tw//PTSD, violence mentions
Ever since Athis had been wounded in that fight with the Silver Hand at Jorrvaskr, he hadn't quite been the same. He denied it, but it was clear. He'd been stabbed clean through the stomach. Somehow the sword hadn't pierced any vital organs and he'd healed completely, save for a pair of identical two inch scars on his abdomen and his back. But it wasn't just the flesh wounds. No, it was more than that.
The silver hand he was fighting had a sword enchanted with frost. When it pierced Athis, it wasn't just a blade he felt, but a cold that seeped deep into his bones. A cold that reached all the way to his fingertips, all the way to his toes. After he fell, he had laid twitching on the ground, bleeding out and filled with a deep, freezing ice.
Athis was a dark elf, native to Morrowind. It was much warmer there, much more humid. Though he'd never complained before, he always hated the chilly, dry, Skyrim weather. But after that injury, it was worse, so much worse. Athis had always been a stellar warrior, but now he was... well he was very good, but he wasn't exactly that special anymore. He could still take on any of the city guard, and any rogue bandit, but I couldn't imagine him trying to fighting the Silver Hand again.
Nowadays, he was... twitchy. Always on alert, even when he was safe. Always with a hand on his sword, even when he slept. He shivered, too, and whenever I brushed against his dark skin by accident, it tended to be tepid, rather than warm like most other dark elves who had the warm blood of Morrowind. It seemed the magic from that sword had changed something deep inside him, and both physically and mentally.
On occasion I found him staring off into the distance for minutes at a time. When he did this, his breathing got a bit quicker, and his fists would clench into tight balls. At the end of the experience he would shiver and mutter something to himself, before rubbing his face and going into another room.
He was like this when I found him one night at Jorrvaskr. I'd come back from a mission late, at at least 2 AM. My plan was to grab a bite to eat and then stumble into bed, but when I noticed Athis sitting on one of the benches and staring off into the distance, I felt compelled by empathy to think about him rather than my own wants.
"Athis," I said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. I didn't exactly know what was going on in his head, but I knew it couldn't be good, and I didn't want to startle him. It took him a moment, but soon he glanced me and shook his head, rubbing his face. Like always.
"I didn't think I'd be seeing anyone else here at this hour," Athis said. I sat down next to him and smiled.
"Sorry," I said. "Did you want to be alone?"
Athis sighed. "I don't really know, to be honest."
"Oh... I'll stay, then," I insisted, and Athis did not complain.
My eyes were starting to droop, but I tried to fight the sleep. Athis was more important than sleep. I'd slept enough throughout my life. I could wait a while before I did it again. But still, my eyelids felt like weights, and I closed my eyes, just for a second. My thoughts began to wander, and soon I didn't remember the fact that I was with Athis at all—just the comforting blackness of the back of my eyelids...
I heard a voice say my name and I started, looking up and seeing Athis staring at me with a half smile.
"I assumed there was a reason you were laying your head on my shoulder," he chuckled, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, realizing that my head had indeed fallen on his shoulder. I sat upright.
"Sorry," I mumbled, cursing myself for letting my eyes close.
"Don't apologize," he said kindly. "You go to bed... I can't sleep myself, but you should if you can."
