Frozen Hearts: Skyrim Oneshots

Organic

Heartbeats. Like pounding drums. The music of life, the symphony of emotion, the caress of warmth. His heart thumped in his chest as he worked, metal clanking out of rhythm. Sweat dripped down his brow as he screwed another panel into place. The fires of the forge beside him cast an orange glow over him as he worked, warming him despite the thick flakes of snow falling around him. He pounded another plate into shape with a hammer, then screwed it in place. The dwarven centurion he was building was slowly taking shape. He had always been good at building dwemer contraptions, as he was dwemer himself. His weakness was with organic beings. Socialization, understanding others, things like that? He had never fully grasped it. Being raised underground, primarily alone, would do that. This centurion was an addition to help guard Whiterun, requested by the Jarl. The Companions had relayed this request to Anchalen, who was more than happy to oblige. Vilkas watched as Anchalen worked. His dark hair was neat, his icy blue eyes focused. He was always an intelligent one, determined to see if he could pick up on any of the methods Anchalen was using. He watched as the Centurion stood, as Anchalen poured dwarven oil into, placed a core within it, and got it functioning. He handed it a note and it went to Dragonsreach when commanded in the dwemer language. Anchalen dropped his gloves on the stone table and tilted his head back, sighing heavily. Aela had been yelling at him for months to tell Vilkas how he felt, but feelings were complicated. He could fix just about any mechanism, he could build just about any contraption, but he could not comprehend emotion nearly as well as most others. It simply wasn't something that he familiar with. Vilkas stood, walking over to him and offering him some ale. Shaking his head, Anchalen politely refused. His heart was racing. It felt as if it was going to burst from his chest, although he knew that wasn't the case. His face felt flushed and his hands were shaking. The nord looked confused if not a bit concerned. He placed a hand on the dwemer's shoulder, then turned to go back inside. Anchalen grabbed him by the wrist, Vilkas turning around and raising an eyebrow at this strange behavior. He couldn't bring himself to say it, he didn't know how to say, he didn't know if he was even capable of saying it. The nord simply stared, growing more confused by the moment. Anchalen stepped back at first, then sighed. Quickly and without warning, he pulled Vilkas close and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Both of their faces flushed red, the nord utterly dumbfounded. He had always felt a strong connection to Anchalen but never would have thought it was mutual. Vilkas wrapped his arms around the dwemer and pulled him closer to him, not wanting to let go. It had seemed like this would never happen, as if it was a dream. Perhaps there was something in his ale? He couldn't be sure, but if there was, he didn't care. This moment was worth it, even if it was just a dream. The two walked back inside, hand in hand. Anchalen finally understood why it was so difficult for his to admit his feelings. He was afraid of losing Vilkas. In the background, Aela smirked.