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Soft breathing. A steady heartbeat. Familiar warmth, and a comforting scent.
These are things Midri cherished, but was unsure he deserved.
The warmth was certainly welcomed, given Skyrim’s cold climate and the fact that he slept in a basement when in Jorrvaskr. He was unfortunately not built for the cold, but something in his mind told him to pull away from the radiating warmth. He tugged the blankets around himself and his husband closer to his shoulders.
He laid on Vilkas’s chest, as he usually did, his free ear flicking unconsciously in response to his husband’s snoring. Guilt was overtaking him like an ocean’s waves lapping at the coast. He had to apologize for what he was about to do…
“I’m so sorry.”
His hand delicately went to Vilkas’s shoulder as he sat himself up, shivering a little at the sudden burst of chilliness.
“Vil?” He softly called as he shook the Nord, to no avail.
This time, Midri took a sterner tone, shaking just a bit harder. “...Vilkas.”
The second time was the charm — Vilkas’s eyes flickered open, muttering a good “huh?” as he was torn from his deep slumber. Disoriented, he, too, sat himself up and rubbed at his eyes. “Midri…is it a nightmare?” He asked through a thick slurring of his words, voice gruff and dry.
“Couldn’t sleep,” the anxious Dunmer replied, “and I’m really sorry.”
Vilkas sighed. “Is…something troubling you, then?”
And Midri diligently nodded, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them. “I feel so guilty about everything…”
Vilkas sat processing what he said for a moment, still escaping the clutches of sleep. After a minute, he shook his head. “W-wait…back up. What do you feel guilty about?”
“Everything,” he repeated in a small voice, chills running down his spine.
“Ysmir’s beard…then let’s start somewhere small, alright?”
Silently, Midri nodded again.
“Pick one thing that’s messing with you, dear.” As he said this, he went to put his hand on Midri’s shoulder, but he flinched away, causing the warrior much confusion. Midri would never recoil from affection; Oblivion be damned, that elf had to be the most affectionate person he personally knew. He really gave Farkas a run for his gold in that sector.
“I don’t think I deserve you,” Midri bluntly said, starting to rock back and forth.
“What?” He demanded, which made Midri whine. Silently, he cursed himself for his half-aware, knee-jerk response. He was smarter than that, but his brain wasn’t fully out of the fog of fatigue.
“I-I’m sorry! I just think about all the cruel things I’ve ever said and done to you…and how—”
Vilkas cut his husband off. “Enough of that. I was equally as cruel to you, if not moreso. You were merely giving me a taste of my own medicine. But we’ve overcome our differences, and look at us now. I could not have married a better man.”
“The pranks, the jokes, the agitation…” Midri continued as if Vilkas hadn’t spoken up at all, “...I just…I’m sorry. I know you don’t like that shit, Vil! And yet I continue on with my childish games.”
Vilkas rubbed his stubbled chin awkwardly. “Well, while it might be true that I don’t necessarily appreciate these things in the moment, I do come around to them. They’re ultimately harmless. You’ve always been mindful enough to not do things that would cause me true distress, or worse.”
“You hate fish now.”
“So? The stench is easy enough to wash out of my clothes.”
“And you got mad at me for the pie in your face…” His ear tips were drooping, something that broke Vilkas’s heart.
“I’ve apologized for that reaction before, and I will now. I’m sorry that my haphazard instinct was to become upset with you. That was not fair to you for something that did not hurt me and gave the others a laugh. More importantly, it gave you, the light of my life, a laugh.”
“Do you…really mean it?”
“I mean that with my whole heart, and I will swear on it.” To test the waters, he tried reaching out to his husband again — this time his hand connected with his shoulder without any cringing.
Though, he did hear a quiet sniffle.
“What about…the magic?”
Vilkas gasped. In an instant he pulled him into a tight hug, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Midri.
“Sweetheart, dearest…my love…I forgive you for that.”
“You j-just…you just don’t ge-et it!” Midri cried. “I wa-was out of my league, comi-ing into the Companions…wielding nothing b-but Conjurati-tion. You were so scared…” His words trailed off into wracking sobs.
All Vilkas could do in the moment was let him cry, rubbing gentle circles into his back. Sure, he remembered the fear he felt when he went to test Midri’s mettle all those years ago, and Mr. Shalithe conjured a sword. It reminded him of being kidnapped and tormented by necromancers, for Shor’s sake. But the clarity Vilkas had now let him know that Midri had no idea. He was merely suggested by his old friend (who just so happened to be the new Harbinger) to lodge in Jorrvaskr, fresh out of Cyrodiil. He’d no knowledge of anything but Destruction, Conjuration, enchanting, and alchemy. And he certainly knew nothing of Vilkas or Farkas in that moment, their stories, their traumas.
“Midri,” Vilkas quietly started after a few minutes, “you weren’t at fault. You were doing what you grew up with. You were thrown headfirst into a band of warriors with no prior knowledge.”
“I…I should’ve known!” He wailed, burying his face into Vilkas’s shoulder. “I caused y-you such great anguish—”
“Dearest, it was unnerving at first, but I got over it. You learned to wield a blade from the best of them in order to earn your place.” The Nord patted his back and hugged the elf even tighter.
Midri hiccuped. He had started to lose the energy to fight back verbally.
“And you know something else? It’s because of you that I learned to overcome that uneasiness. You learned Restoration to save me from foolish predicaments. Having someone you trust that won’t hurt you…it helps.”
“I’m…sorry,” he whimpered while shivering.
“There’s no need for that. You don’t have any reason to be sorry. But, it’s alright.” Vilkas punctuated his words with a kiss on the top of Midri’s head, causing the elf’s ears to flick. Then, Vilkas cupped his face and wiped his eyes dry.
Midri sniffled. “Thank you for loving me…” He said weakly.
“There is nothing and no day that will come to make me stop loving you.”
“Oh, I love you, too…”
As gently as he could manage, Vilkas guided Midri into lying down atop himself once more, with Midri offering no resistance whatsoever. The Dunmer slowly tugged the blankets back over the two. He resumed his position cheek-down on Vilkas’s chest, listening intently to his calm breathing and trying to match it. He soon felt a hand running gently through his hair, a rogue finger tickling the tip of his ear and making him giggle.
“Stop that,” Midri said, a smile creeping across his face.
“Aye, sorry,” Vilkas responded with an innocent tone. However, he did it once more just to see his husband’s reaction.
The reaction was Midri swatting at him playfully, followed by a rather big yawn.
“You ought to let yourself sleep now, my beloved.”
“Mmmm…maybe.”
“Midri,” he gently warned, “I know you’re tired.”
“Noooo…”
Vilkas rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Midri. You are more to me than the moons and stars.”
“And you are Mara’s blessing to me. Goodnight, Vilkas…” His eyes slipped shut, and sleep claimed him shortly after.
Hearing Midri’s breathing slow gave Vilkas great relief. For as worrying as it was that he had cracked and broken that night, it was equally as refreshing to see him so easily accept that he was loved. He would happily remind him of this love any time he needed it.
Vilkas wrapped an arm around Midri’s waist, and he, too, closed his eyes.
Anything for his husband, after all.