Erik downed his tankard of mead, setting it back on the counter in front of Grulmar. The Nord’s eyes kept darting towards Tavia, who was leaning against the wall of the homestead, talking with Vilkas about some Vigilant business no doubt. Erik was just waiting for the right moment to go talk to her, mustering his mental strength with mead. We Nords call it preparation, he chuckled for himself.
Grulmar looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “Somethin’ funny, Ginger?”
“Nah. Just keep pouring,” Erik shook his head
“If y’are lookin’ for courage ya won’t find it in the mead,” the Orc snorted, smirking as his red eyes darted towards Tavia. “Tilma’s had words with ya, ya have been here for over an hour, and ya still haven’t gotten the nerve yet.”
“You heard that?”
“I see everythin', I hear everythin'…” Alright, that’s a pretty good imitation of Tilma, Gru. “I mean, Honey over there is pretty and all that, but Shiny’s gonna string ya by the balls if ya try somethin' on her.”
Erik groaned, his head banging on the counter. “Why everyone keeps reminding me of that?”
“Well, ‘cause everybody knows that. She’s like his great great great grand cousin’s niece twice removed to him even though they’re not related, so ya know, family. So if ya want to shag her then just consider the possibility that it might be yer last act in this shitty world.”
The ginger Nord glanced towards the large table with a sound measure of trepidation. The big Altmer was laughing with Farkas, the Jarl, Seif-ij and Aela, eating, a lot. His behavior now a complete reversal from the taciturn Mer that had arrived at the ‘stead just after Dusk. Serana was with him, her eyes shining as she listened to her Mer talk and joke. The two were all smiles when they finally emerged from the ‘stead, freshly washed and sporting changes of clothes too. Tilma nearly lost it when the Mer was seen wearing the indigo shirt she herself had sewn for him, the one with the simple silver thread trim on the sleeves and neckline with dark trousers. It was actually a similar style to what he was wearing, minus the vest and he looked, Erik nodded to himself, good, the Mer looked good, still too thin, but good. As if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even his hair is less tense, Erik smirked to himself. It was now mostly loose, save two braids starting behind each pointed ear and joining at the back of his head to form a single braid down the back and aye,of course, the ladies were all over that hair. Well, he’s had sex, sex does this, you want sex too, but he’s going to strap you by the balls.
He turned his attention back to Grulmar “Ehm… What if I already have?” Erik grimaced, watching Grulmar pour the mead into his tankard. Just as he said that, Grulmar sharply turned around and looked at him, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Ha! Hahaha! My condolences, matey,” he laughed, handing him the tankard while shaking his head in disbelief.
“Thanks for the support, asshole.”
“I haven’t given it to ya yet,” Grulmar snorted and reached for a bottle under the counter. He opened it and handed it over to Erik. “This here is my support if ya want it.”
“Sujamma?”
“Yeah. A proper kick in the nuts to jumpstart yer courage, that’s what it is. If ya want to go talk to her, that is. That’s what ya want to do, right? Go talk with her and fix somethin’ ya tusked up. Or just tusked?” Grulmar said, a chuckle punctuating the end of his speech.
“Fuck you,” Erik muttered, but he reached for the bottle, taking a hearty swig. The thing tasted like liquid fire, burning through his throat, making his eyes water. He coughed few times and then took a deep breath. “What was that thing you were saying about an opportunity? ‘There is no such thing as perfect opportunity, there is-’”
“There is only opportunity. Depends on how ya size it, but waitin’ for the perfect one is a waste of time,” Grulmar finished.
“Yeah, that,” Erik grumbled and then reluctantly pushed himself from the counter. “Thanks for that. And for the drink too, barkeep.”
“Ha-ha,” Grulmar grimaced. “I’ll enjoy the moment Shiny cuts off yer balls.”
Well, that could still happen, Erik thought as he strode towards Tavia and Vilkas, careful to avoid the large table. His head was becoming slightly dizzy, his balance far from perfect, but he forced himself to walk straight, to not look like some drunk idiot. He noticed her eyes darting towards him as she came to the conclusion he was heading towards her and he could see her brows furrowing.
Just walk up to her and tell her you want to talk. Nothing more. He closed the distance and flashed a smile. “Hey. How are you?” She looked at him with a ridiculous expression on her face.
“Excuse me,” she looked at Vilkas, murmuring. She turned to leave and Erik raised his hand in a gesture to stop her.
“Wait. Just...I want to talk.”
She stopped, frowning at him. Vilkas coughed into his hand and excused himself, probably not comfortable with being present for what was to come. Just don’t head towards Ronnie, Erik thought, keeping one eye on his Shield-Brother, because Ronnie would look in the direction Vilkas was coming from and then Erik would lose his balls. He breathed a sigh of relief when Vilkas instead headed towards the Legate who was not within Ronnie’s eyeshot.
“Talk?” she grimaced. “What is there to talk about, Erik?” Tavia crossed her arms over her chest, her whole posture screaming ‘challenge’ at Erik. “About the fact I’m just another notch on your blade?”
“It’s not like that,” Erik groaned, trying to collect his thoughts. Somehow when he practiced this conversation in his head it went much smoother than this. So much for the plan.
“No? Then what’s it like?” she snorted. “You were nice to me, Erik. All the other Vigilants warned me that you were just trying to get under my skirt and I was just stupid enough not to listen to them. Because the moment you got under my skirt… Nothing. Fort Dawnguard is just a stone’s throw away from the Beacon and you didn’t even bother to visit me.”
“I-”
“And when I came to Fort Dawnguard? The guards told me you were hiding from me. So what’s it like then? I’m very interested in hearing that.”
Fucking bastards! They were supposed to say I’m on a job… He sighed and shook his head. “Let me explain, please.”
“I’m listening,” she smirked.
“I like you, Tavia,” he murmured, rubbing his neck. “I really do. And it scares me. It scared the heck out of me back then, after the night by the waterfall.” Tavia was about to say something, but he quickly stopped her with raised hand. “No, please, let me finish. It’s more difficult than I expected.” He took a deep breath, preparing himself to tell the complete truth. “I gave my heart to a woman once. An Altmer, to be precise. And… She turned out to be a Thalmor spy, just using me.”
Tavia narrowed her eyes. “So you decided to use me in the same way?”
“No. No! Not that way. I mean, she didn’t used me that way. Well, she did, but it was… just means to an end for her. It meant nothing for her. She not only hurt me, but then she used me to get to Ronnie.”
“Ronnie?”
“She nearly killed him, stabbed him, Tavia, all because I gave her my heart and then she got close. I love my Shield-Brother and I never trusted a woman enough to open my heart ever again. That’s what I’m trying to say. I panicked when I realized I really like you. And… I know you don’t deserve to go through the same thing that I did. I want to make it right.”
She stared at him for a while and he nervously twitched under her gaze. If he had to be honest with himself he expected her to punch him any second, but she just stared at him, biting her lower lip. “How exactly do you want to make it right, Erik?” she finally said, her eyes narrow and full of suspicion.
“By… buying you a drink?” he offered, raising his eyebrows.
“Drinks are for free here.”
“Uhm. Yeah, you got me there. So is that a ‘no’ to grabbing a drink with me?”
She sighed, closing her eyes for a second. “I feel like I'm going to regret this. Fine,” she murmured, opening her beautiful eyes again. “I’ll have a drink with you. But you’re not getting under my robes tonight, is that clear?”
Erik smiled at that, not able to help himself. “Clear as day,” he said, motioning her towards the counter and the Orc barkeep behind it.
Well, that could have been worse, Erik. Now hope it will be enough to save you from Ronnie’s wrath…
Everyone was drinking and laughing and Jon found this crowd very pleasant. It wasn’t the right crowd for poems, well, no, Ronnie would always appreciate a poem, especially serious ones, but he was probably the only one. So songs were the order of business tonight. Yes, this crowd was perfect for songs. Not everyone was listening though, not completely, most likely only acknowledging his voice in the background, but he wasn’t singing for their praise, or even for their full attention. He was singing because every feast required songs and he loved singing. What else was needed? And if a little later, he could slap in some Skald poetry for those still sober enough to appreciate it, he would.
“O my sweet love, she waits for me,
Through storm and shine, cross land or sea.
I run to her and together we,
Sway as we kiss
Sway as we kiss.”
The people around the table turned their heads towards him, towards the doleful sound of his voice, trapped by the song’s words and rhythm of his lute. He honored the great bard in the room tonight by favoring the lute. He scanned his audience. Vilkas, Farkas, the Argonians, Legate Fasendil and the Altmeri wizard, they all paused and listened to him. And then Ronnie, his true teacher, listening always with a careful ear. And it warmed his heart, because even though he wasn’t singing for the praise, their attention was the biggest compliment for him he could ever get.
“Her graceful shape I heave on high
And in one hand I hold her nigh
Her waiting lips are never dry
Sway as we kiss
Sway as we kiss
Come the morn she goes
The taste of her remains
And in my mind, I see us sway
Sway as we kiss
Sway as we kiss”
“Here, here!” Farkas stood up, raising his tankard towards him in a toast. “Beautiful song!”
“You wouldn’t recognize a beautiful song even if it hit you right in the head, brother,” Vilkas laughed, which made Farkas scowl at his brother.
“It’s a fair song.” Jon bowed. “End needs some work, the rhyme isn’t perfect.” His eyes were now on Ronnie.
The old Mer looked from his meal up sensing the Nord’s look, “Oh lad, I’m not judging you tonight.”
“Well if you ask me, cuz, a little bit sad for tonight, don’t you think?” Legate Fasendil murmured. “Do you have some drinking songs in your repertoire… Uhm.” The Legate pointing at him and then raised his shoulders. “I actually forgot your name. Sorry. We Altmer are supposed to have the best memories in Tamriel, but even I have my limits. Too many names.”
Ronnie turned to his cousin. “Or it could be too much mead.” He grinned.
The big finger went from pointing at Jon to pointing at Ronnie and the Legate shook it. “You watch yourself, old goat.” He turned back to Jon. “Your name, lad?”
“Jon Battle-Born, Legate,” Jon smiled, not offended in the least. He understood the Legate, there were too many people here he hadn’t met before and trying to remember all the names could be difficult.
“The Orc calls him ‘Rhyme’!” Farkas barked with laughter. “Guess why, Fasendil!”
“It rhymes with ryme?” the Altmeri wizard offered with his eyebrows raised.
Farkas frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t worry, Farkas,” Jon chuckled. “You will once you grow up.”
“Just sing some song, skald. Drinking song,” the Nord snorted. “Something we know, so that we can join you and screw it up, like we used to when we were kids. And don’t you even think about giving that lute to the old Fart over there. I don’t want to hear dying chickens tonight.”
Ronnie gasped. “Farkas! I thought you liked my music!”
“I do! I like the pretty quavering one about the king and his mistress and I like the one about being in a strange land, but no, not the one that sounds like dying chickens.”
“Oh yeah, I don’t like that one either.” The old Mer agreed, taking a sip of milk. “Hehe, I only play that one when I don’t like the people I’m playing for.” He added with a impish grin.
“Scoundrel.” Serana chimed in.
He gave her a quick kiss. “Don’t you know it.”
The Altmeri wizard’s jaw dropped. “Did he just compare our music to dying chickens?”
“Well, you have to admit, Nelecar, some of the Northern stuff…” Ronnie pointed out.
“Ah, yes,” the wizard nodded. “Definitely.”
“Hmm. Alright, let’s see,” Jon murmured, thinking about the songs. “Yes, how about this one?” He started to play the introduction and the smiles told him he had selected just the right one.
“I won the battle of the cup today,
I won the battle of the cup!
I raised it up,
And drank it down —
I won the battle of the cup!”
Fasendil and Farkas roared with laughter, banging on the table with their tankards to the rhythm of his music - well, sort of, Fasendil was a bit ahead of the beat and Farkas was a bit behind, so it was a mess really, but Jon didn’t care. They soon joined in the singing. Good old Nord out of tune singing. Jon didn’t know the Legate had it in him.
“I won the battle of the jug today,
I won the battle of the jug!
I raised it up,
And drank it down —
I won the battle of the jug!”
The song was now speeding up in tempo, growing boisterous, and Jon could hear other people around the homestead lending their voices to the tune while they stomped their feet.
“I won the battle of the barrel today,
I won the battle of the barrel!
I raised it up,
And drank it down —
I won the battle of the barrel!”
Then everything suddenly stopped, because that was how the song went and Jon was hoping in the seconds of silence that the right person would take up the last verse.
The unmistakable voice of Äelberon of Dusk was then heard, his low baritone driving home the joke of the song in a way only he could, sort of sobbing and slurring his way through it, his hands clasping at his heart, like he was dying.
“I lost the battle of the ale today,
I lost the battle of the ale.
I drank it up,
He winked at Jon.
It put me down —
I lost the battle of the ale….”
He slumped against his chair and “died”. Cheers and roars of laughter followed after the song, everyone raising their tankards and downing their contents. Which meant the tankards then needed refilling, so they began shouting at Grulmar behind the counter, everyone shouting what drink they wanted. He saw the woman, Serana, take a flower from one of the jugs and rest it on the old Mer’s chest. He opened an eye and gave her a grin.
“Show off.” She chuckled. They laughed and he suddenly grabbed her, placing her on his lap, making her squeal with delight.
“Alright, alright!” Grulmar shouted back at the crowd. “Just slow down, damn it! I’m not doin’ this for a livin’, ya know.” The tankards began levitating around and Jon couldn’t help himself but smile, completely fascinated by this display of magic. What was even more fascinating was that not a single drop of drink was spilled during that. The Orc wiped his forehead and shouted: “Hey, Rhyme! Do ya have somethin’ about over-worked Orcs?”
“Stop whining, Grulmar!”
“Where’s my drink?”
“I wanted ale, not mead, damn it!”
Jon laughed out loud, raising his hands. “Alright, I might have something about Orcs. Here goes.”
“There once was an Orc from Betnikh
Of warmth he said he was sick
But the gales of The Rift
Tossed his arse in a drift
Now his buns he can't unstick.”
“Hahahahaha!” a mighty roar of laughter sounded from several throats, echoing around the homestead and Jon was damn sure that the whole of Whiterun wasn’t sleeping soundly tonight.
“Close enough, Jon!” he heard Erik shout from the back, Tavia leaning against him, laughing like crazy.
“Come on, Jon! Another drinking song!” Farkas laughed. “About mead this time, come on!”
“Let him sing what he wants, brother,” Vilkas groaned. “We can’t have him sing just rowdy tavern songs. Everyone would end up drunk under the table too soon!”
Oh, here we go again, Jon thought, watching the two brothers with amusement. Growing up with those two around meant he pretty much knew how this was is going to end.
“It’s not my problem the skirt-clingers can’t handle their drinks.” Farkas argued.
“You calling me a skirt-clinger, brother?”
“Sure, why not, brother?”
“Fine! You’ve asked for it. When I’m done with you, you’re gonna cling to your woman’s skirt, crying!”
“Oooo, this is serious! Come on then, bring it, Harbinger!”
They were raising their voices, growling and bristling like angry wolves, but Jon could see the corners of their mouths twitch. It was the way they once were, the fights not being serious, just for fun. Jon was glad, there was a time when he wondered if the twins would ever speak to each other again and the fights had been real. When Vilkas left for the Vigilants after Vignar died. It was good to see smiles and laughter from Jorrvaskr again.
Both walked a few steps away from the table, standing now opposite each other, their bare hands raised.
“Five-hundred Septims on Farkas!” Teineeva shouted and everyone looked in his direction, their eyebrows raised. Even Farkas and Vilkas looked at the Argonian with surprised expressions on their faces.
“Dammit, you crazy Goldpact, nobody’s going to bet damn five hundred! Well maybe the Jarl.” Fasendil shook his head in disbelief, slapping his forehead.
Jarl Balgruuf laughed. “Clearly you’ve not met Proventus yet, Legate.”
The Legate gave the Jarl a puzzled look.”Really?”
“Aye.” The Jarl slumped.
“Damn, so drives home me point. Twenty maybe, but where the fuck are we supposed to get five hundred? We got mages here, but none of them have learned anythin’ useful yet,” he stuck his tongue out at the mages in the room, “like conjurin’ coin.”
“Keep pushing it and I’ll conjure something up your arse.” The Orc Archmage warned.
“So your twenty on Vilkas then?” Teineeva opened his mouth, bringing the subject back to betting, his tongue flipping in anticipation.
“Damn it! Yes, twenty on Vilkas!” Fasendil banged with fist on the table. “We’ve got a bet then!”
Jon could hear other people betting now too and he stepped on the table, raising his hands. “Place your bets, everyone, because what awaits you is the most spectacular show you have ever witnessed,” he raised his voice, people around him chuckling. “On one side we have Farkas the Clonk, mighty slayer of giants and sometimes called ‘Duck-What-Duck-’” more laughter and he then focused on Vilkas. “And then we have Vilkas the Savant, the book-slayer and slayer with books!” They almost rushed each other, but then Jon stopped them, seeing the Altmer retrieve his coin purse. “You betting too, Äelberon?”
“Yes.”
“On who?” The Argonian asked.
“One hundred septims says neither of them will win this fight.” He replied as he was counting his coins.
Jon heard the whistles escape some lips. “A tie, then?” Teineeva ventured. “Interesting.”
“No.” The Altmer smirked, putting his money casually on the table. “Neither of them will win. Someone else will.”
“Your money to lose, seeing as the fight is only between Vilkas and Farkas.” The Argonian replied, his blue eyes narrowing. “Hmm.” The lizard put his hands in the air, “Alright, all bets are in. You can begin.”
Vilkas’ hand suddenly darted forward and his open palm loudly slapped Farkas’ forehead and when Farkas tried to grab his brother, he was already out of his reach.
“And the Savant strikes, his opponent’s face wrinkled with surprise and confusion,” Jon commented. “Maybe his opponent is too fast for the Clonk!”
“Would you stop that, for fuck’s sake?” Farkas barked at him.
“Said Farkas angrily, remembering all the times we made him bathe in the White River against his will,” Jon laughed and everyone with him.
Vilkas then went for another attack and Farkas reached for the hand. His brother pulled the hand back quickly, attacking with the other and it slapped Farkas’ raised forearm. But then then Vilkas slapped his forehead once again and Farkas growled.
“-a feint, Farkas blocks and - Hit! Farkas once again loses to his much faster brother, but watch the mighty warrior tremble with rage -”
Farkas lowered his head and went for Vilkas’ legs, grabbing him by his thighs and lifting him from the ground. Vilkas slapped the back of his brother’s head before Farkas slammed the ground with Vilkas, falling on him.
“OH!” Jon shouted, laughing. “That had to hurt! The Clonk is now on top of the Savant, gaining an upper hand, slapping him left and right-”
Vilkas covered his face with his forearms, laughing like an idiot, just as Farkas, and then suddenly managed to strike back, slapping Farkas directly on his cheek.
“The table has turned once again! Savant is on top of the Clonk-”
Farkas growled, pushing with his legs against the ground which threw Vilkas forward, over him. Farkas then crawled on all four towards him and his arm went around Vilkas’ neck, locking tightly. They were rolling in the dust, laughing and growling as if they were ten years again. “Who will win this epic battle?”
“Shit, come on Vilkas! You got him Vilkas!” The Legate yelled.
“Farkas! You can do it!” Shouted the Jarl, pumping his fist in the air.
The cheers grew louder and louder, the fight escalating. Jon’s eyes tore from the fight for a second to see the Altmer. He was quietly watching, sipping his milk, his lover still on his lap. He turned to her. “We will be able to afford those beads now.”
“Oh?” She replied.
“Aye.” Jon then saw him mouth the words. “three… two… one…”
“FARKAS! VILKAS!” A great voice cried from the spit and all saw the rustle of skirts whipping past at lighting speed, a spoon raised in the air like a battle axe. “For shame! For shame!” Came the battle cry that put fear into the hearts of all at the party. The spoon then struck without mercy, over and over again, rendering both brothers into whimpering skirt-clingers within moments.” For shame! Actin’ like a bunch of younglings with no manners!” She exclaimed between blows. “In front of the Jarl no less. In front of your elders.” They howled like wounded dogs, covering their faces. And the crowd howled in laughter, tears flowing from many an eye, their sides splitting.
“Sorry, Tilma. You win,” they pleaded in unison. “Tilma, you win. We’ll stop.”
A final blow from the spoon, victory assured. Only for it to snap in half, clinging together by a mere sliver of wood. She looked at her spoon and immediately deflated, her face scrunching up. “My favorite spoon.” She moaned, like her world had just been destroyed, though Jon saw the twinkle in her eye.
“Don’t you fret, my dearest Tilma.” The old Mer said as he gently pushed his lover from his lap and stood, leaning forward over the table, his arms circling around the gold gathered on top of the table. He started dragging it towards him, the biggest sly grin on his face that Jon had ever seen. All watched as he brought all the coin closer to his place at the table. “Tomorrow, I will buy you a brand new spoon.”
“That was just brutal, cuz. Fucking brutal.” Legate Fasendil shook his head, clicking his tongue.
“And?” The older Mer cocked an eyebrow.
Fasendil pointed to the Jarl, who decided to get in on the joke by burying his face in his hands and pretending to sob. That set the most of the guests into more fits of laughter, even the twins forgetting their prior humiliation and Tilma forgetting the death of her beloved spoon at seeing their own Jarl play along. “Look, old Mer!” The Legate put his arm around the Jarl’s shoulders and pretended to comfort him. “You just cheated your own Jarl out of coin. Wow, just wow.”
Jarl Balgruuf raised his head from his hands and smirked. “Oh, the treasury of Whiterun isn’t going to suffer any.” He nudged his housecarl in the ribs with his elbow. “We’ll just take the losses out of Proventus’ salary, eh Irileth?” And the Dunmer, for the first time in the entire party, laughed.
The Legate shook his head again and a wide smile appeared on his weathered face while he raised his tankard to the Dragonborn. “Well it was beautifully played, well met, cuz, well met.”
More tankards rose to the air. “Here, here!”
“Praise the Dragonborn! May his luck ever flow.” Jon cried out, raising his lute to the air.
The Bard watched a content Äelberon relax back against his chair and Serana climbed on his lap. He then made several coins levitate in the air and they started stacking one on top of another. It was an action that made the Orc behind the counter smirk, like he was remembering something. It was unexpected, because the Mer was always so serious and honorable to Jon, but damn, it was a fair bet. Seems our dragon has quite a bit of fox in him, the Nord thought and he could feel the poem in his mind already begin to write itself while he watched the coins under the old Mer’s control continue to stack and unstack.
Well, Wager certainly got them all bettin’ tonight. Even on stupid arm wrestlin’, guess he has to make up now for Shiny’s gamble, Grulmar thought, shaking his head. Shiny did very well. And that’s just the kind of smarts ya’ll need for Alduin, old tusker.
It was then that Mahti showed up, the two dogs probably shaking him off somewhere in the night. The Riekling certainly pouted as if they did.
“What’s the matter, shrimp?” Grulmar asked, and the Riekling looked up with his golden puppy-like eyes. “Come on, can’t be that bad. They’re just dogs, y’are smarter. So be smarter.”
“Smaaarrtrrr?”
“Yes,” Grulmar nodded. “If they keep runnin’ away from ya then ya have to figure out somethin’ that will make them come to ya on their own. Like… puppies like meat, don’t they? So why don’t ya lure them with a piece of that delicious boar over there? Or maybe a bone, hmm?” Grulmar pointed to the spit.
Mahti’s eyes lit up then. “Ooooooo. Mahtiii smaaarrt!” he said before scurrying away, a renewed spring to his step.
“Yeah, sure,” Grulmat chuckled. “Mahti smart,” he then murmured, a certain kind of sadness creeping into his voice. Hard to imagine, but he really did care about Mahti and he knew the Riekling would be happy at the homestead or maybe at Jorrvaskr. Didn’t make it any easier for Grulmar though.
“What a cute creature,” Seif-ij’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked up, noticing Seif walking towards the counter, leaning against Teineeva. The bounty hunter seemed to have a hopeless expression on his face - at least Grulmar thought it was hopeless, it was difficult to tell with Argonians.
“So what must a girl do to get a drink in these parts?” Seif purred, leaning against the counter, giving Grulmar a full view of what was hiding under her dress. Teineeva attempted to slip away, but she held him tightly. “Come now, handsome. It’s just a drink.”
“Well, we’re out of Bloodwine,” Grulmar shrugged. “So ya have to pick somethin’ else, Horny.”
Seif licked her lips. “I’m sooo indecisive. What shall we have, precious?” she laid her head on Teineeva’s shoulder.
“A lethal dose of Nightshade concentrate,” Teineeva gritted through his teeth, making Grulmar roar in laughter. Oh, this was certainly precious, the way Teineeva was completely helpless in Seif’s grasp. Ya won’t get rid of that one so easily, matey.
She laughed too and then she bared her teeth in what had to be a grin. “Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on. The dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark. Here’s to my love!”
“No tuskin’ clue what ya just said, so… Sujamma?” Grulmar raised his eyebrows.
She shook her head. “No, absolutely not. I can’t stand the stuff of the Dunmer. Mead might be appropriate, since this is a Nordic feast. But it’s quite a mix here, isn’t it? Nord, Redguard, Altmer, Saxhleel, my gentle Knight was always an accepting soul, and,” she raised her scaled eyebrow, looking at Grulmar, “Orsimer.”
Now Teineeva’s eyes became a little wider, as if he got the best idea of his life and Grulmar could hear him faintly chuckle. That certainly didn’t sound good. “Yes, Orsimer. Dear Seif-ij, did you know that Grulmar here is a father? He and Borgakh were a thing.”
The Orc glared at the Archivist and for a second, he considered unleashing his magic on that scaley bastard. He could also see how Seif-ij’s grasp on Teineeva had loosened and she leaned closer, now interested. “Ah, now I understand,” she smiled - at least Grulmar hoped it was a smile. “So you are the father of the child, but she came with Archmage Urag. Hmm, that is unfortunate.”
Before she could react, Teineeva slipped from her grasp and darted away as if his tail was on fire, Grulmar watching all that with raised eyebrows. “I think ya have scared him off, Horny” he murmured. “I wonder why…”
“I just can’t help myself,” she mumbled, pouting. “He’s so handsome and strong and I can tell his acorns are strong too, as well as having a big-”
“Lalalalalala,” Grulmar stuffed his ears with his fingers. “So don’t need to know that,” he raised his voice, which prompted Seif-ij to raise her eyebrows. When he was sure she had stopped talking about it, he pulled the fingers out of his ears and-
“Big spear!” she exclaimed, giggling.
“For tusk’s sake!” Grulmar slapped his forehead, which turned into rubbing his eyes. “Thanks for the image. But at least I know I’m safe from yer grasp.”
“Are you now, darling?” she purred, her tail provocatively twitching behind her. “But tell me about you and Borgakh. When they arrived, you didn’t seem very happy about that, my sweet. Why is that? No, wait. Let me guess. She has taken a liking to the Archmage of Winterhold.”
Grulmar grimaced. “Not right away,” he murmured and then shook his head. “She was pregnant. I wasn’t ready. And when I wanted to fix my mistake, she already got close with… yeah, that tusker.”
“So do you want her back?”
That was an interesting question actually. For all his anger and frustration not even once he thought about really trying to win her back. Yes, he had the images of the life he could have had if he hadn’t screwed up, but he knew they were just that. Images, wishful thinking, a dream he never could have. “Uhm. No? I think?” he said out loud, tilting his head.
“Then it’s the fact she is with the other Orc that is bothering you?”
Just saying that out loud made Grulmar angry, imagining Urag’s face and how perfect that face would look if it was pummeled by something blunt and heavy just to punctuate his particular point of view.
Seif-ij noticed that and frowned. “Jealousy,” she observed, dropping her prior lightness, her eyes becoming rather sharp. “Such an unattractive trait. You should get rid of it, darling. It clouds the path to peace.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Grulmar snorted, rolling his eyes. “Have any more where that came from?” he added sarcastically, not really expecting an answer to that. Which is exactly what he got.
“As a matter of fact I do. Find yourself another woman. Sleep with her, have fun. Or another man, whatever you prefer. But someone. That helps,” she said with a deadly serious expression on her face - probably, it was difficult to say with Argonians, everything about their faces seemed serious - but even her tone of voice was serious.
“Yeah, sure. In case ya haven’t noticed I’m an Orc. This here, this pig face,” he waved his hand in front of his face, shaking his head. “Not attractive. So that means no Breton ladies falling for the ‘Want to see my tusk?’ trick. So that leaves me with other Orcs - and here comes the surprise, hold on to somethin’ - they don’t like weak bunglers like me. So is there any tuskin’ wonder that so far, only Borgakh was stupid enough to shag me?” As soon as he let those words out of his mouth, he came to regret them, especially after Seif-ij’s eyes grew wide, her eyeridges shooting up.
“You have had only one woman in your life?” she asked, surprised. “Borgakh? Oh, nonononono,” she shook her head and walked around the counter, grabbing his hand. “It may work for my gentle Knight, but for Decimus’ nephew? Just no.”
She began dragging him towards the stable, of all places, and all he was capable of doing was just staring with a stupid expression on his face. “Wait. What? What the-”
“You shall receive a proper education tonight, darling,” she purred as she continued leading him, and he looked back, at all the people that barely noticed him being dragged away by the lusty Argonian.
“Help,” he peeped.
Comments
Funny chapter to read, too.
Funny chapter to read, too.
Princess is going to be... trained, eh? I want to see the... ah...
curriculum.
Agh, I can be... more