#i have been but i would prefer to stick around hom.

[dalishthunder]

Honor and Glory I have Enough Of (p3)

It was taking too long.

Gariil had already regained consciousness and was already starting to stretch and rub at his joints.

You hadn't moved at all, breaths shallow as Nebarra watched you.

"Are you okay?" Gariil asked after a while, standing to relieve his... what were they? Friends? It sounded right, but something about it filled Nebarra's skull with the beginnings of a headache.

He chewed on his words for a moment before replying. "... Yeah." Sitting down and letting Gariil take the helm of the boat for now.

"Thanks, by the way. I probably would have been buried alive if you hadn't grabbed me, Cor-"

"It's Nebarra.... Just... just call me Nebarra."

He didn't like the way Gariil looked at him, humor long gone. He'd originally laughed after hearing his chosen identity. No one was laughing now.

Why wouldn't you wake up?

He nudged you with his boot, but you still didn't stir.

He could feel the question on the tip of Gariil's tongue. The way his eyes bored into the back of his skull.

"Are you two...?" The researcher finally asked after a long while, voice trailing off.

Nebarra ran a hand through his hair, getting it away from his face. "...No."

“Good… good.” Gariil said with too-forced nonchalance. Though Nebarra supposed that it couldn’t be helped….

His eyes just followed the curve of your cheek up to your eyelashes and along your eyebrow. You looked so damn peaceful… Just wake up.

“I heard from your brother not too long ago.”

His ears perked up at that and he cast a glance over at his companion.

“He says they’ve found a match for him. He’s hoping you’ll at least attend the wedding.”

“What?!” Something in him sank…. Of course his brother would get married… probably have kids, and Nebarra would probably have nieces and nephews soon. He wondered what sort of pedigree his in-law would have… Because that’s all that really mattered right? The only makings of a Good Altmeri Couple.Get married to someone of pedigree, have kids in a perfectly loveless home, and bring honor to the family name and glory to the Aldmeri Dominion.

Part of him wondered what you’d think of that.

Part of him wondered if he’d get disown-

“It’s wild to think about, I know.” Gariil chuckled a little at that. “Oh, don’t be such a sour-puss about it. I’m sure the wine will be excellent.”

“Probably be the best part of the wedding.” Nebarra mumbled, running his hands through his hair again.

He really needed to get a damn haircut….

And a decent bath.

And some good wine.

And a warm bed, preferably with a welcoming body in it.

“I’ll agree with you there. They can be rather dreary affairs.” Gariil fell silent for a moment, before sighing, “I should probably get on it sooner or later though. Someone needs to carry on the family name, and I’d rather not be that elderly parent while my kids are growing up.”

“As if anyone would even tolerate you.” Nebarra jabbed, raising his eyebrow and cracking a smile. “I’d give it a week before you ‘passed under mysterious circumstances’.”

Gariil rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the amusement in his tone. “Says the walking embodiment of a porcupine. I’m surprised your family’s still even trying to find you a match.”

His gut lurched.

Of course they were….

The laughter died in his chest… why weren’t you awake already?

“Though I suppose you being a veteran of the Great War does put you in a relatively prime position for your social rank.” Despite Gariil's conversational tone, Nebarra couldn't help the way his nostrils flared. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the wood paneling.

There was a point in time that he'd sort of hoped... for that. Not to be tied down, but to not have to deal with sticky emotions, just... a contractual obligation. Easy. Twenty or so years with someone, raise a kid, make his parents happy, then move on with his life. He wouldn't even need to stick around most of the time, just travel around and send money back home for his partner to raise their kids. Try to be home for the occasional birthday... maybe. If the kid was actually cool.

He chewed on his cheek, vaguely aware that Gariil was still talking, watching your chest rise and fall with your shallow breaths.

He wondered if you wanted kids.

It was pretty easy to tell a lot about people from how their kids behaved....

You were decent with them going from what he saw of Khash. Protective, generous, loving, understanding.

Did he even want kids?

Probably not. By Mara... what a dumb train of thought.

Gariil's voice brought him back, "You know, I hadn't seen you go back for someone since the Great War."

"It was a life debt." Nebarra mumbled, not taking his eyes off of you. "Now repaid in full."

Gods...

He sent a silent prayer to Auri-El....

You had to be alright. You still had the world to save. Even if you didn't want him around anymore....

The jarring of the ship running aground rocked them sooner than he'd originally anticipated. It took him a moment to stand up, letting out a long sigh before putting his helm back on. The sky was growing dark, Secunda beginning to rise over the horizon. And if he had to guess, Raven Rock was still a good long ways away. They'd have to make camp for night.

He hoped Gariil wasn't paying attention as he picked you up gingerly.

"Do you want me to carry-"

"No."

Gariil made a placating motion with his hands, but there was definitely something... judgey about the way his eyes flitted between Nebarra and you, and as they began to look for a good place to set up camp, the researcher spoke once more. "What sort of magic was all that anyway?"

"It was ancient dragon magic. This is the Dragonborn."

"Oh, I didn't realize Septim blood was still circulating. I thought the last one died during the Oblivion Crisis?"

"Apparently not."

They lapsed into silence as they found a spot and set to work. Nebarra laid you down gently in a soft spot of ash, careful not to jostle you too much. And though Gariil did not speak, he could feel his gaze burning through his helmet.

Gods, he was so, so fucking tired.

When they'd finally finished pitching the tent and starting the fire, Nebarra went to place you in your bedroll, pausing as he saw your brow furrow. After a moment, he removed his gauntlet, bare hand hovering over your throat for a moment before dipping his fingers into the side, just under your jaw to feel your pulse. Your skin was warm... feverish almost, and your pulse was... not as strong as he may have liked.

It was for your own good.

He removed his other gauntlet and began to work at the clasps of your armor, slowly and methodically doffing you.

He most certainly had not entertained any lurid fantasies about you.... At least none as... intimately tedious.... Or gentle.

Definitely not this gentle.

There was a deep purple bruise along your shoulders and the back of your neck from where the ceiling debris had struck you. You were lucky to be alive.

But you were unlucky enough to be in the presence of a dumb slek who had never gotten the hang of a single healing spell. His eyes caught on your bag. His potions may have run out, but you had to have something.

Nebarra pulled it closer. There definitely had to be something here, you were right up there with Xelzaz when it came to potion making. It was one of the things you two eggheads really bonded over. It was why you frequently spent your evenings with him... sharing notes in hushed tones in your room. The door shut....

He was absolutely not jealous in the slightest.

Your bag was... a mess. A bottomless container of the most menial, mundane shit you could find.

"You got a potion?" He called over his shoulder to Gariil.

"I'm sorry, my friend. Everything I had is buried under the rubble."

"Just my luck."

He just hoped that when he found what he needed, it would be properly labeled.

"Do you need help?" Gariil asked after the fourth dragon bone that very, very obviously should not have fit, was in an ever growing pile of junk.

What sort of enchantments did you have on this damn bag?

What sort of daedric pacts did you keep to be able to carry all of this stuff at once?

"If I find any alchemy ingredients in here, could you make a poultice or something, I don't know, useful?" Nebarra grunted as he hefted out a few books.

"I'm really more of a historian-"

"Bored already."

"Fine, yes, I can try."

"Better."

Gariil took a seat next to him, letting out a low whistle as he saw you. "That doesn't look good."

"Oh, thank you, Doctor, for your expertise!" Nebarra snapped, pulling out a sack of what looked like torchbug thoraxes. Disgusting.

"There's no need to be an ass."

He sighed... slowing his progress for a moment. "I know. I'm... sorry. I'm on edge."

No need to alienate his one remaining friend.

Aetherius above... you wouldn't want to be one after today.

Gariil just pat his shoulder, working on sorting through everything that was pulled out.

After what felt like forever, his fingers brushed against the smoothness of glass, and he immediately pulled out a bottle. Small, definitely potion sized. He looked for a label, finding only a paper with something scrawled on it with your handwriting.

"Do you have any idea what 'AMB/RWARB201 - CHP' means?"

"... What in Oblivion...?" Gariil leaned over, taking the bottle from him and turning it over in his hand. "What language is this?"

"Of all the times to leave Xelzaz behind.... I think it's some sort of alchemical formula?"

The researcher popped the cork out, taking a whiff. "It smells safe."

"I have an idea!" Nebarra grabbed his sword, "I swear to to Auri-El, if you tell anyone about what I'm going to do now, and I live through it, I will hunt you down."

Gariil snorted, "Ah, a patented Dumb Cor-, sorry, Nebarra Idea."

"Damn straight."

The altmer nicked the tip of his finger. Nothing deep, just enough to draw a bit of blood.

"Tell me you're not doing what I think you're doin-"

"Too late!"

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #custom skyrim followers #custom voiced followers #i love him your honor #I had a lot of fun with this one #it keeps spiraling and getting longer #thunderous applesauce