1.1

So this is how it feels like to be a rabbit, thought Sifina as she leaned against another tree.

It didn't feel nice. She almost empathized with her usual quarry. But she was a reasonable hunter, who used her arrows quietly and efficiently. Her prey would die swiftly. She was merciful.

But not these men. Bandits, the lot of them. She could hear them murmuring in the woods, giving orders and keeping track of each other. They combed every tree, watched every corner. They were pressuring her into making mistakes. It worked, too—behind her was a trail of broken twigs and parted flora, pressed grass and turned pebbles, all leading up to the tree she rested upon. But these mistakes weren't ones they could capitalize on; these men were, after all, ignorant to the way of the hunt. They didn't share intimacy with nature. They weren't hunters like her, and that was keeping her alive.

But not for long. They were ignorant of the way of the hunt, but not entirely incompetent. Their methods were slow but thorough. She wouldn't be able to hide from them, so she had to keep moving even if the burning discomfort in her ankle protested.

They were like a pack of wolves pursuing a wounded deer.

With some difficulty and quiet swearing, she made her way over root and stone to the closest haven she could reach: the watchtower.

It was hardly an ideal place to hide. It was too open with too few defenders. No doubt the bandits had eyes trained on the place. Still, it remained the only location she was sure to find some protection at. She knew the men there. They were good people.

Sifina kept her eyes on any possible ambushes as she crawled over the last hill and skirted near the treeline. The ruined tower looked as if a giant had taken half the structure; the roof had collapsed long ago, and a quarter of the wall had fallen to expose the quarters inside. Though it stood in disrepair, the tower was a beacon of hope only a short walk away. Even with her sprained ankle she could make it.

She weighed the risk of danger by exposing herself to the assistance she would get by finding shelter within the tower. She bit her lip. The correct choice was obvious. She limped as quickly as she could from the trees, her hunting bow and quiver hanging off her shoulder. The burning in her ankle made it harder to walk, and yet she didn't stop even as she caught sight of a shadow moving by the braizers burning near the mouth of the entrance. She recognized the blue leather uniform. With unspeakable relief she increased her pace, driven by fear and paranoia bubbling in her stomach.

But as she neared, Sifina noticed something wrong.

There were five guards dressed in scale armor draped with the Hold's colors. One was speaking to a traveler with a horse. The rest stood at the entrance, eyes on the trees.

Her eyes drank in details. She could tell the guards were strange even with the fire from the braziers casting shadows over their faces. The shapes of their bodies were wrong. The way they held their weapons were different than usual. There was no one looking down from the ruined walls, nor could she see anyone on break inside. And then there was the smell of blood.

One of the other guards noticed her. "You there!" he shouted. His voice was unfamiliar. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? Get over here!"

Sifina took a step back. Her hand drifted towards her bow.

Her eyes darted. The trees were empty, but she could see signs of disturbance. It was a trap.

Her bow moved with practiced ease even as she began backing away. An arrow from her quiver flew into the throat of one of the guards, and he fell with a wet gurgle.

Sensing that their cover was blown, the others picked up their weapons and charged.

Another arrow flew, this one only piercing the forearm of its target.

Sifina notched a third arrow, only to fumble it as one of the guards tackled her. She rolled on the ground, her arrows spilling from her quiver. Strong arms dragged her upward for a moment, and she struggled, punching and kicking before a sharp kick planted itself into her ribs. She was lithe, built for the speed and grace she prided herself in. The kick winded her easily.

She saw a bandit in a guard's uniform raise his axe from the corner of her eye.

A bestial cry sounded from behind her. The arms holding her up let go and a violent force threw her onto the road. She recovered quickly and scrambled for her hunting bow.

"Praise the Eight," she muttered as she readied an arrow.

The traveler—a large orc in leathers—was fighting the disguised bandits with a battleaxe. One bandit was most assuredly dead, with his head rolling from his fallen body. A second, the one her previous arrow injured, was running away. He fell when another arrow found its way into his back.

The orc had no trouble in dispatching the remaining two. The butt of orc's axe checked across the jaw of one, sending the bandit reeling. The other imposter found a pummel shoved into his gut, and, with the same smooth motion, the edge of the orc's axe dug deep into his side. Dropping the axe, the orc pulled a dagger from his belt, threw the final bandit on the ground with brutish strength, and stabbed once. When the orc stood, Sifina cautiously trained her arrow on him.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Stay back. I'll shoot."

"I'm a traveler," the orc said, showing his empty hands. His arms were as thick as young trees. They could break her neck like a twig. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't shoot."

"Th-they weren't guards, you know."

"I could tell by the smell."

"Then what were you doing with them?"

"Trying to not give them a reason to attack me."

Sifina lowered her bow a little. "My ankle is injured. Can you help me to Falkreath?"

The orc studied her, as if deciding she was worth the trouble, before grunting in consent. "Fine. Get your stuff. I'll bring my horse."

The orc was an intimidating one. With dark green skin, taller than her by at more than a head, as broad as a door, and most certainly muscled in a way that only ogres should be, he was not someone she wanted to contend with injured or not. She heard stories of how orcs could kill armored men with only bare hands, of how orcs feasted on the flesh of the young, and how they pillaged towns and raped the women. But as the orc led his horse towards her, he seemed to possess at least a little compassion and helped Sifina onto the saddle. She focused on the two sharp teeth protruding from his bottom lip that glinted menacingly in the dim light.

"Calm down. I'm an orc, not a murderer," the orc rumbled.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever. Move over." She did, and he climbed on behind her. He smelled rather clean. "This is a bit awkward, but bear with it. Falkreath, right?"

"Yes, please." The horse began to move.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" the orc asked.

She flinched at his voice, gripping her bow tightly before answering. "I was hunting earlier, so I left my leathers at home. I went a different route and found a bandit lair." She gestured to her clothes, a brown linen top and breeches that were torn and ragged. "I escaped mostly unscathed. They're after me now. And likely you as well, if they see you. I'm sorry for the trouble."

The orc sighed. It sounded heavy. "Stop apologising. I'm not angry. This is just how my voice sounds."

She blinked. "Oh. Ahem. Then, ah, thank you."

"I take it those guards back there were bandits, then?"

"Yes. I knew the men stationed there. I... believe the bandits killed them."

"Huh. Competent bandits? Wonderful."

The horse galloped down the road to Falkreath in record time. Sifina kept an eye on the trees even as the exhaustion from the day's venture took its toll on her. She was tired, certainly, but with danger hanging over her neck like a blade she found it impossible to relax.

"Don't fall asleep on me now," the orc warned. "You're the one who needs to explain this to the guards."

"Why can't you?"

"Because you're the one who knows the whole story. And I'm an orc covered in blood."

He was right. His leathers were soaked in more blood than she thought. Some of it stained her clothes—not that it mattered. Her clothes were ruined anyway.

"I'll reward you when I get back to my home," Sifina said.

"No need."

"Are you sure? I only have a bit of gold, but—"

"I'm sure," he interrupted. "I did it for free. I thought people liked free help."

"There's still a debt to settle."

"In that case I'd have used it when I asked you not to shoot me. Or does that count as a second favor?" The walls of Falkreath loomed ahead. Sifina's heart leapt with joy. The orc grunted. "Alright, your stop. I'm sure the guards would like to hear about what you saw."

"Thank you very much."

"Don't be. I have a hunch this will end badly."

Sifina frowned. For an orc, this one was certainly mysterious. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it. If the bandits would take the effort to capture a watchtower and attack you to keep their lair a secret, then what's stopping them from killing you inside the city?"

"That's impossible," she muttered.

The orc grumbled to himself, "How do I explain meta-level possibility to her?"

"What does that mean?"

"Nevermind."

The guards at the gate were visible now. Four of them watched the horse approach with bows at the ready from the covered rafters atop the gate, while the two guards on the ground rested their hands on their sheathed swords.

"Halt, orc!" one shouted. "State your business."

Sifina spoke. "Sid, it's me."

Sidgar, a nord in his thirties with auburn hair, noticed the wood elf in the saddle and relaxed slightly. She looked terrible—pale, dirty and unkempt. "Sifina? You left to hunt this morning. Where were you?"

"I found bandits. This orc helped me. May we come in?"

"Aye. Tell me what happened."

The orc dismounted from the horse. He was just barely a head taller than Sidgar. The other guard at the gate shifted nervously, eyeing the bloody battleaxe strapped to the orc's back.

Sifina gave her account of what had happened from behind the walls. Lines formed on Sidgar's face as he learned the fate of the guards at the watchtower. "Well," Sidgar began, "it's good that you made it here. The captain would want to hear about this lair. Unfortunately the jarl is away on business in Solitude. I don't know if we can get men on the job soon."

"Lets hope the captain can figure something out."

"Aye. Go get some rest. I think Zaria is still awake if you need her potions."

"I will. Thank you."

The orc led the horse deeper into the city with Sifina still on the saddle. The street was empty save a few men drinking on the porch of the inn that stood near the gate. The sun was gone, and, even with the orc's warning in mind, Sifina calmed a bit.

"Umm." She hesitated. "Ser Orc? What is your name? Mine is Sifina."

Golden eyes with crossed pupils glanced at her.

"Malkus," the orc said.

"Malkus. Hmm." She offered a friendly smile. "If you don't accept gold, then how about a meal and a drink? I'd like to settle my debt if not by a little."

He frowned. "You should rest. You're injured."

She shrugged. "I'll stay down for a day to two. Zaria—she's the local apothecary—can whip up a poultice to fix me up in no time. Ah, but that bandit lair will be a problem until someone clears it out."

Malkus muttered under his breath, "I swear, if this starts a quest..."

Sifina grinned, her ears picking up his words. "Can you help me with that? The lair, I mean."

"I'm just a humble orc, miss. I can't possibly do that."

"You're in luck! You'll be in the company of a pretty wood elf lass." She flipped her red ponytail. "The two of us will be fine together. I'm a great shot with a bow, as you have seen, and I can track man and beast alike across all of Tamriel."

Malkus eyed her critically. "You're also thin. And slow."

She deflated. "Err, that's... I was injured, you see? I'm usually very quick. Like a deer."

"You're rather eager to charge back in there. After almost dying, I mean."

"I admit I was scared. But I always wanted to do something like that. You know: travel around, hunt down beasts and bandits, drink and be merry. Been my dream since I was young."

"It's not that easy..."

"Which is why I'm asking for your help. You wouldn't let me go in there alone, would you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I'm going to need that drink."

Sifina cheered.

a/n: This is a rewriting Orcborn. The original followed the first-person pattern other self-inserts use and I wanted to experiment a bit.