Chapter Two: "Why Not Come With Me?"

Brand

I don't know if it's a combination of the orcish potions and my Dragonborn blood or maybe sheer dumb luck, but I'm on my feet three days after encountering the dragon at the gates of Mor Kazghur. I'm still bruised and stiff (I swear that tail came out of nowhere), but I consider myself cleared for duty. And so, apparently, does Sharamph because she doesn't say anything to me when she sees me walking around the stronghold.

The staunch friendliness of the orcs surprises me. In my experience, orsimer are solitary creatures and it's rare to meet one outside of a stronghold. Those outside usually speak little of their time inside. From what I've heard, it's illegal to let anyone who isn't an orc into a stronghold. Which is why I don't understand why they let me in, but I'm glad they did.

If I'm honest, it's a little intimidating. All the orcs are at least head and shoulders taller than me and most of them look like they could crush me in a glance. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fighter, but not like an orc is a fighter. They're a different league.

Then I remind myself that I fight dragons for a living and that orcs shouldn't be a threat. If they cause problems, I'll just shout them all to Oblivion. Or at least, that's what I'll tell them. They don't have to know that I don't know enough shouts for that. Yet.

I'm sitting outside repairing the damage to my leather armor. Or what was left of it anyway. The blacksmith, Shuftharz, built me a new leather cuirass while I was recovering and I'm impressed. It's sleek and black and fits me well, supple yet strong. I was able to salvage my gauntlets, boots, and greaves. With a little spitshine they look almost new. In a day or two I'll be able to head out again.

"You trust that to protect you, elf?" A shadow falls over me and I look up to see the scowling face of the chief's daughter. Well, I don't actually know if she's scowling or not. Because of their tusks, Orcs kind of look like they're always scowling.

"Do you trust that to protect you, orc?" I point at the steel plate she's wearing.

"My name is Borgakh," she says, but it doesn't sound as malicious as I was expecting.

"Brand." I offer her my hand.

There's a spark of challenge in her eye as she refuses to take it. Instead she raps her steel chest plate proudly. "This is armor. I would count on it against even a giant. That," she points at my leather cuirass and shrugs.

"Shuftharz made this, you know. Are you suggesting she makes inferior armor?" I wiggle my eyebrows as if we're both in on a great inside joke.

The orc just stares at me for a moment. "Of course not."

I sigh.

She's nonplussed. These orcs take everything too seriously.

I think she'll walk away, like she's done before, but instead she takes a seat on the log bench beside me. "Are you leaving us?" she asks.

"In a day or two. Why?"

She looks away and I almost swear I see a blush under the two streaks of red facepaint leading from her eyes down to her neck.

"Must be nice, traveling freely across Skyrim." The words sound bitter.

"You can't?" I ask. I get the feeling it's a touchy subject, but I've never been one to shy away from that sort of stuff.

"No. That is not my lot in life. As the chief's daughter I am expected to stay with my clan until my marriage to another chief is arranged. Then my clan will be paid dowry and I'll establish trade relations with the other clan."

"And bear children, I suppose?"

She looks at me sharply.

I shrug.

"That is a given," she says.

"But is that what you want?" I ask.

She takes a while to answer. "Clan life isn't about what I want. It's about what is good for my clan. I am proud to serve them."

"But?" I prompt. I can hear the unspoken words before she says them.

She sighs. "But I can't help but feel chained," she admits. "It's...difficult knowing I'll never get to see the world before I die."

I go back to cleaning my gauntlet. "Why not come with me, then?" I suggest. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. "I do a lot of traveling."

She sits up straighter at my suggestion. There's a spark of interest in her eye. But then she shakes her head. "I can't. That would bring shame on my father and mother and the memory of my foremothers. I cannot leave them without my dowry and the trade I'd bring."

"Got any sisters?" I ask.

She glares at me.

I look back down at my gauntlet. It was worth a shot.

And yet, she stays beside me, watching me.

"How much is your dowry?" I ask.

This time, the silence stretches so long between us, I figure she's tired of me and isn't going to answer. She stands up. But before she walks away, she says, "1,000 septims."

I smile.


Today's the day I leave Mor Kazghur. That, or get pummeled into Oblivion by an orc chieftain and his angry wife. Or wives. I'm not really sure how many of the women in the stronghold are married to the chief.

And I might be bold, but I'm not that cheeky.

A thousand septims, she said.

I had that.

I'm pretty sure she didn't think I did. And I'm pretty sure, even if she thought I did, that she didn't think I'd pay it. But looting ancient Nordic tombs and dragon nests is pretty profitable. Besides, I already have a house. What else am I gonna do with all this gold?

The chief looks down at me from his chair at the center of the longhouse, surrounded by most of his tribe. His wife, Bargak, stands beside him. Borgakh is a little behind them. If I didn't know this was a farewell party, I'd think I was about to be put on trial. The orcs do everything with this solemn ferocity that makes it hard to tell if they want to honor you or lop your head off. But since I haven't wronged any orcs in my lifetime (yet), I figure I'm mostly safe.

"It's been an honor, chief." I bow slightly at the waist. I'm still a little stiff and my bandages prevent a proper courtly bow, but the orcs don't seem to mind. "Thank you, all of you, for your care and friendship. And for not leaving me to die outside your gate." I smile. A few of the orcs laugh.

The chief nods at me. "We thank you for killing the dragon at our gate, little elf."

I scrunch up my nose at the word "little." The Nords toss it at me as an insult all the time, but I think the chief is just being literal.

The chief continues. "In honor of your actions, we name you blood-kin." He steps forward with a necklace in one hand - a leather cord with what looks suspiciously like a blood-stained orc tusk dangling from it. I haven't noticed any missing tusks in the clan, so I wonder who donated this one. "Show this to any stronghold in Skyrim and they will know you as blood-kin and assist you." The chief steps up and drops the cord over my head. I have to admit, it looks fierce against my new black armor.

"Thank you." I bow again.

The chief returns the bow. Then he holds out his hand. I'm not exactly sure what he wants, but I hold out mine too. He grabs it and, faster than I can blink, runs a knife across my palm. I barely bite back a yelp as he cuts his own palm and then clasps my hand in a bone-crushing grip. Our blood mingles and drips onto the floor. I grip his hand back as hard as I can.

He looks sort of impressed.

Then he holds our hands up. I'm stretched out on tiptoe, but the chief hardly has his arm extended.

"Blood-kin!" he roars.

The orcs in the room cheer and howl and beat blades on shields or armor. "Blood-kin!" they shout over and over until I start to fear for my hearing.

Then the chants subside and the chief releases my hand. I fall back on my heels. The chief hands me a strip of cloth to bind my hand. His wife steps forward to tend to his.

"And now, before you leave, is there a favor you would ask of me, elf?"

"Uh, actually, yes. There is one thing." I tie off the cloth around my hand then reach into my pocket and pull out a coin purse. I feel all the eyes in the room on me. Well, here goes nothing. "I'd like to pay Borgakh's dowry."

The entire room freezes like a Windhelm night.

The chief looks equal parts angry and incredulous.

Bargak looks downright furious.

Borgakh looks shocked.

I have no idea what's on my face, but there are a thousand things running through my mind, faster than even I can keep up with. All in all, I think it results in me standing there with my mouth half-open like an idiot.

The chief, hands fisted at his sides, glares down at me. "You wish to marry my daughter?"

"Uh, no." I smack an open palm into my forehead because that sounds terrible. "N-not that your daughter isn't beautiful, or anything," I stammer. "Chief."

"Do you insult me?" the chief asks.

"Of course not!" Anger heats my chest and a little of my composure returns. "I offer your daughter's dowry because she expressed her wish to me to travel Skyrim and learn about other cultures before she finds herself -" don't say stuck "- tied to a stronghold forever. But she didn't want to cheat you out of her dowry. So, I offer you her dowry, in exchange for her freedom."

I glance at Borgakh. Something like a smile quirks the corner of her lips, even though her arms are crossed.

"If that's what she wants," I add.

The chief is silent for a long time.

I hear murmurs around the room. In the history of all the strongholds, an elf has probably never offered to pay an orc's dowry before. I don't even know if you can pay a dowry without marrying the girl you're paying for, but I guess it's worth a shot. I stand there, hand out, gold purse sitting on my bandaged palm. And if I have to marry Borgakh to get her out...well, what the hell. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

Finally, the chief turns to his daughter.

"Does the elf speak the truth, daughter?" he asks.

This time, Borgakh really does blush, but she doesn't look away. "Yes, Father." Her voice is strong and clear. "He does."

I notice Bargak isn't scowling anymore. She looks almost...proud.

The chief turns to his wife and they share something unspoken. Then he turns back to me.

"How much do you offer, elf?" he asks.

"A thousand septims."

I think the chief's eyes widen for a split second before he nods. "Very well. Borgakh, I hereby declare your dowry paid. You are free to go."

A collective breath seems to be let out around the longhouse and then after a moment, Shuftharz cheers and soon the whole clan joins in.

I take the opportunity to convince my knees to stop shaking.


I've always thought that there was a sad lack of any sort of ceremony or signal of becoming blood-kin to the orcs in the game, so I decided to add a little ceremony of my own and a token ;)