This chapter has actually been written for quite some time. As a result, it's a little shorter than some of the recent chapters, but it didn't feel right to tack something on just to make it longer, so here we are ;)
Chapter 10: "Not My Orc"
Brand
The first time Borgakh goes down, that's when I know. If anything ever happens to her, I'll fight hell, high water, Oblivion, Alduin, the Daedric Princes, The Empire, The Stormcloaks, and every Divine in the book to get her back and keep her safe. That's when I know that paying her dowry was the best thing I've ever done. And believe me, I've done some pretty amazing things.
As the months go by and Borgakh makes no indication of leaving, we settle into a comfortable routine. Borgakh begins decorating the room under the stairs with orcish relics, bone trinkets and furs. She adds her own treasures to the cabinets in the house. She and Lydia take "girls' nights out." Which mostly revolve, I find, around thrashing bandits, hunting, or exploring the wilds.
The longer we travel together, the more Borgakh and I learn to fight together. We make a great team. I'm fast and quiet and can sling spells and shouts with deadly accuracy. She's a brick wall with a two hundred pounds of force bearing down behind the swings of her war-hammer. Between the two of us, we decimate just about anything Skyrim throws at us. Especially because Skyrim never expects us.
Borgakh always has my back and I don't have to worry about her wandering off and getting killed. After all, she's a freaking orc warrior. Anybody who wants to stand up to her when she's in a rage has my full sympathy. As she's fond of saying, she prefers her blood boiling. When she's in combat, she practically sings. It's beautiful to watch, really. Like a dance, or a stunning piece of art...that paints everything in blood and howls her rage to the sky.
So, actually, she's terrifying.
And it's awesome.
But I learn that even orcs have their limits.
The cave looks like every other cave we've ever been in. Big, gaping, rocky, and dark. Our footsteps echo off the walls as we walk up. The Jarl of Riften wanted us to check out the cave for some rumors of men disappearing in the area, so here we are. Or maybe Temba Wide-Arm wanted us to clear it of bears. Or maybe...I don't remember, but someone asked us to check this out for some reason.
I think.
Borgakh pulls her helm off and tucks it under one arm, putting her hands on her hips. She scowls at the cave like it personally insulted her mother. I sigh. I know what's coming.
Like clockwork she announces, "Bears if we're lucky, trolls if we're not."
"Do you have to say that about every cave in Skyrim?"
She shrugs. "It is true."
"Sort of. What about all the caves full of bandits? Or sabercats? Or spiders? Or wolves? Or vampires? Or Falmer? Or -"
Her glare shuts me up.
"You're right. Let's stick to bears and trolls. Much simpler that way."
"You are learning, elf." Borgakh grins. (Have I mentioned that orc grins are terrifying?)
"At least I'm teachable," I mutter as I walk into the cave.
I swear I hear a chuckle.
"So why are we in this cave again?" Borgakh asks.
I root around in my pockets and come up with two fistfuls of crumpled letters, bounty notices, and other assorted requests for help that I haven't gotten around to stuffing in a cabinet at the house somewhere. "Honestly? Can't remember."
She gives me a good long stare. "Perhaps Lydia should keep up with those for you too." I can't tell if she's joking or not. Her face is stone-cold. It's one of the things I envy about Borgakh. She can tell a joke like she's telling you your favorite aunt just died.
"In case you haven't noticed, Lydia's not here. And also, I don't really think that organizing my letters falls under the duties of a housecarl."
"Well, maybe you want me to organize them then?" She holds out a hand.
"Uh...sure?" I shrug and hand her the bounty notices.
She stuffs them into her own pocket. That's not exactly what I'd call organization, but the look she's giving me makes me think twice about asking her about it.
"We are already inside, Brand," she says. "There is no figuring out which one of these we will resolve until we are done."
"If you say so." I shrug.
She nods once as if the matter is concluded, puts her helm on, and heads deeper into the cave. I pull out my bow and follow.
"Borgakh!" I grunt under the bony fingers around my throat. Who knew Draugr Death Lords went for choke holds?
Actually, first of all, who knew there were freaking Draugr Death Lords in a cave? A cave ? That ended up being a tomb. Like most dark, damp holes in Skyrim. At this point, I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised.
"I'm busy, Brand!" Borgakh shouts. Her voice is accompanied by the sound of cracking skulls as she fights several more draugr in the center of the room.
I get my bow up crosswise across the Death Lord's throat, but spines are surprisingly resistant to choking. As are the rest of his bones to kicking. The blue light in the draugr's eyes glows maniacally and his dead groaning almost sounds like cackling as he squeezes harder. My back hits the tomb wall and stone pokes into my shoulder blades. The Death Lord drops his sword to put both hands on my neck.
Since when did draugr get so intelligent?
They aren't supposed to be this vindictive! I gasp a breath through the pressure. I need to Shout. But I can't. Not yet. I feel the cold well in my chest that tells me I don't have enough energy for a Shout right now. That, and the smoldering ruins of a few of the Death Lord's buddies I just took out with a well-placed fire shout. Maybe that's why he's so mad. But if I don't get this Death Lord off soon, I won't have the breath to Shout either.
I abandon my bow and grab the Death Lord's forearms, pulling his hands away from my throat. The pressure slackens a little. By the Divines this skeleton is strong! And tall. In life, he must've been near seven feet. By comparison, I look like a child. I drop my feet out from under me, hanging my full weight on his arms, but he doesn't waver.
Break, dammit! Why in Oblivion are thousand year-old bones this sturdy?
I pull my feet up and slam him in the chest. The draugr staggers back with a growl, yanking me off the wall in the process. Our center of gravity shifts and we topple to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. The impact loosens his grip on my throat. I think I hear something break and scatter across the stones. I suck in a welcome breath and roll away, getting myself up into a kneel. I yank my enchanted glass sword from its sheath.
Just a minute or two and I can Shout again. I can feel the warmth returning to my chest. All I have to do is hold this guy off until then.
The draugr seems unaffected by the tumble and whatever he lost must not have been important, since he's already on his feet. He looks around the room for a moment, and then his eyes light on me again and he cackles, a rusty, dry sound that grates on my ears. His eyes glow brighter and he opens his mouth, a glow forming behind his skeletal teeth.
"Oh, not again!" I yell as I try to scramble out of the way. It is decidedly unfair that these piles of bones can still Shout.
The draugr rears back and Shouts - "Fus Roh Dah!"
I get hit in the chest with an invisible force that throws me off my feet and into the nearest wall. Already short of breath, the impact winds me and I fall to the ground, gasping. My sword skitters out of reach.
I swear the draugr laughs as he advances. I don't have the breath to stand up. Or Shout. I try to sit up, but I can't seem to get my limbs to cooperate. My head swims and I gasp again, trying desperately to heave a breath into my chest.
"Borgakh." I barely manage a groan.
I see her in my peripheral, still tangling with a few draugr, although there's a pile of them at her feet. Miraculously, my voice breaks through the haze of battle and she whips around to see the Death Lord picking up a discarded Ancient Blade off the floor. With a shout of rage, Borgakh instantly changes targets. She's across the room in two bounds, her warhammer arched back for a deadly swing.
The Death Lord never sees her coming.
Her warhammer completes its arc at the side of the draugr Death Lord's skull. It explodes in a brilliant burst of bone shards and the light in his eyes blinks out like tiny dying stars. The rest of his body sags forward as the magic keeping his bones together dissipates and he collapses into a pile in the floor.
"Are you alright?" Borgakh looks down at me. I can't see her eyes through the slits of her helm, but she sounds...worried.
I cough as I struggle upright. "Yeah. Yeah." I take a deep breath. "I'm fine." My voice sounds hoarse as my throat protests. "Thanks for that."
Borgakh holds out a hand to haul me to my feet. I reach up to take it. As I do, I catch a glimpse of another draugr sneaking up behind Borgakh, his palm glowing with a primed spell.
"Borgakh, look out!"
She spins - too late! - right as the draugr unleashes an ice spike. It catches Borgakh in the chest, piercing her armor and crushing the steel plate. Borgakh grunts and falls to her knees, the ice spike sticking out of her chest at the joint between her armor plates.
"No!" I yell.
The draugr (and another behind him) advance with swords raised. Borgakh tries to lift her warhammer, but she falls forward onto her hands instead.
I feel anger burn in my chest, hot and sharp, along with that second warmth, the power of the Thu'um. I'm ready now.
I stand and face the draugr.
"Yol Toor Shul!"
A wall of fire leaves my mouth and spreads across the draugr, taking them both by surprise. They go up in flames at the same time my sword cleaves the first draugr's head from his shoulders. The lights in his eyes go out and he crumbles. The second draugr never stands a chance.
He doesn't even get his axe up before I've got a glass blade up between his ribs. I yank down with all my weight. My sword, a lever in his chest, splits him apart and his ribcage shatters into an impressive amount of bone shards. Between me and the fire, the draugr are nothing but weapons and ashes on the floor. The flames lick out over the tomb walls and die as they encounter only stone walls and pottery.
But I'm not watching the fire anymore. I'm on my knees beside Borgakh, my sword forgotten on the floor. Her breath rasps in her throat in a funny way. While the actual ice spike has disappeared, I can see the result of its damage. Her chest plate is crushed in and blood drips from a rent in the armor. She is half-fallen on her side now, holding herself propped up on one elbow.
"Borgakh, speak to me," I say.
"It is nothing," she grunts. But it takes her effort to speak.
I reach into my satchel for a healing potion and hiss when my fingers find broken glass instead. I pull my hand out, fingers bloody, and curse. My potion bottles were shattered when I hit the wall.
Borgakh laughs, despite her mortal wound. I'm no healer, but even I can see that this will be the death of her if I don't mend it fast. "Orcs don't...need potions...little elf," she says. The words come with great effort now. She falls and I just barely manage to catch her and cradle her in my lap. Her eyes are closed, her breathing so shallow that I can hardly tell she's breathing at all.
"Neither do elves," I say. I reach out and touch her chest, a healing spell primed in my palm.
The warm glow of Heal Other flows from my fingers and washes over Borgakh. I realize I've never actually used a healing spell on Borgakh before. Nor have I ever seen her use any sort of healing agent on herself either. In our travels together, she's only ever received a few minor injuries and she usually bandages them and leaves them to heal on their own. I, on the other hand, have used healing spells for everything from papercuts to broken bones. Wood elves have no such qualms about hastening the healing process through magic.
The color begins to return to Borgakh's face and her breath comes easier as my healing magic washes over her chest. I see the blood dry up and disappear and her chest takes its normal shape again, even if her armor is still dented. I work at the straps of her chest plate until I can pry the damaged pieces off. Borgakh breathes easier.
Her eyes flutter open and she focuses on me again, her brow furrowed.
"Healing magic?" She sounds a little disgusted. "An orc lets her wounds heal naturally."
I look down at her with a smile, knowing she'll be alright now, and shake my head. "Not my orc."
There's something surprised in Borgakh's gaze then. Her eyes go wide and I swear that maybe, just maybe there's a tear there in the corner of her eye.
"What did you just call me?"
"Mine." I smile.
She blinks.
"Unless-"
She reaches up and lays a finger on my lips.
Borgakh sits up as the spell finishes its work and the glow in my palm fades. We're eye to eye...sort of. Even sitting down, I still have to look up to her. Her movements are slow, deliberate, careful almost, as she reaches out and takes my hand in hers.
"Brand." When she meets my eye I've never seen her more serious and more happy at the same time. "There's no one else in all of Skyrim I'd rather belong to."
Then she looks at me slyly.
"Little elf."
"Giant orc," I counter.
She throws back her head and laughs as we sit surrounded by the bones of our defeated foes.
