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sbeep · 2 years

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The Kiss at the End

Fiction ft my dragonborn, Talos Stormshield, in which his life is about to change. This story begins before the events of TES: V and will weave throughout it.

Act I, How to Build a Home In Skyrim

Act II, Unbound Part 1

The Road to Helgen

Tal tried his best not to wear his scepticism too plainly on his face. He squinted at the letter, handwritten in elegant breton style and stamped with some sort of guild seal that could have been anything at all. A blooming rose, perhaps? A lily.

"So you can't milk a cow?" he confirmed to the woman sitting across from him. The Bannered Mare was busy as usual, but somehow half the tavern managed to turn their eyes to her. Some stole glances and some stared slack-jawed, but she commanded attention either way.

"No," she said brightly.

She grinned broadly, full lips and a beaming expression on her plump cheeks lighting up the inn hall all the more. "To be honest, I've never tried."

"It's not that hard to learn, I suppose," Tal muttered. He kept his eyes on the paper and on her dazzling smile. If he let his gaze go anywhere else, it would drift to the low, wide cut of her dress that framed her arrestingly full bosom. Her skin was peachy and looked soft to the touch, as most voluptuous women did. Tal swallowed quickly.

"I am a quick learner," the breton woman purred, and winked across the table at the blacksmith.

"That's good," Tal said, staring at the papers in confusion and missing the gesture entirely. "Though there's not all that much to pick up, I really just need someone to mind the house, milk the cow and keep an eye on my grandfather. It shouldn't be more than a week at the very most."

The woman's cheeks puffed out in a little huff but she kept her posture, readjusting her dress and wiggling in her seat to the delight of half the onlookers. He scanned the letters and motion at the edge of the table drew his eye. A glint of light. He frowned.

"I'll pay you at the end of the week and the house is comfortable," Tal said and looked up again at last. "I don't own anything particularly valuable but you're welcome to take any silverware you find."

"Excuse me?" she gasped with a perfectly round expression of offense. She crossed her legs and leaned back.

"I was looking down to see if you'd actually listed what your trade is," Tal explained quietly. Almost apologetically. "Could you put the knife back? Hulda will happily parade thieves through the town if she catches them."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" The words were spoken flawlessly with just the right amount of indignation. Her smile began to give her away, though.

"They're not silver, besides. They're steel," Tal whispered.

"How do you know?" The breton leaned in again. He cursed himself for catching the view straight down between her breasts to where a coin purse lay nestled. She pursed her lips to keep from laughing.

"I made the cutlery here," he revealed.

She broke into a laugh that was like music, hearty and warm. The breton clapped with delight and reached down to her side, pulling apart the gap in her dress to fetch the knife back out. She set it back on the table with a thump and let her giggles carry on.

They met eyes and Tal tried not to let his cheeks grow warm under her silken scrutiny. He took the chance to get her measure as much as she was taking his. He had met a fair few bretons, but none with ears so tapered or smile so bewitching. Despite already making the joke, Tal wondered if he would mind at all if she were to take everything not nailed down in his house, if only to hear her laugh one more time.

"If you're not the sort to turn me in, young man, I think we'll do just fine." She gathered her long, golden hair only to flip it all back over her shoulder again. Then she threaded her fingers together and rested her chin upon them. "I'll mind your house and your grandpapa. When do you leave?"

"That's a relief. I go tomorrow, if the weather holds," Tal exhaled at last and sat back in his chair. He folded up the papers she'd brought- not that they'd helped her case for the job at all- and gave them back to the breton. "Thank you, miss."

"It'll be no trouble. Old men adore me," she said and flapped her hand dismissively before she took his and shook it. When she met his eye, her look was sharp. "And do call me Nedalla, won't you, I can't bear manners and Misses and such."

He agreed. Tal paid for their drinks, even though he'd seen her coin purse was much larger than his own, and made a path for her from the table to the door through the starry eyed men and women following her every move. Stepping out of the Bannered Mare, Tal missed a step in surprise.

"Tal! Perfect, you're my last one." The courier, weary from the day, pressed a letter into his hand. He peered cautiously down at it. There was his name written in a neat, familiar hand. His heart made a bid to escape and leapt in his chest.

"Good night!" The courier called on his way into the tavern. With the nord motionless, Nedalla politely returned the pleasantries. Then she took Tal by the shoulders and made him carry on down the path.

"Expecting something good?" She asked curiously as they made their way through town and towards the stables. Nedalla drew her cloak around her. It was summer and Tal had shed his jacket months ago in favour of a short-sleeved tunic, but snows clung to Skyrim all the year round. The breton scrunched herself into her furred collar and looked at him expectantly.

"Very," Tal croaked. He cleared his throat. "Good, yes. Something good."

Kjarten kept his voice low like he was conspiring with his grandson. Or perhaps more like a mischievous young lad trying not to get caught. He peered through the larder shelves at Tal and rushed out his words.

"I can't believe you've done this," the old man hissed excitedly. "If ever I doubted you loved me, lad, I don't now. You've given an old man back his vigour!"

"I've what? " Tal squinted over his shoulder at the nord, balancing a bottle of mead and another of wine in his hand. "Any chance you'll stop talking before you get worse?"

"None," Kjarten parried. He shuffled along the shelves to keep pace with Tal as the younger nord fetched things for dinner. "We've struck treasure, Tal, treasure! I could never afford a night with her on good day but if you ask her to stay on as a steward permanently then I might be in with–"

"Grandfather!" Tal hissed and held up his hands full to keep Kjarten quiet. He searched the old man's earnest, excited face. "She is going to be a steward for a while. What are you talking about?"

Kjarten looked at him like he'd been struck by a rock, his white beard wiggling as his mouth opened and closed in confusion.

"Merciful Kyne, lad, you do know you've brought home a prostitute?"

The mead bottle slipped as Tal started. Clay shattered on the stone floor and heady golden mead splashed everywhere and on his boots.

"I'll take that as a no," Kjarten snickered, but made no move to help as Tal hurried to clear up the spill. "Those letters she flashed have the seal of a Dibellan guild. One from Hammerfell, no less. Really lad, you do need to travel."

"The–" Tal clamped his mouth shut. The lily on the seal– a symbol of Dibella, goddess of beauty and pleasure. He should have known, but there was nothing Tal could do to stop his cheeks turning red as a mountain flower. "Well that's not what she's here for. She's here to make sure you don't fall down and die in the stream while I'm in Helgen!"

"Wishing I would right about now?" Kjarten grinned and didn't bother to contain his filthy giggles.

"Perhaps!" Tal kicked the shards of the bottle aside and resolved not to look his grandfather in the eye. If he did, he'd only start laughing too. "I might poison your wine instead, it'll be faster."

"True, but then I'd do my deathbed shit in one of your chairs. Pick your battles, lad." Kjarten gave the shelves a pat and the dark, dry jokes had both nords quickly descending to chuckles.

Tal shook his head and moved back into the hall of the house. The fire in the hearth was crackling gently, a fresh log just dropped on by the breton woman warming herself beside it.

"All we have is wine," Tal said sheepishly through his smiles, and he heard Kjarten giggle behind him.

Nedalla didn't seem to mind. Her face was bright and rosy from the warmth of the house. She had shed her furred cloak and now glided around the house in her finely cut gown in some style Tal had never seen before. The cloth was sturdy enough, but its low cut and generous gaps in the skirt seemed ill-suited to Skyrim's cool summer. At least she had donned petticoats underneath to stave off the cold.

"That suits me," she replied. All three of them sat around the table and she took the wine gently from Tal to begin pouring out the cups. "I took a little look around as you said. Are you sure I can take that room?"

She gestured gracefully to the room beneath the staircase. Tal followed her eyeline and a few moments passed before he nodded.

"Yes, that'll be fine." Tal took his cup from the table and lifted it a little and toasted, "Skál."

"Skál!" Kjarten echoed and began to guzzle the rich red vintage as fast as his moustache would allow.

Nedalla gave the old man a smile and tilted her cup before taking a far more demure sip. "May I ask who usually takes up such a comfortable bed?"

"It used to be that Tal's man slept there, before he was Tal's man," Kjarten burped out before the young nord could even think of an answer. "Then he moved upstairs with the lad and now it's for guests. Or me, when I drink a little too much wine."

Tal rolled his eyes when Kjarten winked at the woman and pursed his lips a little. "All true," he confirmed.

They carried on that way merrily into the evening, Nedalla asking her gentle questions and Kjarten all too eager to answer them truthfully. They asked a few of her as well and listened to the fireside stories she told of the distant west and a land cloaked in sand instead of snow. Nedalla's voice was soothing, like any moment her tale would turn into a lullaby. Kjarten began to drift off easily enough and Tal walked him home to his bed.

"That letter you received," Nedalla said softly, her arms bundled with her bag and cloak as she headed off to bed. Her head tipped a little curiously, golden hair falling from her shoulder. "Was it from your man?"

Once, Tal might have braced for judgement or bitterness. Now he put a hand to his pocket where he knew the letter lay unread and he smiled a little foolishly. "Yes."

Her answering smile was bright and she studied him for a long, quiet moment, her fingers curling in the soft fur of her cloak. "Love looks well on you, Tal."

They bid each other good-night and went their ways, Nedalla to her room and Tal upstairs to his. He readied for bed, blew out all but one candle, and collapsed happily onto the blankets with the letter in hand to open at last.

The edges of the thick vellum envelope were weathered. There was something black staining them– ash, perhaps. Had Kato ventured back to Morrowind? The last had been dusted with green, the beginnings of moss from the Argonian marshes. Tal steadied his breath at the thought of the dunmer being only one province away now. Travelling closer.

Kato's handwriting was the same as ever. For two years they'd done this dance. Weeks together, weeks apart. Tal's mind raced as he peeled open the wax seal stamped with the dunmer's ashlander sigil. So far, Kato had managed to return home for both birthdays Tal had marked. It was Last Seed now and just a few months away. How fast could one man travel over ash and mountains?

Tal pulled the letter from the vellum and unfolded it, his head swimming.

Daehla,

I know this letter is short. I'm saving my stories for home.

I miss the lake. And your grandfather. And you, of course.

I'll be with you by the seventh month.

Ohth marik,

Kato

Tal found himself grinning as he counted on his fingers to double check. Two weeks. Just a delivery to Helgen, and an impish old man to keep in check between him and Kato.

He studied the writing on the letter for minutes longer until he knew it was time to save the candle and try to get sleep before the journey tomorrow. Tal doubted he'd get much, if the way his chest felt lighter than air was anything to judge by. He folded the letter and stowed it with the dozens of other in the drawers beside his bed;

Taking a deep breath, Tal let his longing sigh blow the candle out.

#Fic: The Kiss at the End #*Unbound #**Tal #*Nedalla #*Kjarten

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