Battle Brand
(A/N): IT'S HAPPENING.
The last time I posted a chapter for the ongoing TES story was July 2015, a year and a half ago. I've had the entire plot line sorted out since time immemorial, but with university taking its toll alongside me getting into games like Final Fantasy and Dark Souls, I've been struggling to dedicate time to the classic series that no one reads!
It's annoying actually, but I've been beating myself over potentially not writing this story since it's meant to be the finale to an entire character arc – a proper look into the history between Stradlater and Silent-He-Wonders, and some clear revelations at long last! While there's plenty of new characters and plot lines that future stories would introduce (And I still want to write), I would at least be satisfied with finishing TES here!
Let's stop making excuses and get to it. Time for a little bit of spelunking into the totally heterosexual origins of the bond between an ugly inhuman looking thing – and an Argonian!
WARNING: Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, intentional awkwardness, bad jokes, me trying to write about a complex psychological relationship despite having the brain capacity of a pea pod, rusty writing, some unintentional homoerotic connotations and a write up from a single 8 hour session!
Chapter One: That Time of the Month
"Your actions as of last night have earned you several new nicknames."
The Argonian huffed in expertly restrained shame, rubbing at the soft underside of his snout to calm himself down. He would've screamed out loud like a lost child on the market street, maybe kicked a few things and spouted a couple of racial slurs if only he was alone – but unfortunately he was stuck in a small, low roofed room with a large, sweaty man. "… It's a start." he smiled, suddenly looking like a carer for the special kids. "How many?"
Mr. Large, Sweaty Man – a Redguard, not that it mattered – folded his arms. "Twelve."
He winced, yet to onlookers it probably looked more like the nervous twitch of a knife wielding psychopath itching for tribute. "Any of note?"
"Not really." the Redguard added, shuffling a lazy one-eighty and beginning to fiddle with something out of sight. Rest assured, when a big greasy warrior type turns his back to you in a secluded bedroom at the dead of night and begins to clumsily man-handle something, it tends to make the bottom clench. "Just twelve different spins on the words 'wanker' and 'git'."
Making a face like there was a strange smell in the room and he knew it wasn't him, the Argonian shook his head and made his own oh-ninety. Unlike the soldier he shared this room with he wasn't the secretive type – the world would know that Silent-He-Wonders, self-proclaimed philosopher and qualified cynic, was taking time out of his day to fork through the shelves of a cupboard like an addict a week away from payday.
"Don't give me that sort of look" the fiddler struggled to glance over his massive shoulder, the bulk of it barely concealing a smug smirk. "Look on the bright side. At least they recognise you now."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Wonders sighed, faintly seeing the mists of his breath in the cold of the cabinet.
"If you mean laughing at how you got blind drunk, got in a fight with a pair of mercs in themed costumes, puked out all of your innards and got in a love affair between a wall and the floor over the course of a single evening, then yes" he unravelled his headscarf, ruffling his ashen hair with the flat of his palm. "I suppose I am."
By the Hist, he hated it when the Redguard was enjoying himself – especially at his expense. There was something about the smug look that a human face naturally had that ticked him off, and with his acquaintance it magnified exponentially the longer it went on. It was frustrating to say the least, and to top it off these smug phases would often last as long as Wonders did in bed.
Decades, in other words.
Stradlater's smirk shrunk into a frown in mere moments, much to the Argonian's chagrin. With reluctance he grabbed at the hem of his vest, suddenly looking like an eighteen year old girl reaching fourth base – albeit if she was muscular, stubbled, versed in swordplay, and had a voice that could worry earthquake hotspots.
"It's that time of the month again." Stradlater sighed, certainly not helping that metaphor as he struggled to escape from the confines of the tight cotton. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him sometimes. It was like watching a cat with biceps getting stuck in a slipper – you wanted to help, but at the same time it was funnier to just sit back and watch.
The Argonian nodded, resigned to his fate. Losing his arm around a corner or two he found purchase on what he was after, balancing on the tip of his toes as he delicately navigated his way back through the gauntlet of shelves with spoils in tow. He tried to toss it in the air and snatch it all stylish like, but barely managed to catch it in a flurry of hands, elbows and whispered curses.
"Is the door locked?" the Yokudan huffed, flexing his bare shoulders. "Are the curtains closed? No one's in earshot, right?"
"Yes." Wonders tried again against his own advice, throwing and successfully catching the jar he'd gotten the cupboard. "Yes." he paced forward, continuing to answer. "No, I rounded up some patrons to watch and point fingers."
That comment earned him a judging look, the Redguard rolling up his vest and tossing it onto the rapidly building pile of clothing on the poorly treated floorboards. He slowly sat himself down on the side of his bed, the flimsy frame creaking with the strain of his weight. "Make sure it's locked, this isn't an open showing."
Theatrically prancing to the door he tugged at the handle, being met by stiff resistance as expected. Wonders leant against it smugly, pointing at it with his thumb with an expression best described as "incredibly dickish".
Stradlater didn't even spare a glance. "It's a push."
With comical timing the door flew open, throwing the magician flat onto his back in the empty corridor of the Bannered Mare's top floor. For being such a popular tavern and inn in the busiest hold of all of Skyrim, the building was often sparsely populated at night. Save for the muffled voices of the owners downstairs and the odd snore or clink of drinks, the mewl of the dying hearthfire was the only sound that could be heard.
Well, that and the dramatic flopping and flailing of a beached Argonian.
His point made, Wonders crawled flat on his belly back through the doorway, counting the splinters he got on his way. "By the Hist, is there anything else?" he pulled out the key from one of many non-descript pouches on his belt, stumbling to his feet and roughly locking the door. Practically body slamming it to make sure it was sealed, he turned and mirrored Stradlater's look of mild disinterest. "Should I warm you some milk, maybe light some scented candles? I could pull out a harp and play something to set the mood if it pleases you."
"… Some milk would be nice act-"
Wonders held up a claw, "I hate you less when you're not talking, Redguard."
The Redguard nodded, eager to get to the point. "Go on then." he muttered lowly, fidgeting on the spot. "Let's get this over with."
Stradlater stared at the wall with an expression as blank as his fashion sense, doing his best to tune out and ignore what was about to happen. The bed frame howled in protest and alarm as the Argonian clambered atop it, grabbing the warrior's shoulders to keep his balance.
It was "that time of the month" again, and this was the procedure they often had to struggle through. Stradlater's scorched and scarred skin was a constant source of irritation for them both, the rough and almost patch-work like flesh often flaring with discomfort and pain. It was a complication that had come up the day that he was branded – it needed to be treated to stop any sort of corruption or infection from taking root.
Unfortunately the only way to sort this out was through alchemical ointments, which meant that it was the task of Silent-He-Wonders to essentially grease the large Redguard up. You'd think that the homoerotic connotations of rubbing a shirtless man with lubricant would die down after three years – they were adults after all – but it just got worse and worse.
Now there were two approaches that you could take to this sort of scenario. The mature option would be Stradlater's method, which was to deal with the awkwardness of the situation by simply avoiding conversation and staying silent. In direct contrast the less-than-mature option would be to take the opposite approach and constantly say what's on your mind, which was the approach the the Argonian magician often took.
They were a match made in heaven.
Or Sovngarde, or whatever the afterlife was these days. It was hard to keep track.
"It's funny." Wonders said.
The Redguard grunted. It probably meant "hmm?", so he continued.
"Not too long ago you probably wanted to get lubed up by an Argonian in this tavern, Redguard."
This really wasn't the best time.
Wonders was thinking about their first encounter with Soft-Her-Scales, the busty Argonian barmaid of the Bannered Mare who they'd both had a bit of a fuss over quite some time ago. He was beginning to wonder if it would be easier to stomach this whole body massage business if he pretended he was oiling her up instead.
He quickly realised that doing that would involve imagining the Redguard with a pair of stonking great breasts, and despite his bravery that was a level of horror even he wasn't prepared to handle.
"You know, no one would hear you scream up here and I have access to several sharp things in the immediate vicinity." Stradlater responded, looking back at the Argonian with his blind, milky-white eye. That was another complication from that fateful day – he'd have to check on it in a bit too. "Just a friendly reminder."
"Didn't want to hear 'no one would hear you scream' from a half naked man covered in lubricant in the dead of night with a voice like a casanova after downing a pub's worth of wine and pipe weed." Wonders crooked his neck awkwardly, the height difference between the two rapidly getting him sore. He was beginning to feel a bit stiff in his legs and spine – and nowhere else, honest. "Pretty sure my mother told me to avoid those types."
Sighing, Stradlater shook his head. "Just look at me, stuck in the backend of a bar with a reptile that still sucks his thumb in bed, a thousand miles from home with my shirt off as he rubs my back with ointment." he grumbled, shuddering slightly as a drop of the ointment snaked down his spine. Just like the best medicine tasting bad, the slimy stuff gave his skin a dull sting – but that sensation subsided in time, and it kept the rot under control. Frankly, it was practically embalming fluid in all but name. "Don't get me wrong, but ask me about my future three years ago and I'd have a slightly different idea for where I'd be."
Wonders mindlessly kneaded the skin of the Redguard's lower back, only to suddenly come to a halt. He squinted in thought; the textbook scholarly expression. "… Wouldn't you be in the ocean if you went a thousand miles from Sentinel?"
"It's rounded up." he muttered, the waters of wit drier than his skin, which in retrospect was pretty wet at the moment what with the current course of events, so that metaphor was worth ignoring. He felt a jab dangerously close to uncharted territory. "… Did you just pinch me?"
To be honest his claws were in desperate need of trimming, and he'd been meaning to get around to it. He pulled out some sarcasm from his quiver as he often did, "I felt a bit playful." he sighed dreamily, "Isn't this romantic?"
"Don't say that, I'm shirtless and you're rubbing me with ointment!"
Wonders blinked, his fingers feeling awkward. "Okay, I'll admit." he admitted, as you'd probably infer. "That was a little bit gay, even for me."
"Admitting it is the first part." Stradlater snarked back at him, his head hanging loose. Soon enough he felt the faintest of pressure on his back, like a goat was trying to knock him over in a fit of rage – a goat without legs. "… Are you trying to push me now?"
Flushing with exertion and effort, the magician pulled back and then threw himself at the bulky mass of muscle, bone and smugness once again. He let out a squeak as he fruitlessly pushed, trying to nudge the Yokudan forward a bit so he could reach his neck a tad easier. Forfeiting manliness points, he barely managed to save himself from saying "bend over", "Are you going to help me here or what?" he gasped like an aquatic reptilian out of water, which in some ways he was. "You're about as useful as a fat cat in a burglary."
Puffing and huffing, he obliged and hunched his shoulders as if he was prepping to give the lizard a piggyback in the spur of the moment. "I can't believe I'm being lectured by a man who is physically incapable of using straws."
That was a step too far in Wonders' opinion, insulting his very honour to the core. He slapped the man's back lightly, leaving a faint hand-shaped mark through the film of ointment and goop. "Oi." he growled, leaning close in a way that was supposed to be threatening. "I can blow bubbles."
Excellent.
Top notch.
The conversation sort of dried up at that point, the featureless room combined with the whole lubing thing being enough to limit the choice of topics. They could go into more detail about the alcoholic escapades of the Argonian the night before, but that would probably be better to exploit in a more social scenario for maximum blackmailing potential.
Stradlater was shivering again, the winter's bite combined with the ointment having its impact on a man whose constitution was built for warmer and drier climates. He was certainly gonna feel all gunky for the rest of the night, his charred skin reluctant to take it all in. Having your body refuse to absorb what it needs was quite the nuisance to say the least, and it forced the scaly nurse on duty to gradually work the ointments in manually. Wonders' hands were getting sore to say the least, his poorly manicured yet discomfortingly girly hands not being cut out for this sort of rough work.
"Remember that time when I ran in screaming with the flame cloak?" he quipped, hoping to get something started. "You thought I was on fire?"
"That was funny the first ten times. The eleventh?" the Redguard muttered dryly, his charisma drained from his meeting with Gath gro-Ushar and his wife the night before. "Not so much." he was content with the silence to be honest, and he couldn't help but shut topics down even though they would help keep Wonders comfortable. He'd have to apologise about that at some point.
This was starting to get a bit painful for the Argonian's brain, the sheer monotony of the task at hand taking its toll on a mind suited for finer things. It was a shame really, but he was the only person in the whole of Tamriel who'd actually be able to do this. He could take the sight of Stradlater's shrivelled flesh with only a mild sense of nausea – he couldn't turn any more green after all.
It was disheartening how the patterns of his skin changed, transitioning from parts that weren't scarred to corrupted and ashen portions. In some ways it almost reminded him of some of the more exotic palettes you'd find in the natives of Black Marsh. You'd go from the light chocolate brown of his untarnished tissue, through a mix of dull grey and brown sores, to flaky and pitch black impurities as dark as the finest ebony.
It was most visible along the ribs.
Black, grey, brown. Brown, grey, black.
Sort of like a half-cooked jacket potato.
He hated any food that came from the earth, but potatoes had always been on the top of his list. They came from the Deadly Nightshade family of plants you know, which was a bit of trivia that could do you wonders in a bar quiz. Who'd willingly eat something with "Deadly" and "Nightshade" in the name? That'd be like trusting an Altmeri necromancer called "Backstabbio".
Sometimes he wondered where his aversion to vegetables came from, what with his being an Argonian and all that. He was pretty sure that the whole Hist thing preached being one with nature and hugging trees and mangroves or something like that, although to be fair if that meant less meat and more celery he'd renounce the faith faster than you could say "You start running so I can stab you in the back".
Not that he was the most pious Saxhleel around.
He couldn't help it – his sex appeal was a sin.
"Don't do that." a gravelly voice said.
Wonders was roughly jogged out of his thoughts, returning to his work as if nothing had happened. "Do what?"
"That." Stradlater stressed, as if he was trying to point with his voice alone.
He was talking in circles, Wonders thought. "What?"
"That, hum." The Redguard specified "It's distracting me."
Had he been humming? He did one of those dry laughs that sound more like you've just been punched in the gut, "Distracting you from what, twiddling your thumbs? Molting?"
After a moment of reflection the nomad couldn't help but ask. "Do Argonians molt?" he quizzed. There was an awkward pause with an embarrassed air about it, as if he'd just asked a very private and personal question. The Redguard sighed for what must've been the eleventh time that evening. "Just stop it."
"Okay, okay." the masseuse relented, continuing his morbid massage. Soon enough he began to whistle, which was quite the accomplishment what with his lack of lips or cheeks.
"What did I just say?" Stradlater fumed, rocking on his numb backside.
"You said to stop humming." the mage pointed out, his brow furrowed. "What, I can't whistle either?"
"Yes." Stradlater revealed, declaring his ultimatum. "Don't hum, don't whistle, don't make any noise."
Wonders flexed his fingers, licking his teeth. "Fine, will do."
The diplomatic agreement between them lasted a few minutes, yet surprisingly it was the bloke who made it that broke it. The Redguard looked back, either the bed or his bones creaking. "… Are you okay, Argonian?"
He puffed irritably, rubbing his snout like a human would rub his temples. "Right, so just to clarify here you don't want me to make noise or be quiet." Wonders complained, eager to smash the democratic system and its hypocritical law systems. "What do you want from me?"
Neither of them wanted to do this. Both of them wanted it to end. Stradlater turned back, his elbows on his knees. "Just… Get this over with, will you?"
The kneeling position that Wonders had settled on must've taken its toll, his numb legs refusing to listen to his orders. "… I've gone limp." he mumbled to himself.
"You should see a cleric about that, he'll give you some pills."
"Make yourself useful and turn around." Wonders patted his shoulder, splattering it with a generous amount of congealed slime that had glued to his hand like a stray booger. Muttering something to himself that probably involved a few rude words, Stradlater took Wonders' place and knelt atop the bed frame. Of course this meant that the short and bony magician had to get on his feet to compensate, his legs feeling like half done jelly that'd been chewed on and spat out by a tot.
None of this effort would make his scars better. If anything it would just make it a little less worse, helping him cope with the aggravation of constant aches and pains. He'd been the peak of physical fitness in the old days, well-versed with sword and board and with both the speed and strength needed to exploit the talent to its fullest potential. Stradlater had tried his damndest to adapt, but no amount of training or rehabilitation could return him to his former glory – he was slower, weaker, and had nowhere near the flexibility that a swordsman would have liked.
It was no surprise when Wonders returned to humming, yet so deep in thought the Redguard heard little more than a faint buzz through the haze. For some strange reason he found himself thinking about Gath gro-Ushar and Soft-Her-Scales once more, his conversations with the two the night before having helped him reflect on his own experiences. He hoped that their talks had helped them settle their problems, and that the future was a little brighter for the pair.
Faelindra was the next character that popped up in his mind's eye, no doubt recovering from a brutal hangover after a night of drinking. What was she up to now? What was on her mind? By Oblivion, what had she and Wonders even talked about during their little binge?
Part of him wanted to speak to her alone at some point. There was something he wanted to speak to her about concerning their past and present, but for some strange reason he couldn't quite put his finger on what. Maybe he'd work it all out when he got there? He'd gotten some confidence from helping the Orc and Argonian couple of the Blueview with their personal problems, so maybe he had the knowhow to sort out the bad blood between him and the Bosmeri Housecarl?
Just how much did their time together eat at her?
He had nothing to lose.
Looking Wonders in the eyes as he rubbed oil across his chest was a bit too homoerotic for his pallet, so he stared at the ceiling. Conveniently this helped Wonders with his job, giving him a better angle to work from. Stradlater had a question on his tongue that he didn't quite understand the purpose of, yet he let it loose regardless. "Ever heard the phrase 'live every day like it was your last', Argonian?"
"If I lived every day like it was my last this city would be out of butter and virgins within a week." he said instantaneously, almost as if it was a reflexive response. "They'd never catch me. But yes, of course. Obviously. What sort of question is that?"
It was a fair retort, to which the warrior had neither a quip nor a regular answer to fight back with. He wasn't too sure what he was on about to be honest. He felt as if he had questions that needed answering, yet had no clue what the questions were to begin with. Was he brooding or something? He hadn't even realised, it sort of just slipped out.
He was starting to sound like a mopey teenager again.
Like he did back then, in the Temple, on a rainy day.
"Thanks for the idle conversation, Redguard. Really." Wonders sneered irritably, feeling increasingly out of place like a spider in a bath. He needed a wall to bounce off of to pass the time, and Stradlater was doing poorly enough to make an actual wall a better alternative. He clicked his tongue, which sounded much grander with a tongue as long as his. "Appreciate the effort."
No response.
Not for a long while.
The wanderer suddenly replied, saying "I'm sorry."
It always came back to apologies.
Closing the door and locking yourself in won't solve anything.
The magician didn't look up from his work, analysing the puzzle that was the tone of the Redguard's scorched skin. It was a two to one ratio of marked flesh to virgin – more than half of him had been consumed by the flames. Nords tend to say that scars on the outside leave the inside unharmed or even emboldened – what a complete load of bollocks from a nation of thick headed arse wipes, to put it gently. "I know how it is."
His self-pity flared up once again. No matter how hard he tried, he could never escape the facts entirely. How could anyone move on from something like that, when they bore reminders of it on both their bodies and souls? "I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that." Wonders growled, the puzzle before him forever baffling – grey, brown, black. Brown, black, grey. "Listen, the only times we have to apologise in this acquaintanceship is when you intentionally punch me, and that's only happened once or twice in the past three years so it's okay."
"Acquaintanceship?" Stradlater blinked, "Is that even a word?"
"It is now." the magician declared. "It's in my dictionary. The Wonders Dictionary, written by Silent-He-Wonders for Argonians only. It's wonderful."
The Redguard was still cold, but he was too deep in self-pity to be bothered by it. His shoulders heaved, his lungs heavy with remorse. "… I said a lot of things I didn't mean back then."
"You've told me this before. You had your reasons." he ignored the puzzle for the moment, convinced that it couldn't be solved on the spot. Another handful of ointment, and he was back to work - like a barber talking about the local happenings. "We had all of our emotional feely stuff back then, and that's enough. It's done now. It's buried." Wonders added an addendum of empty bravado, "I have a reputation to maintain here, Redguard."
Brown, grey, black.
Grey, grey, grey.
The no-man's-land of silence was pushed through head-on, as Stradlater reflected on the day. "It was Hjaalmarch, wasn't it? Early winter?"
The Argonian's nostril twitched in response. The past can change people, no matter who they are. Perhaps it was good to remember our roots from time to time, even if it hurt?
Of course it was.
Hadn't he learnt anything from last night's binging?
"It's easier to fail with someone else to share the weight."
"South Morthal, in the marsh and tree lines. Last Fredas of summer, grey skies." he corrected, grabbing his acquaintance's screwed up vest and drying his hands with it much to the Redguard's chagrin. He still had both of his eyes – of course he remembered the details. "My robe was blue."
"South Morthal. That's where it happened?"
Wonders growled lowly. It almost sounded like an animalistic purr, his eyes dimming as if he was looking within himself for the answers to all his ills.
Maybe that was a smidgen too dramatic?
"That's where it happened."
Where he earned his battle brand.
X
(A/N): Hamfisted is what this is!
It's very peculiar writing for TES again in general, and it doesn't help that my last fic was five months ago on top of that! While I feel I got the general point across, it was rather sloppily handled in an attempt to compensate for how poorly communicated it was in the past. On top of that this chapter's sort of a build up to the main event, so not much actually happened beyond the set up.
Let's hope this is worth it. The next two chapters are fundamental to character building and plot in my head, with a two part flashback to three years in the past! I hope for the love of god I can pull it off in earnest!
… And that skin puzzle metaphor was totally subtle wasn't it? Brown for when he was unscarred and innocent, black for his darkness and the angst he's fighting, and grey for where he tries to straddle? much subtle, wow.