The noise coming from the common room woke Gerda early the next morning. At first she wanted to get back to sleep - Inns were usually very noisy and she got used to that a long time ago. Then she realized what that noise meant.
Someone came to visit Nightgate. Many someones, in fact.
Gerda jumped up and hastily righted her now familiar Forsworn armor. She hoped it was a merchant caravan. This scrap of fur stopped being amusing a long time ago.
Balagog was nowhere to be found. He must have gone down to the lake as he did every morning. Just as well. Gerda's memory of last night was a bit… hazy, but she remembered that she got drunk. Very, very drunk. Waking up in his bed just confirmed it. She guiltily wondered if he slept at all.
When she arrived in the common room, she found she was in luck. The noise came from Ma'dran and his caravan.
"Aah, welcome," Ma'dran greeted her as soon as he saw her. "This one is pleased to see you, Dragonborn. It has been a long time on the road."
"Good day, Ma'dran," Gerda was impatient to get some clothes. Showing impatience would cost her a lot, but then, she could certainly afford it. "What have you got for sale?"
The Cat's greedy eyes shined brighter. "Take a look," he all but challenged her and invited her outside to check his wares.
As they were leaving, Gerda saw Hadring give her a strange look. As if he was surprised to see her alive and unharmed. Fultheim also raised his head to peer at her suspiciously.
Well, whatever was going through their heads, they could keep their opinions to themselves. If this was about what she thought it was about – namely her sleep-over in Balagog's bed – she definitely did not need or want to hear it.
Ma'dran led her outside. Other members of the caravan could surely take care of matters at the Inn on their own. Hadring was too desperate for paying customers to refuse anyone passing through, even if they were Khajiit and so not to be trusted according to most locals.
Gerda took a good look at all his inventory. He had the usual assortment of overpriced weapons and armor of low quality, potions and poisons, untested scrolls, a discreet casket full of Moonsugar, some random books…
"Do you have any clothes?" This will cost her. A lot. Showing impatience and true need to a merchant, especially a Khajiit one.
"Clothes? Why yes, we do have some that would fit this noble lady." Damned cat was already trying to persuade her she needed his best (and most expensive) potato sacks. Next he'll probably try to sell her some… "We have Fine Clothes to highlight this lady's beautiful eyes."
'I knew it,' Gerda thought to herself as Ma'dran pulled a set of fine clothes seemingly out of nowhere. It was the female variation of the set that Balagog wore. Gerda couldn't help but smile a bit. That would be awkward.
"Do you have any other… Fine Clothes, some that are not in that particular style?" Better to show Ma'dran that she still wanted something expensive, rather than haggle over whether she as a Thane of almost every hold of Skyrim should wear noble dresses or if she was allowed to wear whatever she actually wanted to wear. Stupid titles. Sometimes she wondered why she actually got them. Oh, right, she was bored.
"Certainly," Ma'dran's whiskers twitched in a smile. Oh Gods, what now? "The lady shall be most pleased with Khajiit selection," and he pulled out a 'Maven dress'. Sigh.
Sure, it looked good, but that bitch Maven practically coined the style as her own.
Oh well, Gerda was never too picky when it came to dress styles. Also, it looked warm. Definitely better than this Forsworn 'Armor'.
After a bit of haggling, she managed to get it for 'only' 40 Gold.
The main business of the day completed, Gerda decided to take a look at the books, too. Maybe they'd have The Mirror. She noticed Balagog had Legend of Krately House in his room and wanted to show him one of her favorire books in return. They might spend a few evenings comparing notes and discussing literature - wasn't he supposed to be a writer? Hmm.
Then she noticed a simple book bound in blue leather. Uncommon Taste.
"Don't I know this from somewhere?" she muttered to herself.
"The lady surely must have heard about The Gourmet," Ma'dran commented excitedly. "There is talk among travelers that he is visiting somewhere in Skyrim. Many famous cooks came to Skyrim specifically to see him. Some even came from Elsweyr, just for the chance to meet him here."
"The Gourmet? I met a couple of people determined to risk their lives just to impress him. Who is he?"
"Ohh, no one knows that. No one knows even if it is even a man." Ma'dran grinned. "Could even be a Khajiit. All that is known is that The Gourmet is a legendary cook, who was chosen to prepare a meal for the Emperor himself!"
Famous cook. Secret identity. Hiding in Skyrim. Connection to the Emperor himself. There was something… something… She will have to think on it later, not under the sneaky, calculating gaze of a merchant.
"I'll take this one." If nothing else, she'll have a couple of recipes to try with Balagog.
Later in her room, Gerda changed into her new clothes and decided to study up on the recipes.
Uncommon Taste
by The Gourmet
She was a bit surprised to see an intro. It was a long time since she saw a book that had one. Definitely written by an expert.
It sounded… friendly. Polite, noble, yet with a passionate tone that hooked her in. Then something caught her attention.
'Start here, and some day, you too can be a gourmet'. The sentence hit her with the force of a warhammer.
It looked like she found out Balagog's secret after all.
-balablob-balablob-balablob-
When Balagog entered his room, the first thing he noticed was that Gerda sat in his chair. Reading Uncommon Taste.
"So…" she began without looking up.
Balagog closed his eyes, expecting the worst.
Gerda looked at him and smirked a bit, she so loved disappointing his worst expectations, "I had the privilege of tasting a meal from The Gourmet before the Emperor himself. I feel kind of special right now."
Balagog gaped at her, wrong-footed. But he didn't try to deny it. "Are you not angry? I deceived you. I lied to everyone in this Inn about who I am."
"Balagog," she rose to her feet and came closer to him. He tensed up. "I noticed something was off about you the first time we spoke. It never bothered me." She gave him a wry smile, "In fact, I tried to figure it out at first. But then I realized it did not matter." She took one of his hands into her own. "I enjoyed your company too much to play guardsman."
Balagog relaxed a bit. "You… don't mind that the famous Gourmet is an Orc?" he asked her, still a bit nervous. Gerda wondered what kind of bad experiences he had in his past.
"Did it ever look like I have a problem with your race?" she smiled at him.
"No, you haven't," he replied quietly. There was warmth in his voice she never heard before. He looked into her eyes and gently squeezed her hand in his own.
"So… why all the Cloak and Dagger? You will appear before the Emperor as yourself, won't you? His visit is the reason you're here, right?" she asked him.
Balagog pulled his hand out of hers and looked away, "It is too dangerous for me to be in the open…"
"Which is silly." She interrupted him pointedly. Then her voice gentled and she added, "I already destroyed the Dark Brotherhood. If there ever was a good time to reveal your identity, it would be now."
Balagog flinched and stared again. "You… you destroyed the Dark Brotherhood?" He stared at her with wide eyes. "The most famous assassin guild in all of Tamriel? When? How?"
Gerda blushed a little, "It was a few weeks back. I… got their attention, I guess. Then I got even more of it when I killed their leader, Astrid. Commander Maro gave me the password to their Sanctuary when I told him what happened." She shrugged her shoulders. "After that, it was a simple matter of killing them. For such a feared group, they actually had rather weak protections. Just a few fighters too used to being predators, who didn't ever expect to become prey. It was not even the hardest fight I've ever been in."
When Balagog still didn't reply, just stared at her, Gerda continued, "If anything, anonymity is more harmful to you right now. Should people know who The Gourmet is, the assassins cannot assume your identity. So what is the problem?"
Balagog turned away and went to sit on the edge of his bed. "It is not that simple." He refused to look at her.
Gerda sat next to him. She felt that if she let him withdraw now, she will never get that close to him again. "How so?"
"Several people learned of my… identity." He frowned. "The moment they knew who I was, they tried to get me in trouble with the law. Had I not have several… trusted individuals vouch for me, I'd probably end up in prison." He looked her in the eyes. "Anonymity to all but the Emperor was my only request. One that the Penitus Oculatus finally agreed to, after several months of bargaining." He sighed heavily. "I do not wish to risk revealing myself again."
Gerda put her hand on his shoulder, "Balagog…" She wished to persuade him to reveal himself, but she understood. Had she not spent most of her life hiding as well? For her, there was no difference between pretending she was a weak and gentle noblewoman looking for a husband to please her parents and between putting on the mask of a writer to preserve one's anonymity.
She did eventually take drastic measures to rid herself of her own mask, but it took her years to… prepare.
Gerda sighed next to him, "Very well. If you wish to keep your anonymity, I will not be the one to spoil it." She gave him a reassuring smile.
Balagog looked her in the eyes, then put his own hand on top of hers, "Thank you."
Then he seemed to notice her dress. "Fine clothes? Somehow, I expected armor."
"Oh, I usually wear armor," she grinned at him, glad that his gloomy mood was lifting, "But it is not very comfortable everyday wear." Then her grin got wider. She slipped her hand from his shoulder and put it right behind him on the bed, almost touching him. She leaned closer, until she spoke directly into his ear, "If you wish, I can dress in that again."
Balagog blushed as usual, but this time, he did not look away, "It… suits you."
Gerda all but snuggled into him, then put her head on his shoulder, "I guess I'll have to wear it more often, then." Her hand on the bed behind him rose of its own volition and she ended up hugging him around the waist.
There was one thing that made no sense to her, still. Why was he alone? He still had his clan name, so he was not cast out. Yet here he was, all alone in the middle of nowhere. Couldn't he bring someone along? She decided to ask him about it. "What about other Orcs? Would they not be proud to have the famous Gourmet come from their race?"
He smiled sadly, "Not quite. When Orcs look at me, they only see that I'm a writer. That I'm not a warrior. Not strong. To them, I'm a failure." His gaze turned distant, "All others see an Orc. Ironic, is it not? I wish it were the other way around."
Of course. Gerda remembered the Old Orc she met by the road. He was so desperate not to die old. To die as a warrior. Like all the other Orcs she met until now did. For them, there was nothing more important than physical strength and combat prowess. They would not welcome an intellectual among them. Balagog's life truly must be… lonely. She hugged him tighter.
Balagog put his own hand around her properly and with a sigh, laid his own head on top of hers, all but kissing the top of her head. This was much more open than his usual behavior, Gerda noticed. Seemed that since she knew his secret and was not trying to expose or blackamail him, he was much more willing to open up to her.
She definitely would not protest.
How long they stayed there, she had no idea. She wanted to kiss him, but was unwilling to break this moment; not even for that.
There will be time for it later, she told herself and snuggled closer still. She felt him smile into her hair and felt at peace.