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First Husband - M!DB/Borgakh 6/??

[(Anonymous)]

Dyce had no fears that he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on a shiv, one way or another, but once he acquired a weapon, he’d be mad to give it up. That left fighting. Dyce fought quick and mean, and barflies twice his size were often caught unprepared, but Borkul would not be. He’d had the measure of Dyce as soon as he saw him, and grinned, showing a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth, to let him know he was looking forward to taking him apart.

The fight would be far from a sure thing.

“How about you?” Borkul turned to Borgakh. “Wanna wrestle?”

Borgakh drew herself up, “If I fight you, it will be on behalf of my husband.”

Borkul flicked his gaze briefly to Dyce and back again, “Ah well, plenty of time for you to become a widow.”

“Come on,” Dyce said. “Let’s see who else we can talk to.”

Borgakh followed him closely as they explored the prison. None of their fellow inmates showed a lot of promise; most of them were Forsworn sympathisers and Dyce suspected not being a Forsworn sympathiser would tend to shorten one’s lifespan down here.

There was a clanging sound from the entrance and as one all the prisoners downed tools and made their way to the central area. Dyce and Borgakh watched as they handed over the ore they had mined in exchange for a bowl of stew and some bread. Borkul received far more than the others; enough for his master as well and handed over no ore in exchange.

Since they hadn’t mined anything, Dyce and Borgakh had to make do with a few slices of hard, stale bread. Borgakh crunched through her portion and Dyce gave up on his and let her eat that as well. It was clear they couldn’t stay down here.

Dyce and Borgakh sat huddled in a corner as they discussed their next move.

“We’ve got two choices,” Dyce said. “I can blow Duach for some skooma to trade for a shiv.” A needlessly complicated chain of commerce, but Dyce fancied the Breton far more than Grisvar. “Or I can take the fight directly to the Orc.”

Borgakh frowned, “I want to fight him. Will you let me fight him?”

“Uh. Are you sure? I mean, I know you’ve trained, but I’ve actually fought. Brutes like him don’t go down easily.”

“I’ve seen your scars. I know.” She narrowed her eyes as she glanced over at Borkul, “I just hate the way he looks at me. I want to wipe that stupid fucking leer off his face. My blood is boiling, Dyce. This is as it should be. And if I beat him.”

“No one here’s gonna mess with you,” Dyce finished.

“Trust me.” They both realised she was echoing his words from earlier.

Dyce smiled. Someone had to trust. “Okay. If you do fight him, that’ll give me a chance to lift a couple of shivs while everyone else is distracted. If he does anything untoward to you,” he looked into her eyes, “I will put a pick through the back of his skull.”

Borgakh nodded, “Thank you, for believing in me. And for the offer of the pick.” She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to speak, “Borkul is- he reminds me of how I imagined the husband my father would have chosen for me. All teeth and swagger and spite and strength. I will be stronger.”

“We’ve got nothing to gain by waiting,” Dyce said. “Whenever you’re ready, challenge the sod.”

Borgakh got to her feet and squared her shoulders. “Borkul!” She strode towards him.

As Dyce had predicted, the fight had brought all the ragged and surly prisoners out of the shadows and into the central area. They built up the fire a bit more and made space for the combatants.

“I’m fighting for Dyce,” Borgakh said clearly. “If I win, he gets to see Madanach.”

“Sure,” Borkul drawled. “Sure.”

The first punch Borkul copped right on the chin. He barely moved. Dyce could see both opponents were sizing each other up; Borgakh hadn’t overreached herself and left an opening. They circled each other, swinging and ducking, and Dyce could hear the dull thuds of fists striking flesh over the crackle of the flames.

He had to trust Borgakh had this, at least for now, and Dyce slunk back into the shadows, his fingers slipping into pockets, looking for a shiv.

He’d found two, some skooma which he’d left, and a lot of dirt, when the crowd moved as one, and Dyce elbowed his way closer to the fight.