanon 27: Twenty - Solitude
He wasn't sure when sleep had taken over, but it had barely dawned over the wee hamlet of Riverwood when she shook his shoulders fervently one morning. Blearily, he squinted back at her, trying to shield the light from his eyes and focus on her face all in one tired look.
“What’s the matter?” he croaked.
“Nothing.” She flushed for a moment, shrugging. “Nothing bad, anyway. I just...I was thinking..." and with that, she rubbed her shoulders, sheepishly. "I was just thinking about us, and...I was thinking about how we could even leave and not come back.”
She nudged his shoulder in an encouraging gesture, as if that in itself would convey whatever she had trouble voicing. “If you wanted, we could even leave Skyrim," she added, "Just you and me.”
It took him a good while, but once the words sank in, he blinked incredulously at her suggestion; at this point, his tired eyes were wrought with disbelief, if not confusion. Nonetheless, he sat up, trying to find words with which to fill the empty space. When he couldn’t find any, he merely peered around, absently looking for his shirt and hoping that would buy him some time.
“I won’t be able to go, though,” he finally murmured. “I can’t just drop everything and leave.” And as fervently as he wanted to do so, he was sure it was something he’d never be able to do. He was already risking enough by spending time with her—if anything, because she was engaged to someone else.
Still, that hardly deterred her—few things did. And while he loathed admitting it, he knew she only called on him when no one else would do as she wanted. She used him for everything from petty favors to sex to scapegoating, and strangely enough, he found it flattering. Part of him wanted to hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d actually love him if he did.
So…being asked on a trip was, well…exhilarating. It was an honor, even—surely he’d been the first person she was discussing this with, considering she’d slept alongside him the night before? Surely she hadn’t consulted with anyone else prior to her idea? Then…surely that meant he was the first person she thought of?
He reddened. Thinking about the prospect of her thinking of him was exhilarating, true, but what she was suggesting was something he wasn’t sure he could oblige. Her stare, however, made it quite clear that she wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. As usual, she never pouted, she never whined, but her look was stony and hard as the flat line of her lips and the firm lock of her jaw.
"I can't ever understand you," she muttered, finally, crossing her hands and averting her gaze. “You always complain about how you hate this place, to the point I almost wonder if it's a hobby of yours. But past complaning, you don't do much.”
He stiffened; she had a point, and he was about to counter her remark, before she shot him another look.
"In fact," she added, rolling her eyes, "you don't do anything, really."
The remark may as well have hit him like a pile of bricks, and it showed on his face. He sighed quietly, rubbing his temples out of a desperate need to give his idle hands something to do. An angry part of him wanted to retort that he'd done all manner of things for her sake, but a more rational voice reminded him that he had no right to complain about situations he'd thrust himself into, and favors he himself had offered.
It wasn't like he had the guts to snap back at her, anyway.
"That's probably true. You're right,” he affirmed, albeit weakly, “But I never lied when I said I wanted to leave this place. The thing is, I can't merely--”
“You can't just what?” As if realizing the harshness of her scowl, her face softened, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “You love me, don't you?"
He knew where this was going, and he knew what kind of game she was playing, but it didn't lessen his guilt, any. When all he could respond with was a crestfallen look, her glare returned.
He always did that. He always seemed to corner himself into a little hole, helpless and puny, and she hated it. It was no easy feat trying to talk to someone who lacked backbone.
"Why do you never keep your promises, then?" she hissed. "Why do you say one thing, then do another?"
“All I want you to do is--" she hesitated, before her brows knit and she sighed irritably. "I just...I just want you come with me."
His expression did nothing to assuage her vexation, and her shoulders finally slumped in defeat. It was a strangely weighted confession--or at least--she made it seem so, and it baffled him as he fought to make sense of her now muffled voice as she buried her face in his shirt.
"You're just the only person that listens to me," she croaked, her hands balling into fists. "Is asking you to do it a bit longer too much to ask?”
Yes, he wanted to say, yes, listening to you is terribly vexing, but I try to do it anyway because I really fancy you and I wish you would feel the same, too, but "no," was seemingly the only thing he could shape on his lips. "No, it's not too much to ask, love. I'm just...you know how I am. I'm stupid. Kind of dumb...you know."
He bit his lip fiercely, feeling himself flush once more at the strange fulfillment he gained from learning of how much she supposedly valued him, and her small chuckle against his chest as he proceeded to insult himself. It didn't mean he wasn't afraid—afraid of being dragged back and holed up and beaten past recognition should his mother find him out, but it wasn’t anything she’d understand, and it wasn't anything he could explain.
He'd put aside thoughts of the consequences, for now. “When do you want to leave?"
He tried his best to hide the shakiness in his voice, but his racing heart and quivering shoulders betrayed any sense of true composure. Swallowing, he instead leaned back briefly (lest she hear the frightened beating of his heart), meeting her gaze. "Or..." he hesitated. "Where do you want to go?"
A wide grin spread on her lips, and she inched closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"How about this Sundas?" she whispered throatily against his lips. "I want to go to Solitude--I hear they have the most beautiful gowns." She straightened herself up, shoving him down into the sheets.
"What color do you think would flatter me?" by now, she was growing giddy. "I've been thinking about it all week, and I just think I'd look stunning in violet...or maybe emerald. Blue would bring out my eyes more, but I don't really like blue...it's a bit boring."
When he had little advice with which to respond past a brief sigh, she merely waved a hand. "Say, you still have that jar of savings you buried behind the tavern, don't you?" She tilted her head. "You could buy me a gown with that. Maybe I do want emerald, in that case."
Four years of savings, he wanted to add, four years of savings were going to be spent shopping in Solitude for womens' clothing, and he wasn't sure he cared much, at this point. "Yes, of course." He leaned up to look at her, managing a brief smile. "Why wouldn't I?"
He knew she'd forget about leaving Skyrim; after all, dresses apparently took precedence, this time around. But when she'd giggle into his neck and kiss his ear with a breathy "you're the best," he found that, despite her behavior, he didn't mind her very much.
In fact, those mere moments of affection often made him incredibily happy, if only for a sliver of a moment. And even the weakest memory of her affections was enough to keep him going for months at a time, when nothing else could.
For the sacrifices he was willing to make, it was good enough.
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