It wasn't long before they hit a roadblock. He was working with her to string together simple sentences with the words she'd already mastered when she threw the sword in frustration. She could write the words just fine. Could recite them to him when she wrote them. But she couldn't wrap her head around reading the words to him if he wrote them for her but didn't tell her what they said.

He thought about it. Considered what had worked, and what hadn't so far. It had become clear to him that she needed to learn differently from anyone he had ever worked with before, and his unconventional methods had worked.

But now, he didn't know what to do.

He'd been working on shrinking her writing implement down from a sword to a small dagger, because it was smaller to carry, but also because it was closer to the size of a quill and ink.

He'd tried that, briefly. Tried setting the letters down in the dirt, then in ink and she couldn't make sense of them either way. She had trouble with her own writing when it was in ink. Had trouble keeping the line steady, of an even enough thickness that the words made sense later.

They'd finally settled on using charcoal on stone. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

The next night, Vilkas tried again. Dagny traced the letters with her finger, her lips moving as she said them out loud. The charcoal darkened her fingertips, and smudged away.

She sighed, and ran her hand over her face. Trails of gray marred her skin.

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was just his desire to touch her that inspired him to trace the letters on her skin. He caught her hand, and exposed her inner wrist. There, on the delicate skin, he wrote the message he was trying to get to her. She spoke the letters as he wrote them.

"V-I-L-K-A-S-L-O-V-E-S-D-A-G-N-Y" She frowned. Her brows knit together. She caught his arm and traced it on him the same way.

He suppressed a shiver.

It didn't matter what the intent behind her touch was, didn't matter whether her feelings for him were the same as his for her. Her touch left a trail of heat.

Their eyes met, and he had an overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss her.

But he didn't.

Instead he waited, his heart pounding, his stomach clenching. He wanted her to understand. He needed her to understand. He waited for a sign of comprehension. He barely dared to breathe as she stared at him, the frown still marring her features.

She wrote it one more time. Slower.

He wanted to tell her. Wanted to scream it to the heavens. But he didn't. Instead he waited in silence. In his head he prayed to his ancestors. To the gods. To anyone who might listen and feel even the slightest inclination to help him.

Her lips twisted. She traced the letters once more.

Her lips moved silently as she spelled it to herself.

"Vilkas loves Dagny?" She said, doubtful. Her voice shook.

Mutely, he nodded. There were too many emotions for him to bear right now. He wanted to hold her. Wanted to kiss her. To tell her that he had been waiting for this day for months now. But he couldn't.

Her face was still as her fingers began moving upon his arm once more.

"D-A-G-N-Y-L-O-V-E-S-V-I-L-K-A-S"

She smiled.

That was when he gave into the urge he'd been fighting for so long. He kissed her with all the pent-up passion he had been carrying for her. With all the need and desperation and impatience he had felt for so long.

And she kissed him back.

She kissed him back.

Their lessons were forgotten as he lost himself in her.