Learning Things

The guards of Markarth only gave Ghorbash a cursory glance as he made his way up to the tradesman's lodgings. Ghorza's reaction to mention of Lily's name made him wary, as he should have been when he first entered the city. Scowling, he counted the doors until he came to number eight, then knocked.

He was startled to see a male Orc open the door. Glancing past the warrior's shoulders out onto the walkway, the man stepped back and motioned Ghorbash to enter quickly. Then he shut the door securely.

"What is going on?" Ghorbash barked. "And who are you?"

"I am Moth gro-Bagol," the Orsimer said gruffly. They grasped wrists in greeting. "You need not say your name. My sister told me Ghorbash the Iron Hand had come."

He rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably. "I am 'the Iron Hand' no longer," he growled. "Left the Legion far behind, and good riddance to it."

"Come inside," Moth nodded, leading the way to the dining table. "You may stay the night, if you wish."

"You do not know me," Ghorbash pointed out uneasily.

Moth snorted dismissively. "You come with a message from Lily. You are a friend."

Shrugging, Ghorbash dropped his pack where Moth indicated, and unbuckled his sword belt and quiver. He laid all his weapons on the pack, then rubbed his shoulder where the pack's strap had worn hardest, and sat on the bench.

"You carry a heavy burden," Moth commented.

"I carry ingots for trade," Ghorbash replied. "My brother did not want the trip wasted."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Ghorbash finally asked what burned in his mind.

"Where is Ghorza? I thought she meant to meet me here," he said impatiently.

Moth chuckled. "And so she is here, but bathes in her chambers. Her witless apprentice covered her in the oil for polishing blades. She all but slid into the house."

"Perhaps you may help me, then," Ghorbash said, trying not to laugh too much at the image. "We heard rumors of war, and dragons. Does the city prepare for either of these things?"

Sobering quickly, Moth's brow furrowed. "I am the Jarl's blacksmith, and work in the Keep itself. I have heard these things as well. The Thalmor are more agitated than they have ever been." He fought to conceal a smile of satisfaction at their plight. "The Jarl is a foolish man, and does not look to our defenses as he should. He believes it is Whiterun Hold's problem, though we are getting reports of dragon attacks as close as Rorikstead."

"Still in Whiterun..."

"Aye, but uncomfortably close, you must agree. The Jarl in Eastmarch, Ulfric Stormcloak, seeks to rid us of imperial rule once and for all, and so there is war brewing. Some here support him, of course. Those who suffered most under Forsworn occupation. But they are the landowners, mostly, not the common folk who were largely ignored."

"I remember," Ghorbash said, nodding. "But I do not believe Forsworn rule is in the best interests of the Reach, either. Better the Stormcloaks than the Madmen, eh?"

"True," Moth chuckled. "But even they are a damn sight better than the Thalmor filth."

"I do not know," the warrior growled. "There are worse things than the Thalmor." Not wanting to go into it just now, Ghorbash asked, "Have you also heard of this... Dragonborn... who was discovered?"

"Aye," Moth replied, eyebrows raising and a grin reappearing on his face. "Met him, as well. He had an errand here, and spoke with the Jarl."

"Is he... Orsimer? As we had heard?" Ghorbash asked hopefully.

"That he is. He is called Ashtulagal, and comes from Hammerfell, in the Dragontail Mountain range. Some village up there," he replied. "They do not share all our ways, but they are Orsimer all the same."

"That is what I have heard as well, of the mountain Orcs," Ghorbash agreed. "Is he a good man?"

"I believe so," Moth replied thoughtfully. "Strange man, but good. Travels with a Nord woman." An uncertain smile flitted across the Orc's face. "She looked at him as though... " Then he shook his head. "Must have been the heat of the forge."

"What do you mean?" Ghorbash asked, intrigued.

Moth sighed. "Were he a Nord man, I would say... well... there is something between them."

"Something... good?"

The smith shrugged. "Depends on who is looking, eh?"

The former warrior wasn't sure how to interpret Moth's cryptic comments, but was unable to pursue them any further, for Ghorza appeared at that moment.

"Ghorbash," she said, clasping his wrist as her brother had done. "Tell me of Lily. Did she make it to Dushnikh Yal safely? Is she well?"

The Orsimer opened his mouth to relay Lily's simple message, then closed it abruptly. While the woman was safe enough, he couldn't honestly say she was 'well.' Taking a deep breath, he tried again.

"She is Blood-Kin now, and lives among us in safety," he said awkwardly. "She bade me tell you she has lost the things you gave her."

Ghorza tilted her head and frowned. "Lost them? The armor and weapons? These are the only things I can think of. What became of them?"

The Orc looked away, his jaw and fists clenching. He could not sit still with such anger rolling through him, and stood up to pace the room. "My brother set her a task. In attempting to accomplish it, she was taken captive by Forsworn beasts and held for months. They stole everything she had, and much of what she was."

Covering her mouth with her hand, Ghorza's eyes widened and stared in horror at Ghorbash. His expression told her the words he refused to speak. Moth, however, did not come to the same conclusion.

"How is it she escaped?" he asked curiously. "I have heard they do not fear death, so any threats she may have made..."

"I do not know details," Ghorbash snarled. "She does not speak of what happened there. She only said a few words to the wise woman, enough to inform us that she poisoned the lot of them." He spat on the floor with disgust. He would have happily split them open from neck to groin, even the women, for what was done. Poison was not good enough, to his mind.

Moth grunted with amusement. "Good. No clean, valiant, warrior's death. As much as those miscreants deserve. Why she does not boast of this, I do not understand."

"She does not boast, you imbecile, because... Malacath, strengthen her," Ghorza breathed, slumping on the bench.

"What?"

"She was raped, Moth!" Ghorbash roared. "By every last man of the fortress, for months! Must I spell it out for you?" He quivered with rage for several moments as his own words, never spoken, yet always known, sank in thoroughly, making Lily's nightmarish suffering terribly real to him for the first time.

Moth blanched and slammed his mouth shut on any further comments. Ghorbash slowly sat down again, and stared into the cold hearth.

"I did not know her well, when she accepted the task and left us," he said hollowly. "She came back... different. So very different. She does not even speak as she once did. There was... foolish confidence in her. A desire to prove herself. Now, she cringes at shadows. She looks on... me... with distrust and fear."

Ghorza was rubbing her eyes when she caught the change in the Orc's tone, and now looked at him carefully. "Has she cause to fear you?" she asked stiffly, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"I have done nothing," Ghorbash snapped, then amended, "much. When she came back, I was... pleased to see her, and... embraced her. She did not take it well."

"Why would you do that, Ghorbash?" Ghorza asked softly.

Glaring defiantly at the two Orcs, Ghorbash snarled, "Because when I first saw her, she claimed my heart, and I have not wrested it free of her, nor do I wish to."

Ghorza exchanged alarmed looks with her brother. Moth cleared his throat.

"You are aware, I'm sure...," Moth began, but the warrior cut him off.

"I am aware of many things you do not need to point out," he snapped. "She is a Nord, and I am an Orc. She has been... wounded, terribly, in body and soul. If I am to heal her, I must... ignore the song of my heart for a time."

"Until it becomes a cacophony," Moth observed wryly. "They say no mer is as passionate as an Orsimer."

Ghorbash grunted with amusement. "Truly, no one bests an Orc, not in matters of war or love."

"You two are like old soldiers, long since gone to pasture," Ghorza snorted. "Though, I suppose, in this case, it is very like the campaigns we used to fight, eh?" She exchanged an understanding look with Ghorbash. Though they hadn't fought in the same unit, they had all three done their time in the Legion.

"I suppose it is only fitting that I mention now," Moth said with a grin, "that the Dragonborn's travel companion is clearly also his lover. She was not the only one looking with a hungry eye."

"You have no proof," Ghorza protested without conviction. "Such things are... well, they just are not."

"Tell me you did not see it in her eyes as clearly as I did," Moth challenged his sister. "She, at least, saw no shame in it."

"Perhaps not," she conceded, shrugging. Glancing at Ghorbash, she said pointedly, "For your sake, I hope Lily doesn't either."

"It is cruel to think it, worse to say it," Moth sighed, "but truly, after what has happened... she will likely see far less shame in the embrace of an Orc than that of a human."

Ghorza shot her brother a hateful look. "You do not believe she is in any way to blame, do you?"

Rolling his eyes uncomfortably, Moth replied, "No, I do not, and you know I do not. I merely meant..."

"I know what you meant," she said.

"Ghorza," Ghorbash said seriously, "I would ask you... as a friend to Lily... if you would come to Dushnikh Yal. If only for a short time."

"It would be an honor, and a pleasure," she replied with a smile, "but not possible at the moment. Perhaps in a week or so, when I am certain of my apprentice's ability to mind the forge without setting fire to the lower tier..."

"Then you will be forever in Markarth," Moth chuckled. "Leave your custom to me, I'll mind things. Jarl Igmund does not believe a dragon would dare attack the city, and he is so deep in the pocket of the Thalmor, he does not fear the Empire, either. So he is doing nothing, as usual. I shall welcome the work."

"Very well," she agreed. "In the morning, I will tell the man to report to you, and may Malacath guard your hide."

Lily nearly cleaved to Gharol's side the remainder of the day, until all fires were banked, and the workers filed down the hill to the longhouse for supper. She made herself small at one end of the table, and did not look at anyone for long.

"Salmon!" Arob crowed cheerfully, laying the steaming platters on the table before the hungry Orcs. "They were running high in the water today, almost leaping into my arms."

Burguk chuckled. "It is a welcoming place," he commented, slapping her rear as she passed. Several around the table laughed heartily as they served themselves. The chieftain felt strangely at ease, as though a burden had been lifted. He hadn't realized how oppressive Shel could be when she had access to his bed. It didn't make him feel particularly good about himself that he allowed such temptations to distract him from the women he truly loved. No matter, he thought, such things are easily mended.

Glancing to his left, he noted that Shel sat silently, delicately eating her meal without passing a hateful look to Gharol or Arob. Relieved, Burguk dived into his own salmon with a will.

"Teach me this, mother," Nagrub said appreciatively as he savored a mouthful. "Such a meal would win me many hearts."

"Do not speak with your mouth full," she admonished, sitting abruptly in the space next to Lily. The poor girl started and spared a quick glance at the Hunts-Wife, but said nothing.

"It would take more than a steady hand on a cooking pot to bring down such quarry," Umurn chided good-naturedly. "Better sharpen your aim in other ways."

"Mind yourselves, both of you," the miner, Oglub cut in unexpectedly. "Wouldn't want too many wives. Cause you no end of trouble."

Shel's head jerked up, and she fixed the Orc with a malicious glare. Burguk reached over and patted her hand to sooth her. "Such words are not wanted, Oglub, not even in jest," he said, a warning in his voice.

"Forgive me, my chieftain," Oglub replied sullenly.

"How kind that his insult made you think of me," Shel snarled. Slamming her fork on the table, she shot off the bench and stormed out of the longhouse.

So much for mending things easily, Burguk thought wearily.

"Go after the little baggage," Arob said with only mild interest. "Our talk will keep."

Burguk slowly rose, his meal half-finished, his stomach and his mood gone sour. "I would not have it so. I made you a promise."

"Eh, you rule another day," she replied, waving her hand. "I'll bring you to heel tomorrow night."

"I look forward to it," he grinned in spite of himself, then followed in his third wife's angry footsteps out the door.

Certain that his father was gone, Nagrub snarled, "Manipulative bitch."

"Hold your tongue," Arob said easily. "It is not I who suffers."

"She digs her own pit of filth," Umurn pointed out. "Let her wallow in it."

Gharol banged her tankard, sloshing ale on the table. "You will not say such things, Umurn," she snapped. "Nor you, Nagrub. I am surprised at you as well, Arob. She is a chieftain's wife, and is owed respect."

"I owe her nothing," Nagrub growled, "because she has earned nothing."

"Come now, Gharol," Arob said. "If you had seen the look on her face when Burguk chose you for his bed last night..." She shook her head and chuckled. "If a glance alone could kill..."

"I did see, and it does not bother me," the Orsimer woman said stiffly. "She is too young. Understanding will come in time."

"She is the daughter of a chieftain," Murbul pointed out, and all attention was upon the elderly woman. "A chieftain who has taken more wives than my son. If she does not understand, then she is blind."

"Hmph," Nagrub scoffed. "A chieftain who has only taken wives in payment for trade agreements."

"You do not know that," Gharol hissed.

"Lash does," Umurn snapped, glaring at his mother.

Sighing and looking away, Gharol could only nod.

"Can either of you say it will be different when you become chieftain?" Murbul said. "How many opportunities will you have to seek a wife to strengthen Dushnikh Yal, while defending it against beasts like the Forsworn? And what of this news of war? You will likely be on the walls, killing Imperials and Stormcloaks alike." She snorted. "Mind the here and now, and the war to come, and do not trouble yourselves over wooing a wife, or we shall share the fate of Bagol."

Nagrub reached over and pounded Oglub's back as he choked on a fish bone. "Ever wise, you are, Murbul."

As the conversation moved on to matters of defense against the coming threats, Arob turned to Lily huddled beside her.

"You have hardly eaten a bite," she said softly. "Is it not to your liking?"

"No, it is wonderful," Lily said quickly. "I am just... not very hungry."

"Does our talk disturb you?" Arob asked. Chuckling to herself, she added, "We are not often mindful of who may be listening."

"It is no matter," the Nord whispered.

"Hmmm, Burguk did not set the watch," the Hunts-Wife said thoughtfully, holding a crust of bread up ready for a bite. "I am not as young as I was, or I'd take it for a second night."

"I can do it," Lily offered. "I will not sleep in any case."

Arob fixed her with a piercing look. "That is what I heard. That you did not close your eyes all night. Then today you worked at the forge with Gharol. No, you will sleep tonight. It is an easy thing to say, that you are safe here, and I know you do not see it yet. But... you are safe."

Lily leaned close and whispered, "The men... they sleep unclothed, some of them."

"Most of them, if truth be told," Arob snickered. "I heard Ghorbash wore breeches for the first time in years last night. He urged Burguk to require the men to do likewise, at least until you feel more comfortable."

"What did he say?" she asked hopefully.

"Laughed, mostly." Seeing the look of dismay on the woman's pale face, Arob put an arm around her shoulders. "Listen. You live among us now. We are what living in close quarters for generations has made us. Few in this hold are not family. The rest... they come to the strongholds in search of kinship and acceptance. It is a harsh place, Skyrim, if you are not a Nord. Perhaps you see us as primitives, or savages, because we are not particularly modest, and there is little that we do not openly discuss, or do for that matter. I am certain Shel lies with our husband this moment, under the stars. She has certainly urged him to such public displays on several occasions."

"You are not... jealous?"

"Not at all," Arob replied. "I know he loves me, and he knows I love him."

Lily's brow furrowed. "The Forsworn wives despised me," she said. "They said I seduced their husbands from their beds. They spat on me."

Arob's throat constricted and she barely suppressed a shudder. The way this woman spoke of such hideous torments... as if it were the norm, and she was trying to reconcile what was happening now with what she had been so brutally taught.

Gathering herself, Arob forced her voice to calmness. "I would say that... these 'husbands,' as you call them, were less than men in every way, if they embraced a wife while committing such vile deeds upon you. And these 'wives' were less than women, to believe you invited such treatment."