After breakfast which was just as awful as dinner the night before, Gerda decided to ask Hadring some more questions. It never hurt to try and since the Orc wasn't talking…
„Does the Orc buy food from you, too?"
„Ah, no. He comes by every morning and makes his own food. Takes a fine fish, fusses over it and then drowns it in spices and whatnot," Hadring sniffed. „That's no way to properly make food, if you ask me. Us Nords, we know how to cook. You should stick your fish in the fire and then just wait til' it's done. None of that fancy fiddling with it."
Gerda tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. No wonder the Inn smelled so fantastic this morning... and no wonder Hadring's cooking tasted like crap.
If she knew how to cook, she'd do as the Orc did and make her own food, but in this case she was unfortunately about as skilled as Hadring. 'Cook it till it looks done' or 'Eat it raw' were two of her favorite food preparation techniques. Not that she couldn't appreciate good food; far from it. She just couldn't prepare it, is all.
Her attempts would at least be a little bit better than Hadring's – she wouldn't burn it completely… maybe… she hoped – so she decided she better catch some fish on her own. How fortunate that the lake full of smelly fish was right out of the door… Sigh. 'Nords'.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
The crisp morning air somehow felt different when she wasn't thinking of where to go next or worrying about her countless tasks and responsibilities. She breathed in deeply. Thankfully it seemed that her Nord blood still gave her some advantage, as she didn't feel too cold despite her clothing… or lack of it.
She sat at the pier, leaning against the poles and stared at the lake's surface. Everything around her was still and quiet. No, that was not it. She still heard a bear roaring in the distance and the cries of birds in the skies. Yet it was… peaceful.
It calmed something in her and released tension she didn't know she had. It was only now she realized just how tense she's been for who knows how long. Maybe since Helgen. Maybe since long before that.
She didn't know how long she sat there. She barely even noticed the fishing pole, nets or boat nearby. Gerda simply enjoyed her moment of peace. Then she heard the door to the inn open.
It seemed she was not the only one who enjoyed the quiet peace of the lake. The Rich Orc From The Basement, her new favorite mystery, barely looked where he was going and automatically aimed for the spot she sat at. Gerda decided to simply watch him make his way over to her.
He was just a few steps from her when he noticed her sitting there. He paused as if he had no idea what to do now that his spot was "taken" by some stranger. Just another thing that separated him from other Orsimeri. Most would already be growling at her to get lost. This one looked like he was considering how to politely tell her to move aside or perhaps suggest they work out a schedule. Gerda suppressed a smile.
"Hello, friend. A fine morning, is it not?" she welcomed him. If he truly was the gentleman she believed him to be, he would feel obligated to join her, or at least make some excuse to be able to leave without insulting.
For a moment, he seemed to waver between possible responses. His eyes clearly said he wanted to talk, yet he was obviously gearing himself for refusal. Gerda decided to jump in and tried another approach.
"Will you join me? There's enough space for everyone. Don't worry, I don't bite," Gerda had no idea what possessed her to add with a cheeky smirk, "unless specifically requested."
His eyes widened, as if that was the last thing he ever expected to hear. Maybe hers did, too. 'Where in Oblivion did that come from?' Gerda never flirted. With anyone. Especially not since she became the Dragonborn and fulfilled her destiny. People might get ideas.
Marriage to the Dragonborn, Archmange and Harbinger all in one person would be a political coup for anyone. Half the Jarls didn't have as much respect from the people of Skyrim as she did. It was better for all concerned not to give people false hope.
Her reaction to her own statement ironically seemed to reassure him, as he relaxed and mournfully replied, "Thank you for your offer. However, I value my privacy and would prefer to be alone." It seemed like such a trained response. Gerda wondered how many times he already said it.
More importantly, who held such sway over him, that he wouldn't even dare to sit next to another person in the middle of nowhere?
Gerda decided that honesty would work better than anything else, if she wanted him to stay. That's when she realized that she truly wanted him to stay. Considering she spent most of her life content in the middle of wilderness and antsy in a crowd, that was surprising. Even if she did only want to figure him out.
"So do I. I ask only for company. There is a difference between privacy and hiding." She gave him a small, calming smile, "We can talk about the weather or any common topic. Or simply sit here in silence and enjoy this beautiful morning, if that is your wish."
He hesitated for one last moment, then stepped a bit closer and leaned against a pillar across from her. He seemed almost grateful.
With a start, she realized he must indeed be very lonely. Who could he possibly talk to? The permanently drunk Fultheim or the simple-minded Hadring, who didn't even bother to remember his name? Exhausted travelers, soldiers and merchants passing through wouldn't offer much in terms of company either.
Perhaps simply standing next to someone without expectations, prodding or rude insults about his race was enough.
"My name is Gerda Sword-Weaver. May I know yours?" She almost automatically slipped into the more noble way of talking from Cyrodiil. More and more, his manner reminded her of a soft-spoken gentleman.
"Balagog gro-Nolob. Pleased to meet you." He replied almost automatically. Then he tensed up, most likely expecting a round of invasive questions and preparing his well-trained answers.
'Too bad I'm about to disappoint your expectations, friend,' Gerda thought to herself and simply replied, "Pleased to meet you as well." Then she turned and continued her staring at the lake's surface. A barely audible sigh of relief reached her ears and she suppressed another smile.
After a while, he relaxed even further and sat down next to her, uncaring whether his fine clothes got dirty. They sat there for a while, neither feeling the need to break their silence with small talk. When Balagog rolled up his sleeves and started fishing, Gerda simply watched.
He had strong hands, she noticed. Not like a warrior, but as a man used to physical work. It was yet another inconsistency she noticed about him. Fine clothes but workers hands. And definitely not the hands of a writer…
'I wonder how he'll react to magic.' Gerda learned that most Orcs detested magic and would at least growl or flinch when they saw it used. Some would even turn hostile to an attempt to heal them. Gerda would normally refrain from using it in 'mixed company', but she had a feeling this Orc will surprise her yet again.
She sat up properly, turned her eyes back to the lake and prepared her Telekinesis spell. She felt Balagog's eyes on her, as he felt the gathering of power, yet he said nothing.
There! She summoned a Salmon swimming close to where she sat. The moment the fish flew close, she turned to face the pillar and released the spell. The salmon smacked into the pillar and fell on the pier, dead.
"Fascinating form of fishing," Balagog turned his head to take a closer look at her. He didn't seem angry or unsettled. If anything, he seemed amused. "I am certain I've never seen the like before."
"I fish like a Breton mage." Gerda grinned at him, happy that he started talking. Happy that he seemed to accept her use of magic. Happy and even more curious about him. "It allows me to catch the fish and kill it without dirtying my hands."
Balagog chuckled, "I've never seen a Breton mage fish like that." Then he realized that he revealed something about himself and started to clam up. Gerda decided to quickly cover the slip for him, before he closed up and she possibly lost his company.
"Me neither. But they seem the type, right? They would likely have people to fish for them, though."
"Have you met many mages in your travels?" he seemed eager to talk about her. Whether he wanted to turn the conversation away from himself or he really wanted to know more about her, that remained a mystery.
"Quite a few. Then I killed most of them for being filthy necromancers," she frowned in thought, "There are surprisingly few mages outside the College that don't turn to banditry or worse. I wonder why…"
"People of Skyrim seem to be less accepting of mages than other provinces of Tamriel." Balagog commented absentmindedly. "If people only look for monsters, that is what they will find."
"Hmm, you may be right. But I don't think hugging the necromancers would help at this point. They already chose their path," Gerda replied. She itched to ask him how many provinces of Tamriel he traveled to make his comparison, but didn't dare. Not yet.
"What about those who never had a choice?" He seemed oddly curious about her answer. Gerda wondered what he was really asking her about. There seemed to be an undertone to his question. She didn't have much time to ponder it, though.
"Then they can always decide to give up their evil ways. The Gods forgive many sins, as long as the intention to change is sincere." Gerda smiled a bit when she remembered that one quest from Dawnstar, "If a Dunmer priest of Vaermina could become a priest of Mara, then everything is possible."
Balagog obviously found comfort in her answer. He nodded to her and turned back to his fishing.
The morning was so beautiful, that Gerda couldn't muster up the will to try some tactic and figure him out. Maybe it wasn't so important after all; he'll open up with some more personal information on his own, once they get a little closer – she was sure of it.
As her eyes started to close and she leaned back against the pillar, her last conscious thought was that this morning, she found more peace sitting next to this strange Orc than with all the Nords of Skyrim combined.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
Gerda had no idea how long she slept. When she opened her eyes, the sun was still up, but it was starting to get colder, meaning it would get dark soon. Did she sleep through the whole day? She lifted her head to look around.
Balagog stood next to her and looked down with an unreadable expression. 'Did he stay next to me the whole day?' she wondered. She felt a bit embarrassed about falling asleep like that. Her only excuse was that her injuries were still not fully healed.
"We should leave for the Inn. The sun will set soon," Balagog said in a calm, quiet voice. Seemed Gerda was not the only one influenced by the calm waters of the lake. Her company perhaps helped too. At least she hoped so.
Balagog offered her a hand up, like a proper gentleman. Gerda smiled sleepily and reached to accept it.
But he didn't count on how heavy she was. She was not a lady whose most strenuous activity was moaning about an absentee lover. She was too sleepy to realize he was no fellow warrior, he was not knowledgeable enough about warriors to count in her… mass.
What happened next was inevitable. Gerda grabbed his hand to pull herself up, but Balagog only expected to lift a lady, not a mountain of heavy muscle. When she pulled, he went down like a stone and fell right on top of her.
That woke her up properly. His head fell on her breasts, thankfully forehead first, since those tusks would hurt, and he somehow fell right between her legs. Balagog was struggling to get up, but the more he struggled, the more awkward and embarrassing their position got.
Gerda couldn't help it – she laughed. She put one arm around his shoulders to steady him, then simply flipped them over and pushed herself up. Still laughing, she offered him her own hand, reversing their previous positions.
Balagog didn't respond for a moment; he simply laid there with his face in hands. When he finally put his hands down, Gerda almost started laughing again.
'This is fun,' Gerda thought as she saw his mortified blush. 'I should do it more often.'
He accepted her hand and this time they both got up without further incidents. He was gearing up for an apology, but she simply waved it off. It was definitely not necessary.
Together, they went back to the inn.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
Once she left her own fish in the common room for tomorrow and finished the rest of her own supplies for dinner (rather than risk food poisoning from another of Hadring's creations), she decided to go visit Balagog in his room.
He just finished his own dinner. The cellar room still smelled delicious. Gerda was determined to get him to cook something for her. Soon. Before she died from 'proper Nord cooking'.
"Hey, can I borrow your lute?" She asked as soon as she walked into his room.
Balagog lifted his head in shock. It seemed he didn't expect her to come to him. Or maybe he didn't expect her to be this friendly after only one day of knowing him… most of which she spent sleeping.
"Oh, well, certainly," he stuttered out. "Do you know how to play?"
Gerda merely lifted her eyebrow at him.
Balagog realized what he said, "I… Sorry, it is merely that you… don't look the type."
Gerda just laughed. "You are right, I'm not. But I was bored a few months back and decided to learn." She blushed a bit, "Besides, it was getting a bit too… old, listening to all those renditions of Dragonborn Comes."
Balagog relaxed and waved her towards the lute. "Be my guest."
Gerda grabbed the lute and sat down next to him on the fur laying on the floor. She recalled several melodies from Cyrodiil and tentatively started playing them.
They spent their evening like that. Gerda played as many melodies as she could remember and Balagog sat there and listened. She even caught him humming a few of them under his breath. 'So, he definitely comes from Cyrodiil. Or at least, he has spent a lot of time there.'
Once she left his room several hours later, Gerda realized she didn't even start to figure his secret out, yet she felt content. By now, she was fairly certain the secret was not evil or illegal. Balagog really didn't seem the type.
In that moment, she decided to abandon her attempt to figure it all out.
What she didn't realize was that the thought of abandoning his company along with her pursuit of his secrets never even crossed her mind.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
That night, Gerda dreamed.
She found herself lying on a straw bed, naked. The room was cold, yet she felt warm. Safe. A lute played softly in the background. She had no idea where she was, only that she was happy. Content. Peaceful, as she'd never been before.
The head on her shoulder lifted a bit. She looked down to see a soft look in her lover's stormy eyes and his smile full of tusks.
She smiled back.
As she leaned in for a kiss, she noticed the blood. A river of blood flooding from her lover's neck onto her bare breasts.
His head fell; eyes empty.
The last thing she saw was the cold, sick gleam of a poisoned dagger and hatred in the orange eyes of their assassin.
Gerda woke up with a gasp, shivering. What was that?
The last time she had a dream like that was the night before she passed through the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim. That time she dreamed of hopelessness and a huge black mass suffocating her as the world around her burned.
The next day, she found herself on a cart headed for execution.
Was this another warning from the Divines? If so, what were they telling her this time?
Gerda had the uncomfortable feeling this was not the first time she dreamed of those eyes. That hateful orange gaze. Fangs in darkness. Poison. Was that a Daedra priest? A Volkihar vampire angry over the death of their kin? Or perhaps a missing member of the Dark Brotherhood?
But she already destroyed the Dark Brotherhood!
Then she realized the how naïve that thought was. As long as hatred existed, as long as people were willing to pay others to kill for them, the Dark Brotherhood would never be destroyed.
Gerda felt she should warn Commander Maro… but warn him of what? That there may be more people willing to kill the soon-to-be-visiting Emperor as that Vicci chit so proudly exclaimed to anyone who would listen? Well, of course there were. There will always be and Maro knew that. Yet she couldn't shake that strange, unsettling feeling that she was missing something.
Her mind turned towards more pleasant thoughts, namely the first part of her dream. With a blush, she realized she dreamed of Balagog. Why? She only knew him for one day, for Gods sake!
Everyone talked about how life in Skyrim was short and courtship even shorter, but she was from Leyawiin. She barely even knew him!
She couldn't deny that she felt… something, when she talked with him. Or even just sat next to him. But that was not enough to marry someone…
With a little start she realized she was acting stupid. There were plenty of people who had sex without marrying. Maybe it was just her and her Cyrodiil ideas that if a girl sleeps with someone, she should marry them.
She was the Dragonborn now. There was nothing and no one who could force her to do something she didn't want to do. She was not dependant on anyone. Not anymore. She was free to do as she pleased. And if she wanted to get a lover, then by Gods, she'll get him. If he wanted her, that is…
With a sigh, she laid back down and stared at the ceiling. The first part of her dream was so… beautiful. She never felt a Lover's Comfort. The few times she slept with people back in Cyrodiil, it was always over way too quickly; as soon as both partners got their satisfaction, they went their own ways. That's how she wanted it at the time. But now…
What would it be like to sleep, actually sleep next to someone without fear of getting robbed or killed? When she knew she will wake up next to them in the morning and smile…
She wanted that. But she was unlikely to find it. Sure, there were many people… worthy and brave, funny and noble, sarcastic and serious, kind and strong… But there was no one she connected with. There was always something missing. Could this mysterious Orc be the one? Could she find something with him, something she never found with any of the others?
'Heh, dating him would probably be shocking enough to get a reaction even from Lydia!'
As she thought about it, her sleepy brain finally made the connection. Was Balagog hiding from the Dark Brotherhood? Was someone after him? Was that why he never talked about personal details or chatted with strangers? If so, why would he give his real name? It definitely was his real name, his face was way too open for him to be able to lie about something so personal.
Well, those assassins chose the wrong target. No one will get him, not on Gerda's watch!
With a last smile, half-asleep, Gerda decided to make the first part of her dream come true; then she'll do everything in her power to make sure the second part did not.