Ghorbash stared at the girl unwaveringly as the feast dragged on, barely talking to anyone that tried to garner his attention. He heard Umurn make a joke that he was in love, but Ghorbash didn't care; he wouldn't let the girl out of his sight.
She had shown up three weeks prior, towing an older, hardened woman whom the girl had addressed as "Lydia." Ghorbash's mother had assigned her the gauntlet quest after she had asked for entry, and the girl had left with her mercenary.
Ghorbash had thought that that would be that.
Every once in awhile a human or elf would show up at the stronghold, but most were simply lost or curious, and were easy to ward away. A few found them with hate in their hearts, one memorable encounter involved a few drunk stormcloaks, but they could not breach the walls and were easy to shoot down.
Occasionally though, a traveler would ask to become bloodkin, and for at least the thirty years Ghorbash had been alive they had been assigned to find the gauntlets.
None of the adventurers had ever come back, and so it was to the clan's great surprise that she came back a few weeks later, without her companion, clutching the gauntlets.
The chief, his brother, had welcomed her with open arms, and thrown a grand feast in her honor, but Ghorbash wasn't as trusting.
She had not given her name, simply saying, "Call me Dovahkiin."
She wanted something, no one would go through that much work without wanting something.
The stranger would occasionally meet his eyes, and he was grudgingly impressed that she would stare, unfazed, back at him, before her attention was drawn elsewhere.
Quickly she became a favorite of the clan, as she ate, drank, and laughed excessively, and actually brawled one of the chief's sons when dared to.
If anyone had doubted that she obtained the gauntlets herself they doubted no longer. Ghorbash wondered if this was what she wanted, because she smiled afterward when she thought no one was looking.
He assumed many people would think her harmless, as she was small for a Nord, almost the size of a Breton, with soft, upturned features and large blue eyes. She was also very young, and could not have seen more than nineteen winters. It would make sense that she would not often be taken seriously.
When she had brawled with his nephew, even in good spirits and full of wine, she had moved lethally and fluidly, using her small size to her advantage, slipping away like smoke. Thus, Ghorbash was not surprised to see that the only weapons she carried were a bow slung to the back of her chair, and a dagger tucked into her belt. He wouldn't be surprised if she were a sneak thief.
The rest of the feast was excellent, and it lasted well into the night. The chief was in an especially good mood because of the retrieval of the gauntlets, and thus the tribe was in a good mood. It also helped that the Dovahkiin was highly entertaining; she had an enchanting singing voice, and many droll tales that even Ghorbash himself cracked a smile at.
Slowly, one by one, the Orsimer drifted to bed, until it was just the chief, the traveler, and Ghorbash. He would be damned if he left that woman alone with his brother.
"You may wake whomever you choose and take their bed," the chief told her, "I forgot to tell someone to sleep on the floor."
Both the Orsimer knew that he had not forgotten, that it was a test to see how she reacted to the rude slight, however, she seemed to know it too, and she responded perfectly.
"It is no matter, I am no stranger to sleeping on the floor. However, were it not for the short notice in my arrival I would have thought you to be rude."
Acceptance of the situation and clear non-tolerance should it happen again, crafted like a wordsmith. Ghorbash again felt an unwilling admiration for her.
"She'll have my bed, brother," he said, almost grinning as his brother and the traveler looked at him in surprise.
In truth, he wanted her in his bed so that he would be closer to her should she try to do anything disagreeable, and he had also noticed that she had favored her left leg during the fight with his nephew. Though many called Ghorbash stoic, he was not cruel, and he would not let an injured child sleep on the floor.
"I thank you," the girl said, and Ghorbash could tell it was genuine. "May I ask your name?"
"Ghorbash," he answered, "Though there are some that call me Ironhand."
The girl's face did not change at the information, but she cocked her head slightly, reminding Ghorbash strongly of a bird looking at a worm.
"Would you mind joining me outside?" she asked, "I am afraid the wine has gone to my head, and I would like to sober up at least a little before I sleep, to lessen the ache in my head tomorrow morning."
Ghorbash nodded, though he was sure that she was not as drunk as she claimed.
They both went out into the night, away from the rest of the clan, and as he closed the door on the longhouse he felt a strange foreboding that he was closing the door on a chapter of his life.
Now that they were alone she seemed more hesitant, and Ghorbash noticed with a sense of exasperation that she did not even come up to his shoulder.
"Sit down," he told her, more weary than demanding, "and let me look at your leg."
He thought that she might refuse him, but she simply shimmied out of the bottom half of her leather armor and sat down on the chair under the awning, propping her leg up on a barrel.
The wound was bad. A large gash running along the outside of her thigh had been clumsily wrapped, rendering Ghorbash surprised that she had been in such good spirits all night, as he was sure that such a wound had to be painful.
"Dwarven sphere," she told him as he carefully unwound the wrappings, "I sidestepped it, but not quick enough."
"You're lucky it's not deep," he told her, fingers pressing lightly on her tiny leg as he turned it this way and that. "It will heal quickly, perhaps not even scar."
"Pity," she quipped, and he smiled at her, fangs bared, before walking the short distance to his mother's medicine hut.
After a quick survey of the contents he grabbed the wheat paste and the sutures before heading back to the girl, who was again watching him as a bird does a worm.
"This will sting," he warned her, and then proceeded to rub the paste in the wound.
To the girl's credit, she only winced, watching him silently as he slathered on the paste before threading the sutures through a bone needle and piercing her skin.
That she did react to, and the hiss that escaped through her teeth sounded loud in the quiet of the night.
He spent the time he stitched her leg in silence, watching the flesh of her thigh twitch as he passed the needle in and out, appreciating the way she bore it quietly.
Soon his task was finished, and he watched her admire his handiwork.
"Thank you," she told him, seemingly sincerely.
He allowed her to put her armor back on before he asked her his question.
"Why have you come here?"
"Ah!" she exclaimed, smiling like she had a secret, "I was wondering when you'd ask. I'm surprised you offered to help me, you obviously don't trust my intentions... Why is it you think I came?"
"You're a thief," he told her, daring her to contradict him.
She shrugged. "I am, but that's not why I'm here. You can check my pockets."
Ghorbash had half a mind to, but he could not detect a lie, and his curiosity refrained him from acting.
"No, I've actually come here for you."
"Me?"
Ghorbash could not have been more surprised had she told him she was Malacath himself.
"Why is it that you want me?"
She paused for a moment, as though carefully picking her words, before asking, "What did you think of me, when you first saw me? Don't try to spare my feelings, be honest."
Seeing as Ghorbash was not going to spare her feelings anyway, the last warning was unnecessary.
"I thought you young, inexperienced, naive for walking up to a stronghold with nothing but a mercenary and a pretty face."
She nodded. "Exactly, people don't take me seriously. I don't necessarily need them to, my actions eventually speak for themselves, but it is tiring. I am Dovahkiin, and people treat me like a child."
"You say Dovahkiin as if I should know what it means," Ghorbash said, "I am Orc, not Nord."
"Dovahkiin means Dragonborn," she said, and before his very eyes she turned her head and sprayed the bucket beside her with frost coming from her mouth.
A bolt of fear shot through Ghorbash as he stared at the bucket encased in ice, and Ghorbash had not felt fear in a very long time.
"Dragonborn," he repeated.
He had heard of the Dragonborn in his days in the Legion, old Nord nonsense about those with the blood of dragons who could shout as the dragons did. He had put it off as old superstition, but this child had breathed dragon ice right next to him, and he was suddenly unsure of the very ground he stood on.
"I was in a tavern in Whiterun a few moons ago, and one of the Battleborns was speaking of his service to the Legion. He spoke of an Orsimer, big as a mountain, who the troops called Ironhand because they had seen him crush a man's throat with nothing but his bare hand. He told me you were living in a stronghold near Markarth and so off I went. I need a companion, one who can hold his own, one who supports the Legion, knows how to follow orders, and can fight like Oblivion."
"I left the Legion."
"Would you rather the Stormcloaks win?"
Ghorbash didn't answer, but redirected, "Many places will not serve Malacath's faithful, and there are many that would frown on my traveling with a young Nord woman."
"I am Dovahkiin," she countered, "They will serve you and keep their mouths shut."
"I am blind in my left eye."
"You still have your ears, do you not? Now, will you come with me? I will give you time to think if you need it."
"I do not need time," he said, as he had made up his mind from the moment she asked, "I will come with you."
If he had any doubts they were soon erased by her blinding smile.
"To the start of an amazing partnership," she said, offering her hand.
He shook it, his fingers engulfing hers, and smiled. "May our foes fall before us and the ground tremble at our feet."
They grinned at each other, looking more like schoolchildren than warriors, then headed toward the longhouse for a few hours rest.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Ghorbash awoke with his muscles a little sore, as he had kept his word and let the Dovahkiin take his bed. She had told him that she wouldn't mind him lying with her, but he could imagine his family's taunting after finding them together, and he declined.
Most of the clan was already awake, and thus it was obvious when he started to pack. He could feel the others' eyes on him, but did not explain himself until he had finished and sought an audience with his brother.
"You are leaving us again," Burguk said before Ghorbash could open his mouth, "Shel saw you talking with the Nord."
Ghorbash hung his head, unable to meet his little brother's eyes. "I have no wish to dishonor you, brother, you welcomed me back with open arms when many would have struck me dead."
"And so I will welcome you back with open arms again," Burguk said, causing Ghorbash to look up in surprise. "You are not happy here, and so I will let you go, but if you long once more for home, be married to her, or do not come back at all."
Ghorbash nodded, he understood that marriage to a human would make him ineligible to be chief, even if he did defeat his brother in combat.
"I understand," he told Burguk, "May your battles bring honor to Malacath and your death bring honor to yourself."
His brother repeated the sentiment, and the two clasped hands before joining the other's for breakfast.
The Dovahkiin was already at the table, and she smiled widely at Ghorbash as he sat down.
Breakfast was more subdued than the feast the night before, as all attending seemed to know he would be leaving them, but after a stern and somewhat embarrassing speech from his mother on what to do and not do outside of the stronghold, the two unlikely companions set on the road.