(A/N): The less than triumphant TES fic series has... Triumphantly... Returned!

When we last joined our group of rejects the forlorn Stradlater, betrayed by his cruel companion, found himself running into Soft-Her-Scales under the sort of coincidental circumstances that only ever seem to happen in stories!

After doing a few minor favours for her and being slapped around like Joffrey from GOT, the Redguard finds himself invited to dinner by the charitable Argonian maid. However, if there was one thing more awkward than having dinner with someone you wanted to sleep with a few months back, it's having dinner with someone you wanted to sleep with a few months back and the person who she's currently sharing a bed with!

With this awkward introduction out of the way, onwards we go to chapter two!

WARNING: Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, bad jokes, a notable lack of Silent-He-Wonders, too much stuttering, bad attempts at writing strong accents, inconsistent quality, awkward drama and a moral that goes all over the place!

Chapter Two: The Blue View

Possibly the first thing that grabbed him about the fellow was his inhuman height. Seated contently on a ragged yet homely armchair, his knees were practically drawn up to his chest in a feeble attempt to find a comfortable stance. His posture slouched forward, as if his elongated jaw and bulky nose were weighing him down or trying to make him curl up in the featle position.

There was also an axe stuck in his head.

Yet again, he was an Orc. As such it kind of made sense that he had an inhuman height. That was kind of the point of not being a human, wasn't it? Rest assured, the second thing that grabbed Stradlater was a sudden feeling of inadequacy in the presence of the bulky bloke. He wasn't one to boast about the complexity of his character, but the whole "tall, muscular, scarred sentinel" thing had always been his thing. The orc seemed to do all of it better, dwarfing even him in both size and bravado.

Furthermore, there was also an axe stuck in his head.

His bare and broad shoulders flexed repeatedly as he fashioned the tip of an iron-caste boot, its weathered twin sat at the side-line like that token old lady at the cleric's waiting room. The same old lady that you saw at every temple everywhere, regardless of location or circumstance. There was a certain comfort in his strokes, fitting of an esteemed and experienced blacksmith. Of course Stradlater tried to feel that esteem for him. All he felt was a mild sense of seething jealousy in comparison to his own metalwork.

He didn't feel the axe though, which was still stuck in his head.

It'd probably still be stuck in the orc's head the next time he looked at it.

A large, rusted chunk of metal pulled from the blade of a bearded war axe had been lodged into the flank of his forehead. Either the orc had the perception of a mountain goat mid-coitus, or it'd been there for quite some time. Like Stradlater's charred and disgraced suit of skin, he'd merely adapted to the point that it was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. It almost appeared to resemble a horn, the symbolism so rife and mature that the Redguard could virtually feel his wrists bleeding from the edginess.

Still.

There was a bloody axe in his bloody head.

"Yer back, sweet pea?" the orc suddenly spoke, his voice a deep and stoic bellow. He didn't look up from his craft, nor did he regard his guest. Yet his 'guest' certainly hopped out of his boots at the sudden break in silence. He honestly wondered how long he'd been wordlessly examining the hunk of masculinity.

"I-I'm sorry Gath." Scales apologised, the door gently falling shut behind her. Stradlater probably needed to get his ears checked, for all of these voices were catching him completely off guard. The timid Argonian paced past him, standing ever so slightly ahead in a genial and protective display fitting of a mother with her young. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"Me? Worried? Ha." the orc named Gath snickered with all the gentility of a phlegmy bandit, smirking and chuckling with equal enthusiasm. "Sweet pea's clever, she don't need me watchin' all day no more." he answered reasonably, that grin of amusement contorting into one of trust and familiarity. After a few moments of unspoken bonding, the greenskin let the chunk of axe flex akin to a raised eyebrow. Following a painfully awkward staring contest between Stradlater's focused eye and the fellow's strangely distant and confused irises, he spoke up once more."... Who's he? Been lookin' fer another guy when I was gone? Heh."

Predictably the Argonian's namesake scales flushed a vibrant red, like a large chameleon who'd just been given a round of rum with a Fire Salt chaser. "N-No!" she gasped defensively, her frail hands rubbing at her snout to try and hide her embarrassment. The hearty teddy-bear laugh that he let off only reminded her of his joking nature, prompting her to pout and blow air into her cheeks. That had a strange effect when you didn't have lips, or actual cheeks for that matter. "... Gath, that's mean."

"Ha!" he said rather than laughed, wiping under his eye for any tears that might have gone on the run in the midst of his throes. He was quick to calm her down, eagerly reminding her that he had the noblest of intentions and meant no harm. "Yer always look so funny when yer red. Couldn't help me-self."

Her frown quickly contorted into a subtle smile. The attractive, curved mouth kind rather than the goofy baring of teeth. The accompanying tenderness of her giggle was enough to defuse explosives, calm minds and end wars. You'd be forgiven to have mistaken her for some sort of illusionist mage. "He's a friend." she noted, tentatively tugging at the rag of the Redguard's desert garments. He wandered forward like the boyfriend of a warlord's teenage daughter, coming between the familiar pair. "J-Just a regular from the inn."

The orc's talented fingers continued to work at the boot as he watched on, taking in the outsider's guise like the headsman of a tribe being offered a sacrifice. For some strange reason the fifth thing that Stradlater thought about when looking at the older man was his prowess in bed. He probably strummed at a more elegant beat than the greatest bards of Solitude with those powerful, spry digits.

Imagining how good an old orc was in bed.

The worrying thing was that he didn't worry about that thought.

Also the fact that he had an axe stuck in his head.

After a few moments of taking in his air both figuratively and literally, Gath stopped working on his craft for the first time since their guest had arrived. "Aye." he nodded approvingly, the Redguard having apparently passed some sort of rite of passage he hadn't been told about. "Yer fine. Yer friends with the one like me sweet pea, starin' at her all the time."

Obviously he meant the only other Argonian in Whiterun at the moment. To be perfectly literal, he didn't stare at her all the time. He often closed his eyes to listen to her words and sniffed the rags she used to polish tankards, sighing ecstatically every time like the sociopathic little weirdo he tended to be. "We prefer acquaintance." he corrected the orc's terminology. Seeing it as appropriate under the roof of someone else's home, the Redguard clutched onto the hilt of his scimitar and pushed it downwards as he bowed. He offered his name in greeting, having been working on the complex technique of saying 'hello' to people without eating your tongue for several months since his dealings in Dragonsreach. "Stradlater."

That hearty laugh was becoming less welcoming and more annoying with every use. Did he realise what decibel he was shouting at? Was he trying to master one of those fangled dragon thu'ums? "I ain't no king! Ha!" Gath snickered at his ceremonial display, his hand resting on the mild bump of his belly. He looked at Scales, prodding his thumb at the man as if to say 'this guy right here', "What's that yer do? Milord?" he said with a surprisingly good mockery of a Breton noblewoman, curtsying with significantly less accuracy.

Pleased that the men under her wing were getting along dandily, Soft-Her-Scales took the time to skip away through one of the few doors that the miniscule house had. It may've been small and poorly furnished; it was surely damp and peculiarly cool. Yet still it was welcoming, and in the end that was all that mattered.

After a comical beat, she returned all red once more. No doubt she always looked pretty funny to the orc. "P-Please, make yourself comfortable!" she suggested. Shyly she reached for Stradlater's engorged bag of goods, and with a firm tug dragged it across the rugged rug and into what he supposed was the kitchen. "I'll sort it out!"

The gradual and foreboding creak of the door as it slowly closed punctuated the Redguard's unease, as suddenly the atmosphere lost a bit of its bounciness. The orc watched him with that shard of axe on high alert as he curiously examined the living room. After a moment he took a seat. Not literally, but rather he sat down on a worn sofa with caution in his gait. Gath raised his chin proudly, gauging the bloke before him. "What? Do I scare ye or somethin'?"

"Oh yes." Stradlater nodded, shuddering with mock insecurity. That was the sixth thing he was jealous of; the sheer manliness of the elder's posture. "That curtsy was more girly than that frock Scales is wearing."

And that thing had tassels.

Tassels.

"Ha!" he grinned, pleased by the Redguard's response. The 'joke', if you could call it that, was poorer than the Imperial treasury, but that didn't change the meaning behind his words. "Guts. I think you an' I're gonna get on just fine." the orc nodded, offering his unmanning hand. "Gath gro-Ushar, husband t'Soft-Her-Scales, at yer service."

He took the hand presented to him, wondering if his brown fist would get lost under all the green. "Stradlater, Son of the Crowns of Hammerfell, at yours."

Gath blinked, his jaw hanging open stupidly. "That's long." he said, completely missing the fact that Stradlater had already given his name moments prior. "How yer remember all that?"

Fair point.

And to be perfectly honest, such a formal name didn't even apply to him anymore. It hadn't applied to him for over twenty years. He wasn't 'Stradlater, Son of the Crowns', but rather 'Stradlater, Disowned Exile and Lone Wanderer'. The Redguard shrugged. "... I just do I suppose."

Stradlater.

A fake name for a faker man.

A faker man who didn't have an axe in his head.

The orc mirrored his shrug with a comical emphasis to it, doing his best to smirk with a pair of teeth that would put a mammoth's tusks to shame filling his gob. "Heh." he chuckled comfortably, sinking and squirming in his seat for a moment before getting back into gear. He turned the boot over onto its side, stabbing at its sole with the blunted point of his tool. "... You know..."

He continued to prod and poke like a creepy necromancer looming over the nubile young body of a dame in distress, turning the shoe over in his hand to test the sturdiness of its leatherwork. Stradlater sat there for quite some time, drumming the fingers of his folded arms against his bare biceps.

Gath had forgotten he was there. Either he was so enticed by the sheer beauty and intrigue of hammering a bit of nicely painted footwear, or his mind had simply gone on a bit of a detour and found itself at a dead end. Regardless, it didn't change the fact that there was a bit of an axe lodged in a bit of his head. Stradlater was no physician, but he'd had enough experience to say that in the vast majority of cases that wasn't a particularly clever life plan. He leaned to the side a tad, speaking deliberately. "... Do I...?"

A slimy and gross snort signalled his surprise, as his lazy eyes spun for focus.

"Hmm? Wuh?" he asked the air, somehow managing to stare at both a crack in the ceiling and a dancing set of candlesticks to his rear flank. Rest assured, this was the sort of bloke that put guard dogs out of the job. After a moment of letting his jaw have a healthy stretch, he once again closed his mouth and licked at his lips, "So what brought ye here, Red? Thought ye could grab me sweet pea when me back were turned?"

The Redguard decided to ignore the peculiar old man's brief lapse into lala land for the moment, and kept his composure with surprising consistency. True he still sounded like a last minute hire for a school play, but then he'd sounded like that since the moment he'd had his first run-in with Scales that morning. "I could do that if I wanted." he noted, turning to the door she'd gone through prior. "You'd need to stand up to stop me after all."

Grinning at the wanderer's challenge, the orc let his smithing implement clatter to the rough crown of his worktop. With a rumbling creak of either his joints or the floorboards, the great green guy at last unfolded to his full height. "Inhuman"? You'd be forgiven to mistake him for a bloody giant!

He looked down on him - literally, not figuratively - and kept his measuring and beaming grin on full power. Stradlater had trouble choosing which eye he should focus on, not wanting to cause any offence. "Me mama's mama killed a bunch of you Reds at Orsinium ye know." Gath smirked proudly, like the boy in the playground doing his best to convince his friends that he'd kissed the local beauty. "Took a platoon to bring 'er down they reckon."

Stradlater had to squint to deal with the frightful glint of the orc's tusks. He wasn't quite sure which Orsinium the old orc was talking about, as there'd been plenty of kingdoms that bore the name that faced the same fates. There was only one time the likes of the Redguards crossed paths with those of the Orcs however. "Probably brought down a few of my great uncles." the warrior put forward, nodding his head. It was strange discussing a bloody and violent conflict like it was just another Middas evening, but that's how it was coming across. "Must've been the most fun she'd had in years."

"Heh, yeah." Gath nodded, a great big set of olive fingers scratching at the fur of his chin. "Same fer yer uncles, that's fer sure. I always liked you Redguards". Few men had what it took to take an orc on one-on-one. The Bretons had the cunning sure, and the Nords had the courage certainly, but when push came to shove only the nomads and knights honed and forged like dragonglass in the scorching deserts of Hammerfell had both in equal measure. A part of him wished he was alive back then to see it, the greatest warriors of the greatest warbands duking it out for the sake of their futures. He swung his fist at his chest in a gesture of respect, causing the Redguard to flinch. He just barely managed to hide it, not that the orc would've noticed. "You got guts".

Plenty of guts in the case of Orsimer. All over the bloody floor.

Exterior decorating at its finest.

"I think you an' I're gonna get on just fine." he repeated with the same sing-song jauntiness to his voice, settling back on his spot once again. Without further word he spun the boot around in his hand for a moment, closely examining the quality of its heel and casing. Then after a few ticks of this he returned to chiselling at its front, like a commoner at a rich man's store trying his best to look like he knew what he was doing.

Once again they were at square one. Stradlater was increasingly feeling like the kid without a partner being forced to pair up with the boy who smashes beatles and collected stones. He rocked on the weathered heels of his sandals, eyeing the footwear Gath tended to with jealousy. "... So you're Gath gro-Ushar. That's your family?"

"Wuh?" he came to again, searching for him with those darting eyes like he'd lost his door keys on a rainy day. Gath collected himself after a moment, no doubt having found the key in his back pocket. Despite this, he still had a look of bewilderment. "How'd you get that?"

The Redguard didn't move. "You told me your name?"

He shook his head ever so slightly as he reviewed the last few minutes of discussion. Soon enough a spark of electricity surged through the dustier parts of his brain, and he lit up without a flicker. "... Oh yeah!" he cheered. Ushar had been the name of the fort he'd hailed from far to the west, at the steeper cliffs of High Rock that few could bear to settle. "Came from far away. Been a while since I was home." he reflected, "home" being a land filled to the teeth with fanatical Forsworn and Hagravens who clawed at the gates day in and day out. Of course all his mas would keep his birth-home safe as they had done for centuries. He had no reason to worry about them. "Whiterun's home now, yer see? Home for us outsiders."

That included outsiders with an axe in their head, apparently.

Rearrange a few words and change a few letters and Stradlater could practically see his own tale between the lines. Whiterun was home for him now for certain, but it didn't change a simple fact. Like Gath, Wonders, Scales and even Faelindra way up at Dragonsreach, he was still an outsider far from his rightful home. "Yeah. " he agreed, mirroring Gath's perpetual smirk with more of a grimace. "Same here."

It may've not looked like it, but Gath had been painstakingly digging through his memories of the day so far to try and get to grips with the man before him. To be honest it didn't make much sense to him. How could Stradlater be an outsider from Hammerfell when he was a Crown, and part of its ruling elite?

The curiosity dug deeper than the steel on his brow, yet just like the axe he quickly moved on. A man's past is his own business, and he refused to pry and bother his fellow warrior any further. His fist unfurled into a flat palm, which he goofily slapped against his face in a mockery of the salutes of man. "Welcome to the Blueview." he struggled to say without lapsing into his babbling nay-incoherent dialect, winking trustingly. "This house is home for ye, an all ye Redguards."

The Blue View

And he thought Breezehome was a bad name for a house.

It certainly wasn't a grimace now, his cheeks looking ever more pinchable in the wake of Gath's words. He was getting more and more jealous of the orc every second. In a soft-hearted, respectful, and gracious way. That was possible, wasn't it?

As if summoned by a spectral writer, the door adjacent to the one that Scales had previously entered creaked ever so slightly open, a snout followed by a pair of eyes and two frail hands clutching on the frame emerging from the room beyond. The pair of men turned to look at her, both taking a moment to consider how she'd managed to swap rooms.

She must've been as agile as a Shadowscale.

Or there was another way through as there often was with kitchens and dining rooms.

He liked the first idea more. It involved women in tight black leather.

A full company of talons tapped and clicked at the gnarled wood, taking on an unassuming beat as Scales considered what she was about to say. Eventually she settled on the standard announcement that "Dinner's ready", the myriad of smells that you'd expect at a Thane's banquet wafting forth from the room behind her and tickling at their collective senses. Soft-Her-Scales let her right hand pry itself from the doorframe and eased its tension, beckoning at them cutely with it. "... G-Gentlemen?"

Her glittery eyes followed by her quivering snout followed by both of her quaking palms and all ten of her lithe digits slipped back through the portal as the door gradually settled shut like the droopy tail of an increasingly cynical and bitter puppy. Giddily and haphazardly Gath gathered his work on his worktable before swinging himself to his feet in a hurry, pushing the desk a full foot across the living room with a loud, spine-chilling squeak.

Gath exchanged yet another glance with the Redguard, inflating its value and charm tenfold with every look. "Yer know ladies an' there cookin'." he spoke familiarly, folding his arms managerially. Of course Stradlater didn't, but he nodded anyway. He didn't want to spoil the moment. Gath gestured in the general direction of the Argonian with the prong of his axe. "Better not leave the missus waitin', eh? Heh."

As the duo of dudes made their way, Stradlater aimed his sights and shot a brief glance back at the work surface and the hundreds upon hundreds of deep-set scratches and scrapes that surrounded it. No doubt Gath damaged the joint every evening with his clumsiness, sending all sorts of things tumbling.

It didn't take long for the Redguard to realise that Gath was following him, tailing close behind as he made for what he could only assume was the dining room. It was almost as if he had absolutely no idea where he was going and what for, and was simple trotting along behind a familiar face with hope in his heart that they'd eventually find what they were after. It was a strangely specific conclusion to come to, but it was honestly all that Stradlater could think of.

That and a sad feeling of nostalgia.

As well the image of the axe, which was still stuck in his head.

They arrived under a low and misty fog that filled the air of the room, intensifying the already overwhelming dampness that the living room had had prior. Whipping away at the settling haze, the nomad eventually made out the vague outline of a dinner table and chairs, and the figure of a young woman tugging at a window.

"S-Sorry!" Scales apologised weakly, having smoked some of the meat without sufficiently covering it. Eventually her brittle arms managed to loosen the lock and push the windows apart, at last giving the fog a way to vent through. She clutched her snout in her hands, clearing her senses. "There... That should help..."

"My sweetie pea makes the best eats." Gath reassured obliviously, realising just where he was at long last. The deadpan snarker within the Redguard was eager to make a cynical comment, yet he managed to resist for the sake of the Argonian, and probably his own neck. The orc rubbed his stomach, what had appeared to be a growing belly in fact having a surprising firmness to it. "I'm thinking she puts a lil' bit of love in every lil' bitty bite. Heh..."

As the dust finally settled, Stradlater took the initiative just as quickly as he took his seat. All that did was earn him a glare from the old orc, who seemed almost offended by his lack of manners. The wanderer took a moment to consider the implications of his action, and after bowing his head in apology he sprang back to his feet. He'd spent so long hanging about in taverns amongst boyish bastards that his manners had been lost somewhere in a sunken shipwreck.

Satisfied by his choice, the orc merely stood there in total silence for a few moments. Stradlater wrinkled his toes awkwardly, his hands having gained a subtle layer of sweat from sitting within the confines of his pockets for extended periods of time. Salvation eventually came in the form of a beautiful young woman emerging from the kitchen bearing a large tray in a fashion only Nordic barmaids had mastered, three plates filled with delights sitting motionlessly on its top. She flinched as she noticed the pair staring, standing stiffly in her absence. "O-Oh!" she wobbled, whimpering nervously as she tried to regain her balance. She glanced between them for what must've been the eighth time that evening, feeling a tad bit special. "Y-You... Didn't need to wait..."

Stradlater could've sworn he saw the orc's elongated teeth wiggling in delight. "Nah." he dismissed her worries, forever following the ancient male code of ladies first. He took a testing step forward, looking very much like a hunter staring at a shell-shocked deer. "Me sweet pea's always worth waitin' fer. Need help?"

Scales somehow managed to shake her head in an excessively polite and thankful manner, which was impressive enough on its own, while simultaneously making the universal sound for "no" as she began to lay out the plates. The dishes in question were tightly packed right to the brim with all sorts of food stuff with a tavern-like twist here and there, the Argonian having no doubt learned her ways working at the Mare. These were the sort of platters that he'd seen some of the richer customers at the tavern eating, sat right up at the counter like the privileged snobs they were with those weird four-pointed forks that he thought would never catch on.

With all three plates and a grand myriad of condiments and drinks laid out, Gath pulled out Scales's chair and she - with a modest expression - took the seat stiffly. Stealthily winking at the house guest so secretively that the Redguard didn't even notice, the orc drew out his own chair by her side while Stradlater took up another opposite of them.

After a brief and unneeded headcount, Gath clapped his hands together loudly to make sure that everyone was awake. "Well then!" he began, rubbing his palms together in shrouded agony. Stradlater noticed the timid Argonian quietly scooting her chair, moving ever so closer to the aged orc's side. "I heard you an' yer friend liked sweet pea's bread, Red". The desert wanderer glanced at his plate once more, wowed by what it had to show. It was more colourful than the gutter outside a pub. "But yer ain't seen nuthin' yet!"

That's another way of saying "You may eat".

Or it was the strangest innuendo of the century.

Eagerly Gath fumbled for his fork and readied himself to spear some deer, yet he was quickly interrupted by a pair of scaled fingers tugging at his collar. He looked to his side to find Scales pulling out a napkin, patiently tucking it into his shirt to form a makeshift bib. "Pea, please." Gath said in hushed embarrassment, his voice the quietest it'd ever been since Stradlater's arrival. He was trying his best to whisper, but you could've heard every word he uttered from as far as the Throat of the World. "I'm fine."

"I-It's hot." she warned, patting her palms against his front to flatten the napkin across his barrel-like chest. She looked up at him concernedly, for the moment completely forgetting the third cog in the day's plans. Stradlater couldn't help but wonder if moments like these were common. Hesitantly she pulled away. "... Better safe than sorry?"

Eventually Gath nodded profusely, honestly trying to make himself agree with her. Glad that it was over the orc turned to face their guest, who thought the old soldier looked like a nobleman with a cravat. All he needed was a circlet to finish the image of a pompous git. "So yer a blacksmith?" Gath asked, wielding his fork like a murderer's dagger. "Go t' Warmaidens?"

The Redguard had only forked a sample of the myriad of food so far. He didn't feel particularly comfortable being the first one to take a bite. It seemed impolite, especially given the circumstances. "Yes." he confirmed, glad for a spot of small talk. No doubt the orc understood his nervous disposition. "Isn't a better armourer in the entire hold."

"Heh, 'cause it's the only armourer n' the hold!" Gath snickered, his palm hitting the table roughly. Scales echoed his chortle distantly with the slightest of smiles, glad to see that he was enjoying himself. "Saw yer there workin' on yer armour. Orcish?"

Stradlater gave his best approximation of a "you mirin'?" expression, trying to work out at what point the orc had found him tending to his gear. He'd never been around someone who was actually interested in armour, and it was definitely a welcome change to the norm. Wonders would usually just ramble on about fashionable rainbow pride robes, whining about how one set of clothes that cost a fortune more would make him just a tad bit better at casting spells than another. "Strong and reliable." the Redguard found his place again, honouring the might of Orcish alloy. "Like its makers."

That certainly tickled the orc jolly, prompting him to raise a tankard high, "Hear hear!" he grinned, closing his eyes in bliss. This sudden movement drew Stradlater's attention to Scales for just a moment, who seemed to be leaning over Gath's plate and cutting up his venison. He hadn't noticed until now, but judging from how many bite-sized chunks sat on his dish she'd been at it for quite some time. The timid lass looked strangely content doing it. Gath returned to talking without hesitation. "Yer good at it, Red. Where'd ye learn?"

Stradlater licked his lips, partially out of hunger but mostly out of self-reflection. "Home." he said simply, and as he predicted the respectful orc let him change the topic without hassle. He understood the Redguard's discomfort. He wasn't here to make him uneasy. "I don't think I've ever seen this house before. Been here long?"

"Oh, I dunno." Gath muttered absently, looking down at his venison curiously. Noting the even lines of easy to eat cubes as well as the beautiful Argonian busily cutting them up, Gath shot a couple of faintly bothered glances at her as she obediently worked on. Exhaling hopelessly, he looked back at the Redguard like a breastfeeding mother mid-conversation. "... Long time? Balgruuf's got guts, good man."

Scales leant all of her admittedly lacking weight against her knife as she struggled to cut into a tricky bit of meat. "J-Jarl Balgruuf is very kind..." she spoke up for the first time in ages, glowing red as she often did when she complimented men. The table quivered and trembled with strain as she tried to pierce the stubborn venison. Balgruuf had been incredibly accepting of their circumstances. Having heard the stories of Windhelm and its treatment of Mer and Argonians, she was glad that Whiterun was so different. "He's so respectful..."

Was this the same Balgruuf?

The scarred nomad couldn't believe that she was talking about the same Jarl, considering how bitter and blunt he'd been to both him and Wonders during their sole encounter. All they'd done was pry for money, insult his Housecarls, indirectly injure a couple of the city's guard and in the case of the mage politely ask him to have sex with himself. So what?

With the last of the venison drawn and quartered into symmetrical pieces, Scales speared a cube and offered it to Gath. In ordinary circumstances it would be rather cute to see, but these weren't ordinary circumstances at all. "Sweet pea?" Gath exhaled, a faint sense of despair about him. He held onto her hand firmly, trying to pry the fork from her grip. "Yer food's getting' cold."

She tugged back at him gently. Despite the fruitlessness of her efforts, it was the message that counted. "D-Don't be silly, let me..."

"Yer know I'm fine." Gath reminded, holding her balled fingers still. He was grateful for her concern, but he didn't need to be babysat. "I can 'old an'axe, I can 'old a fork."

At last Gath managed to yank the fork and knife away from her clutches, albeit with the gentility that he always possessed in the presence of the shy woman. Surrendering to his persistence Scales timidly turned to her food, although she refused to scoot away from the orc's side. As Gath began to take clumsy and noisy bites of food, Stradlater took that as the go ahead to at last begin munching on his own meal.

While Gath seemed to be well educated when it came to being a gentleman, he must've skipped the majority of his classes when it came to etiquette at the dinner table. He chewed wetly and loudly in an unappealing way, 'less you had a very specific set of fetishes. Still the food was delicious. For some reason meals that were made just for you for no cost always seemed to taste a lot nicer, and it'd been years since Stradlater had eaten food that wasn't freshly undercooked on a campfire or thrown in with the lot at a tavern. He savoured every morsel. "This is delicious." he praised, trying to find a way to lick his own tongue. Eventually realising how corny he sounded, he looked up at the chef with his fork still jammed his gob. "I'm not just saying that either."

The broad shouldered orc grinned at his joy, his teeth covered in gravy and meat. "The secret ingredient's passion." he said mystically, chuckling dryly. "Sweet pea always gives 'er hundred percent."

Gath fumbled for a drink with his fork between his fingers, seemingly stopping mid sentence much to Stradlater confusion. His fingers continued to pinch at it unsuccessfully like the pincers of a mudcrab, until a well-intentioned Scales plucked the cup from the table top, held onto his knuckles and gently placed it in his hands. His ears twitched with irritation and humiliation, yet ignoring such insecurity he began to sip. As he slurped loudly like a fish on the feed, he didn't even notice the vast majority of the cup's contents cascading down his front. Scales gasped, her chair squealing. "Gath!"

The slurping stopped. "Wuh? What?" the addressed orc mumbled absently, lowering his drink in confusion. As the ale pooled at his lap, he at last realised his mistake. He snickered, clumsily tugging at his napkin-cum-cravat. "Awww, hehheh..."

Urgently Scales rose to her feet, barely standing a head taller than the seated Gath if you wanted to get metaphorical. "I told you not to do that..." she sighed awkwardly, her concern for the elder orc knowing no bounds. Reaching for her own napkin she crouched by his side, "Y-You're all wet now."

Gath pouted with guilt, disappointed in himself for screwing up and for making Scales unhappy too. Turning to Stradlater, he raised his chin in understanding. "Sorry 'bout that, Red. This ol' orc'll go wash right up." Scales stumbled back awkwardly as Gath rose to his feet, dusting down his lap and urging her to not worry. "I'm fine, I'm fine, yer know I'm fine." he repeated like a foolish lullaby, patting at the side of her snout and rubbing at its scales affectionately. If that did anything to settle her nerves, their guest couldn't tell. "Don't leave Red all lonely now, eh?"

Under the watching eyes of the worried Scales and the indifferent Stradlater, Gath wandered off to what he assumed was the house's bathroom door. He bumped into it clumsily, nudging and pushing at it a few times in mild confusion. Scales raised her voice a decibel, "I-It's a pull, Gath!"

As soon as the last word left her non-existent lips, Gath tugged at the door and hey presto it parted. He raised a thumb in success, before slipping in quietly and letting the gate settle shut in his wake. Scales bowed her head forlornly for quite some time, before drawing out her napkin once more and beginning to tend to the stains and mess that the orc had left behind. She scrubbed and she rubbed for a few moments, only to freeze mid-clean in realisation. Stradlater was staring at her with an expression best described as "seriously confused", clearly worried about the happenings.

Staring at him yet not turning her head she continued to scrub at the same spot furiously, her gaze low and submissive. "... I'm sorry, I must be bothering you."

"What?" Stradlater murmured, shaking his head. She always seemed to take responsibility for things that weren't in any way her fault. It was almost a tad bit coy rather than alluring at times. He'd fought all sorts of beasts and faced moreso in burdens in his lifetime. This was nothing. "Oh no, doesn't particularly bother me."

He was more bothered by the axe, which was still stuck in his head.

At last she stopped working, scrunching the napkin between her fingers like the cap of a farmer as he appealed to a Jarl for money. She reflected on the dinner, and how alien Gath and she must've seemed to the Redguard. Or to anyone else, for that matter. "...I shouldn't tell anyone this..." she began, blinking wetly. Her mystical eyes didn't turn to face him but rather her entire head did for once, letting him bask in the glory of her magical gaze. "... B-But I trust you, sir."

One maid to another.

"Don't tell me anything you'll regret." Stradlater warned, not particularly eager to be part of something that would bear severe consequences.

Scales genuinely appreciated his concern, yet quickly shook her head. Stradlater deserved to know. She was tired of keeping the truth under wraps all the time. "Gath... Wasn't always like this." she noted, revelling in times long gone. "But some things happened, and... Well... H-He got hurt."

Stradlater stared into the rising steam of his meal, having no trouble imagining the beard of axe lodged in the old timer Orsimer's skull. That image hadn't left his mind since he'd arrived, in case you couldn't tell. He'd heard the stories of the effects that head wounds could have. Some people honestly preferred the greater chance of death to the smaller chance of permanent brain damage.

Few minds survived intact.

Scales was already having second thoughts about her revelations, wondering if it was genuinely right for her to drag the Redguard into her own sphere. Yet even then she couldn't stop her heart, which continued to bear its pain. "He hurt himself to protect me." she admitted, taking the blame for the injury he had sustained. He'd given her so much; a roof, protection, his friendship. "I've taken so much from him, and it's only..." her nostrils flared. "O-Only right that I make it up to him."

To tend to her deliverer.

To say that he felt awkward in the air of the room would be an understatement, all sorts of questionings flowering along the groves of other thoughts that had already been waiting patiently in line since his arrival at the Blueview. Trying to break through the peculiarity of the atmosphere, he commented on her cooking once more.

"Your cooking is just..." he pursed his lips and closed his eye tightly, whistling with comical enthusiasm like a raffle presenter. "You should teach me some time."

Even with the doom and gloom about her, Scales couldn't help but smile - just a little - at the funny face Stradlater was pulling. "Mmhmm." she agreed, nodding clearly. To be perfectly honest she looked forward to the chance. It would be fun. "Okay."

With that the silence returned, unannounced as it tended to be save for the occasional clink of Stradlater's fork against his dish. There honestly wasn't much else to say. The Redguard was comfortable with munching away at his meal, while the Argonian was more eager to clean than do anything else. It was as if both were on standby, waiting for the subject of interest to appear once more.

Eventually Gath returned much to the pair's relief, mostly dabbed down yet still as scruffy looking as he tended to be. "Hope ye didn't miss me!" he snickered enthusiastically, tapping at the blunt points of his elongated canines. The tip of one had been chipped at some point upon further examination, adding to his barbaric appearance. Noticing the silence in the air, he folded his arms and frowned. "What? Did someone go an' die when I was gone? Heh."

With that said Gath returned to his chair and sunk back into its welcome embrace, drawing his dirk-gripped fork once more and gnawing away at the venison before him. The other two residents of the dinner table watched in total silence, Scales in particularly maintaining her parental stare. Her food remained undisturbed, practically frozen over time. She intended to eat it later, after she felt that her work was done for the night.

Soon enough a loud exhale came from Gath as he announced that he was finished, patting his stomach with comical enthusiasm. "Hooo! 'don't know 'bout ye, but that filled me right up." he cooed, glancing at the Redguard as if searching for agreement. He neatly put his knife and fork together atop the plate, his gullet lacking the strength to take any more. "Thank ye very much, sweet pea." Gath praised the Argonian, who bowed her head in a classic 'I'm not worthy' fashion. Like a man and his dog, which was an image Stradlater didn't particularly want to imagine, the orc scratched at her chin affectionately before patting the table gently to grab his fellow veteran's attention. "Red, better come with me."

Perking up at his summon, Stradlater grabbed his plate and clattered it atop Gath's for collection. Scales clutched onto the pile too, feebly tugging at it but to no avail. All this did was confuse the wanderer, who tilted his head without the fitting "aroo?". "I'll help." he offered, the dishes clattering atop one-another. "There's a lot to clean up."

Scales was having none of that, "I-I'll be fine."

Gath tugged at Strad's shoulder in that rough and painful way that men saved for one-another under the guise of being "friendly", pulling him away and patting his back as they walked from the kitchen towards the living room. "Just let her be, Red." he advised, the clatter of pottery continuing as Scales quietly got to work.

"Women, eh? They're always right, if ye ask me." he noted, taking a brief pause to think before opening the correct door to the living room. As the portal fell shut behind them he let off a loud and over-the-top grumble. "Ooo... Gonna take days to walk that off!"

"Is she always like that?" Stradlater asked, standing by the doorway as Gath shuffled towards his displaced workbench.

"Oh yeah." he confirmed, crooning over and hooking the pair of boots that he'd been working on between his fingers. He swung them over his shoulder like an artisan's scarf, picking up his chisel with less flourish. "You an' I're men, we don't know what we're doin'!"

The guest watched on as Gath made for the front door. Either he was confusing himself again, or he aimed to go visit someplace. He made his thoughts known. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Are we goin' somewhere?" he corrected goofily a la Silent-He-Wonders, tossing him the chisel without warning. Stradlater barely had the time to catch it, the sharp-missile inches away from giving him a double lobotomy. "Yeah. This's fer the forge, need to give it back. Might as well go fer a walk while the missus is doin' her thing, you know?" he droned on, missing the sweating and relieved-looking Redguard. Cupping his lips with his sausage fingers, the orc bellowed loudly. "Sweet pea! Red an' I're just gonna go down the street, won't be long!"

For the first time ever, at least in Stradlater's experience, Scales shouted to be heard across the house. Even then she somehow managed to sound gentle and restrained, sounding less like a yell and more like she'd simply moved a bit closer. "K-Keep him safe!"

Gath smirked at her innocent words, nudging the door open with a single prod of his manly shoulder. The pair stepped out in unison, yet the orc quickly marched forward to stand in the cold street without even bothering to close the door in his wake.

Stradlater pushed it shut for him as he basked in the chill, leaning against the oak in thought.

"Keep him safe"?

The Redguard called out to the orc. "... You or me?"

X

(A/N): DUN DUN DUUUUUN.

... Don't know what that was for, but there you have Chapter 2! Looks like the story behind Gath and Scales is a tad bit deeper than it seems. I wonder what the tale behind his injury and state of mind is?

... Totally not hinting towards what's gonna happen in the final chapter .

By the way, there's still an axe in his head.