Just to prove I haven't forgotten and am working on it.
Summary: Dyce gets married. ~~~
“What if I paid your dowery?” Dyce asked.
The Orc sheathed her sword and looked him up and down, from his sun-streaked hair to his dusty leather boots.
“You’d be willing to do that?” she asked, her voice husky and her vowels shaped by the little tusks that jutted from her lower jaw, like all Orcs.
He shrugged, “Well, I’m going to spend the money on something and probably sooner rather than later. If it helps you out, why not?” He let her take her time deciding; obviously the expectations of her culture weighed heavily on her, but frankly he couldn’t imagine a worse fate than being married to someone you didn’t even know.
To look at her one would think she was an Orc’s Orc. She wore the kind of armour that Dyce would leave in a dungeon as too heavy to be worth carrying out, and she was a head taller than he was and her shoulders were broader. Red warpaint ringed her eyes and streaked her lean cheeks, and head was shaved save for a strip of slicked back hair. The only thing she lacked was scars, and he was sure she’d get them sooner or later. But she’d been polite to him, and to his surprise had confided her concerns about her future to a complete stranger. Maybe he was a safe ear; her tribe might not take her misgivings well.
“I think it is a fine idea,” she said eventually. “The stronghold will need the gold anyway.” He handed over a bag of coins the same colour as he eyes, and idly scuffed his feet in the dust as he waited for her to collect her things.
“I’ll follow you,” she said.
“I’m going to Markarth,” he said.
“Anywhere you want to go is fine.”
“I get that a lot.” He laughed, “Maybe it’s my arse people that people are happy to follow.”
“It is quite nice,” she said gravely, after eyeing it off for a couple of moments.
“I think we’re going to get on fine,” Dyce said.
And so they did. Dyce was currently between horses, which is why he’d tried to plot a shortcut across country that had led him to Borgakh’s stronghold to start with. After consulting his map and working out that they needed to climb every hill between them and Markarth, they set off in the morning sunshine.
Dyce told her interesting snippets about places he’d been, and gave her pieces of advice he’d learned the hard way on his travels. They had lunch sitting on some sun-warmed rocks, and Dyce found it hard to draw Borgakh into conversation. She was definitely paying attention to what he said, but seemed more interested in evaluating him than sharing much about herself.
Well, she had lived a rather sheltered life. He didn’t even know how many humans other than Forsworn she’d actually met.
“I rather push on,” he said, as they paused to catch their breath and look at the sun sinking over the mountains in the west. “If we spend the night out here, we’ll have to keep watch for Forsworn or risk being gutted in our sleep.”
“Indeed.”
“Speaking of which, it’s rather odd that we haven’t seen any.”
Borgakh looked up at the slope behind them. “They know we’re here,” she said quietly.
“Do they give you trouble?” Dyce asked.
“They know better than to attack an Orc stronghold or a hunting party,” she replied. “But an Orc alone? It’s hard to say.”
“Well, let’s keep moving then.”
They travelled on, and a few stars started to twinkle in the evening sky. As they trudged up over a rise, Dyce pointed. “Look, the lights of Markarth. We’re nearly there.”
His good cheer evaporated when they crested the rise, however. Before them was a shallow valley, the floor dotted with a linked series of shallow pools from which a stream flowed. And among, and on platforms build over these pools was the largest Forsworn encampment Dyce had ever seen.
Borgakh halted beside him and Dyce leaned up to whisper in her slightly pointed ear, “I think we should go around.”
She nodded.
They hurried back down the slope, as quietly as they could. Dyce concentrated on not tripping over a rock in the deepening gloom. He heard Borgakh gasp.
“Husband! Look out!”
Dyce snapped his head up and stared at her. “Wait. What?”
And then he stumbled and nearly fell as pain lanced through him, and he looked down to see the shaft and feathered end of a Forsworn arrow jutting from his chest.
First Husband - M!DB/Borgakh 1/??
Summary: Dyce gets married.
~~~
“What if I paid your dowery?” Dyce asked.
The Orc sheathed her sword and looked him up and down, from his sun-streaked hair to his dusty leather boots.
“You’d be willing to do that?” she asked, her voice husky and her vowels shaped by the little tusks that jutted from her lower jaw, like all Orcs.
He shrugged, “Well, I’m going to spend the money on something and probably sooner rather than later. If it helps you out, why not?” He let her take her time deciding; obviously the expectations of her culture weighed heavily on her, but frankly he couldn’t imagine a worse fate than being married to someone you didn’t even know.
To look at her one would think she was an Orc’s Orc. She wore the kind of armour that Dyce would leave in a dungeon as too heavy to be worth carrying out, and she was a head taller than he was and her shoulders were broader. Red warpaint ringed her eyes and streaked her lean cheeks, and head was shaved save for a strip of slicked back hair. The only thing she lacked was scars, and he was sure she’d get them sooner or later. But she’d been polite to him, and to his surprise had confided her concerns about her future to a complete stranger. Maybe he was a safe ear; her tribe might not take her misgivings well.
“I think it is a fine idea,” she said eventually. “The stronghold will need the gold anyway.” He handed over a bag of coins the same colour as he eyes, and idly scuffed his feet in the dust as he waited for her to collect her things.
“I’ll follow you,” she said.
“I’m going to Markarth,” he said.
“Anywhere you want to go is fine.”
“I get that a lot.” He laughed, “Maybe it’s my arse people that people are happy to follow.”
“It is quite nice,” she said gravely, after eyeing it off for a couple of moments.
“I think we’re going to get on fine,” Dyce said.
And so they did. Dyce was currently between horses, which is why he’d tried to plot a shortcut across country that had led him to Borgakh’s stronghold to start with. After consulting his map and working out that they needed to climb every hill between them and Markarth, they set off in the morning sunshine.
Dyce told her interesting snippets about places he’d been, and gave her pieces of advice he’d learned the hard way on his travels. They had lunch sitting on some sun-warmed rocks, and Dyce found it hard to draw Borgakh into conversation. She was definitely paying attention to what he said, but seemed more interested in evaluating him than sharing much about herself.
Well, she had lived a rather sheltered life. He didn’t even know how many humans other than Forsworn she’d actually met.
“I rather push on,” he said, as they paused to catch their breath and look at the sun sinking over the mountains in the west. “If we spend the night out here, we’ll have to keep watch for Forsworn or risk being gutted in our sleep.”
“Indeed.”
“Speaking of which, it’s rather odd that we haven’t seen any.”
Borgakh looked up at the slope behind them. “They know we’re here,” she said quietly.
“Do they give you trouble?” Dyce asked.
“They know better than to attack an Orc stronghold or a hunting party,” she replied. “But an Orc alone? It’s hard to say.”
“Well, let’s keep moving then.”
They travelled on, and a few stars started to twinkle in the evening sky. As they trudged up over a rise, Dyce pointed. “Look, the lights of Markarth. We’re nearly there.”
His good cheer evaporated when they crested the rise, however. Before them was a shallow valley, the floor dotted with a linked series of shallow pools from which a stream flowed. And among, and on platforms build over these pools was the largest Forsworn encampment Dyce had ever seen.
Borgakh halted beside him and Dyce leaned up to whisper in her slightly pointed ear, “I think we should go around.”
She nodded.
They hurried back down the slope, as quietly as they could. Dyce concentrated on not tripping over a rock in the deepening gloom. He heard Borgakh gasp.
“Husband! Look out!”
Dyce snapped his head up and stared at her. “Wait. What?”
And then he stumbled and nearly fell as pain lanced through him, and he looked down to see the shaft and feathered end of a Forsworn arrow jutting from his chest.