Chapter 3

Malath was an interesting fellow, and Lenia was amazed to be in the presence of the Dragonborn. She had only read about him in the newly written textbooks back in Winterhold. She knew everything about his accomplishments. He had saved Skyrim; and yet it looked as though his life was in shambles, as she watched the skinny Orsimer steadily drinking beside her on the bench. She took another sip of her wine. Drinking wasn't really her thing, but he had offered it and Lenia had welcomed a little alcohol after the incident with the merchant. This was her first time travelling completely alone since she had left for college, and the encounter had unnerved her.

His house, which Malath called Breezehome, was in a state of disarray. Lenia had judged by the clutter, dust, and overall untidiness of the place that he must not have a wife, and that thought made her sad.

How could the most famous man in Skyrim be in such despair?

"Do you live alone?" Lenia inquired quietly, absently twirling a strand of her hair around one finger.

She glanced over at him. Malath looked a little worse for wear, but she could see hints of his former self.

I know he looked like a God back in the day.

But this Malath was thin. Dangerously thin in her opinion. She made sure he ate plenty of the venison and potatoes that had been fried up. Lenia had also managed to make the stubborn man drink some water, he was too fond of his alcohol.

"There's more to life than ale," she had joked in conversation.

"Maybe," Malath replied, his voice deep and gravelly. She enjoyed the sound.

Lenia watched as Malath poured himself more wine, now a little sloppier. He became more intoxicated throughout the day. A little bit of wine slopped over the edge of his goblet, the crimson liquid spilling down the side and pooling on the table. He yawned, and she took a moment to study the Orsimer while he was unaware. She had realized her staring made him uncomfortable earlier.

His skin was the colour of an evergreen, but there was something dusky about it. She imagined he was in his early thirties, but Malath's current health probably added a few more years on his face than usual. He had dark bags under his eyes, and also appeared to have a permanent scowl, which she knew could be softened with a smile. One of his tusks had been broken off, and only a sliver of the white bone showed, while the other was still intact. He had long brown hair streaked with a few gray strands, which had been messily tied back. Multiple scars adorned his skin, some darker than others, and she was sure he had a tale to go with every one of them. It looked like he hadn't bathed in a while and could probably benefit from a haircut.

Malath looked up, fixing his sad looking gaze on her, and Lenia hastily looked away, feeling herself blush. If they weren't so bloodshot and tired looking, she'd say they were a very pretty shade of green.

Malath coughed, and she looked back up, watching the Orsimer as he frowned and gently rubbed his chest.

"Are you sick?" Lenia asked, and the Orsimer shrugged.

"Haven't been the same since I killed Alduin." He replied, "That sort of work takes a toll on a man's body, and spirit."

She nodded in agreement, knowing Malath had revealed a lot more to her than he probably intended. He was depressed, that much she knew, but there were a lot of issues that could be fixed with a little love and effort. She smiled to herself and stood up from the bench; thoughts whirling. Lenia wandered around the room, which was quite tiny, but spacious enough for one Orc. She inspected a few of the crates while Malath continued to drink, unaware of her snooping. What she found inside completely surprised her, as there was an abundance of beautiful artifacts. She gasped, gently lifting up the scabbard of an ebony sword. She ran hands over the intricate designs with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?" Malath asked, slowly turning around to face the elf.

"Are all these crates filled with precious artifacts and weapons?" Lenia asked; her voice filled with awe.

"Yeah," Malath replied, "collected everything back in the day."

"Did you ever…find any staffs, in your travels?" She responded, sounding hopeful.

I'm always on the lookout for a good staff.

Malath frowned, but nodded.

"They're upstairs, in the spare room. I never used them, but figured they're worth something. I never got around to selling any."

"Oh wow!" Lenia exclaimed. "May I please see them?" She pleaded, placing the ebony sword back where she had found it.

Malath nodded. He leaned back and rested his elbow on the table, chuckling at her when she gave a loud whoop and rushed upstairs to see them.

Lenia heard a knock at the door. She stopped and turned back towards the lower floor. The elf peered down at Malath, who continued to drink, and glanced back at the door.

"Did you hear a knock?" She called down, and Malath placed his goblet down.

"Yeah, it's my damn housecarl." He growled. "Go on, look at the staffs, she'll be gone in a minute."

She consented, continuing into the second bedroom, which was small and filled to the brim with staffs. Her mouth hung open as she stared, incredulous, at the massive collection the Orsimer had.

He must have encountered a lot of mages, she thought to herself, feeling a small sense of unease as she picked one up. But they probably would have killed him if he didn't get them first so...

Without another thought, she dove into the sea of magical weapons with enthusiasm.

Lenia had picked up a staff of fire, one of many by the looks of things, when she heard Malath's raised voice.

"How many time must I insult you before you leave me alone, woman?" He exclaimed angrily, and the tinkling of glass bottles being handled roughly echoed upstairs.

He was rifling through the cupboard for more alcohol.

"But my Thane, "came a woman's urgent reply, "I am sworn to protect and serve you, I take my job very seriously."

"Too seriously. I have not required you for years, Lydia!"

Lydia opened her mouth to say something but was cut off.

"Look around!" Malath continued, his voice rising in volume, and Lenia gently laid the staff she held down on the others.

She moved towards the doorway, peering out. A female Nord stood by the fire, her ironclad arms crossed. She had a look of pent up frustration on her face. Lenia frowned, continuing to eavesdrop, and it wasn't hard, The Orc had a good set of lungs.

"I am a drunk and a deadbeat, you stupid cow," Malath yelled.

Lenia could not see him, for he was out of view, but she could hear the Orc as he slammed his fists down on the table.

"I insult you every time you come here, and yet you still come back to me. I hate you Lydia, and I know damn well the feeling is mutual, so do us both a favor and leave me the fuck alone!"

Lydia blinked, frowning, and did not reply for a moment. The flames from the cooking pit cast long shadows along her armor.

"Unless you are here to suck my cock, dear Lydia, You are truly useless to me."

Lenia grimaced, watching Lydia as she turned around and left Breezehome without another word. She was kind of shocked at Malath's outburst. He sure had a temper, but she understood it was not without reason. His behavior was still rude. She waited a few minutes before walking down the stairs to face Malath. He sat by the fire with a bottle of mead in his hand and did not notice her at first.

"Fuck," He murmured, glancing over at her, and he looked away when he saw the frown on her face.

"That was a little harsh," Lenia whispered, and Malath sighed.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, sighing.

"You're not sorry you said it, but you're sorry I heard you talking so horribly to your Housecarl."

Malath frowned.

"I guess," he growled, scowling at the fire, and he took another swig of mead.

"You're not a deadbeat." She continued.

"What?"

"You're an alcoholic, that much is true." Lenia took the other chair and dragged it near him, sitting down. "But you're not a deadbeat."

"Oh yeah? What do you call this then," he spat, gesturing to the messy home, and then to himself.

"After Alduin was slain, there was nothing left for you," Lenia speculated, staring at her hands. "But people haven't forgotten, you'll always be remembered. I read every book on your accomplishments when I first joined the college, you're a hero."

"I was a hero, now I am nobody."

"No!"

Lenia reached forward and grabbed his scarred hand and held it firmly with her own. Her skin was the softest thing he'd felt in a long time. The gesture shocked Malath, and his eyes widened.

"That is not true," Lenia insisted. "Your name is recorded in History, and that will never go away."

"Stop," Malath replied.

His voice cracked, and he quickly wrenched his hand back, rising hastily to his feet. He retreated to the bench and plopped himself down, turning his back to the elf he barely knew.

"You don't know me," He growled, and then the Orc was silent.

Lenia sat by the fire; her hands clasped tightly in her lap and she tried to come up with a way to bring back the fires in the Dragonborn's life.

He just needs a little nudge, she told herself, glancing over at his dark form from time to time.

There's a broken man inside that tough shell.