A chilly summer night breeze blew gentle kisses against Borgakh's skin as she stepped outside the city gates. She took in a deep breath with her eyes closed. The air came out in a deep sigh that felt heavy in her lungs, like it was long due. Her shoulders were free from burdens for the day aside from her backpack and bow, yet she felt a weight on her soul. A deep worry that was growing by each passing day.
Ten nights had passed since Dragonborn had left for Skuldafn. No word had been heard of her possibly success or failure so far.
Her campsite was not far from the city walls, in the plains almost right outside of them in fact. Despite Hulda generously offering a room for Borgakh to stay in during the Dragonborn's absence, She had chosen to camp outside instead. Camping felt more like home, reminding her of the first few nights she had shared with the flaxen-haired Nord hero in the Reach after leaving Mor Khazgur. The memory left a bittersweet taste as she paced towards the small sanctuary of her tent at the feet of a small pond. A quick, longing gaze was shot towards the skies hoping for a glimpse of the red scales that had carried her companion where she could not follow.
The stars were just like they had been back then. An everlasting reminder of days she was starting to fear would not return.
A faint mist blanketed the plains and torchbug lights spotted the lush, green grassy hills. Borgakh's tent was large and covered with pelts to keep the warmth in, with no more than an unlit lantern, a bedroll and some pelts within for rest. Just right from the entrance was a small pile of firewood and the long extinguished remains of a fire remained still and lifeless nearby. With movements that showed routine, Borgakh grabbed some of the wood to pile it up upon the stone-encircled campfire before starting to work on lighting said fire with some dry straw to help her.
The air on the plains of Whiterun Hold was as deliciously brisk as awlays. Though Borgakh had grown fond of the taste, it was far from her favorite. She found herself missing the slight scent of moss and dried leaves near Riften every now and then. There was something about the ever colorful trees and the surrounding mountains that had drawn her in whenever she and the Dragonborn had visited the Rift. A sense of delicate, sheltered beauty unlike anything Borgakh could have ever learned to appreciate had she resigned to her fate as another bride to an Orc chief. As the sparks in the handful of dry hay spreaded into the wood surrounding it, Borgakh wondered if she could have found happiness in that life she didn't choose.
An owl cried out in the distance, the voice resounding lonely in the silence of the wide plains. Borgakh watched the campfire deep in thought, enjoying the warmth it provided in the chill of the night time. The two moons shone brightly together in the sky filling the scenery with a bluish light and the stars flickered. The Orc wrapped her strong arms around her legs, leaning her chin into her knees. Her brow fell heavy with worry above her half-lidded, bright eyes.
How much longer should she wait before assuming her friend's death? Should she go searching for her? The thoughts plagued her mind until they were no longer coherent and turned into a mess fogged by dreams.
She dreamed of fire. Fire in the grass, fire in the birch trees. She stood on a narrow dirt path surrounded by the heat that engulfed everything. A gust rustled her hair from above and she spotted the silhouette of large wings flying overhead. The flames around splashed like water hitting stone in the seaside, spilling on the path in front of her at the power of the wind. Borgakh felt her breath grow uneven with adrenaline and she watched in desperation at the road ahead, where the flames died out and a dark cave resided. She saw two figures lying in that stone sanctuary, with the flames from outside lighting their faces to reveal the painful familiarity.
Her past self still had the sides of her head cleanly shaved, red war paint smudged beneath her eyes framing her face all the way to her jawline. Her body hung right above the other with merely her arms keeping the two figures apart, mouth and eyes frozen in a gentle smile directed solely at the figure laid beneath her. This other figure, however, stared not at the past Borgakh, but the one dreaming. Her pale, sun speckled face turned towards the flames, ashen gray eyes staring blankly. Lifeless. Borgakh felt a twist in her gut and opened her mouth to a yell that never came outreaching her hand through the growing flames to reach the Nord. Right before the flames swallowed the struggling Orc whole, she saw thick, crimson blood pour from between the parted lips of her friend, coating her face with red.
The snap of a nearby twig snapped her awake from her slumber. The fire was still aflame before her and in its light, Borgakh spotted a shadowy figure standing in front of her, across the small pond. With a quick alarmed gasp she grasped the handle of her bow and was just about to pull out a bow from the quiver still strapped to her back, but froze in place instead as her eyes gained more focus. There was a soft hum, almost an amused chuckle from the stranger.
"How goes the hunting? Learned to aim yet?"
The Orsimer's grip on the bow faltered, nearly breaking apart completely. Her mouth fell ajar as her lungs felt like they ceased to work. Finally, after a moment of silent, wide-eyed staring, a strangled laugh escaped her throat.
"I shot down an elk the other day. Mighty creature. Got a pair of antlers to show for it", she responded. The pale gray eyes darted up and down the cloaked figure, who now slowly lowered her hood . "...how goes yours? With how long you took, the prey better have been worth it."
"I would have brought you a souvenir... but the beast I conquered left nothing to show for the battle. Aside from... well."
"Show me."
Small familiar details showed themselves on the Nord as she approached the fire and Borgakh, making the Orc's posture relax immensely. Freckled, pale cheeks. Strong jawline. Thin, peach lips. Thin brows that were sharp in their angle above the lush, blonde lashes that framed the gray ashlands of her eyes. Her hair was cut in an uneven mess, the left side slightly shorter than the right in places. Though she didn't smile, which Borgakh already knew she hardly ever did, the Dragonborn had a spark in her eyes, a gentleness to her step that she immediately recognized as relief. The Nord stopped right in front of Borgakh, kneeling carefully to match her level and pushing aside her cape to reveal her comfortable travel clothes. There was a pause as the Dragonborn hesitated. Borgakh lifted her hand and reached out to touch the Nord's cheek, her touch wandering from the jawline to the edge of her lips. Tracing lines on the pale skin. It was solid. It was there. She just needed to confirm.
"If it's the reason you took so long to return, I want to see."
The darker gray met the paler shade. The Dragonborn let out a small sigh and wrapped her fingers around Borgakh's, moving her hand with her own atop of her chest.
"...then see for yourself."
Green fingers tangled carefully in the fabric to slowly unbutton the blouse the Nord wore. For the briefest moment a memory of these action done more feverishly warmed her belly, but she promptly shoved it aside. There would be time to plant kisses around the neck that was slowly being revealed. Around the collarbones that jutted out slightly beneath he thin skin, across-
Her fingers paused at the sight of the trail of white and pink leading down from her shoulder, past the middle of her chest towards her right hip, where it was hidden again by clothing. The scar was wide and rugged, healing still clearly a work in progress. Her grasp on the Dragonborn's shirt faltered. In her mind, a distant roar of a dragon was mixed with the faint scent of sulfur.
"Ain't my prettiest one", the Nord hummed, seemingly lost in thought as she eyed Borgakh's fingers.
It took a moment for Borgakh to recover from her shock. She laughed out faintly, patting her friend's shoulder.
"It's magnificent. Really tells a story."
"You think? Like the ones on your thigh?"
"Completely opposite. Mine are better not remembered."
"...I think they also tell a story. And I like that story."
That rare smile graced the Dragonborn's lips at last. Borgakh noted a slight tension in the Nord's frame, a hesitance in her voice. The blonde pulled away to shuffle a couple inches further from Borgakh, removing her backpack to go through it.
"I'm really sorry for taking so long", she said quietly as she rummaged through her stuff. "I brought you some things to try and make up for it."
"You didn't need to."
"But I did anyway."
After some shuffling, the Dragonborn finally seemed to find what she was looking for. First, she pulled out a bottle. It was tall and dark blue in color, the liquid within seeming almost black in the light of the fire.
"Black-Briar Reserve was the best I could find", she explained as she handed the bottle over to Borgakh. She then went back to digging her backpack, taking a deep, steadying breath.
"I have wielded my blade through many a fight,
many a foe did my fire ignite...
But there isn't a match for the raging of fire
for the likes of your boiling desire."
Another item was pulled out of the bag. It was a small wheel of bright yellow cheese. Borgakh's eyes widened slightly as she accepted the second offering with hesitant hands. The Dragonborn bit her lip, lowering her gaze shyly before continuing.
"Your steel is unmatched and a strength to admire,
you slice through my foes when things are most dire.
They call you Steel-Hearted, but I disagree.
My heart wants to meet yours, won't you hear its plea?"
There was a slightly awkward chuckle as the Nord took another steadying breath, running her hand through her head and closing her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, she was once more looking Borgakh in the eyes.
"I'd slice up a mammoth if that made you pleased,
to give you the joy that from you I've received.
So dear, would you join my journey back home?
For I'm tired of living alone."
The Orsimer's eyes remained wide as the Dragonborn waited for her response. She didn't reply immediately, her mind processing the words carefully first. It couldn't be… could it? She let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck and turning to face away from her Nord companion. She was just about to speak but the Dragonborn was quicker.
"I know, I know. The Code of Malacath forbids these things. And I don't expect you to abandon that for my sake", she said with a sigh that was desperately trying to hide her bitter disappointment. It wasn't turning out too well. "I just wanted to let it out. Let you know that I…"
"I don't need to abandon my faith in order to be with you."
The joyful crackle was the only sound in the world for a moment. The Dragonborn frowned in confusion, receiving a firm hand on her shoulder. Borgakh captured her eyes in an intense, yet soft stare, not allowing her to turn away.
"I've said it once and I'll say it again. Malacath teaches us to follow our own paths. Our paths have been next to each other ever since the day you paid my dowry and led me out the gates of Mor Khazgur", she said quietly. Her forehead pressed gently against the Dragonborn's. "I think it's about time we start walking down the same road instead."
The first tear came out unexpectedly. The blonde Nord took in a shuddering breath and nodded, hurrying to wipe away the next few tears coming down with the sleeve of her shirt. Borgakh allowed her to recover and caressed the side of her face with her thumb, catching a runaway tear and brushing it off.
"Besides", she murmured in a soft, low purr of a voice that lit the Dragonborn's heart aflame. "I think what you've done for me tonight is special. I'm sure Lord Malacath smiles upon such respect for our traditions and would welcome you with open arms."
The blonde chuckled.
"I don't… heh. I don't think Talos would like me switching sides."
"You should know better than to think I'd even ask that of you, Dovahkiin."
The duo shared a smile. Their hands intertwined under the starry sky as their bodies collided, pressing tightly against each other in search for the kind of warmth the fire could not provide. While a pale hand tangled into Borgakh's now messy hair, she knew for certain at last.
She had made the right choice.