Chapter Text
Rhys leaned into his touch, gasping softly when he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on her throat. She pulled him closer, covering his face in feverish kisses. “I love you,” she murmured into his ear, burying her nose in his hair and breathing deeply. He knew she was taking in his scent, savoring it the same way he was hers.
“Even when I was lost in Aetherius, when I could hardly breathe through my visions. I remembered that you said you loved me. It is the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Her lips curved upward in a gentle smile. “I'm not leaving you again, I promise,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his.
“Cariad,” he murmured. “I’m sorry to have frightened you. We will have to be careful in the future. But if anything does happen, know that I will never stop trying to reach you, even if I have to fight all the damned Daedra alone.” His expression was fierce for a moment before he returned to the task of kissing her thoroughly. She met him with equal intensity, taking his face between her hands, her tongue slipping inside his mouth.
Every kiss felt like it was stitching him back together, but more than that, it reminded him how much he had longed for her, physically. Even when his despair was at its greatest, his thoughts had often turned to this, her body, her kiss, her hands on his skin. “As charming as this outfit is, I’d much prefer if it was elsewhere,” he murmured against her throat, his fingers snaking under the edges of her armor. “I want to show you how much I have needed you. Ideally, in the bed.” He nuzzled her neck, his kisses turning into playful bites.
Rhys chuckled softly. “Outfit? That is traditional bosmer armor made to give me the most possible speed and flexibility,” she said with an almost scolding tone. Even so, her fingers slid through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him gasp.
“It’s delightful, to look at, at least. I confess I would be a bit concerned about the well-being of my stomach in such armor,” he said, running his fingers lightly over the bare skin of her midriff.
“Keep mocking it, sweetie,” she said with an eyebrow arched in challenge. “You know this is unisex armor. You’re tall for a bosmer, but I bet I could find a set that would fit.”
“I’m not mocking,” he said. “I sincerely doubt it would be nearly as attractive on me.” She was soft and warm, but powerful under his hands, dangerous as an open flame. Even his most vivid dreams had not really been able replicate this, the way she drove him wild. She grabbed his wrists, sliding his hands up her back.
“Three hooks and it should come off,” she whispered into his ear before sinking her teeth into the lobe.
“How convenient,” he said, pressing his body into hers as he reached back to find the clasps. The nip to his ear made him gasp sharply, arching his body into her by instinct. He bit back a curse. It had been so long; he burned with impatience, and when his mouth met her neck again, his teeth left marks on her skin.
It only took a moment, once he found the hooks, to free her from the leather bodice and bare her breasts. He covered them in adoring kisses and caressed them with his fingertips, torn between the desire to worship every inch of her body and to have her right this minute. Either way, the floor was cold and hard. He stood and lifted her up in one smooth motion, only stumbling on his way to the bed because he didn’t want to stop kissing her, and they tumbled haphazardly onto the blankets, landing with her on top. “This is much better,” he said, grinning up at her.
Her laugh was joyful, but her eyes were fiery with passion as she sat astride his hips, rolling languorously against him as her hands slid over his chest. Every part of his being was focused on her, her scent and the sound of her laughter, the staccato rhythm of her heartbeat and every place where her body pressed into his. He groaned, having lost the power of speech.
“I sure hope you have a spare shirt,” she said, her voice husky with desire. The words barely registered before she ripped his shirt open, sending buttons flying. Her fingers left trails of heat down his chest as she raked him lightly with her nails.
He laughed, surprised but also not a little aroused by her small display of ferocity. “A sacrifice I do not mind making,” he said, sliding his fingers along her spine and down to her hips, trying to navigate the buckles of her pants while continuing to kiss her. If only he’d learned to magic away clothes… a grievous oversight.
************************
Every kiss, every touch seemed to ignite a fire in her veins, burning through her body from belly to fingertips. She shivered at the sensation of his cold fingers as they cupped her breasts, cooling heated skin, but she wanted more. To have his weight pressing her into the mattress while her hands roamed over his body. Gods, she had missed him, and part of her wanted to lay him flat and map every inch of him with her mouth, but her need for him was too strong.
With an almost frustrated groan, she helped him unbutton her breeches, rolling onto her side so she could struggle out of them. Oliver was fumbling with his own buttons. “Don’t make me rip your pants off too,” she murmured before pulling him back into a hungry kiss.
“Don’t do that. I only have two pairs of pants,” he said raggedly, flinging away the remnants of his shirt and pushing his pants over his hips and letting them fall to the floor. She couldn't respond, breathless at the sight of him bared before her. Some part of her had forgotten how beautiful he was, even now, with faint lines of silvery scars marring his marble skin. She wanted to cover those marks with some of her own, as if erasing them from view might erase the past all together.
His body slid over hers, and she gasped at the shock of his cold skin against her heat. He palmed her breasts in both hands, drawing her lips between his teeth in a kiss that was almost frantic. She felt swallowed by him, his long arms encircling her, and even as thin as he was, her legs barely went around his waist. His weight held her in place in a way that might have once been claustrophobic but now was delicious evidence that he was here, alive and all hers.
“Darling,” he murmured breathlessly. “I need to… if I wait another moment I may go mad.”
"Take me then,” she purred, meeting his eyes fearlessly. “I'm yours.” It had been so hard to give him that before, and now she couldn't say it enough. There was answering light in his eyes, and he entered her slowly, shuddering as she took all of him. Nothing could ever compare to this, the way he felt inside her, filling her with the sweet ache of completion.
***************
It was strange how those words affected him. A meaningless turn of phrase perhaps, to say ‘I’m yours,’ to a lover. But to him it felt like an acknowledgement of what was true; she belonged to him, or they belonged to each other, as surely as the stars belonged in the sky. It was a luxury he’d never allowed himself before, and certainly a privilege he thought he would never earn.
He kissed her like he was savoring a fine wine and slid inside her as slowly as he could manage, letting out a gasping sigh as her slick heat embraced him. He shuddered at the intensity of the sensation, and Rhys shivered too, cursing with her head thrown back. She was a masterpiece of flushed skin beneath him, her golden eyes glowing like the moon. Words could never truly capture the sight. He moved his hips, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back, burying himself to the hilt. The effort of control left him shaking, but he was so wild for her that he feared to let go too soon.
She pulled him so deep that he groaned. He could feel her impatience, which he frankly shared. Today was not a day for lingering but for reclaiming. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed her, open-mouthed and hungry. He snapped his hips forward and back, and she matched his pace so that they moved in perfect harmony, like the ebb and flow of the ocean and just as relentless.
He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine. As much as he wanted to hold back, he yearned to let go. Her muscles tightened around him, her moans increasing in pitch. Pleasure leaped through him like lightning, and his thoughts dissolved, leaving nothing but instinct and sensation.
With one final thrust, ecstasy roared through him, and he stifled his moans against her neck, his muscles quaking as she climaxed around and beneath him. Her blissful cries were music; he would have swallowed them up like drops of honey if only he'd been able to move.
***************
Her thoughts returned slowly, meandering back into her skull like drunken moths, and that was fine. It was enough to have Oliver panting into the crook of her neck while she stroked her fingers over his shoulders. Finally he stirred, pressing a kiss to her sweat-damp cheek before rolling onto his back.
She sat up and pulled at the blankets until she could get under them and flung them over him too, snuggling against his side and resting her head on his chest. The last time she'd done this had been in Artaeum, when the sound of his heartbeat had seemed like a hollow reminder that what truly made him the man she loved was gone. But now it was reassuring. She pressed her hand to his chest, sighing. “I missed you, my heart. I love you, so much.”
“Cariad,” he murmured against her hair. His arm settled around her waist, his thumb stroking the small of her back. “I cannot put into words how much I love you, how important you are to me.” She squeezed him tightly and he smiled, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. Her heart felt overfull, but her body was heavy and sated.
"I guess I can't kill Razum’dar anymore,” she murmured, a yawn escaping her.
Oliver's answering laughter vibrated in his chest. “Perhaps not. But if you’d like me to hold him while you punch him in the face once or twice... if I wasn’t a vampire, I might have had a heart attack when you burst through the door.”
They laid in silence for some time. Oliver waved his hand carelessly at the candles, and they extinguished in a puff of smoke. Rhys let her eyes fall closed, listening to the slow beat of her lover’s heart. Her heart beat more than fifty times for each one of his, and she wondered idly if that was part of the secret, some sort of time alteration that made him unaging. It didn't seem important. She might have gone to sleep if he hadn't spoken, his voice soft in the shadows. “Where did you go? When you left Artaeum, I mean.”
"For the first week I just... ran. I didn't know where to go,” she replied slowly, “I went back to the Brotherhood, but I couldn't stay. It was just like the first time I left you. The sound of their voices was like salt in my wounds. I thought I would lose my mind, but when I left, solitude and silence were worse." She wrapped her arms tighter around him, pressing a reassuring kiss to his chest, though she didn't know who she was trying to comfort, him or herself.
"Meanwhile, my dreams were absolutely mad. It was like the Spinner abilities I’d given up on were demanding to be used. Visions of spider webs and you... always you, so far away... and then finally the towers of Alinor in the distance. I decided I'd have to come here and see what was going on. I met Raz almost as soon as I arrived, and he lured me here.... I hope he’s just waiting downstairs and not on his way to get Ayrenn or worse."
Oliver nodded, idly twirling his fingers in the ends of her curls. “I almost stayed in Artaeum,” he admitted. “By the time I awoke, more than a month had passed since we were rescued from the temple. You could have been anywhere. But I had a vision... I saw you walking towards Alinor. I knew I had to try. I traveled to Ssummerset. Razum’dar found me after three days and convinced me to help him. Not that I took much convincing....
As far as I know, Ayrenn is in Elden Root. There have been all sorts of strange reports here, Daedric cults, giant spiders, dreugh. Everything has to be connected, but so far, we haven’t discovered how.”
Ryhs frowned, propping herself on an elbow to look at him. "What the bloody hell is she doing there? I hope the damn king isn't having another hissy fit,” she said, sinking back into his embrace with a sigh. "That man is bosmer through and through, a stubborn bastard."
Oliver snorted. “Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps I misheard,” he said, stroking his hand down her back again. “I haven't exactly been at my best. Now that you are here, we may have more options about where to go next. I don’t think Razum’dar quite trusted leaving me to my own devices for very long, but I would be nothing but a liability in battle.”
She grinned. "You and Razum'dar seem friendlier than I would've thought possible. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were fond of him.”
Oliver scowled, which only made her laugh. “I appreciate his attempts to keep me from doing anything foolish, though I suspect that was for your sake more than my own. Raz is good at what he does, even if he is rather.... exhausting.”
“I learned a lot of my tricks from him,” she said with an upward flick of her eyebrows. “Remember that first night, when I jumped on you from the roof? He used that on me one too many times, and I threatened to slit his throat unless he taught me how.”
He snorted and shook his head. “I believe it. I got the very same greeting a few weeks ago upon my arrival in Shimmerine. I found it less amusing when it was a large smug cat, I assure you.” The image in her mind was hysterical, and it took her several minutes to recover. The offended look on Oliver's face didn't help, but finally she could take a few deep breaths, and she kissed his cheek as an apology.
He shook his head and yawned. “I suppose we should sleep though I would rather spend the rest of the day enjoying your presence.”
Rhys’s eyes grew heavy at the mention of sleep, and she gave him one last kiss before settling her head on his shoulder. "Sleep, my love. I am here by your side. No matter what your dreams and visions show you, I will still be here in the morning."
He closed his eyes as she kissed him, sighing with contentment. “Sleep well, cariad. I won’t be going anywhere either.” Rhys let her muscles relax, and she closed her eyes, the sound of his breathing lulling her easily to sleep. Her dreams were kinder than they had been in a long time.
*********************
There was a spider outside the door, trying to get in, its chitinous feet scraping the wood. Pounding, pounding on the door, any moment it would-. Oliver woke with a gasp. It had only been a dream, and Rhys was still curled against his side. The last candle had blown out, and it was dark.
But then someone did pound on the door. “This one hopes you are done making up and have not killed each other. There is something of a situation outside.”
Rhys groaned at the sound of Razum’dar’s voice and pulled Oliver back down into the bed. "Tell him the only situation we’ll be having is me shoving my foot so deep up his arse that you can see my heel coming out of his mouth,” she murmured. With her arms around him, it was hard to think of any emergency worth getting up for. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.
The pounding continued. "What do you want Raz?! I swear to Y’ffre this better be good!" Rhys called, not as yet making any move to get out bed.
“Raz already knows the danger of waking kitten too early. But there is an army of dreugh on Shimmerine’s doorstep. Both of you will need to help,” Raz said through the door.
“Damn,” Oliver murmured. “Come on, darling. If they ransack the town, we won’t have a bed to laze around in,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. Then he got up and started hunting for his clothes. Rhys spat out a somewhat more vehement string of curses than usual and started to do the same.
A few minutes later, he slung his coat over his shoulders. It seemed like despite his efforts to avoid combat, he would have to deal with it anyway. “I’ll try to keep you covered with wards. The dreugh have shock abilities that we will all have to be careful of.”
"Why the bloody hell are those fuckers back in the game anyway?!" she growled as she tightened the weapon belt around her hips.
“Gods know. There were some problems with the dreugh in Stormhaven, years ago, but I thought that had been sorted.” He reached out to open the door, but she grabbed his wrist, her eyes fierce and pleading.
"Don’t exhaust yourself on my behalf. Please… I can't lose you again.” The fear he saw in her face was one he knew well, the terror of continuing alone in a world that would lack all color and meaning.
He pulled her close, brushing his thumb over her cheek and kissing her soundly. “I’ll be careful,” he said, nodding to the yew staff he'd pulled from behind the wardrobe. “Although I don’t prefer it, I have learned traditional wizardly battle techniques that should keep me out of trouble.”
She nodded and threw open the door. For a moment she glared at Raz like she was actually contemplating punching him, but then she shook her head and smiled. He grinned rather smugly. “This one is glad to see you both in one piece. And fully dressed.” Rhys rolled her eyes, and the khajit chuckled. “Raz would tease more but there are monsters to be killed. Follow this one.”
The sounds of battle grew louder as they made their way to the city gates. Civilians were fleeing in all directions, their eyes wide with fear, and upon seeing this, Rhys grabbed Oliver’s arm, her expression fierce. “You should secure an evacuation route for the people while Raz and I go to help the guards.”
He almost protested, though her tone suggested she would accept no debate. The thought of being parted from her again so soon made him feel sick to his stomach. But she was right. The civilians needed help, and he was the best equipped to give it. And that would keep him out of the thick of battle where he would be most vulnerable. He nodded, his throat tight. “I'll make sure they get out safely.”
“We’ll meet up after the dreugh are gone, I promise,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He breathed her in, one arm tight around her waist, and then she dashed away,
“This way!” he shouted to the fleeing citizens. “Behind me!” They looked toward him, wide-eyed, and in their terror, it only registered that he looked capable and unafraid. No one seem to notice he was a vampire, or if they did, they didn't care.
In a moment, civilians were flooding the alley behind him. He slammed his staff on the ground, conjuring a barrier he learned in Artaeum years ago that slowed the dreugh’s approach. “Now run! Run toward the docks!” There was a side exit of sorts, if you crossed the bridge and jumped over a flower bed, that led up into the hills to the east of the city, and that was the way he led them.
************
The battle was tougher than Rhys expected. She'd forgotten how difficult the dreugh were to kill. Even working in concert with Raz to cut down every enemy in their path, it felt like they were barely making a dent; they just kept coming. But Oliver was waiting for her, and the thought kept her fighting. She was so focused on killing the creature in front of her that she didn't notice the change in the air.
A jolt of lightning sent her flying, and she screamed as all her muscles spasmed and burned. Her body landed on the wet ground with a heavy thud. Pain stabbed through her side, and she groaned. Another rib cracked.
Her vision was blurry as she struggled to her feet. Raz called her name and she turned toward the sound. She couldn’t see him. Everything was chaos, yelling and the angry chittering and clicking feet of the dreugh. White-hot agony exploded in her back, and she couldn’t even scream. She felt cold. A huge claw, grotesque and shining with fresh blood, was sticking out of her belly. She had been… impaled? Her brain couldn't even process it.
Blood pooled in her mouth, and she gagged, her knees buckling. The claw was ripped from her flesh with a sickening squelch. The world was spinning. She thought she could see the stars, but then the horrible alien visage of a dreugh swam into view.
Her last thought was of Oliver. She had broken her promise again. Everything went dark.
**************
As the last family crossed the bridge, he blasted the dreugh that was following them with a lightning bolt and erected a wall of ice to discourage any followers, though most of the dreugh seemed to have retreated to the main group. When he made it to the top of the hill, the citizens were huddled together in fear, but they were safe. One of them had erected a ward, another was bandaging wounds. Oliver wasn’t particularly useful here, and he could hear the sounds of battle at the front gate.
His heart thudded with the thought that even now Rhys could be injured, as unlikely as it might be. “Stay here until someone comes for you. I’ll send the guard when it’s safe,” he said to the group. Some of them nodded, distracted by their own woes. He went back down the hill at a leaping run.
The road around the front gate was littered with bodies, mostly dreugh, but every so often there was an altmer or a khajit scorched by lightning or mutilated by claws. No one he knew, thank the gods. He tried not to think about it,heading in the direction of the sounds of ongoing battle. There were only half a dozen dreugh left, it seemed, and a flash of red caught Oliver’s eye, drawing him forward. A battered looking dreugh reared up in front of him, and he dispatched it with a fire bolt.
The tide of battle seemed to part around him and he saw Rhys gutting one if the creatures with a snarl. But a spell threw her backward with a scream. He started to run. She got to her feet, and then it was like time slowed. A huge dreugh skittered behind her, stabbing a claw right *through* her torso. His insides went cold as he saw her fall and the dreugh cast a spell...
He hit it in the face with the end of his staff and made fire rain down on the battlefield, filled with so much rage and fear that he didn’t even feel how drained he was until the dreugh were gone, and he had sunk to his knees next to Rhys.
The wound was healing, not nearly as fast as he would have, but he could see the blood clotting and hear her heart beating, weak and thready. He reached inside his coat and grabbed at a bottle of blood, downing the potion in one gulp. His time in Artaeum had not been completely absorbed in melancholy. Before he left, he had learned one healing spell for just such a situation, and now he gathered her up and pressed his palm to her chest. His hand bloomed with golden light and the wound started to close. Footsteps approached behind him, and his free hand went to his discarded staff.
“Oliver! Please tell this one she is not...” Raz couldn’t even say the words. Oliver didn’t speak until the wound was closed over, sweeping her hair back from her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, and lifting an eyelid only revealed the white.
“No,” he answered finallly, his voice rough with fatigue and fear. “But something *is* wrong. She should be awake.” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a vision rolled over him.
Rhys was in Coldharbour, hanging between chains made of dark magic. He expected her to be furious, threatening Molag Bal with a fresh beating. But she was just hanging there, lifeless. Part of him was aware of tears running down his face. His mind was racing with plans of how to rescue her and then, the last thing he saw was a symbol, one he had not seen for a century or more.
He came back with a gasp. “She’s in Coldharbour, somehow. Is there a Temple of Azura nearby?”
“There is, near Lilandril, though Raz is not exactly on speaking terms with Daedric cultists. Even the nice ones,” Razum’dar answered warily.
Oliver stood, lifting Rhys in his arms. “I can handle that. They owe me a favor.”
The priests of Azura were wary of letting a vampire close, of course. But he begged to only be allowed inside the sanctuary to speak to their lady, and perhaps they were moved by the sight of Rhys unconscious in his arms. The sigil of the Psijic Order helped too, even if he was only a candidate for entry. He carried Rhys into the cathedral, refusing all offers of help. There was no way he was letting go of her unless he had to in order to rescue her.
He knelt in front of the statue, at least ten feet tall with eyes of crystal, but before he could even open his mouth, the eyes blazed with light.
“What business has a vampire in the temple of Azura?” spoke the Daedric Prince, her voice powerful and weirdly echoing.
“My name is Oliver Davies-Thorne. I have aided you in the past, and now I seek a boon in return,” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t lose Rhys again, not now.
“The flavor of your spirit is familiar. Yes. You assisted the priests of Pariah Abbey many mortal years ago, on behalf of your King,” Azura said. “And now, your lover has been taken by Molag Bal, her spirit shattered. You wish my aid in returning her to herself.”
“I know that you are sometimes allied with Molag Bal, but I have Seen your symbol in vision. I believe only you will be able to help me.”
“Molag Bal and I have not been on civil terms since the Soulburst,” Azura replied tersely. “I should still be able to get you past the bulk of his protections, but you will have to find the fragments of her soul on your own.”
Oliver swallowed. Traveling in Coldharbour alone, especially in his current less than ideal physical state, was not his idea of a good time. But he would leave it to no one else. Even if he trusted Razum’dar more than he used to, recovering Rhys’s soul was too important, too delicate. “I will do it. What can I bring inside? Anything? Nothing?”
“Only your spirit will go. My priests will watch over you, this I promise. And you may be pleased to know that the visions will not trouble you in Coldharbour. Your sight comes from the Aedra, and their presence is not welcome near the Lord of Domination without great effort.”
That was one less thing to worry about. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “I am ready to start as soon as possible.”
He informed Razum’dar of the situation as quickly as he could while a group of priestesses prepared a chamber for the ritual. “Are you sure these priests can be trusted, my friend? Could we not return to your friends in Artaeum, or contact the Mages’ Guild?”
“I don’t know anyone from the Guild here well enough,” Oliver replied, shaking his head. “We would have no reason to trust each other. And I don’t want to take the chance that moving her body between realms will disrupt the connection with her spirit. That was how I was nearly lost, and it was a journey that I have made many times before.”
Razum’dar grimaced, worry clouding his eyes. “This one does not have any connections that can aid her. Not on such short notice. If you are certain, then this one will return to Shimmerene. The people will need help cleaning up that mess, and the Queen will need to be informed.”
Oliver nodded. “This isn’t ideal, but it’s the best plan I can imagine, at present. It may take days. You should make sure the civilians have returned safely. I won’t leave here until Rhys has recovered.”
Less than an hour later, he laid Rhys in the center of a ritual circle, runes of protection and preservation drawn in her skin with his own hand. Her body would be kept in stasis until her soul was restored. It was the only thing he could be sure of. He kissed her brow lightly, and then there was nothing left to do but lay himself in the slightly different circle on the the other side of the room.
It felt strange to submit to such a ritual willingly, but he trusted Azura to keep her word. This was his best chance to bring Rhys back, even if it was not much of a chance. “I am ready,” he said to the priestess standing at his elbow. They began to chant, and he glanced once more at Rhys’s still form before closing his eyes.