Chapter 5: The Road to Whiterun

Rikke watched as Marz rose from the water after strangling the sabre cat with his bare hands. Blood, gore, sweat and water dripped from every visible muscle on his body. Then she realized it wasn't just his muscles she could see. She had felt its size when she had pressed against him earlier, just before the cat had pounced, but seeing it was another thing entirely. Blood and gore be damned, she had been toying with him earlier, trying to gauge his interest but now she wanted–no needed him.

Her eyes must have said the same because he took one look at her before he scooped her up in his arms. His hands cradled each of her thighs in them, and he pressed his forehead lightly against hers in an intimate fashion. And then without warning, he was pushing her down onto him. She gasped in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and her nails dug into his strong shoulders. "Don't stop!" She cried out. And he didn't. Instead, he lifted her again and again, moving her along, and she felt herself getting close—

Rikke gasped and opened her eyes. The sun's rays were just barely breaking the horizon. Damn you Lady Dibella! She thought. A dream?? Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was still having trouble catching her breath. Why was she unable to get the orc out of her thoughts? It wasn't until her breathing was back under control that the answer came to her. Aside from his impressive physique, and stature, she had only just realized right before the sabre cat attacked, that unlike most men, he'd seen her as a warrior first.

By his own words, his actions had meant nothing to him, but to her, she was beginning to realize that they in fact meant everything. She knew he was interested in her as well, at least physically. She had felt as much under the water when she had warned him about the sabre cat. Her body shivered involuntarily and she remembered what it had felt like under the water. Even if their attraction could never turn to love, she wanted to at least experience him once. Maybe on the way to Whiterun– she pushed the thought aside.

I have a duty to perform first, she thought. Once my mission is complete, I will pursue my own interests. Now that she was focused once more, Rikke looked around and realized that she was completely alone on the Crest. The fire had been stamped out, and Marz' sleeping roll was gone. As was the Orc. So much for honor, she thought bitterly. No matter. Marz wasn't the first to let her down, and she was sure he wouldn't be the last. Rikke rose, and dressed herself in her imperial armor. She would carry out her mission regardless of companionship.

She was just beginning to plan her route to Whiterun when she heard horses at the bottom of the Crest. Blasted Stormcloaks! She thought, drawing her sword. They won't take me without a fight! Rikke took cover in Marz' stone alcove, and waited to ambush the ambushers. She could hear the horses hooves drawing closer and closer…

When at last she could stand it no longer, she leapt from cover with a battle cry and her sword poised to strike at the first thing she saw. The first thing she saw was Marz' scowl. "Marz?" She felt her stomach flutter at the sight of him again, but the fact that he didn't even flinch at the sight of her attack, turned her excitement to anger. "Where the hell have you been Marz? I thought you abandoned me!"

Marz shrugged. "Woke before you did. Broke camp, went to Kynesgrove, traded goods and coin for two horses." Rikke looked at the horses. Both had travel bags ready for their journey. "Here." Marz tossed something at her and she had to drop her sword to catch it. "Bought that from the witch in Witchmist Grove. Minor healing potion. There's two more in the travel bags." Marz' expression was so matter-of-fact that Rikke felt ashamed at her previous assumption that the orc had abandoned her.

Marz stared at her, waiting for her next words. She sheathed her sword. Though the orc didn't know it, she felt she had dishonored him, and felt compelled to redeem herself. "Let's move out."

*

As the day dragged on, itbecame clear to Rikke that her run of bad luck was far from over. Marz and Rikke had been forced to take a slightly wider route during their journey to avoid the Stormcloak held Fort Amol. As a result, the two of them had gone too far north and ran into giants at Cradlecrush Rock about halfway through the day. The giants had chased them for an hour. Then, they fled too far south towards Hillgrund's tomb so by the time they were back on track, they had only made it as far as Valtheim Towers when the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Some foolish bandit marauder had thought it wise to try to extort a toll from them to pass. You'd think seeing a bare chested orc as large as Marz would make you think twice about threatening them, Rikke thought. Marz and Rikke had killed her, and her five other friends who held the Towers. Rikke watched as the last of the bandits jumped from the stone bridge that connected the two towers into the river below, rather than face Marz in direct contest. To be fair, the man had just seen Marz beat one of his comrades to death with the dismembered arm of another bandit before turning on him, so Rikke couldn't really find it in herself to blame the man.

*

That night after they had washed the blood from their bodies, they sat around the bandits' dinner table on the 3rd floor of the tower, eating a supper of beef stew in silence. Marz in his normal fur armor, and Rikke in a long, simple tunic. I wonder if he'd consider joining the legion, Rikke thought to herself. I know General Tullius would give him a commission with my recommendation and endorsement. Of course–that would mean he would no longer be bare chested as he so often is…

Rikke mulled her thoughts for a while longer before finally asking, "Would you ever consider joining the legion Marz?" The orc continued to eat in silence for a few minutes before answering a short "No."

The legate was taken aback by his forthrightness in answering, and suddenly a creeping suspicion took root. "Marz," she asked slowly. "Are you… a Stormcloak?"

Marz laughed so hard the horses spooked outside the tower. Rikke had never heard an orc laugh before, and she found it–unsettling. It was somehow almost as fearsome as his roar. "I am no Stormcloak Rikke. Though I have fought others' battles before," the orc suddenly grew solemn. "I refuse to take orders from anyone I do not hold faith in." The orc said no more, and Rikke felt it wise to let the subject rest for now. "Have you ever taken a mate?" She asked the question impulsively, and immediately felt herself flush. She refused to look in the orc's direction, choosing instead to focus on her food.

"A few," the orc answered and Rikke's brows raised with surprise."Only a few?" Marz nodded. "It is custom among the Orsimer clans that only the strongest may claim wives, and children. Thus each tribe ensures that the bloodline is strong. The strongest is always the chief" Rikke had a hard time believing anyone aside from a dragon or a giant could be stronger than Marz. "Were you not the chief?" She asked. This time the orc shook his head. "No. As my horns grew in I was challenged many times, I won each time, but I never challenged the chief, nor did he me. Therefore, I was not permitted a wife or children."

Seems a lonely way to live, Rikke thought. But then another thought occurred to her. "Wait, if you weren't permitted a wife, how do you then claim past mates?"

"There are no rules against mating within a stronghold, just against marriage and children. As long as a female orsimer is willing and unmarried to the chief, it was not against our code to lay with them. Since I left the stronghold a year ago, the mates I have taken since then have been either city orsimer, dunmer," he looked at her pointedly. "Or human."

Rikke instantly felt her face flush. There it is! She thought. I finally have the answer! Out loud she said, "What was so special about your human mates?" There's no going back now, she thought. The orc shrugged. "They were strong. Good warriors. I do not know if there has ever been a half orsimer child, but I would not have minded them bearing me one. Each one was tested in combat, and each one showed fire." Marz looked at her directly now. "You have to understand," he said slowly.

"For my kind, mating is—rough. We are not gentle by nature and often our coupling can be mistaken for fighting. Blood may be shed, bruises won, mating with an orsimer should not be taken lightly–especially for a human. It is common during the coupling to become marked by the male's tusks. Were this seen on a human female, she may find herself shunned by her own people. Never to find a mate of her own kind." He looked away then and his voice grew soft, almost gentle for a moment. "Until I have built my own stronghold, all I can offer a mate is blood and lust."