Disclaimer: I don't own Morrowind. This yarn is just for fun. No harm intended.
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It had been night when they emerged from the cave. It was sunrise by the time they reached the edge of town. Jiub looked up the gentle hill at the road that led through the center of Pelagiad and the stone fort sitting at the end of it. He looked up at it and flopped down in the middle of the road beside Dak. His arms and back were on fire. Even his legs burned with fatigue. He just didn't have the energy to get them the last few hundred yards.
He must have nodded off because the next thing he knew, someone was nudging him in the ribs with a steel boot. With a groan of protest, he peeled his eyelids apart…and immediately shut them again. The sun was right overhead and ungodly bright.
"Up, ya drunk!" a gruff voice commanded, and the boot made contact with Jiub's ribs again.
"We need…" he tried to explain as he forced himself to sit up. "She needs a healer." His vision came into focus, and he saw that the boot and voice belonged to an Imperial guard. Past him, a traders' caravan waited impatiently for Jiub and Dak to clear the road.
The look the guard gave him was one of disbelief—despite Dak's obviously bad condition. Nevertheless, the guard gestured for two of the men from the caravan to hoist the Nord woman in her blanket and carry her off to the fort.
"Thanks," Jiub said as he climbed to his feet, staggering a little as his sore muscles protested.
The guard watched him wobble with impassive eyes, his face partially shadowed by his open-faced helm. "What happened?" the guard demanded once Jiub had his feet solidly under him.
"Bandits."
The guard's eyes raked over him, and suddenly, Jiub was aware of just how shabby his clothes and armor were. "Why would bandits attack you?"
He swallowed. "We blundered into their cave, trying to get out of the rain." And his grandma could walk on water while juggling mud crabs, but it sounded plausible enough, and it had been pouring when Dak had led him into that cave. The guard didn't need to know that she'd gone in just spoiling for a fight.
"Which cave?"
"Place called 'Ulummusa' on my map."
"To the north of here?"
Jiub nodded.
"You wouldn't have, by any chance, taken anything from the cave?"
Jiub fought the urge to swallow nervously again as the guard's eyes bored into him. To be honest, after Dak had collapsed, his mind had been on other things besides looting. He was a bad thief like that. "I ate some of the food that was in there and gave her a cheap health potion I found…oh, and there was this…" Dropping one strap of his pack from his shoulder, he let the bag swing around to the front. Opening it, he pulled out the small silver bowl he'd found sitting on a chest in the cave. It'd been the only decent piece of loot in the entire hideout, and he was loath to part with it, but this guard seemed suspicious enough to search his person, and how was Jiub supposed to explain away its presence in his pack—especially since it had the name 'Armond Beluelle' engraved on it? "I was going to try and find the owner. It looks like a commemorative piece—I'm sure somebody's missing it." He gave the guard his most charming smile and hoped it came across as innocent.
The guard's suspicion didn't decrease an iota, but neither did he take away the bowl. "Beluelle—name sounds familiar. You might want to try asking up at the fort. Ygfa, the healer, knows everyone in these parts. Stay out of trouble." The last was a growled warning. Once delivered, the guard turned back to directing the caravan into the village.
Jiub too turned and started up the street that led to Fort Pelagiad. Surrounded by gently rolling farmland, the town looked as if it had been lifted straight out of Cyrodil. The buildings all followed the basic Imperial-style of architecture, constructed from gray stone, hard wood planks, and thatch. A tavern was to his left, its door propped open as the barmaid swept. It was early enough in the day that any visitors who had stayed overnight in the second-floor lodgings were still abed. Beyond the tavern was a side road leading down the hill into a residential area of cottages surrounded by small garden plots. On the right side sat a blacksmith's shop and a trader's. The sight of the hammer and anvil on the smith's shingle reminded Jiub that his cuirass was in dire need of repair. One of the netch leather lames had split during the fight with the bandits, and it now flapped loose against his back each time he took a step.
"Dak first, repairs later," he whispered as he passed through the fort's gate and made his way across the grassy courtyard.