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Talynthas taking  very nice break from the more serious business of retrieving stolen relics to watch Osaryn ( @clan-of-whispers ) dance on the table.

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Small Betrayals

           Neither of them had the slightest idea he was there. Somehow that bothered him almost as much as watching the two of them. Osaryn was smiling in a way he didn't think he'd ever seen, and the altmer was looking at him in a pleased, possessive sort of way that made Velidran want to peel the skin from his bones. He had been trailing them for weeks, but it was not nearly enough time to get used to the fury that rose in him for the possessive way the altmer's hand curled around Osaryn's cheek, or the feeling of betrayal that answered when Osaryn rose up on the balls of his feet and tugged him down to kiss.

           Osaryn had never kissed him. He had tasted the smaller mer's lips countless times. Pressed his own down on them and taken them the way the altmer did now. But it had never been at Osaryn's prompting. And Osaryn had never kissed him back like that.

           He could not tear his eyes away, no matter how fury and jealousy and desire rose and tangled in him. He could not seem to stop watching the movements of their lips against each other, the way the altmer's hands slid down to curl around Osaryn's waist and drag him closer. They drank each other in like they were starving.

            He could almost taste it in his own mouth. Could almost feel the heat of the smaller mer's lips on his and the supple press of his body, with all the force of distant memory. He ached for it, and he hated for it.

           And then he thought of Mir. He could remember his brother's lips on his the last time, the hungry warmth in them that was so like this. Mirandros' kiss had tasted of wine and the antidote he'd swallowed, and his mouth had tingled with the drug he'd smeared on his own lips. He could still sense his brother when he closed his eyes, still feel the hungry, possessive curl of fingers in his hair that made his scalp burn. He could still taste his own twisted desire in that memory, and he wondered why Osaryn had never kissed him.

           He had been kinder than Mirandros was. Gentler. And he loved Osaryn the way he had never loved or been loved by anyone in his life. So why was it that he could kiss Mirandros, but Osaryn could not kiss him?

           Perhaps he hadn't been able to take Osaryn on extravagant dates as Mirandros had sometimes done for him. But he had given him the only precious thing he had ever been able to spare. And he had loved him. Even now, he loved him. And surely, he told himself, Osaryn must love him back. When he found the right moment and showed himself then Osaryn would stop looking at the Altmer the way he did now that they'd paused for breath, and turn that look on him.

           This was not the right moment. The streets were just a bit too crowded, it was too likely to make a scene and he was growing more and more aware he had only one chance. Mir would be behind him somewhere, closing in. And if this did not go right... He wasn't sure he could imagine what Mirandros would do to him now. A chill tingled at the place between his shoulder blades and he looked back once more, all too aware that he expected to see Mir standing there, smiling the hard-edged smile that would tell him he'd lost again.

           He wasn't there. But the feeling of him lingered in his memories. The altmer curled his hand possessively around Osaryn's waist, guiding him further up the street and into the inn, and Velidran could almost feel the echo of that touch around his own waist.

           Mirandros' hand rested light against the small of his back, steadying him as though he needed that help to step down into the waiting space atop the silt strider's back. Velidran tried to tell himself he minded it. Part of him did, but part of him loved these moments when Mir treated him like he was something precious, even though he knew every second of them was a lie.

           His brother had had a nest made of that little compartment, spread with soft rugs and strewn with pillows. There was a basket of food and a bottle of expensive wine, just as though he was one of those weak, too pretty mer Mirandros was so fond of bringing home. "It's nice." he whispered, a little hesitantly.

           "Didn't I tell you so, Velidran? And you almost made me give it away."

           There was a small sting in the reply, a little reminder of the cruel tricks Mirandros so often played with his words, even if at the moment they remained almost kind. Velidran settled himself slowly into the seat beside his brother, but though he had been told it would be alright, he did not yet reach for his mask. He wanted its protection for a moment more. "I'm sorry." He said, his voice as contrite as possible even if behind the immobile owl's face that hid his own, he scowled.

           There was no real affection in this treat, he knew. It didn't mean anything had changed, even if for tonight Mirandros might manage to make him believe it had. He was almost as afraid of that trick of belief as he was of the pain his brother so often caused him. That hope and the moment Mir broke it again hurt as much in its way as any beating ever could.

           He sucked in a breath as Mirandros reached for his mask, steeling himself as though for a blow. But his brother's fingers were tender, almost reverent, peeling leather and feathers from his face as though revealing something priceless. He swallowed, lowering his eyes no matter how it stung his pride to do so and then tearing his attention elsewhere as the great beast stirred to life beneath them.

           He looked sideways to avoid his brother's gaze and then sucked in a startled, pleased breath at the view the height offered them. It was beautiful, trees and mushrooms gleamed in the moonlight and small sparks of light danced over the water beneath them. Mirandros' hand slid around his waist and after breath he let himself ease against him, leaning into the embrace. "It's beautiful."

           Mirandros hummed his agreement. "It is. And there's dinner later. And your favorite wine."

           He breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his head tilt to rest against Mirandros' shoulder, a small surrender. "Thank you."

           His brother's hand slid up, fingers sifting their way into the strands of hair to comb through in gentle caresses. "I don't know why you refuse to appreciate the things I do for you and the way I treasure you, Velidran." His voice was almost soft. With his eyes closed, Velidran could almost pretend he believed in their sincerity. Almost.

           A thousand retorts chased themselves through his thoughts and despite his best efforts he could feel the edges of them showing on his face. He took a deep breath, leaning into the slow sway of the great insect beneath them. "I won't forget this." He answered finally, opening his eyes enough to watch the play of the moon on the water for a little while.

           But somehow his gaze caught itself up on something far closer, the lines of Mirandros' face under the moon. His brother was beautiful, and dangerous in a way he thought those who knew their house best still managed to underestimate. He despised him. He hated him with all the force of the thousand hurts Mirandros had written into him over the years.

           His brother's fingers slid through his hair once more, the tip of one sliding a slow and gentle caress down the length of his ear. Shivering he leaned up, pressing a kiss at the corner of Mirandros's jaw, letting his lips follow the line of it. It was his hand that lifted, the tip of his finger brushing the side of Mir's chin, coaxing him to turn the small amount it took to let their lips meet.

           There was fire in that kiss he didn't have a name for, an urgency in the press and slide of his own lips that surprised him. And for just a moment he was the aggressor, his tongue driving his brother's lips apart, stealing the taste of his mouth. It was only a moment before Mirandros reclaimed control, the sliding caress of his fingers becoming a gentle grip, head tilting to let him claim and demand.

           Desire sparked hot in Velidran's belly, a lust he had no other name for, no matter how hate and something warmer warred in his chest. He did not resist that kiss, only took advantage of the occasion that allowed him some small control in touching in return, trailing his fingertips along the pulse that pounded in Mirandros' throat. It stole his breath and for a moment he forgot his wariness, and the hurt he knew would follow.

           But it did not stop him from thinking, finding one small moment of clarity when Mirandros' lips left his long enough for them both to draw in a ragged breath. If he ever needed to catch his brother off guard, this was how he would do it. With a kiss.

           It was how he had. He could still taste that kiss, still remember it just as clearly as those he had taken from Osaryn. He had broken something with it, he thought, in a way he could never repair even if he ever wanted to. It didn't bother him. Yet, for all of that he found himself frowning as he tore his eyes from the door of the inn and turned to walk away, he couldn't help remembering that Osaryn had never kissed him. Not even once.

@clan-of-whispers  for Mirandros and Osaryn mentions

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Velidran (left) really wishes his brother (Mirandros @clan-of-whispers ) would stop playing with knives sometimes.

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Flavianus Aquilius Corvus. Another Warden.

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My warden, Velidran. And a bonus shot with his handsome brother, Mirandros ( @clan-of-whispers )

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My warden, Mirandros.

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Velidran: Past Sins

  Under a cut for NSFW m/m, drugs, implied incest, non-con, violence, abuse. @clan-of-whispers  for Mirandros and Osaryn

         It didn't feel real. He'd never seen Mirandros look helpless or vulnerable. Part of him couldn't believe it. He kept waiting for his brother's fierce eyes to snap open, for strength and tension to return to limp muscles, and the blows he knew would follow.

           Velidran's tongue slid nervously over his lower lip. He could still taste Mirandros on his mouth, along with the drug that had sent him to sleep. Shuddering suddenly he tugged a rag from his pouch, scrubbed at his lips until they felt raw and all he could taste on his mouth was the sting of it.

           Mirandros still didn't stir. And finally, more than a little breathless, he let himself reach out to touch him, trailing his fingertips along the familiar line of his cheekbone, down around the curve of his jaw. He was beautiful like this. And despite the fear and the worry and that desperate hope blooming inside him Velidran felt heat spark in the pit of his stomach.

           He wanted to take the time to do what he'd always planned to his brother while for once he was the one who had the power. To tie him down, bind him so tightly it would hurt and cover him with the marks of his hands and his teeth. He wanted to pull his hair until his scalp tingled, strip him, and have him naked and helpless under him.

           And he wanted to take him. Not once but for hours, as though he could somehow give Mirandros back all the years of frustration and pain. He wanted to humiliate him, let him see what it felt like to hurt when he pushed into him, hard and a bit too fast. And then he wanted to go slow, tease him with his body until he left him whimpering. And wanting. He wanted Mirandros to taste that frustrated ache his brother had given him so many times, feel it written in his nerves and bones.

           The temptation was still there as he moved his brother from the chair to the bed, pressed him face down and tied his hands behind him. Not so tight he would lose blood flow but tight enough escape would be difficult and his shoulders would ache when he woke. He could not take the time, he kept telling himself as he pushed his brother's limp body, amusing himself by raising his hips and spreading his knees and imagining what he would do to him if his one frail hope of freedom wasn't growing more distant with every moment he delayed.

           He wanted to take the time. To sate the ache growing in his own loins and leave another for Mirandros to feel when the drug finally loosed its hold. He wanted his brother to wake and know what he'd done, to feel it everywhere on his skin and inside him. He raked his fingers down Mirandros' back as he thought of it, hooked them in the waist of his pants and let himself tug them down.

           It almost felt worth it. His fingers lingered on the warm dark skin of Velidran's hip and he ached for it almost as badly as he ached for the man he needed to follow. But Osaryn was everything. His own to claim and to love and his one hope of breaking the hold Mirandros held over him even now.

           He was all too aware of the weight of the band on his ankle and the magic in it. All too conscious that Mirandros would wake and when he did whatever power he had in this moment would be gone as though it had never been. All he would have would be the memories and the beating Mirandros would give him in payment.

           If it hadn't been for Osaryn it would still have been worth it. His fingers tightened hard on Mirandros' hips, hard enough he hoped he left bruises under the skin to ache later. He leaned close, letting his hands shift their fierce grip down his brother's thigh as he brought his lips to rest against Mir's side, just above the bone of the hip.

           The kiss he pressed there was almost gentle and his chest tightened, twisting with that familiar, uncomfortable blend of hatred and adoration. He would not be gentle. He could not take what he wanted, but he could leave one thing to remember him by.  He bit down hard into the skin over his brother's hipbone, hard enough to taste blood in his mouth and leave the shape of his teeth written against the dark skin.

           And then before his desire could get the best of him he yanked Mirandros' pants halfway back up and turned away. He would pay for this later if he failed. He might wish then he had taken all he could.          

          He could still remember the taste of Mirandros' skin, how much smaller his brother seemed when he was limp and unconscious. But he could also remember his fury. The blows of his fists and the snap of his voice. The skin on the back of his neck crept and his eyes strayed from Osaryn and his damned altmer for a moment to look behind him. There was still nothing there.

           But Mirandros would come. There was no doubt of that, and his brother would be angry. He could almost feel that anger behind him, taste it in the sting of a thousand remembered aches.

           He frowned as Osaryn reached up and dusted the backs of his knuckles along the altmer's jaw, something fierce and bitter welling up inside him. He couldn't understand that touch, gentle and affectionate. The way they looked at each other. It was impossible. Osaryn was his.

           They moved up the gangplank onto the ship, and he took a deep breath, tugging his hood up higher and waiting a moment to follow. He looked over his shoulder once more as he reached the deck, wondering if he should reconsider. But he had already earned Mirandros' anger. What he did now could not make it much worse.

           Curling his fingers into the fur at Ashmir's neck he tugged the bear into a corner, out of the way, and let his gaze come to rest on Osaryn again. His jaw tightened as he watched the altmer's hand curl all too familiarly around the smaller dunmer's shoulder. Maybe he could give that one to Mirandros, he thought, his lips curving up into an angry little smirk. It would be a fitting sort of fate for both of them.

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Velidran: Pursuit and Surprises

           Velidran swore quietly as he watched Osaryn vanish into the stone building below. He hadn't thought Stormhold was where they'd finally come to a stop. If he had he'd have caught up sooner, stopped the smaller mer short of a city where he could not hope to blend in. It wasn't as far from Mirandros as he'd have liked but Velidran thought he could have crossed to the far side of Tamriel and not felt out of his brother's reach.

           He glanced reflexively over his shoulder but at the moment all that lingered there was stone and vine hung trees and more of this hot, lizard infested swamp. He swore again and beside him Ashmir growled irritably. "I know." Velidran murmured, shifting his hand to tangle his fingers into the thick fur of the bear's shoulders. His eyes never left the door. What was Osaryn doing in there? Who was this husband the clerk had mentioned?

           Osaryn couldn't have a husband. It was impossible. The clerk had heard wrong, or mistaken who he was asking about. It was all wrong. Ashmir growled, the bear's broad muzzle suddenly intruding warningly into his sight and he realized he'd tightened his fingers until they'd taken a tuft of thick grey fur with them. "Sorry." he said, and folded his hand back into a fist against his thigh.

           Osaryn was his. All his and only his in a way nothing else in his life ever had been. Even Ashmir was a gift from Mirandros, just like every last thing he wore or carried, a gift or a loan from his family. Not his. He'd chosen none of it and he was not sure there was anything other than the bear that could not as easily be taken away. But Osaryn had been his.

           Velidran had felt his ownership in the way Osaryn shivered under his hands, in the cries he made when he took him. He had known his mastery in the feel of silken hair wound tight around his fingertips, written it on the taut arched line of Osaryn's throat with his teeth, until he was sure the smaller mer could not have forgotten. He never had. Not in all the years since he'd seen him, or the beatings he'd endured in his absence.

           He glanced over his shoulder again, shivering despite the muggy heat of the swamp. Mirandros still wasn't there, but Velidran knew he was coming, and without Osaryn's help, if he even had it to give, there would never be any escape. Below him the door opened and Osaryn emerged into the light again. He leaned forward, scowling at the opening behind him. For a moment he almost hoped no one would follow. There couldn't be anyone else. But there was.

           The altmer was tall. He stepped out in Osaryn's wake, a head above him and nearly twice as broad in the shoulders, shining golden and out of place in the swamp. And for one mad moment Velidran told himself it was a coincidence. Osaryn was his, and he would never have chosen some foreign stranger over him. But they were speaking to each other, their voices too distant to be any more than scraps of sound, their expressions beyond any hope of reading.

           It was a trick he told himself, and the brief gleam of gold cuffs on the altmer's wrists bore him out for a moment. He was a slave, not a husband, and Osaryn had used some sort of ruse to free him. It had to be that. But there was another gleam of gold in the altmer's hand, slipped onto his finger, and Velidran could think of no explanation at all for that that he was willing to accept.

           But whether he could explain it to himself or not, it complicated things. He'd have to get the altmer out of the way to claim Osaryn. It wasn't hard to guess that the smaller mer kept him for protection. It was the only reason he could think of. But Osaryn didn't need protection from him. Osaryn didn't need the altmer. Not any more. And if he could just get Osaryn to help him he'd make sure he didn't need anyone else ever again. @clan-of-whispers for Osaryn

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Gifts of Silence

I meet you in a thousand silences, my love.

I spread them out before you, slow and careful,

A tapestry of flesh and bone and blood,

Beautiful.

My gift to you, those silences,

Made of last breaths, empty veins, stilled hearts,

Broken stems and severed petals.

I meet you here across the hours,

I know where you will stand,

What you will see.

Each twist of vine is made for you,

Every curve of stiffening fingers.

I wonder if you will feel me beside you when you come,

See me in eyes that see no more.

A thousand silences, beloved.

I wonder if you hear me? -Aenrialfin to Rasaelfahr ( @clan-of-whispers )

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Romantic evening in some old ruins. Talynthas is even nice enough to stand a step lower than Osaryn ( @clan-of-whispers ) so they can see eye to eye for once. (He’s still taller.)

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Foolish Choices

           He'd almost given up hope that he would ever see Osaryn again. It had been years and none of his attempts at tracking him down had ever borne fruit. Velidran couldn't have said the smaller dunmer was ever the last thing on his mind, but he had certainly not been at the forefront of it at that particular moment. Ashmir had managed to get a burr of some sort caught in the thick grey fur behind his ear and shoved his full weight up against him in a way that insisted far louder than words that he see to it. It prickled and the bear growled when the offending plant or his fingers tugged at the fur in a way that was thoroughly distracting. So he couldn't have said what it was that made him glance up at that particular moment, the slight gust of the rising wind that tugged at his hair and the edge of his thick leather mask, or something deeper than that? Some sort of magnetic pull as though one of the Three had finally thought to take pity on him.

           He sucked in a sharp breath as he recognized the mer just vanishing through the doors of the City Center Bank. It had been years since the last time, but that one glimpse had been more than enough for him to be certain. It was Osaryn. A few years older, a little different than he remembered the last time he had seen him, but Osaryn, his Osaryn, nevertheless. He gave the burr a single sharp yank, heedless of both the way it pricked into his skin and Ashmir's warning grumble. "Wait here." He told the bear, and pushed past his grey furred shoulder and down the street into the bank.

           The bank in Mournhold was always crowded and Velidran had several frantic minutes of scanning over the faces within and wondering if after all of this he still hadn't really found him. Perhaps he'd never seen him at all and it had all been some trick of his own wishful mind. Perhaps Osaryn had already slipped out past him. A deep breath of relief escaped him when he finally caught sight of him. The long dark hair he remembered, half caught into a neat knot at the back of the smaller dunmer's skull, the slight build of his shoulders. He could not be wrong. Yet he still edged his way to the side of the room until he could see him in profile to be certain.

           It was really him. And for a moment Velidran almost gave into the impulse to stride across the room, seize the smaller mer by the arm and drag him outside and into some hidden corner. At the last moment he remembered himself enough to think better of it. He did not want to draw attention to either of them, not now, not when he was suddenly keenly aware of Osaryn's tenuous place in the city and of his own limited time, the seconds ticking away until Mirandros decided to come seek him out.

           The leather mask concealed most of his expression but beneath the edge of it he chewed at his lower lip, watching, and trying to decide what Osaryn was doing. He'd gone from having some sort of argument to bending over some papers with the familiar look of intense concentration Velidran had usually seen him reserve for books. Once again he had to resist the urge to step forward. To speak a greeting, to grab him, to catch his attention in some way. He wondered suddenly if Osaryn would welcome the sight of him.

           Why shouldn't he? After everything they had shared, everything they had been to each other once? Osaryn must have missed him, surely, almost as much as he'd missed the feel of him in his arms. But a nagging doubt remained. It had been years and Osaryn had never come seeking his help, no matter how bad it all got. Why not? And what was he doing in Mournhold now?

           Whatever it had been it seemed to be finished, because the smaller mer turned abruptly on his heel and started for the door with the same haste he'd entered. Velidran moved immediately to follow but then forced himself to slow. No matter his impulse he knew better than to make his pursuit so very obvious. He paused at the counter the dunmer had vacated instead, ignoring the shrill and irritable protests of the woman he'd shoved out of her place in the line. "The mer that was just here. What was he doing?" He demanded.

           "I can't tell you that." The clerk said with an officious sniff.

           Velidran clenched his jaw and reminded himself he did not want to reach across the counter and shake the pinched expression right off the mer's face. Instead he reached into his pouch and slammed several gold coins down atop the counter. "What was he doing?" He hissed.

           The coins vanished from the countertop as soon as he moved his fingers. "Marriage papers. Apparently his husband got into some sort of trouble with the argonians. Next!"

           "His wha-" The question got no further than that. Velidran was suddenly aware of the grumbling behind him and that with every moment he wasted on this argument Osaryn was drawing further away. He'd given him more than the lead he intended already. "Never mind." He snapped pushing his way back through the crowd toward the front door, trying to remind himself to keep it slow enough he would not come up on the smaller mer's heels if Osaryn slowed. Not yet, not until the time was right and he had a better idea what he'd be facing. Not until he was a little further out of Mirandros' reach.

           Velidran pushed out of the front door, cast his gaze hurriedly one way and another down the street and couldn't help the sigh that escaped him when he finally caught sight of Osaryn's fleeing back. He hadn't lost him. Not yet.

           A low whistle brought Ashmir back to his side. "Follow." He said and felt a small shiver of nerves trickle its way along his spine as it sunk into him what he intended to do. They were heading toward the stables, that much was already clear to him by Osaryn's direction. After that he had no idea where his old lover was going, but he knew he was following him.

           He'd spent far too many damn years trailing leads in his spare time that never went anywhere, too much time pushed down under Mirandros' heel. The thought of his brother sent another chill down his spine, and as though in response the half healed bruised on his ribs throbbed. Mir would be so angry when he caught him. Perhaps angrier than he had managed to make him yet.

           Velidran couldn't pretend the thought didn't frighten him. He did not want to think what Mirandros would do to him to vent that anger. Beat him within an inch of his life, perhaps things even worse than hitting him and forcing himself on him. Swallowing hard he sped his steps just enough to keep Osaryn in sight.

           Maybe it should have changed his mind, but the thought of it only made him more determined. He had one chance. He was not likely to catch sight of Osaryn again. And if he followed him now, if Osaryn didn't know how to take the band off of his ankle then Mirandros would track him. He would catch up to him eventually and when he did... Velidran was certain he'd never get the chance to run out on him like this again.  

           Despite all that his steps never slowed, his eyes never left their focus on Osaryn's distant back. Running out on his brother might well be the stupidest thing he had ever done, but he had known from the moment he had seen his lover again that he could consider no other choice. And when he caught up to Osaryn, he would make sure he couldn't ever disappear on him again.

@clan-of-whispers

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Letters Home

           Dear Cousin,

           The quill lifted and Talynthas frowned down at the words he'd written. Was that the right way to open it? They were cousins. He'd been told on more than one occasion that others could see the resemblance. And he could remember all too well the large quiet boy who had sat pressed up against his side at meals and spoken so softly to tell him he was his best friend.

           It was hard to reconcile that memory with the man Gilandir had become in the years they saw so little of each other. He was no longer someone who tried to hide in his smaller shadow, or who sat close. They certainly weren't best friends. He was fairly certain Gilandir no longer even really liked him, though he could not have said why.

           He scowled. Did it sound like he was trying to play on their connection if he used those words? Seeking some fondness that no longer existed? He could have written those words to the boy he'd known in childhood. Perhaps he could have written this entire letter then with greater ease. But both of them had changed.

           He lowered the quill to the paper, then lifted it again. The next time he lowered it it was to set it aside so that he could crumple the unoffending paper viciously into a ball and start again.

           Sergeant Gilandir,

           This is the first chance I have had to report on my whereabouts.

           The quill scratched to a stop and he twisted it in his fingers as he stared down at what he'd written. Formal, military, crisp. Perhaps it would be easier to write a report than a letter. Or perhaps it would have been if he had not had quite so much to report.

           A soft sizzling sound drew his eyes up to where Osaryn was cooking beside the fire, little more than an arm's length away. The firelight cast golden reflections on dark skin, and made black hair shine like satin. Talynthas' breath hitched once passing over his lips, and he was caught off guard all over again to realize he found him beautiful.

           How the hell did he write Osaryn into a military report? His Moonlight Shadow. His husband, whether or not he'd ever intended that to happen. The man he'd thought until weeks ago that he hated. He didn't. That much he could admit to himself. He had hated Osaryn in the beginning, but he did not hate him now. He had killed Dominion soldiers for his sake. And he could not pretend that he would have made any other choice if it happened again.

           "Damn!" He whispered, and crumpled the second sheet of paper even harder than he'd crumpled the first.

           Dear Gilandir,

           Talynthas paused, frowning down at the words. He had just never had much talent for correspondence. Celhaerin had once shown him some of the beautiful letters previous suitors had written him and he had known at a glance his own could never compare. He had tried it once anyway, but his feeble attempt at poetry had earned him only laughter and the indulgent comment that it wasn't his words the sorcerer liked him for anyway.

           This was nothing like that. He wasn't sure it wasn't more difficult. Clumsily as the poetry had come to him, the emotions had been sincere and ready at his fingertips. He had had some idea what he wanted to say.

           He didn't know what to say to Gilandir. He knew what he wanted to know but he wasn't sure how to ask in a way that didn't seem suspicious. Sighing he glanced up at Osaryn once more, shook his head. He had to try. He couldn't take Osaryn into Dominion lands without having some idea just what they were walking into. Would Gilandir even tell him?

           He was not sure where he stood with the mer any more. He had not been certain of that even before everything that had happened. Lowering the quill to the paper again he continued, the quill scratching slowly and deliberately over each word.

           I don't know what word might have reached home about my whereabouts, if any has. I am alive and well, at least for now. I hope you are as well.

           I did not intentionally abandon my duties that day after the shipwreck. I hope you know me well enough to know I would never have done so. I was captured. And though I have heard that the rest of those captured with me were eventually traded home, my captor had no inclination to release me into custody with the rest.

           There was so much more he might have said, but all of it was damning, and confusing and as hard to explain as the dunmer sitting beside the fire, and his own emotions. He should have hated Osaryn for everything. For so long he had, and clung to the thoughts of vengeance, but now? Now he didn't know what to think. He hated things Osaryn had done. But he could not hate the dunmer himself. And he had tried.

           I have been enslaved with no hope of getting even word home, but lately my circumstances have changed somewhat. I have a hope now of making my way back. But I am not certain of the welcome I might receive from you or the rest of our people. Can you tell me?

           I ask no more from you than a letter back if you can and are willing to send one with the courier who brought this. If you do not, I suppose that is an answer as well. In either case I hope you are well and home and I am sorry for any trouble my disappearance caused you.

           -Talynthas

           He read over the words again, frowning at all the things left unwritten between the few lines on the paper. Maybe he should start again? But he thought he could have written his way through the night and the entire meager pile of paper without feeling satisfied. So instead he sighed and shoved the letter toward Osaryn. "I think that's the best I can do." He sighed. "I'm not sure he'll answer." @clan-of-whispers  for Osaryn and Gilandir

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Celhaerin Firalien. Pretty new clothes for a pretty trinket. @clan-of-whispers for Qalekai to enjoy

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“Osaryn, you coming?” Talynthas paused at the sound of splashing behind him. Huffing out an exasperated sigh he turned to fish the dunmer out of the water again. Honestly. It really wasn’t even all that deep. (The parts where Talynthas just strolls through the water and Osaryn winds up swimming will never fail to crack me up.) @clan-of-whispers

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           Osaryn's breaths were slow and peaceful in his ears. The dunmer's head was a warm weight atop his chest in the darkness, and in the stillness of his thoughts Talynthas could admit there was something almost soothing in the feeling. That thought did nothing at all to help him sleep himself.

           Whatever had been in the potion Osaryn took had worn off, and with its passing had come sleep for the dunmer, perhaps peace from whatever it was that had troubled him but Talynthas could find no such peace. He could not stop thinking, turning everything they'd said over and over in his mind as though if he twisted it just the right way he could finally find the way it made sense.

           He should have been furious. Maybe somewhere deep down in the recesses of his heart he was. He was certainly angry, but it was not so simple as only that. Not nearly so simple. It had been once. In the beginning, even before he'd known the truth behind all of it. He'd have stabbed the dunmer without a second thought.

           His head tilted slightly against the pillow, until he could see the soft shine of the moonlight from the windows against Osaryn's black hair. His arms tightened just a little around him but the dunmer didn't stir or so much as change his breathing. He seemed as far away as the Isles just at the moment and Talynthas couldn't help envying him that with a sudden fierce rush of emotion.

           He did not want to be lying here caught in tangle of his own thoughts and emotions. Maybe it was the emotions that were the worst. He could still hear Osaryn's voice over and over in his head. 'Yes. Yes, I fucking love you. And I am nothing but revenge to you as you've promised all along.' He wanted to tell himself that was true. That it was all about vengeance for everything Osaryn had taken. Everything from the moment the ship had hit a storm that he now knew had not been natural.

           It had all been Osaryn, from the beginning. The storm, the screaming, the ship breaking, that moment when his armor had dragged him under the waves and he had not known if he had the strength to fight his way back above them. His capture, the forced servitude, all of it could be set neatly at the dunmer's feet.

           He wanted vengeance, he told himself. He wanted to make Osaryn suffer as he had suffered. But for the first time those words rang just a little hollow in his thoughts. If vengeance was all he wanted he could have had it with the first Dominion they'd come across, he could have turned on Osaryn with any of them and captured him. It would have been easy enough. Or, it should have been.

           But when it came down to it, it hadn't been. It had been easier to turn his own blade on a woman whose name and face he knew than to turn it on the dunmer. And he could try to tell himself it was because he didn't believe they really worked for the Dominion, that the magic they were using was terrifying and wrong, but he wasn't sure he believed it.

           It wasn't just about revenge, not any more. Maybe not for a longer time than he could bear admitting to himself. Osaryn loved him. When he called him 'My Sun and Stars' it had been as it sounded. Affection. Not just meant to confuse him and further twist him. Though if that had been the dunmer's aim, this had done it most of all. For a moment anger flared in him, hot, aching, nearly unbearable. How could Osaryn love him when Celhaerin couldn't.

           And why was it that as off guard as it caught him he felt a part of him had known it all along. And what did he feel? If it wasn't only the vengeance and the anger any more. What was it that was left? He scowled down at the top of the dunmer's head. Osaryn had cried and he could not understand why. All the time they'd spent together, every sad truth Osaryn had told him and he could not ever remember seeing him cry. Why over that, over him? Why, why why did Osaryn love him? He'd done nothing to earn it. He'd never meant for it to happen. But he believed it.

           He believed it in a way he didn't know he could have believed Celhaerin's words even if he'd ever troubled to say them. And what it left him feeling was fury. Confusion. A want to untangle himself from the dunmer and find something to throw. And something else he wasn't ready to look at yet. Something that kept him exactly where he was, arms around the slight form that slept against him, eyes wide awake against the darkness. If my Sun and Stars meant love, then what did his own words mean? "My Moonlight Shadow." He whispered and Osaryn still didn't stir. His fingers lifted to run lazily through the strands of the dunmer's dark hair.

           He didn't know what it meant. He wasn't sure he knew anything, except that vengeance or not they were not parting ways at the border as Osaryn planned. Maybe for now that was enough. Even if it still wasn't enough to help him sleep. @clan-of-whispers for Osaryn

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Some shots of Talynthas (the altmer) and Osaryn ( @clan-of-whispers )  traveling around Shadowfen the other day. They work well traveling together, after all someone has to be around to lift Osaryn up high enough to see into beached boats and scoop him out of deep water.

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Wedding Night

           Talynthas couldn't sleep. It wasn't the first time he'd suffered the problem in recent nights but it was by far the worst. It wasn't the rain tapping on the small tarp overhang or the discomfort of the ever present damp that had seeped into his clothes and hair and bedding that kept him awake. It was Osaryn. It was his own damn swirling thoughts.

           He was unbound, entirely free to move as he would, to sleep where he wanted, to get up and walk away into the swamp if he wanted and never come back. He could not deny that he'd thought of it, picking up his things and walking away from the shame and his broken pride. He could try to find a way back home and pretend that none of it had ever happened. But he had not so much as started that direction. If he left it like this he'd never be free of what Osaryn had done to him. What in a way the dunmer was still doing without lifting so much as a finger.

           So he'd gone no further than the opposite side of the fire to make his own bed. But he couldn't sleep. He was keenly aware of how naked his wrists felt without the weight of the cuffs he'd worn for months, how strange it felt to sleep not only alone, but un-tethered. But he was not entirely without a binding. The ring was a strange thing on his finger, chafing oddly at the space between them, oddly heavy for such a small band of metal.

           He rolled onto his back, eyes focusing on the tarp above him without really taking it in, hands folding behind his head as though it would do something to hide that ring from his thoughts. He could still feel it, hard between his fingers, against the back of his head and he could not stop thinking about what it meant.

           It shouldn't mean anything. He had not asked for it, he had not known he was agreeing to it. He had not spoken the words to Osaryn or heard the dunmer speak them to him. But the ring remained, and something else along with it.

           He could not stop thinking about why the dunmer had done it. Why he'd done all of it, captured him, enslaved him, stolen him from his home and his family. He'd stolen his freedom, and he'd taken him unwilling into his bed. And perhaps now, in the hollow hours of the morning and the silence of his own thoughts Talynthas could admit to himself that Osaryn had taught him to enjoy it.

           He could still feel the dunmer's hands on him in memory, hear the sound of his voice hot against his ear. His eyes squeezed closed and he tried to fight the memories, to think of Celhaerin under him, but those memories felt as distant as Summerset itself. He had loved Celhaerin. He still did. But even in his thoughts those words rang hollow. There was no answering tightening in his chest, only dim memories. He couldn't remember what Celhaerin's voice sounded like. And that thought should hurt. It didn't and no matter how he tried he couldn't make it.

            He could hear Osaryn breathing. Despite the rain, despite the crackling of the fire and the space between them he could hear the soft steady sound of the dunmer's breath. He wondered why Osaryn hadn't bound him. Shouldn't he be afraid of what he'd do? Especially now when he'd forced this on him and taken one more thing from him. He'd stolen his life, his freedom, and now he'd stolen this promise from him. But he'd made the same one in return, hadn't he?

           Why? That was what kept tugging his thoughts back from anything like rest he might have been able to find. It had saved his life, that was true and it was the only way Osaryn could have done that. But did his life matter so much? How could it matter so much when he felt certain Celhaerin would not have done the same for him? Celhaerin had never had a pet name for him, not once.

           'My Sun and Stars' it had been that almost from the beginning. Not 'slave' not any of the dozens of other degrading names he could think of. But that phrase that was poetry and almost endearment. It had angered him, it had bothered him. It had felt as much like a damned golden cuff as the ones he had worn on his wrists at times. It made it sound like Osaryn thought of him as something special when he was still treating him like he owned him.

           He rolled heavily onto his side, pillowed his head on his arm and squinted at the dunmer across the fire. His husband. 'I made us a family.' Osaryn had said. And he remembered that Osaryn had no family but the imps and a man who had never wanted to be there. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to belong here in this damn swamp with a dunmer. He had not asked for this. He would not have asked. Maybe not even to save his own life.

           But what would he have done to save Osaryn's? The thought stilled him midway through an uncomfortable shifting against his blankets and Talynthas swallowed. He had no answer for himself and he didn't want one. He was furious over what Osaryn had done and the way he had left him unbound and simply gone to sleep as though confident he would not retaliate.

           He would. He had never meant to part ways at the border no matter what the dunmer might think. He had promised in the beginning that he would repay Osaryn for everything he had done in kind and he fully meant to keep that promise. But it would not be tonight. Not here in the swamp still in the heart of Pact lands. He let out a slow angry breath. He was unbound and perhaps everything had changed, but nothing had. Osaryn still held all the power. He was still lying awake and trying to figure out the man who had gotten him into this.But he was not tied down.

           Talynthas shoved himself upright, jaw tightening. He did not have to just lie there all night and think about it. Osaryn had married him. Maybe it was time he got some small idea what that meant. Scooping up his blankets he strode around the fire and settled them again beside the dunmer and lay down. It was not any more comfortable than he had been. Everything was still damp. His thoughts were still a mess, and the ring pressed at the back of his head when he folded his arms behind his bed and settled onto his back. But he had heard Osaryn stiffen as he moved closer. Maybe at least this way he knew he wasn't the only one spending a sleepless night. "I am pretty sure married people usually sleep together."