Summary : The Dragonborn of few words and little patience decides to find out why Erandur can't keep his pants on. So to speak.
Tags: Anthro, vanilla, hurt/comfort
xxxx
Oraythe gave a grunt, heaving past one last tangle of rocks and roots. Finally, the shimmer of stars indicating the tunnel’s end was in sight. Gods, if the Dragonborn had a gold piece for every time that was her saving grace, she’d own every house in Skyrim. Behind her, clambered a second person Erandur, priest of Mara.
He was older than most who were willing to sign up as a traveling companion, but she trusted him, which was a rare thing. Blinking from the vastness now surrounding them, Oraythe carefully helped the dunmer man up the last few rocks, then whistled sharply, a shaggy gray gelding shuffling forward at the sound.
“Quite a sight, those ruins. But an inn sounds like a good plan now, and a bed.” He chuckled softly, then shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the loose leather armor she’d lent him for their trek through the caves. He’d already gotten the chest piece off, exposing his thin but well-aged form to the cold night air. Oraythe averted her gaze before she could make out too much detail, though she snatched the chest piece from where he’d set it down against the numerous boulders lining the exit to the caves.
“There is hardly any blood on that, Era, leave it on for now.” Oraythe sighed softly, concerned at the priest’s constant need to disrobe. How he managed to not freeze with his insistence on wearing only a cloth robe and one or two underthings, she’d never know.
“I know this, but...” He tugged a glove loose, shoving it into one of the saddlebags as one last act of subtle defiance of her command. He seemed ready to argue more on the point, but a shriek in the distance stilled his hands, ruby eyes flicking to the sky and then to Orathye’s masked face.
“We do not have time for this now, priessst,” was her response. The hiss toward the end was a warning. Erandur knew not to argue with Oraythe further for now and simply bobbed his head in response. After tugging the first glove back into place, his hands simply fell to his sides. Grunting, the argonian turned, hauling herself up into the saddle. Leaning over, she offered a hand up for the dunmer. With another grunt, she tugged Erandur up to sit behind her. There was a moment of waiting for him to wrap his arms around her waist, then she kicked the gelding into a canter.
They didn’t need to gallop. The dragon was still far off, circling lazily rather than hunting, but Oraythe knew she had not the energy to take on a dragon after their slog through the ruins for the better part of a day and a half, with only a short nap between them.
“We will not be able to make Dawnstar this evening, at least not safely,” Oraythe murmured, somewhat apologetic.
“It is no matter. Right now I wish only to rest somewhere with a roof,” Erandur sighed.
"Salve" Het, F!DB Argonian/Erandur, 1/?
Tags: Anthro, vanilla, hurt/comfort
xxxx
Oraythe gave a grunt, heaving past one last tangle of rocks and roots. Finally, the shimmer of stars indicating the tunnel’s end was in sight. Gods, if the Dragonborn had a gold piece for every time that was her saving grace, she’d own every house in Skyrim. Behind her, clambered a second person Erandur, priest of Mara.
He was older than most who were willing to sign up as a traveling companion, but she trusted him, which was a rare thing. Blinking from the vastness now surrounding them, Oraythe carefully helped the dunmer man up the last few rocks, then whistled sharply, a shaggy gray gelding shuffling forward at the sound.
“Quite a sight, those ruins. But an inn sounds like a good plan now, and a bed.” He chuckled softly, then shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the loose leather armor she’d lent him for their trek through the caves. He’d already gotten the chest piece off, exposing his thin but well-aged form to the cold night air. Oraythe averted her gaze before she could make out too much detail, though she snatched the chest piece from where he’d set it down against the numerous boulders lining the exit to the caves.
“There is hardly any blood on that, Era, leave it on for now.” Oraythe sighed softly, concerned at the priest’s constant need to disrobe. How he managed to not freeze with his insistence on wearing only a cloth robe and one or two underthings, she’d never know.
“I know this, but...” He tugged a glove loose, shoving it into one of the saddlebags as one last act of subtle defiance of her command. He seemed ready to argue more on the point, but a shriek in the distance stilled his hands, ruby eyes flicking to the sky and then to Orathye’s masked face.
“We do not have time for this now, priessst,” was her response. The hiss toward the end was a warning. Erandur knew not to argue with Oraythe further for now and simply bobbed his head in response. After tugging the first glove back into place, his hands simply fell to his sides. Grunting, the argonian turned, hauling herself up into the saddle. Leaning over, she offered a hand up for the dunmer. With another grunt, she tugged Erandur up to sit behind her. There was a moment of waiting for him to wrap his arms around her waist, then she kicked the gelding into a canter.
They didn’t need to gallop. The dragon was still far off, circling lazily rather than hunting, but Oraythe knew she had not the energy to take on a dragon after their slog through the ruins for the better part of a day and a half, with only a short nap between them.
“We will not be able to make Dawnstar this evening, at least not safely,” Oraythe murmured, somewhat apologetic.
“It is no matter. Right now I wish only to rest somewhere with a roof,” Erandur sighed.