Warning: This fic is WIP. I have no idea when I'll finish it. Other than that, no warnings planned - aside from maybe something explicit down the line ;)
Pairing: Kharag gro-Shurkul (Solitude Sawmill) / Gilfre (Mixwater Mill)
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"For the last time. No!" the owner of Half-Moon Mill snapped at him when Kharag tried to persuade her to hire him for work.
"Why not? You are alone here, you must need help," he growled at the Nord, Hert, as she introduced herself when they first met.
"I'm not, in fact, alone here. My husband is just… sleeping," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, even if I was alone, it would change nothing. Half a year ago, we'd be happy to have you, but now?" She looked in the direction of the mountains, "With Helgen burned down, the only ones we supply are the people of Falkreath. And they have their own mill right in the city. There just isn't enough work for three people! I'm very sorry, but you can't work for us." She dismissed him and turned to leave.
Kharag was desperate. He already tried the mills in Morthal and Riverwood. He was quickly running out of options. And coin. "I work hard! I could…"
"It's not about working hard," the woman told him tiredly, "We just don't need your work. But…" she looked him over, considering.
"What," he half-growled, uncertain about the look she was giving him. It looked… hungry. And not in a good way.
"Why don't you stay a while?" the Nord was suddenly all smiles. It was creepy.
"What?" Didn't she just say she had a husband? Now Kharag was getting suspicious.
She walked up to him and boldly laid her hand on Kharag's shoulder, "The road is long and hard, you could stay the night."
"Err, no thanks," he growled uncertainly, then started carefully backing away. He had no idea what this woman's deal was, but his instincts told him to run.
"Oh, that's such a shame. Are you sure? You could stay for dinner," the woman wouldn't let it go.
"No. I'm going now." It didn't matter what exactly she wanted to offer him, he was not interested. Especially in a woman that looked more like she wanted to eat him than fuck him. Also, he might be an Orsimer but he wasn't that desperate for a woman.
"Very well," the creepy Nord sighed. Once Kharag turned and started walking away, she called after him, "You could try Mixwater Mill, in Eastmarch! I heard the owner is hiring!"
Kharag turned back to give the Nord one last suspicious look, then growled, "Thanks," and all but ran away from that place.
Yet… The moment the mill disappeared from view up, he sat down and put his head in his hands.
Another mill, another rejection. 'For a country at war, they sure don't need much wood,' he snorted to himself. Or maybe they just didn't want it from him. He bitterly remembered the days when the only complaint he had were the disgusted, sneering faces of the snobs in Solitude when Hjorunn was too drunk and he had to deal with the idiots himself. How he wished he could go back to the way things were.
His life used to be fine, dammit! Until that fucking Stormcloak tried to burn the mill. Everything went downhill from there.
She might not have gotten far, but she did manage to make a nice little campfire right on top of their house. Hjorunn's house. When he was sleeping inside, drunk off his skull, as usual.
Kharag had run sinside the burning house, desperate to pull the old man out, but he was too late. Hjorunn was so drunk that he didn't wake up on his own and by the time Kharag got to him, the smoke already choked him to death.
If only the idiot didn't insist they live away from the city, so the 'guards don't nose around'.
If only he wasn't drunk that day.
If only Kharag was faster.
If only…
He sighed, then slowly stood up. It was no use beating himself up over it. Hjorunn's been dead for months now. Actually, if Kharag was honest with himself, Hjorunn's been dead for years. There was nothing but the mead left, years before Kharag even came to work for him. But whatever he might have said about the old drunkard, he accepted Kharag as a worker and they even shared profits and for that, he was grateful.
It was only after Hjorunn died that the real problems started.
At first, everything went even better than before. Without the Nord to drink away the profits, the mill had more coin than ever before. Most of it belonging to Kharag now. But then the taxes got raised. Only for him. Several times over. In one month. The people sneered down at him as usual, but now they also raised prices of basic things, like food. Several times over. In one month.
It got so bad that Kharag barely made ends meet while working at his full strength, from dawn till dusk. So when that idiotic milk-drinker of a noble, Erikur, tried to raise the taxes again, Kharag had enough. He told the milk-drinker to piss off and sold the mill to the first idiot that showed interest. Which happened to be Fridrika, living at Katla's farm. A 'proper' Nord.
Where the farmer got the money, Kharag had no idea, and he didn't care. He packed his few things into a single bag and left Solitude to its own idiocy. Let them break their own backs trying to supply the Imperial army's never-ending needs, he no longer cared.
But now he needed to find a job. Quickly. Before he gave the last of his coin away for food.
"The old man must be laughing in his grave," he muttered angrily to himself and started hiking it up the mountain.
When he sold the mill, he never expected that this country wouldn't want him to work for them. He didn't talk much, worked hard and didn't care what the owner got up to, as long as they paid him on time. He really didn't expect to have this much of a problem getting a job.
It would be kinda funny, if he got a job at Mixwater Mill. He'd go from supplying the Imperial Army to supplying the Stormcloaks. Well, as long as the owner paid, Kharag didn't care who bought the timber. Whether it was the Imperials who enslaved his people only to use them as meat shields in their wars, or Stormcloacks who hated them just for existing. But as long as they paid for work, he didn't care what they thought of him.
He just hoped the owner of Mixwater needed help; he really did.
It might very well be his last chance.
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"Huh," was the only thing Kharag said when he saw the overgrown grass, one house with holes in the roofs so big he could see them even from the road and the other one quickly catching up… and a woman working her ass off at the mill.
The road had been dangerous and long. Bandits and beasts everywhere; he was lucky to have learned to fight as a boy, or he never would have made it. Too bad he couldn't afford a mercenary to protect him with the coin he had left. Not anymore…
He made his way over to the small woman near the lumber pile. His eyebrows lifted in appreciation when he saw her lift a whole tree trunk by herself and throw it down on the saw. Hjorunn wouldn't have managed that if he tried. This imperial seemed to be made of stronger stuff.
Good.
She wiped her sweaty brow with a sleeve, then she noticed Kharag standing nearby. "Yes? Can I help you?"
Kharag grunted, "I'm here looking for work."
The smile she gave him was… radiant. And relieved. "Great. Get an axe, and bring me all the wood you can chop."
He only grunted again, "Not like that. I want to be a worker at this mill. Stay here."
Her eyes widened. "Really? That's amazing news! Any help around here would be greatly appreciated," she looked almost ready to cry from happiness. "I can hire you right away."
Kharag looked at her suspiciously. He was not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, usually, but this was all a bit too… easy. "Just like that?"
The woman snorted and waved her hand at the houses and the mill itself, "Look around. I can't manage all this work on my own." Her hand rose to comb through her sweaty dark hair. "I used to have five good men who worked the mill with me. Then this war started and they all ran off. Idiots with mead in their blood," she muttered angrily under her breath.
Kharag nodded in agreement. She must have her hands full, then, if this mill could give enough work to six and now she was alone to do it all.
But there was still one important thing to discuss, before he got to work, "How much?"
"Hm?" She looked at him, not understanding what he was asking.
"Coin. How much for my work?" He will work, gladly, but not for free.
"Ah, yes, of course. Well, I'm alone here, so I don't have much right now, but I can give you three hundred gold per week. You'll also have a place to sleep and I'll share my food with you as part of your pay here. Is that alright with you?" She asked a bit uncertainly.
Kharag's eyebrows lifted. "For that price? Sure."
On one hand, he was used to taking part of the profits; to work as a partner and not a common worker. On the other hand, 300 gold per week was not bad at all on its own. With food and lodging covered? That was more than what he got from Hjorunn, even with shared profits.
This will do. It definitely will. He offered his hand to her. She looked mystified for a second, then shook it.
"Kharag gro-Shurkul," he grunted, eager to start working now that he had a job.
"Nice to meet you, Kharag. I'm Gilfre." At his raised eyebrow when no second name followed, she added quietly, "Just Gilfre…"
He sensed a story in there, but didn't care enough to press. He simply nodded to her, ending the conversation.
There was work to be done.
Kharag walked over to the lumber pile waiting to be sawn and lifted one to be cut with barely any effort, already long used to the weight. When he pulled the lever to start sawing through the wood, he noticed that his new boss, Gilfre, was watching him with mouth hanging open.
"What are you lookin' at?" he growled at her. The look she was giving him was creeping him out. It was almost… reverent. And obsessive. He suddenly had a feeling he'd have trouble leaving here if he decided this was not a place for him.
"I… I'm sorry," she smiled at him sheepishly and stopped the creepy stare. "I'll go cut the branches from the rest of the trees; prepare them for sawing."
He grunted at her, "No need, I'll do that while the machine saws."
"Oh," she stood there for a moment, uncertain in her own home. "I'll… go prepare some lunch then. It's almost time anyway."
He nodded to her and grabbed the small hand-saw to get to work.
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Gilfre couldn't believe her luck. Not only did she have a worker again, his strength and willingness to work were… amazing. Not only that, he was an Orc, too!
She was glad he was an Orc, really. A Nord would probably run away to fight for the Jarl within a month. An Orc would have less reason to do that. Watching him work, she also fully realized that as an Orc, he was much stronger than a human. Any human. Even Kjan, when he still lived, wouldn't have lifted the log that easily.
So what if the man was as ugly as they came? He was here to work, not to win a Dibella beauty contest. At least this way there would be no risk of him breaking her heart. Or winning it in the first place. She smiled and stirred the stew with renewed vigor.
Once the food was ready, she carried the pot and two bowls outside. Good thing it was the middle of summer. The sun shone bright and warm, no clouds in sight and she didn't need to freeze to death just to finish all the work.
"Food's ready!" she yelled in the brief silence between sawing.
Her new worker Kharag lifted his head, nodded to her, but went back to work with a grunt.
She smiled and with a shrug, sat down on the crates by her door to eat her lunch. If the man wanted to work, who was she to stop him? Moments later, her eyes were drawn back to Kharag. He really was a strong man. Not as… wide as a warrior would be, but his arms were were covered with tightly corded muscles of a lumberjack. Someone who did hard, manual work, all day, every day of his life. The sight was very… comforting.
The startling golden eyes were a surprise, even if they were common for his race, from what Gilfre knew. Combined with his dark hair and green skin, he looked very exotic to a woman who got used to the sight of Nords. She almost forgot what Orcs looked like since she moved from Cyrodiil. Even while she lived in Bruma, she never saw too many of them in the cold mountain city.
She finished her stew and set the bowl aside. When she tried to stand, though, her legs wouldn't obey her. The exhaustion set in fully, then. She sighed.
It was getting harder and harder to stand up nowadays. Her lunch now usually took about two hours. Not because she took that long to eat; she just couldn't stand up afterwards, not without at least a couple hours of rest.
Things will be different, now that Kharag was here.
Gilfre leaned back against the wooden walls of her home. Just a few minutes of rest, then she'll go help the man.
The mid-day sun shined bright, warming her tired body. Was it just her or did the day get brighter once Kharag started working? She relaxed further and closed her eyes. In a few minutes, she will stand up. She just wanted to enjoy the day for a few moments. Any minute now, she'll stand up.
Any minute…
She was asleep before she even realized it.
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A/N: I've always liked both of these minor characters. Kharag gro-Shurkul who works his ass off while hisfriend/boss drinks away all profit, and the imperial Gilfre working for Stormcloaks, all alone, when all her help ran away to fight. Well, Gilfre needs help and Kharag would be better off with someone who wouldn't bordeline abuse him every day, so... Here's my attempt to get them together.
Hope you like it! :)