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[monsterywriting]

is it really the end of the Alkgan story?

It's the end of the storyline I had planned for october... I don't currently have plans to continue the story besides maybe some mentions in future stories but never say never 🤷‍♀️

[monsterywriting]

Alkgan (orc) - part 5

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AN: This part took me a bit longer than i expected... i had an outline but i kept adding more maybe because i was feeling a bit sentimental about it being the end :)

word count: 3.7k

You found that you greatly enjoyed hearing Alkgan speaking in his native tongue, a welcome distraction from the changing topography around you signaling the departure from your home and the entry into Alkgan’s—the mountains becoming hills becoming flat plains. You resented the fact that you still considered Dumir your home, a sentimentality you knew you would probably be grappling with for a long time despite telling yourself you had forsaken your home.

Admittedly, you initially used learning orcish to preoccupy your mind, focusing your energy on that rather than your anxieties about your impending arrival to the stronghold. But you could appreciate the fact that Alkgan truly seemed transformed by the language, a marked difference in how he spoke, and it went beyond the superficial deepening of his voice.

You had assumed before that the orcs were just generally terse, but once you picked up enough of an understanding to listen you realized that Alkgan had simply been restricted by common, just as you were now restricted in orcish. It gave you a newfound appreciation for the others and the compromises made for your benefit, speaking common rather than insisting you learned their language, despite being in the minority.

It was obvious that Alkgan enjoyed it as well, the words flowing freely and far more poetic than you had come to associate with him. His enthusiasm made you reluctant to interrupt, tucking away particular words and phrases you did not know the meanings of to be brought up after he finished—to his great exasperation, though there was no true bite to his words.

He, and everyone else in the convoy, was in too good a mood, happy to be home and eager to reach the stronghold. The feeling pervaded the camp; disagreements died before they even began, no one on edge expecting soldiers to pop up on the horizon at any moment, especially Alkgan.

The only occasional interruption would come from Ursza, bringing her horse up around the front of the wagon to lambaste Alkgan—you were supposed to be practicing, not listening to him run his mouth—but she would soon move back and you would prompt Alkgan to continue.

You learned much about your destination from him—learning the names of the different tribes the convoy passed through on your way to a specific one and even that the “orc lands” had no equivalent translation, none of the tribes seeing the need to name the convoluted series of treaties amongst each other that culminated into a military alliance between the tribes.

Alkgan also revealed more about himself—how he spent almost two years with a single tusk as a child because his sister had prematurely knocked it out, the day he became a warrior, and his first battle on the list of stories he recounted. And you wanted to know everything, hear it as he intended, infused with the details and emotion he could only express in his own language.

And it worked, to an extent, your understanding of the language developing faster than your ability to speak it. By the time you reached the territory of Alkgan and Ket’al’s tribe, the convoy was speaking to you solely in orcish around the camp—though you could only hold a very short conversation in return.

“It will be easier once we join the others,” Alkgan promised from the bed, as you expressed your frustration with your stagnating progress in the privacy of your shared tent, “You’ll have a real teacher—with books.”

“Ursza and Ket’al have been trying to help me since we crossed the border- what if I’m simply unteachable?” You sighed, your attention completely diverted from the pants you were trying to mend, “You learned common when you were a child; it could be too late for me…”

“You’ve only really practiced in the evenings- you’ll get better,” he replied, “You’ve already improved a lot faster than others I’ve seen.”

You wanted to tell Alkgan that he was just saying that, but knew it would only invite an argument to the contrary from him. Instead, you hummed and returned to stitching the pants.

Unfortunately, a single look at your expression in the dying light told Alkgan exactly what you thought of his reassurance. You saw Alkgan throwing off the furs and reach out to you.

“Wait- I need to finish these-” you said quickly, trying to hold on to the pants as Alkgan was pulling them away. You eventually gave up, knowing there was no changing his mind as he set them on the floor and all but dragged you over to join him.

“You’re going to have to wear them tomorrow with the hole in them,” you warned, voice muffled as Alkgan held you against his chest, “I’m not waking up early to do it.”

“I know,” Alkgan said, his tone far too playful in response to your threat.

“You cannot end every disagreement like this,” you chided, but still allowed yourself to relax against him, learning from experience that if you kept fidgeting he would release you.

Despite your expectations, the first time Alkgan had pulled the same stunt, he did not attempt to go any further with you, explaining that he simply wanted to lay there when you automatically began trying to remove his clothes. You didn’t quite understand it—to lay there, ‘cuddling’, without purpose. Perhaps because your previous experiences had all been in complete secrecy, but you had never even considered it, though you were a quick convert.

You doubted you would let anyone else could get away with it other than Alkgan, even if you were married to someone else. At first you intended to only tolerate it until he fell asleep, but he was too comfortable, easily lulling you to sleep as you listened to the sounds of his heartbeat before you could even realize. You were not used to such a tender display of affection—had that been a trait of your child self, it would have been promptly rectified—but you had come to crave the proximity; the intimacy, if you were honest.

“How much farther?” You asked, hoping to prompt a conversation that would allow you to be awake and aware for a bit longer.

“A few more days and we should see the stronghold,” he answered.

“The others aren’t going to be happy about that,” you hummed, “you could barely convince them to stop for the night today.”

“Unless they want to walk on foot the rest of the way, the horses need to rest,” Alkgan replied with a snort followed closely by a yawn.

You fell silent, knowing you needed to sleep but still not quite ready to allow your mind to shut down for the night. You had a million questions, some only Alkgan could answer, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to ask them. They would leave you too vulnerable, the answer you wanted too obvious. You had told yourself and Alkgan before that feelings did not matter in your marriage. At the time you had meant the lack thereof, and yet now you realized their existence was a far worse fate when the other half of the equation was unknown.

“Good night,” Alkgan breathed out, and you quietly repeated it.

The imposing sight of the tall walls surrounding the stronghold haunted you from the moment you noticed the dark spot on the horizon—the only object in the endless flat sea of grass as far as the eye could see. It created an optical illusion, appearing to be closer than it actually was, visible for two days before you would actually reach it.

It was strange, to set up camp when the end of your journey appeared to be within reach, but after half a day the convoy appeared no closer than it had been and you knew what Alkgan told you was true.

You wouldn’t reach the northern wall until the next evening, and it was nearly dark once the group reached the nearest gate.

The size of the stronghold was comparable to a small city than the military fort you imagined from the other’s description of it. Trying to read the sign above the gate as you passed through it nearly made you fall backwards while craning your neck.

It was already open, teeming with orcs going about their business inside. Alkgan had already explained to you that it was normally sparsely populated, but with the coming war they needed a safe place for those who wouldn’t be fighting.

For now, however, the stronghold contained orcs from most of the other tribes, all celebrating the coming war—and the members of the convoy would all be reuniting with their own.

You just didn’t realize it would be immediately until Alkgan stopped just inside the gate and everyone dismounted, supplies divvied up between the seven of you to be packed onto the horses.

The group had already gotten smaller before this point, Shagar and Gorag splintering off once the convoy crossed the border, their tribes less enthusiastic about the alliance with Dumir than the rest. They were the only two that refused to accept any arranged marriages, and you couldn’t blame them. If the alliance was strictly a transaction, it would be significantly easier to move on from it without intermingling, the possibility of a descendant of the arranged marriages rising the ranks in orc society much more likely than in Dumirian.

Upon seeing Ursza and Ket’al approaching you to say goodbye, you moved as though possessed, hugging them. You had not once in your grown life experienced the sort of goodbye that warranted such a public display of fondness for another person, and it showed in the execution.

Regardless of your awkwardness, they returned your hug with back-bending squeezes of their own and you were misty-eyed as you returned to the wagon in an almost mournful silence. As you approached, you found Alkgan speaking to another orc, the conversation too fast once you were within earshot to catch.

Upon seeing you, the orc lowered his head and made his leave. You turned to look up at Alkgan quizzically, your stomach dropping when you saw his expression. Whatever it was they had been talking about, Alkgan did not seem happy about it.

“Ah- the tribal leaders have asked that we go visit them in the great hall tonight,” Alkgan explained, and you could feel the blood drain from your face, you mouth falling open with it.

“What? Why?” You demanded, distressed.

Alkgan did not say so—it was obvious from the look on his face alone—but he was not happy about the audience, either. Did his apprehension mean he expected something of you during this meeting? Were you supposed to impress them? Show that you were a worthy addition to the tribe?

Either sensing that you were far from ready to go before the tribal leaders or indulging his own reluctance, Alkgan told you that the two of you would look for his caravan first.

You had no idea how he planned on finding them in the city but he somehow managed, suddenly leaping from the wagon after going down a few streets and into a throng of orcs a few feet away.

They were his people, having missed him for whatever length of time he was in Dumir for the wedding, so you opted to wait until the cheers and back-claps subsided, holding on to the reins until Alkgan beckoned for your to join him.

Introductions were chaotic, hardly able to process one name before Alkgan was moving you along to meet someone else. The last thing you expected, however, was to find out that the blacksmith was human—and a Dumirian at that.

Alkgan had mentioned helping a group of Dumirians before, but you had no idea any of them stayed. You were slightly disappointed by the fact that there was only one; you did not immediately disregard her, but more people gave you greater chances of getting along—something you wanted desperately if there was a chance that you wouldn’t be the only human.

Her presence also explained the caravan’s apparent indifference to the fact that you were human, a stark contrast to the open stares you garnered from passersby.

Alkgan was the epicenter of their attention, and by extension of being next to him so were you. You found yourself quickly drained by the commotion, unused to being around so many people after so long.

As such, you found yourself withdrawing from Alkgan to the much quieter outer edge of the group.

“It can be overwhelming the first time.”

You turned, the blacksmith smiling at you. You struggled to remember her name amongst the bombardment of others you’d been subjected to, but you plastered on a reciprocating smile and persevered.

“It is… a lot,” you agreed.

“Once they’re used to Alkgan being back they’ll calm down.” Maeve? Maude? Mauve. You were certain the moment your mind provided it.

“May- May I ask you something?” You fidgeted, unsure of how to phrase your question delicately, silent for several moments even after Mauve gave you an affirmative to continue, “The… workload, around camp…”

“Oh, it’s crazy,” Mauve laughed, “I can’t decide if it would be better with more or less people but we are up to… forty I believe?”

“How have you been able to cope?” You asked, eager to hear her answer.

“Well, the truth is you don’t,” she admitted, “I mean, us humans, anyway. We can’t keep up with the orcs most of the time. I was fortunate to have a skill for blacksmithing- and that there was an opening. The best thing you can do is find something only you can contribute. Just remember, the entire point is that the work is shared. No one person is doing everything. Just doing your small part is okay.”

You nodded slowly, though you were more disheartened by the advice. You had no imperative skill only you could do, at least in the context of the caravan. The areas of your expertise were limited to Dumirian literature, music, history and social graces, none of which you had used on the journey there. It seemed your only choice was to try and keep up with the orcs.

“Thank you,” you said, nodding as she was pulled away to another conversation.

You wandered a bit further away, not wanting to stray too far in an unfamiliar place. You eventually found yourself standing next to the group of children, watching them play amongst themselves, apparently oblivious to their chief’s return or your presence.

You were about to move along when you nearly walked directly into a small orc child staring up at you. You smiled, a bit more genuine than earlier, kneeling down to greet him and ask his name.

He beckoned for you to get closer so you did, wincing upon being yelled his name directly into your ear over the noise: Wudge. You were no expert on orc children, the scale much larger than humans, but you guessed he was about six, though the top of his head was already above your hip.

As Wudge asked you questions about who you were and if you knew Mauve, you noticed the other children beginning to crowd around you, interested in the person interested in them. The next question of Wudge’s you directed your answer to the group, an invitation to join in, and they did.

You were flooded with questions, shifted from you to a broader array of topics, some easily answerable, others you needed to get creative with, like how did you meet the chief, what’s the best weapon, did you know any good stories.

It was automatic, their curiosity straightforward and easily impressed with anything new you had to offer them. So long as you always had an answer, even if it took you a second to think of one or they were a bit ridiculous, they were happy. It kept you on your toes, so absorbed in coming up with a response to whatever they asked next you nearly jumped out of your skin when you gelt a heavy hand on your shoulder and saw an orc woman standing behind you.

You gulped, ready to apologize for telling the children that the snow on the mountains you traveled through was produced by ice giants when she asked a question of her own.

“Were they bothering you?” Her tone was almost apologetic, “There’s far too many of them and they tend to swarm.”

Confused, you turned back, doing a quick headcount to make sure you did in fact count only eight.

You told her as much, adding that you were used to more running around your home during social events.

“Really? How many?” She asked, sounding impressed.

You thought for a few seconds, tallying up names in your mind, “Oh, around… maybe thirty? One family could have about eight children.”

“Eight?!” Another orc exclaimed, and you bit back a smirk at the similarity between the adults and their children, “Your parents had eight children?”

“Twelve,” you corrected absentmindedly before remembering that orcs had much smaller families upon seeing their stricken faces, clearing your throat and finishing awkwardly, “since I was the youngest of my family I was usually stuck with them.”

“Let’s go,” Alkgan suddenly whispered in your ear from behind, mercifully drawing you away, “We’re going to the great hall.”

“What about the wagon?” You asked nervously, trying to divert Alkgan’s attention to something other than the great hall, and by extension the inevitable meeting with the orc equivalent of seven kings of Dumir.

“Don’t worry, someone else is taking it back to our barracks,” Alkgan replied, and upon seeing someone from the caravan was, in fact, climbing onto the bench as you walked, you reluctantly turned to face forward, the rest of the group beginning to all move in the same direction. But Alkgan’s hand found your own, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “It will be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

You just focused on not dragging your feet.

The great hall was somehow even more tightly packed than the streets, the group apparently walking in to a neverending feast as more food was brought out to add to already filled tables.

Rather than follow the others once inside, Alkgan led you further in. You initially assumed he was taking you to wherever the leaders were in the hall, but you soon found yourself back outside.

“Wait, Alkgan what about the meeting?” You protested, trying to slow him down.

“We have time,” he promised, and you eventually allowed yourself to be led to whatever destination he had in mind.

The streets were empty, the noise from the great hall echoing distantly from behind you.

Alkgan somehow picked out a single building amongst countless identical ones, leading you inside and into a room—a bedroom. You immediately recognized your belongings inside, Alkgan leaving you to rummage through his chest.

“I have a gift for you,” he called over his shoulder, eventually finding whatever it was and extricating it from the chest.

He hid it from your curious eyes until he was placing it in your outstretched hands—a book. Turning it over in your hands you saw the title was written in orcish and in common underneath. A quick flip-through confirmed that the rest of the book had both languages throughout.

“I- This. I actually intended to give this to you once we were settled in but now is as good a time as any…” Alkgan trailed off, his hand cupping the back of his neck as he watched you examine the gift.

You looked up at him, not sure why he seemed nervous but wanting to assure him you were listening, shifting the book to be held in one arm while your other sought him out in the dark room.

Once your hand found his arm and moved down to interlock your fingers, he finally continued, “I was already planning on courting you once we reached the stronghold, and it usually begins with the gifting of a hunting knife but- I don’t see you using that anytime soon… And I did promise you books before we arrived.”

You laughed, hot tears already spilling from your eyes as you were bombarded with new information—Alkgan wanted to court you? He had deviated from tradition to accommodate your personality? You tossed the book onto the bed and threw yourself at Alkgan, arms circling around his neck and fingers burying into his hair as you pulled him down into a kiss.

If his goal was to distract you from thinking about the tribal leaders, he had succeeded. You couldn’t care less about anything they had to say to you after this.

“Are you crying?” Alkgan asked, alarmed.

“I thought you said we didn’t have to do a courtship since the marriage was already recognized?” You sniffled, ignoring the question and doing your best to keep your voice even. If you couldn’t control the tears falling, you refused to sound it, not wanting to sully the memory of this moment with your repellant state.

“We don’t have to, but I wanted to… Unless you don’t want to in which case we won’t-” Alkgan said, and you could hear the sudden nervousness in his voice as he realized your tears might not have been happy, “It’s much easier than getting married- you just accept the gifts and it’s done. Nothing has to be public if you don’t want it to—”

“Stop saying things that are making me cry,” you demanded, voice wavering, “Yes, I will accept your gifts.”

“Sorry,” Alkgan breathed, lifting your chin with his finger and dropping his head to give you another kiss.

You had no idea how long the two of you stood there, enjoying the quiet solitude of the room, but loud voices floating from the street just outside the window pulled you back to the real world.

You reluctantly separated yourself from Alkgan and quickly swiping your fingers over your eyes to rub away the remnants of your emotional outburst, murmuring “We should go. The leaders are probably waiting.”

“You’re right,” Alkgan sighed, moving towards the door.

You gave one last glance at the book, still on the bed. For a fleeting moment you wondered if it would be okay there, but soon reasoned that the building would be filled with Alkgan’s family. It was safe.

Turning away, you grabbed Alkgan’s arm, walking back outside at his side.

[monsterywriting]

Alkgan (orc) - part 4

previous part | next part | masterlist

AN: the final part will be going up tomorrow night hopefully in time for halloween :)

this chapter contains ns/fw; minors dni

word count: 4.9k

The convoy traveled through the recently abandoned rangeland while you recuperated in a two week blur. What you thought would be a simple cold became a full-blown fever. You were so delirious for the first few days you were unable to even realize how nerve-racking it was, being so exposed on the plains.

It was in that state you were forced to learn how to ride on the giant horses, unable to travel in the wagon with all the supplies while sick. It was dangerous, though you were in no state of mind to realize it, half-dead and precariously sat on the saddle.

With the greater risk, however, came a greater reward. No longer slowed down by the harsh terrain, the group was able to make much more progress in the journey. Where in the mountains entire days could be wasted on detours to find a traversable path again or being forced to camp with a sudden onslaught of heavy snowfalls, the convoy was now able to travel west relatively unhindered—other than your inability to get your horse to move any faster than a trot.

Fortunately for you, Ket’al had been a healer before becoming a warrior, keeping an eye on you and having brought the necessary supplies to treat your fever. The traveling slowed your recovery, even when you were exempted from duties around the camp and sequestered into a tent alone to quarantine from the moment camp was set up to when it was time to pack up and move on.

Once your fever broke, you were no more used to riding on the giant horse, too high up from the ground to feel comfortable. You would have been afraid even if you weren’t too weak to be able to catch yourself should you have lost your balance. Your feelings of isolation had also dissipated during this time, instead wishing no one could see how horrible you looked—not even Ket’al and certainly not Alkgan.

“Your husband”—Ket’al had taken to the habit of calling Alkgan that, with the undisguised acerbity that revealed their growing annoyance with him; no longer the chief in their eyes but the nuisance that hadn’t ceased badgering them about your condition since the convoy reached the bottom of the mountain—“Stopped me again. Twenty minutes- Twenty minutes of questions, demands. How are you feeling, do you need anything, can you return to your tent…”

You almost didn’t believe it when Ket’al first brought it up, much more teasing and understanding of his worry. Now, however, seeing their dwindling tolerance for his meddling, you were more inclined to accept it as true. However, as you tried numerous times to explain to Ket’al, Alkgan was likely anxious to return to the safety of the mountain. Or he was worried about the state of the alliance in the event of your death, probably upset that you had been close to succumbing to a simple cold while your group was surrounded by enemies.

“We will be reaching the northern front any day now,” Ket’al said as they handed you a small cup filled with the bitter, syrup-like liquid they brought for you every single day, “He has refused to change course back to the mountains.”

“He has no other choice,” you snorted, certain there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for his decision. Wanting to take advantage of the evacuated zones to get as close to the border as possible came to mind.

“He has been more worried about you than the Cerusis empire itself,” Ket’al continued as you downed the medicine, “What do you expect? He is a man worried about his spouse.”

“Ket’al…” you sighed, unsure how much the others knew about the circumstances of your marriage with Alkgan. But Ket’al seemed to be under the assumption that you were a normal couple by orc standards. And a normal couple in your position would certainly be worried about each other.

“I know you did not fall in love and court each other-” Ket’al said, taking the empty cup from you and setting it down on the floor next to them, “-but you are still tied together in marriage… and Alkgan worries about everything.”

You laughed at that, unable to argue with that assessment of Alkgan’s character.

“Then why don’t you give in to one of his demands?” You asked, somehow managing not to falter under Ket’al’s glare, “My fever’s gone and I’m not coughing as much. Let him feel like he’s helping.”

“You are not sharing a tent again. You aren’t fully recovered yet for intercourse,” Ket’al said, and your face grew hot—hotter than it had been when aunt Flora decided to tell you about ‘acts between a married couple’ even without the prolonged torture and conflicting euphemisms.

“That’s- I’m not-” you stumbled over your words, making the situation that much worse as Ket’al grinned, “Don’t smile, I… Do what you want.”

Ket’al had been inflexible about some of Alkgan’s more “self-serving requests,” finally deciding to allow him to bring you your meals. They did specify, however, that he was not allowed to stay while you ate, as you could still be contagious.

That did not stop him from doing exactly that.

“Ket’al will catch you,” you said, smiling for the first time in what felt like a long while when you realized Alkgan was sitting next to you rather than walking back out the tent once the tray was delivered.

“They can try,” he replied cheekily, watching as you began to eat.

You felt a cough working its way up your chest, slamming the plate on the floor just in time before the urge overwhelmed you. Your throat burned, hands covering your mouth and twisting away from Alkgan to hide how unseemly you looked coughing. When the fit finally died, Alkgan was staring at you in horror. You wondered for a moment whether you had gotten better at reading orc features, or if Alkgan was merely more emotive around you.

“Don’t worry,” you assured him, “our king’s far too desperate to win the war to negate the alliance now.”

“What?” Alkgan asked, tilting his head slightly and meeting your eyes questioningly.

“If I were to die before we reached the orc lands,” you said, as though you were stating the obvious, “there are plenty of things you have to worry about. I am not one of them.”

“I don’t…” Alkgan frowned and breathed out his nose, opening his mouth for a moment before shaking his head.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, alarmed when he climbed to his feet.

“Ket’al said I wasn’t to disrupt your recovery,” he said stiffly, walking towards the entrance.

“Alkgan-” you said in disbelief, not understanding why he was suddenly so upset.

He left you, still confused. You told yourself it was just the strain of the journey, but you knew there was more to it. You simply refused to examine the exchange any further.

You wouldn’t find out what exactly was wrong until Ket’al came in the morning to help you take your tent down, complaining that Alkgan had ranted their ear off the night before after leaving your tent, convinced they had led you to believe that he did not care about your health.

That threw you for a loop. You had spent the night considering what issue Alkgan could have possibly had with what you said. You had narrowed it down to the implication that he could not handle the problems faced by the convoy. Your lack of faith in his ability to care about you along with everything else was not entirely unrelated, but you were surprised nevertheless that his hurt was centered around you.

You had much to think about as you parted to your respective steeds.

The convoy was eventually forced to stop early for the day, reaching the outer limits of the northern front sooner than expected. The convoy could no longer move forward, but Alkgan had yet to announce that you all would be returning to the mountains.

“You need to convince him I’m fine,” you told Ket’al, the two of you leading your horses to where the rest already grazed.

Everyone stood around waiting, no one quite willing to set up camp just yet, all staring at you.

“I have tried,” Ket’al said, leading you away from the prying eyes of the others.

“Did you tell him there wasn’t anything wrong with me, medically?” You asked,“Are you even sure I’m the reason why?”

A single irritated look told you they had, in fact, told him. And probably more.

“He will only listen to you.”

“If he wouldn’t listen to you…” you trailed off, dubious about Alkgan being convinced by your word alone.

“Your marriage to the chief puts you in a new position,” Ket’al explained, “The spouses of chiefs are expected to lead alongside Alkgan. Think of this as practice before you join his caravan.”

The concept wasn’t entirely alien to you. You doubted any other culture could be as involved or as cutthroat as the hierarchy of Dumirian high society. The pecking order within a couple was dictated purely by birthright; whoever married up naturally held less power. The same was the case in social circles, your mother constantly sucking up to the duke’s wife—and others sucking up to her.

You doubted the orcs had much care for the same passive aggressive games as Dumirians, but their predilection for throwing punches was enough to make you dread your new status as the chief’s spouse.

Leaving Ket’al, you sought out Alkgan, despite not having much hope of convincing him of changing his mind. You found him seated a ways from the camp, on first watch, already on first watch despite there being no camp. As soon as he saw you approaching he stood, arms outstretched as though you were going to fall over at any moment; a state you hadn’t been in in over a week.

“Ket’al tells me you still won’t give the order for us to move on,” you began, stepping around Alkgan and sitting next to him.

“We cannot go further into the northern front,” Alkgan replied, sitting next to you.

“I meant into the mountains,” you said, voice tight with annoyance.

Alkgan let out a bark of laughter, trying and failing to contain himself when you looked at him in confusion. As far as you were concerned he was still upset about your exchange the evening before, and yet now he was laughing almost uncontrollably—and at you.

“I’m sorry- it’s just- you always act so pleasant and levelheaded… I think that was the first time you ever looked and sounded like you wanted to skin me alive. And sitting in the dirt no less,” Alkgan explained after a few moments, leaning back to catch his breath.

“Don’t change the subject,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes into a stern glare. You needed to remain firm in order to get the convoy moving again.

Unfortunately, you knew exactly what Alkgan was talking about. It was your first instinct, to always be agreeable and constantly acquiesce to others with more power. That’s what worked in Dumir—playing along, being likable. But you were a month into a grueling journey and this was not Dumirian high society. You had been sick and unable to take a decently warm bath in all that time—and now you found yourself at a sudden standstill because of Alkgan’s decision—so the last thing on your mind was good manners.

“We need to start heading towards the mountains while it’s still daylight,” you finally spoke after Alkgan allowed the silence to stretch, “the front can move back at any moment; we’re too exposed here.”

“You still haven’t fully regained your strength- you’re still coughing,” Alkgan argued.

“It’s either move on now and have a chance of reaching the border or risk being caught by Cerusis soldiers and die,” you argued right back.

Alkgan sighed, deflating. He had probably been contemplating that very issue and now you had confirmed what was the right choice.

“If you get sick again we won’t be able to go back down the mountain from this point forward…”

“Then you will just have to trust that I do not plan on dying in the wilderness looking so unkempt,” you said, reaching over to take Alkgan’s hand in yours, “and I will trust that you will get us all safely into the orc lands.”

You kept your more morbid thoughts to yourself, such as the fact that even eight of the most skilled orc warriors didn’t stand a chance against an entire army, even of humans. Or that even if you did manage to escape with your lives, if the alliance was revealed prematurely and the advantage was lost because of you, your days would be numbered. You weren’t certain about orcs, but human politics was always chaotic like that. You could only hope Ket’al was correct and Alkgan would listen to you.

You stood, swatting away the dirt stuck to the fabric of your pants. Before you walked away, however, you turned to Alkgan one last time.

“And I am always pleasant and levelheaded.”

“Wait,” Alkgan called after you. You looked over your shoulder, seeing how he seemed to inwardly debate his next words, “Tell the others to prepare to head to the mountains.”

“Of course,” you said with a solemn nod, quickly turning to face away from him to hide your wide grin as you returned to where the others waited.

The path north was clear, the convoy reaching the foot of the mountains by nightfall. Alkgan pushed everyone onward even after, wanting to make up for the time lost after stopping for those few hours.

The first night back in the mountains also marked the end of your quarantine. Even if you weren’t better again, you doubted you could keep Alkgan out of your tent once the temperatures fell the higher the group ascended, his guilt about you falling ill while he was gone obvious.

You suddenly felt shy as you lied on your sides, facing each other silently, realizing how much you had missed being so close to Alkgan—and not just for the warmth he provided.

It was the best case scenario in a marriage arranged such as yours; to grow so used to the other that you felt something akin to longing when you parted and euphoria when you reunited. You weren’t ready to examine any more meaning than that, however, not when Alkgan’s own feelings were still a mystery to you. But as your palm molded to the curvature of his cheek, you could accept that you felt a deep affection for your husband.

For the first time since leaving the manor, the two of you had sex, picking off where you had left off previously.

It began with a lazy kiss from Alkgan, a whispered ‘I missed you’ reaching your ears. You could not return the words yet, but as you closed the gap between your bodies and captured his lips again, you did your best to convey your reciprocity, pouring everything you wished you were brave enough to say into it.

The kisses you exchanged grew longer, more desperate as your hands ventured downward to explore each other. You wondered how your own body was perceived by him, a warrior, and how it compared to others he’d been with. You were soft, sheltered and unblemished in comparison to what you felt as your hands splayed across his skin. A small cut on your cheek as a child from playing in the garden had been a catastrophe, but orc children held weapons from the moment they could walk.

“I want to taste you,” Alkgan whispered, and you immediately assented, not even thinking about his tusks when you did but definitely feeling them as he dragged his lips down your exposed belly.

The dull points pressed against the flesh of your thighs, parting them for Alkgan and then all you could feel was his tongue inside you. Your back arched and your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling around his locks in an attempt to anchor yourself. It wasn’t your first experience, indulging in oral, but it was certainly the most memorable, orcs’ tongues much larger than humans’.

Just as you were on the precipice of orgasm, Alkgan’s lips closed around your clit and sucking roughly, his mouth suddenly disappeared and you no longer felt his presence.

You let out a broken sob, hands reaching out blindly to try and find Alkgan, whimpering pleas leaving you for his return. He did, though not exactly where you wanted him as he planted an open-mouthed kiss on your lips which you eagerly returned.

While you were distracted, Alkgan’s hand gripped your thigh and brought your leg over his hip, his head slipping easily past your slick folds. You were reminded anew of how big he was, even with your body more than willing to take him it was still a tight fit, Alkgan unable to sink all the way in.

Your fingers returned to Alkgan’s hair, pressing against his scalp and tugging as Alkgan worked his way slowly but surely deeper inside of you. Alkgan growled, pressing his forehead to yours as he was spurred to fuck you harder—though not faster—barely pulling out of you before slamming back inside, your entire body jolting upward with each drive of his hips.

It was definitely different from your previous experience with Alkgan. This was intimate, the two of you finding comfort in each other’s company rather than only chasing pleasure.

You tried to bite back your moans, conscious of the nearby tents and their inhabitants. But the closer you got to returning to the precipice of your climax once again the less you could focus on anything else but Alkgan.

Suddenly, you found yourself on your back, Alkgan looming over you on his knees, your bottom resting on his thighs as he screwed you at an unforgiving pace, pursuing his own release even as your gently pulling of his hair became a fisted yank. Your mouth fell open in a soundless wail, voice caught in your throat in surprise, the new angle allowing Alkgan to push in the final few inches of his girth, the sound of skin slapping filling the tent. You could feel something else knocking into your back, the realization of exactly what dawning on you just as you were forced over the edge and you were overcome with the urge to bite down. Your teeth closed around the closest thing within their reach—Alkgan’s skin—feeling the warm gush of Alkgan’s own climax filling you at that moment, though that did not stop him from continuing to piston his softening member in you.

As you both lied there, basking in the afterglow sweaty and panting, you couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle.

“Hm?” Alkgan exhaled, half asleep and partially on top of you.

“You like staying inside after,” you sighed sleepily, adjusting your head to lay more comfortably against the plush furs, “you did the same thing last time.”

“I’ll move,” Alkgan grunted, beginning to lift himself with his arms before you gripped his shoulder to stop him.

“Don’t…” you said, hesitating for a moment before adding, “I- like it.”

Alkgan froze, and for a mortifying moment you thought he would comment, but instead he slowly lowered himself back onto you, a shift of his hips against yours forced him deeper further into you. Your walls inadvertently clenched around him with a small whine and Alkgan hissed in pain, but he soon stopped moving and you were able to relax again.

The next morning, you were surprised to find Alkgan still sleeping next to you, still in his embrace but no longer joined. He normally rose before the sun, his duties never ending—and you expected him to return to them. Feeling you moving next to him, he stretched, lifting his head and and kissing you.

“Why are you still in bed?” You asked, tone teasing as you returned his kiss.

“Needed to make sure you didn’t overexert yourself last night,” he replied, “Ket’al would kill me.”

You tried to come up with a smart remark, but it was too early and you were taken aback by his forwardness.

“You did most of the exertion,” you eventually managed.

Alkgan didn’t deny the accusation, only pulling you to his chest and telling you to sleep.

“We need to get up,” you reminded him, finger grazing the dark green mark on Alkgan’s chest—the evidence of your lost control, “The others will be wondering why you aren’t already halfway through loading the wagon.”

Alkgan sighed, exaggerating his belabored rising from your shared bed.When you sat up to follow him you grimaced, the lukewarm remnants of your night seeping down your leg. Unfortunately, unlike the manor, there was no bath a single door away. Now it was being held by Ursza… whom you would need to ask for enough to clean yourself in the cold while surviving the interrogation as to why.

You were distracted, however, by Alkgan attempting to comb through the tangled mess of his hair.

Shyly, suddenly unsure about his answer now that you were more aware of its significance, you asked if you could do his hair.

“It’s my fault it’s- from- well, you know—” out of your nervousness you began to ramble, faltering awkwardly as you accidentally divulged what the others had told you; about the meaning of your shared braids when you left the manor, even how they believed you to be an ‘annoyingly in love’ couple.

Alkgan mercifully interrupted you as you were making a joke about meeting their expectations with his permission and the affirmation that he would like that.

You rose unsteadily to your feet, ignoring the obscene feeling of the mess between your legs as you walked towards him, though Alkgan seemed absorbed by the sight as he watched your approach.

You managed to evade the questions of the others until evening, a mountain peak between the two camps. It was dinner time, everyone seated near the fire.

Ket’al sat next to you, then Shagar and finally Ursza. You didn’t realize you had been caught in their spider’s web until the one and only attempt by someone else to sit close by was thwarted with bared teeth and growls to move, by then too late; you were surrounded.

“Eventful night?” Ursza asked with a grin, nodding her head towards Alkgan, his braid from the morning still intact.

You swallowed back your knee-jerk reaction of embarrassment. You may all be parting ways the moment the convoy reached the stronghold, but the three orcs were the closest thing you had to friends on this journey. And you had the feeling that their salacious, blunt form of banter was not unique to just them where you were going—and thus was something you needed to grow accustomed to. So you refused to retreat back into your shell of propriety and decided to engage with them.

The final leg of the journey gave everyone a much needed rest, traversing the much smaller western crests of the range in the direction of the border. It was still cold, especially on the ridges where the wind seemed to cut through you unhindered, but there was no more high altitudes to deal with.

The land was untouched by war, the Cerusis Empire well aware that Dumir would have the advantage on the treeless slopes and there were no settlements to conquer that would justify the use of resources. And so everyone relaxed, knowing once the mountains became hills you would be in the orc lands.

Alkgan began to go out of his way to make physical contact with you around camp—a hand on the small of your back when he walked past, a stolen kiss when you found yourselves alone, stopping to help you with your tasks and lingering just a bit too long. No matter how fleeting the small acts were, you appreciated each one.

Despite his best attempts to remain discreet, he rarely succeeded in pulling the wool over the observant warriors’ eyes. But you had no desire to tell him how, whenever he moved on, you were immediately forced into a battle of wills with the others—a completely silent exchange of varying meaningful looks, lost the moment you laughed.

You had yet to do so.

Shagar called it the newlywed period, the two of you unable to keep your hands off each other. Ket’al pontificated whether your bout of illness had reminded him just how fragile humans were. Ursza remarked that it would make the war an easy victory.

“So long as the enemy doesn’t worm their way into orc hearts it will be,” you said grimly, and the other three guffawed, impossible to tell who cracked first.

Their laughter was loud, catching the attention of the rest of the camp—including Alkgan—though no one dared interrupt, though that did not stop Alkgan from asking once you returned to the privacy of your tent.

“So it was about me,” Alkgan concluded, your chin resting on his chest.

You remained impassive, rising to press your lips against his.

“I- will not be- silenced,” Alkgan said between kisses, though he still displayed his eagerness with his wandering hands.

“You need to sleep,” you said, taking Alkgan’s hand in yours to occupy them, “the hunting party leaves in the morning.”

“I’m not going,” Alkgan said.

“What?” You asked, sitting up. The last hunt hadn’t been successful, the elk herd able to see the hunters coming from miles away on the slopes. You had expected Alkgan to head the hunting party himself again to catch up.

“I can’t leave you,” Alkgan said as nonchalantly as if he said he couldn’t leave the bed, or the fire burning. You wondered if he even realized the implication for you, “I’ll just send Ket’al.”

You couldn’t help but recall Ket’al’s earlier assessment, even if made in jest, and question its validity. It was indisputable that humans were fragile in comparison to orcs, but your concern if Alkgan was simply humoring you with a facade of feelings because you had fallen ill.

You knew he felt guilty about it, believing it to be his fault for leaving you alone. But while you could cope with the knowledge that his ties to you were purely external, not enough time passing for the contrary to be true, you could not stand to be pitied.

“I do not need your pity, Alkgan,” you said, extricating yourself from Alkgan’s grasp but keeping your eyes firmly on his.

“Where is this coming from?” Alkgan asked, his perturbed expression almost enough to make you change your mind.

“I am no longer sick and we are no longer in the snowbanks,” you pressed on, clenching your fist as you forced yourself to share your feelings completely, the self-righteous anger that prompted you to speak in the first place rapidly slipping away from you, “If what you are doing is out of a sense of guilt… don’t.”

“Okay, I will go with the hunting party,” Alkgan immediately offered, sitting up and reaching for your hand.

“It is not only that,” you insisted, voice rising an octave before you quickly corrected it, “If you are forcing yourself to… be with me. Because I fell ill. That was not your fault.”

Alkgan’s expression softened with understanding, his momentary surprise morphing into a scoff. You stared at him, affronted to have your genuine appeal ridiculed.

“I am not forcing myself to do anything,” Alkgan finally informed you, “is this what you were talking about with the others?”

“No,” you said too quickly, exhaling as you added, “Not directly. I- just wanted to be sure.”

“Well- even if they turned you against me- I have to admit they are good influences,” Alkgan sighed.

“How so?” You asked, somewhat defensively, unsure what to expect from Alkgan, the entire conversation going unexpectedly.

“You have not complained once on this journey,” Alkgan retorted, as though that answered everything. Upon seeing your persisting confusion, however, he elaborated, “You grew up a noble, never experiencing a day of hardship and waited on completely by servants.”

You shifted your position, the compliment of Alkgan’s observation unclear.

“The last time you were overwhelmed- upset you couldn’t communicate or keep up. You kept everything hidden until then- the food, the conditions, you never let anyone see even though we all knew the change was drastic for you. But now, you are coming to me of your own volition and speaking your mind.”

What Alkgan was describing hardly felt commendable. Besides the reminder of your break down, your judgement was apparently incorrect that he had been indulging your need for companionship. Your mind had been wrong.

“Then, if we have an understanding,” you said stiffly, long since giving up on trying to understand what Alkgan found impressive.

“So I can stay?” Alkgan asked, grinning cheekily when you gave him a stern glare.

“I want to learn orcish,” you stated suddenly, staring in the dark later that night with Alkgan next to you.

“I can teach you,” Alkgan offered, voice barely audible with his face down in the furs.

“Thank you, but I think I will ask Ket’al,” you asked, smiling to yourself in the dark.

[monsterywriting]

WOOOO PART THREE THANK YOU

😎

[monsterywriting]

Alkgan (orc) - part 3

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AN: decided to cut this part a bit short (meaning the smut was pushed back a chapter) so i could put it up tonight even though it's still technically late...

word count: 4.5k

Days had passed since you left the manor and you were beginning to understand the reasoning behind the limited number of children orcs had. It was extremely slow going with only nine adults and one wagon, yet to even reach the first veering off point into the mountain ranges—much less without adding children to the fold.

You were bored out of your mind, looking out the back of the wagon at the unchanging scenery. The valley was frigid in the shadow of the mountains, mostly stone with only the occasional tree clinging to life and a lot of lichens on the rocky ground. It was dead land, none of the larger animals of the mountain ventured down to the valley that did not quickly pass through.

Technically, you were supposed to be supervising—ensuring Lormekh and Rogmesh obeyed Alkgan’s order to keep their distance during the day after destroying dinner the night before during a fistfight. You had no idea what the cause of the initial argument was, the entire conversation before the fight taking place in orcish, but it wasn’t the first and you could hazard a guess that the differences in tribes and egos amongst a group of unfamiliar with each other suddenly forced into close contact for a long period of time made a significant contribution.

The relief you felt to be surrounded by strangers had rapidly morphed into irritation—so concerned about the threat of Cerusis forces you hadn’t once considered the prospect of infighting amongst the others—especially after an entire morning of watching two horses on opposite ends of the road walk.

Upon realizing there wasn’t anything you could if the two warriors did decide to disobey, you allowed your mind to wander.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else around you to look at other than the other orcs—or think about that wasn’t your own uneasiness around them. Your main worry had already come true, Alkgan roped into the fight the night before.

Despite his assurances that orc fights only looked worse than they actually were, the fact that Alkgan was now sat at the reins with a black eye from breaking up the two was all you needed to fear what happened if they stopped listening to him.

Alkgan was not their chief, and did not have their respect. If matters got any more strained you doubted he would be able to stop the next fight. Ket’al was of the same tribe as Alkgan and was far more easygoing than the others, having yet to take part in the petty disputes of the group. But even then, it would be two against six.

Crawling back towards the front of the wagon, you climbed out onto the bench to sit next to Alkgan.

“We’ll make it to the crossroads by nightfall,” Alkgan answered your unasked question.

You glanced up at him, noting the bruised skin that went from his temple to his cheekbone. You knew it was hurting, any changes to his expression quickly rectified since the morning, but he had yet to even acknowledge it and you hadn’t either, sensing that he did not want to show any weakness in front of the others.

“How long will we be in the mountains?” You asked instead, moving your attention to eye the snow-covered peaks above you.

“Only a few days,” Alkgan replied, “just long enough to clear the city and surrounding area.”

“At least we’ll finally be able to get real food…” The rations packed at the manor left much to be desired, and they were quickly dwindling between eight ravenous orcs. The mountains were filled with wild ruminant species; deer and goats and elk. Fresh was certainly preferable to the dried junk you were given. At this point, not even your reservations about having to see the entire fabrication process could dampen your anticipation.

“Hopefully the hunt will calm everyone down,” Alkgan sighed, snapping the reins once to spur the horses to move a bit faster.

You looked up at Alkgan in surprise before looking around to make sure there was no one else around. You certainly agreed, but it was the first time he expressed any sort of frustration to you about the current situation with others. There were no words of wisdom or advice you could think of that he didn’t already know. You imagined Alkgan’s own feelings about the situation far outweighed your own; he was supposed to be the leader, and the current struggles you faced would be felt most heavily by him. So you put your hand on his knee and squeezed it, trying to convey your support the best you could.

Whatever lied ahead, you were certain that things could only get better from the valley.

The mountains were definitely worse. The high altitude made the air thin and the temperatures below freezing. Intermittent snow flurries had prolonged the few days in the mountains to a week and counting. It was miserable; worsened by the fact that the hunting parties had for the past three days returned empty-handed.

Everyone had donned heavy furs once the convoy entered the snowy region, but it did little to stop the biting wind. You were forced to choose between stretching your legs in the wagon and huddling next to Alkgan for warmth on the bench.

“We’re stopping here for the night!” Alkgan said just as the first signs of the wind bringing in more snow appeared. There were no signs of any herds nearby, nor any sources of water that didn’t come in ice form.

No one argued for more time to find a better suited place to camp, browbeaten enough by the inhospitable weather by now to know there was no conquering nature.

Ket’al, Lormekh and Ursza split off from the rest of the group and disappeared in the trees while the rest began unloading the wagon, their turn to go out and hunt.

Tensions remained high in the camp, everyone irascible with the cold though there was little energy left for any more brawls.

You were of little help around the camp, having learned quickly that everyone was expected to pull their weight—and everyone else had learned quickly that you knew nothing of chores. You couldn’t set up a tent or cook. Ket’al had naively believed washing clothes would be a simple enough task but you couldn’t even mend the clothes you ruined afterwards.

So, you had been in charge of boiling the snow in a large pot—a job that could go horribly wrong if you weren’t careful. You boiled as much as you could in the in the evenings, spending hours to get enough water for drinking, baths, washing clothes, and the vegetable stew you were all forced to eat without any more meat. Still, it never seemed like enough, always someone else demanding more water.

By dinnertime, your hands were numb and you were more than happy to consume the watery stew, at least warm if nothing else.

You were so consumed by your own exhaustion you initially didn’t notice the raised voices between Gorag and Urekig, standing at the giant pot with the last of the stew. By the time you did, the first shove had already been exchanged, teeth bared and full heights drawn.

You nervously downed the last of your broth and braced yourself to be ready to put as much distance between yourself and the impending fight in as short amount of time as possible should it look like they’re heading your way.

The moment hands became fists, Alkgan slammed down his plate on his lap and roared—earsplitting, earthshaking, terrifying. When he was done his chest heaved, his glare trained on the two bickering orcs and nothing else, looking only seconds away from hurtling himself towards them.

To their credit, Gorag and Urekig didn’t flinch as you had by the sudden outburst, though they did walk away from each other and sat with their respective plates on opposite sides of the fire.

A hush fell over the camp, even the birds falling silent, everyone slowly eating again. You sensed a shift, however, the silence no longer charged with simmering animosity. There was certainly awkwardness—Alkgan had until now tried to convince the others not to fight, but he was very clearly at the very limit of his patience—but the feeling that a fight could break out at the slightest provocation was gone, no one challenging Alkgan’s clear warning—for the time being.

It was not long after that the snow flurry Alkgan had alerted everyone was coming earlier finally came, the wind driving everyone into their tents.

Alone with Alkgan in your shared tent, you had no idea what to do or say, or even if you should. You did not know him well enough to know what he wanted you to do and so you did nothing, waiting for him to tell you if he wished.The wind howled just outside the canvas walls, background noise in the silent tent. You sat on the furs while Alkgan paced, clearly still incensed by what had happened.

When it was clear being stuck in his own mind was only stoking his aggravation, you decided enough was enough.

“Come join me- it’s freezing,” you said, patting the spot next to you when he turned to walk back towards you.

“I’m not tired,” he said, not stopping as he turned back around and began to walk to the other end of the tent.

“That was not an invitation to sleep,” you said, biting back a smile as you watched Alkgan’s back stiffen before slowly turning his head to look at you.

After a moment, he shook his head and resumed pacing, this time muttering under his breath the two offenders’ names.

“Alkgan-“ you said, putting on as stern a voice as you dared after witnessing the first stage of Alkgan losing his temper, “Unless you are planning on going to their tents right now and taking your anger out on them, you need to calm down. I am offering to listen to you right now, but I won’t fuel your sulking.”

Eventually, reluctantly, Alkgan sat next to you, now definitely sulking after your comment but compliant as you began to take apart his braids. He said nothing at first, but you were content to sit in silence until he was ready to talk.

When he finally did, he ranted and raved about the antics of the warriors, the supposed best of the best unable to get along to save their lives. You might have found it funny, your husband venting to your about the childishness of the others in the convoy while you brushed his hair—but the concerns he had were too accurate and your situation too dire. You said nothing when he slipped into orcish, assuming it allowed him a wider range of expressions with which to articulate his thoughts.

As you suspected, the dwindling food supplies and inhospitable weather—and the convoy’s inability to solve either by diverging from the set path—was what truly weighed on him, the conflict within the group just the overflow.

“They are wasting what precious energy fighting amongst themselves,” Alkgan sighed, looking at you with such a hopeless look you felt the need to say something.

“They’re strangers from different tribes- cold and hungry. Humans act the same way,” you said.

“Humans may but orcs don’t,” Alkgan retorted, voice taught with anger before he turned to face you with an apology immediately after, “It’s- everything… Hand me the comb.”

You did, believing he was dismissing you to finish his own hair. Before you could scoot away, however, Alkgan’s hand was on your shoulder and the comb in your hair.

You woke the next morning alone under the furs, a commotion in the camp outside the tent. You wrapped the fur around yourself and exited, blinking against the sunlight reflected off the snow. Shagar was also lifting her tent flap at the same time and looked over at you questioningly. You shrugged, Rogmesh seeing you both and shouting that the hunting party had returned.

You both walked out to where the rest were crowded around Ket’al and Ursza, a deer carcass held between them. Shagar let out a triumphant roar and you were nearly moved to tears yourself at the very sight. At least one of your prayers were answered for the time being—even if it was only a single buck, it left hope for others nearby. Now all that was left to do was to reach the next point and descend the mountains.

“Pack up camp,” Alkgan was ordering, “We’ll leave as soon as it’s skinned.”

The group dispersed quickly, everyone going to their respective places with well-practiced efficiency. Just as you were about to follow suit and try to find something to do, Ket’al called out to you, beckoning for you to follow him and Ursza with the deer.

“Now that we have meat I’m going to teach you how to cook- starting with the carcass,” they said, grabbing the other end of the stick and nodding for Ursza to let go. She did, nodding at the two of you before walking off to the wagon.

You watched mostly, Ket’al forthright in admitting they did not trust you with a knife just yet. All you could think about was how difficult it looked, watching Ket’al remove the head and tie off its esophagus.

Perhaps because there was no blood, or your own hunger had reached the point of desperation, but you felt no disgust at the carcass—thinking only of how many meals could be made from the single animal.

After a brief demonstration of how to skin the deer, Ket’al handed you the knife and stood over your shoulder. You felt more nervous than you had at your Cotillion, Ket’al demanding you move faster, the camp already half down. You struggled to handle the hide and knife with the same ease as Ket’al, the cold making the body hard as stone.

“It will get easier with practice,” Ket’al said, taking the knife from you and taking over the skinning. The knife easily sliced through the piece of skin you had been struggling with as they continued their lesson, “The longer you take the more meat you waste. The cold helps but winter doesn’t last forever.”

By the time the harvest was complete and the carcass and organs were securely stored in a sacked to the side of the wagon to keep cool, the camp showed no signs of ever being a camp. The ashes from the fire were scattered and the spots where the tents had stood were evened out with snow.

You climbed onto the wagon bench, Alkgan already waiting, lifting his fur so you could rest underneath.

The convoy’s good fortune lasted, thankfully. The winds no longer kept the group camping for days on end, allowing you to reach the next point and descend the mountain to a much warmer altitude. The hunting excursions were more fruitful there, albeit with smaller quarry.

Your own luck, however, did not. Though there were no Dumirian settlements or known battle zones nearby, the risk of being seen was still much higher than in the mountains and it kept all the orcs on edge—especially Alkgan’s, whose responsibility everyone’s safety was. But you were a Dumirian, and all you saw was your home country that you were now an outsider to.

With your newfound sentimentality came the desire for human contact, more than passing fences and smoke on the horizon of distant chimneys. The others did not use common unless they were talking to you directly, and your orcish was nonexistent. The orcs, however quarrelsome they were with each other, still shared a common language, a culture you did not understand and did not know you ever would.

You did not notice your dependence on Alkgan until his attention was consumed by his duty. During the day his face was etched with worry, constantly looking out for any sign of approaching danger. He was far too distracted to speak with you, though he tried, which you felt made it worse. In the evenings, if he wasn’t hunched over a map trying to work out the route then he was going over the inventory or recalculating rations. What little time he had left before retiring to sleep was spent scarfing down food at dinner.

Had your own mind been similarly occupied with the external, your growing loneliness might have been manageable; something you could ignore and pretend wasn’t affecting you as badly as it was. But when the highlight of your day was cooking lessons with Ket’al, you couldn’t deny you were going stir-crazy—and it was a more harrowing experience than anything else.

Matters did not improve when the convoy ascended the mountains once more, an elusive herd of elk leading Alkgan to lead a hunting party himself.

One day stretched to two and you weren’t sure you would survive a second night sleeping alone without the warmth Alkgan provided you. You had woken that morning with a sore throat, your entire body aching once you were up and forced to take on a larger workload with all but three warriors gone from camp.

You were the last to sit at dinner, contemplating going straight to your tent from your lack of appetite.

“Are you so sad that your husband is gone for a single day?” To your great surprise, Ursza spoke to you.

You looked at her for a moment, surprised. You did not think you were acting any differently than the day before Alkgan and the others left, nor did you think anyone had been studying the nuances of your behavior to make such an observation. Furthermore, Ket’al and Shagar had stiffened when she said it, which led you to believe there was something more to the remark than simple conversation.

It took you a moment to realize she was likely referencing your haggard appearance—you had no mirror to look at yourself, but you hadn’t exactly felt like going through your morning grooming routine.

“You did not braid each other’s hair before he left?” she asked.

“My hair is my own- and it was my choice not to do it this morning,” you answered, feeling awkward now that all attention seemed to be on you. You had wished for nothing else before—but now you were sick and you weren’t enjoying it as much as you thought you would.

“But- when you first arrived,” Shagar spoke up, surprising everyone, “We all thought that the two of you were… annoyingly in love.”

You had suspected the braids would mean as much back then, but you weren’t in your right mind, and now you had inadvertently shared far more details about your relationship than you were comfortable with anyone knowing, much less the other warriors. You had no idea how the orc gossip vine measured up to that of Dumirian nobility, but the last thing you wanted was to embarrass Alkgan with rumors about the state of your relationship.

You downed your plate, announcing you would wash dishes to get out of the conversation.

In your tent, you felt too warm. It was obvious you had developed fever. You forced yourself to remain huddled under the layers of fur, too afraid to fall asleep despite exhaustion wearing you down, fearing that the cold would take you in your sleep.

As you lied there, miserable, the full weight of everything finally seemed to catch up to you and you fought back tears. You wanted Alkgan there with you; you missed your home, even your family. Mostly, you wished that you had never stayed at the manor, simply left for the orc lands straight from the wedding, if only so you would have no expectations, could not long for the precious time you spent with Alkgan in the manor.

A small sob escaped you the very moment the entrance flap opened, cold wind filling the tent. You froze under the furs, holding your breath as you waited to see if you had been heard.

You heard the whisper of your name in the dark and you slightly lowered the edge of the blanket to see Alkgan standing at the tent entrance. You had not heard the hunting party return, but you hadn’t been paying much attention to what was going on outside.

You had wiped your eyes before lowering the blanket, knowing he could see in the dark much better than you could. After a few moments of him not mentioning anything about hearing you crying, you lifted the edge of the blanket so he could join you.

By then Alkgan had let the tent flap fall back into place and changed clothes, climbing under the furs with you. You immediately burrowed your face in his chest.

His arms wrapped around you before stopping in their tracks, pulling away slightly to look down at you.

“Are you wearing all your clothes?” He asked, confused.

It had been a futile attempt to keep warm, assuming the hunting party wasn’t going to return that night. You had put on all the clothes that had been in your trunk—and some from his.

“Cold,” you muttered, not wanting to give away your hoarse voice, “Missed you.”

“Your voice…” he trailed off, feeling you shed the layers next to him.

“I need you,” you whispered, clinging to Alkgan and putting every ounce of conviction you could in your plea.

“I’m sorry,” Alkgan sighed, attempting to hug you closer to him but nothing else.

You couldn’t blame him—two days of roughing it in the wilderness without the benefit of setting up a camp while tracking the elk herd. In truth, you didn’t even want to, too cold and sick and all around tired.

That did not stop you from pushing away, turning over as quickly as you could as tears streamed down your face. You weren’t quick enough, however, Alkgan panicking as he realized you were crying. He had no idea how to comfort you, or even what was wrong with you.

All you had wanted was some sort of reassurance that what had happened between you could exist beyond the manor walls. You were self conscious, unsure if he even desired you. The only touch from him you’d received since then purely platonic in nature. He was keeping you warm and that was it.

“I- I don’t- I’m sorry I will-”

“That’s not it,” you interrupted him, lip quivering as you tried to hide your face from him.

Alkgan was silent, apparently waiting on you to tell him exactly what was wrong.

“I am an outsider. I can’t speak your language, I have nothing in common with the others even if I did. I’m useless around camp because my entire education is unusable here and now I can’t even control my own weakness-” you broke off, sharing your insecurities having the exact opposite effect you hoped.

It was ridiculous. Despite your mind listing every logical reason that your crying was useless—such concerns were unimportant when you could still be killed before ever making it to the border, there did not need to be desire in a political marriage, even the fact that you were not even old enough to remember the last time you cried in front of anyone else—your body wasn’t obeying your demands for the tears to stop.

You were turned back around, a gasp escaping you as Alkgan’s hands squeezed the sides of your face to force you to look at him.

“You are far from weak,” he declared, the same intensity in his eyes as when he snapped and roared at dinner, “someone who is weak would not have been able to marry a stranger, leave behind everything they knew to go live in an entirely different culture. You don’t know our language, or our lifestyle- but you still walked down that aisle and climbed onto that wagon. You are strong- your will alone makes you worthy.”

You said nothing, knowing any argument would fall on deaf ears. In truth, you knew the type of strength Alkgan spoke of was worthless in the situation you were in. The convoy needed someone who could pull their weight around a camp, and so would the caravan Alkgan led.

At least the abruptness of Alkgan’s impassioned speech had stopped your incessant crying. Now you were left only with the mortification of having broken down in front of him. While you were distracted, Alkgan pulled you closer to him once again.

“Well. I’m no longer tired,” Alkgan sighed and you snorted, an apology for the inconvenience on your lips until you felt his hand over your nether regions.

You were going to explain to Alkgan that he didn’t have to do that, the request had been a moment of hysteria—a problem you feared might be a hereditary predisposition to melodrama—to simply forget you had ever asked. Then you caught sight of the glint in his eyes, his need evident.

He was not doing it out of pity, but had riled his own self up with his spiel about strength. You would laugh if he wasn’t quickly doing the same to you.

He tried to kiss you, but you turned your head just in time to avoid it, barely having the sense of mind to remember you were sick.

“I have a sore throat,” you rushed to explain as Alkgan looked at you, bewildered and more than a little hurt, “Can’t afford to get you sick, too.”

“You’re sick? Since when? How?” The questions left Alkgan in rapid-fire succession, everything stopping abruptly. To your great disappointment his hand left you and he sat up, feeling your forehead to confirm you had a temperature.

“I… it was cold last night. I did not cover myself adequately,” you said; a small white lie. You had used every possible means at your disposal to try and keep warm, it simply hadn’t been enough.

“Put your clothes back on,” Alkgan ordered, insisting until you were completely bundled up with no chance of anything else happening that night.

Alkgan nearly suffocated you as he enveloped you in his arms once again, keeping you still even as you gave weak protests telling him to keep his distance. Still, even if you were sweating, you were glad he was with you again and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, everyone seemed to already know you were sick. You were confined to the wagon while everyone else packed up to leave. You felt guilty, resting while the others worked, but your only two duties around camp involved the drinking water and food so you supposed it was best if you remained separated lest the seven best orc raiders around were felled by colds because of you.

You noticed immediately when Alkgan changed course, leading the convoy further away from the direction you were supposed to be headed towards.

“We’re not going west,” you rasped, leaving it an observation for him to respond to.

“No, we’re not,” Alkgan agreed, “We’re going back down the mountain.”

“It’s all farmland; we could be seen,” you argued immediately, “Everyone will be in danger if we’re seen, even if it’s just by farmers.”

“You’re sick,” he said simply, as if it answered everything, “We can’t stay here in the cold with no food.”

[monsterywriting]

Alkgan (orc) - part 2

previous part | next part | masterlist

AN: this part is a bit shorter than last week but it has smut (hopefully making up for the fact that its a day late...)

minors dni

word count: 3.8k

You stirred from your slumber reluctantly, positive you wouldn’t have done so spontaneously with how your brain was throbbing against the inside of your skull and unable to even open your eyes with the sunlight beaming directly onto your face from one of the many windows in the room. The room faced east, ensuring the room was bright even now, at first light.

You had no idea what specifically had woken you until you felt your pillow shift underneath you. You attempted to grip it closer and bury your face into it in an attempt to slip back into sleep only to find that it was far too solid to do either—and had a heartbeat.

“Go back to sleep,” you muttered, Alkgan freezing underneath you before sighing.

“I was trying not to wake you,” he whispered sheepishly from somewhere above your head, “didn’t want any servants walking in here to see us both in bed.”

You lifted your head to rest on your chin, managing to crack open your eyes just above a squint to look at the orc with your best approximation of a teasing smile when your head felt as though an entire bookcase had fallen on it, “Embarrassed?”

“Just not used to someone barging in first thing every morning,” he replied quickly, and you vaguely remembered him mentioning something about finding the reliance on servants amongst Dumirian nobility ‘unnerving’ the night before.

“They will wait until we come down of our own accord,” you assured him, turning your head to rest comfortably against his chest again, still facing him.

Alkgan hummed in acknowledgement and fell silent, the two of you staring at each other. You considered for a moment closing the final few inches to press your lips against his, something you had been curious about doing since the night before—the differences in dental anatomy alone created a logistical puzzle you wanted to solve. But, you had only just woken up and your mouth was unwashed from the night before.

You had somehow managed to find a way back to your quarters eventually with the spoils of your raid on the cellar, which had been a miracle to locate in and off itself. There wasn’t much you didn’t remember from the night before, some of which you wished very badly you could forget—such as the incredible amount of giggling you did or when you nearly fell off the couch. Your cheek was still sore from where you had knocked into Alkgan’s shoulder when he had caught you and pulled you upright with too much strength.

It was shortly after that you both agreed not to pursue anything further for the night. While you both also agreed to make the marriage work, the two of you were far too inebriated after the final bottle was finished to responsibly do anything more than lie on the bed next to each other and talk. Mostly, you listened as Alkgan recounted the events which led to his current circumstances; becoming chief, being selected for the marriage with you. You tried to glean what information you could about orc customs from the story, but you had quickly gotten distracted by him—his laugh as he remembered his sister’s wife’s reaction to the fact that they would have to fight for the title.

A hand on your cheek drew you from your memories, Alkgan’s face leaning close to yours until he was kissing you. Your lips immediately moved against his, shifting your body upward to bring yourself to his level and easing his burden. When you finally parted, Alkgan was grinning and your hangover was forgotten momentarily at the sight, his giddiness infectious.

“Is there still time to enjoy our wedding night?” He asked, pressing slow kisses on the corner of your mouth and jaw down to your neck.

“That very reason is why no servants walk in,” you reminded him, breath catching in your throat as the point of one of Alkgan’s tusk scraped against it, your heart beating faster with the adrenaline.

You moved your hand down to the hem of Alkgan’s shirt only to find that was all he was wearing, his thighs bare to the touch as your fingers stroked upward. Your eyes widened at the tree’s worth of morning wood that greeted you, imagining the physical feat that was in store for you.

You retracted your hand momentarily to shimmy out of your underclothes and made quick work of the buttons of Alkgan’s shirt with the ease of someone who had undone many in their lifetime.

You pulled the fabric off his shoulders, admiring the wide expanse of Alkgan’s bare chest as you lifted your leg to straddle him. His bulky size meant your knees didn’t quite meet the bed, the muscles in your thighs straining but excitement fluttering in your stomach at the prospect of taking all of Alkgan as you rubbed yourself against his length.

His hand reached between the two of you, running his finger along your entrance and barely dipping inside before rubbing circles where you were most sensitive. The simple act alone was nearly enough to have you seeing stars, the anticipation of if you would be able to handle the girth already keeping you on edge, much less feeling how large his finger alone felt inside you.

“More,” you urged, taking his lips in another kiss. Alkgan obliged, burying a single finger inside of you to the knuckle in one swift movement.

You cursed, loudly, walls clenching in resistance. Alkgan’s voice was a low rasp as he whispered assurances in your ear, pulling his finger out almost entirely and adding a second when he pushed back in. You rocked your hips along with Alkgan’s movements, gradually getting comfortable with the intrusion as he scissored you but all too soon needing more.

“‘M ready,” you read in as steady a voice as you could muster, though the undercurrent of your tone was desperate.

Just as you began to wonder if Alkgan was ignoring you, he pulled out his fingers and moved you down onto the head of his cock. You hung your head, chin against your chest and nails digging into the flesh of Alkgan’s shoulders as you tried to adjust to the much larger size.

Once you were ready, you slowly lowered your hips, lifting them when the stretch became overwhelming. With each subsequent drag against your walls you sank slightly more, your pants mingling with Alkgan’s and filling the room.

You only managed to take half of him before your trembling legs finally buckled and refused to hold your weight any longer, your mind unable to concentrate on maintaining the painstakingly slow pace with the mounting pleasure in your lower abdomen. You could only give out a garbled and barely audible plea for Alkgan—to do what you didn’t know yourself, only something, anything.

He propped his legs up, feet braced against the mattress. The movement made you slip further down his length and you were certain your mind wasn’t exaggerating when it told you you were being split in half. Alkgan was relentless in his pace, his hands on your hips holding you still as he lifted his hips to meet yours. His thighs against your backside were all that kept you upright as your arms gave out as well, chest pressing against his.

You were crying out incoherently, a jumbled string of Dumirian and common that you yourself couldn’t understand as the pleasure built faster than you could process, your body moving on its own accord as Alkgan bottomed out. Your walls spasmed uselessly, thighs clenching around Alkgan’s.

When you regained your senses after what felt like hours but was in all likelihood a few moments, you realized Alkgan was pumping into you with ease, your hand moving to rest against your abdomen to feel how distended the soft flesh became when he fucked into you. He was growling, teeth bared and pressing against your neck. It took a minute longer for you to recognize he was actually spewing words, likely orcish but just as unintelligible as you had been just moments before.

Alkgan’s voice only grew more guttural when he finally stilled inside you, hands squeezing bruises on your hips as he held you against him throughout his own climax. Warmth gushed into you, running down your thigh as Alkgan softened inside you. You felt completely spent, but he didn’t pull out of you immediately—though you weren’t sure you could handle any more movement at the moment, comfortable so long as you both remained still. Even soft his size was impressive inside you, feeling him pressed between your two abdomens.

Lying there, your finger followed the outline where the two shades of Alkgan’s skin met, tracing upward until you reached his neck, then moving on to play with his hair, watching his blissful expression and searing it into your mind.

“When you look at me…” Alkgan trailed off. You couldn’t tell if he was gathering his thoughts or falling asleep until he eventually spoke again, “Feels like you’re studying me. As though I’m a bug.”

“A bug?” You repeated with a snort, caught off guard by the comparison. From the serene smile on his face, you didn’t think it was a condemnation, though you couldn’t imagine how it could be a positive.

“It’s purposeful, I suppose,” he continued with a yawn, eyes sliding shut as your nails scraped along his scalp, “you look and see everything. I don’t know what you think of it all but… you know.”

You did not know, but Alkgan seemed content enough that you took the compliment and brushed off the strangeness, certain his mind was just foggy from your activities.

“Quaint,” you murmured, sounding half asleep yourself and eyelids heavy with the desire to sleep.

“Hm?” Alkgan questioned.

“What I ‘think of it all’,” you intoned, voice fading from the strain it had been put under, “I though you did not like to be observed so intently. I recall you taking issue with the Dumirian servants’ silent staring last night.”

“Different,” was all Alkgan said before you felt his breathing even out, succumbing to sleep. You had been prepared to do the same, but the one choice of word was enough to kickstart frenzied thoughts in your mind.

It was mid morning when Alkgan finally extricated himself from you, grunting from the sensitivity. You felt something warm leak down your thigh, and your legs protested any attempt to work them.

“I cannot move,” you mumbled, facedown on the bed.

“Sorry. I got carried away,” Alkgan kissed your shoulder before rising from the bed and moving around the room behind you.

“How long are orc honeymoons?” You asked, turning onto your back and admiring the view as Alkgan hunted down his pants.

“A week,” he answered, finding them flung over a chair and chuckling as you groaned loudly.

After a few moments of extended silence, you craned your neck to see Alkgan meticulously taking out the braids in his hair, his hair a rat’s nest of bed head after passing out last night.

You sat up when he took a comb and began trying to tame the mane, starting from the tips of his hair and working up to the crown of his head. You had only noticed in passing before, but his hair was incredibly long, nearly reaching the small of his back once brushed out even with some parts still wavy from having been braided for so long.

You were vaguely aware of the importance of braiding another’s hair in orc culture, wondering if it would be too forward to ask if you could try your hand in it—sexual intimacy between practical strangers was one thing, this would be much more personal—but you believed very firmly it would look lovely in a fishtail braid.

Alkgan noticed your stare, turning to look at you expectantly.

“Can I braid your hair?” You blurted the question out before you could stop yourself.

He hesitated, hand hovering over the hair ties and beads that he had already removed. After a moment, he grabbed everything and walked back towards you, sitting on the edge of the mattress next to you.

You scooted closer to him, examining the three beads he set down between you.

“What does it say?” You asked, carefully taking one of the two beds and turning it over in your hand. It was colorful, orange with olive-colored symbols.

“It’s my family’s name,” Alkgan explained, “It was the first bead I earned.”

You repeated the question with the other two, learning they were the for his caravan and his position as chief.

Taking the first lock of hair, you worked fast, tucking the first bead into a strand in the middle and tying off the end soon after.

“How’s that?” You asked, moving the braid over Alkgan’s shoulder.

He had been watching you work in the vanity mirror and seemed surprised by your proficiency once you asked the question. He nodded once, slowly, looking at himself in the mirror.

“You braid as fast as an orc,” Alkgan said sheepishly.

“Just because I am a noble does not mean I’ve never dabbled in the mundane, Alkgan,” you said teasingly, beginning the second braid, “it’s a fun pastime.”

And you had plenty of practice; your younger cousins and nieces could hardly object to being your models—as well as the children of servants, whenever they were secretly brought along to the manor.

“Can I do what I want with the rest?” You asked after finishing the second braid and moving to Alkgan’s opposite side to start the third, “There is a certain style I want to try…”

Alkgan met your eyes in the mirror, looking into them for a moment, “Alright.”

You felt that Alkgan’s permission was also a significant show of trust. Fortunately for him, you were an artisan.

“I’m making a fishtail braid,” you informed him, trying to get him to unwind his stiff posture as you took the comb and ran it through the remained hair for any tangles first, “it’s a favorite of mine- when it’s done right.”

Alkgan hummed, and through the mirror you could see his expression relax, finally used to your ministrations. You moved much more slowly this time than with the other three braids, taking your time so it would come out perfectly.

Starting from his nape, your fingers deftly crossed the small strands down his back, keeping the braid loose and focusing on the symmetry. You kept glancing up to make sure Alkgan was still comfortable. You were sure of your own ability, but you couldn’t help but think about what the interaction was like from Alkgan’s point of view. It was certainly more domestic than you were expecting to be so soon, helping him get ready—even if it was just to the kitchens.

Alkgan held up a hair tie for you to take just as you completed the final cross of the strand. You tied off the end and went back up the braid, pulling at some of the strands to try and complete the look.

“Okay- tell me what you think,” you said, waiting eagerly for his reply as Alkgan stood to inspect the finished product in the mirror.

“It looks… complicated,” he finally said, turning to face you.

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked, keeping your expression impassive as you tried to decipher the meaning behind Alkgan’s choice of words. Perhaps ‘complicated’ was his way of saying gaudy. Or maybe the complexity of the braid translated to the feelings of the braider for the braidee—and Alkgan was put off by the sentiment.

“No. It’s not,” Alkgan said, taking your hand in his and squeezing it with a reassuring smile, “I’ll go bring breakfast up.”

You relaxed, watching Alkgan rise and cross the room, admiring how good your handiwork looked from looked from afar.

When he did return, carrying two trays laden with food, you had already migrated from the bed to the settee wrapped only in the bedsheet, close enough to the small breakfast table that you only had to sit up once Alkgan set the trays down.

You considered your own feelings as you took the bowl of hangover soup Alkgan handed you. The entire morning was uncharted territory for you. You had never had a ‘morning after’ with anyone else before, your nightly escapades before now just that: nightly. By the time the sun rose you were always alone again.

It wasn’t quite uncomfortable—you didn’t think it could be after the morning you shared—just out of your comfort zone. He kept your braid as he ate, an act that you had never done with anyone else and felt far more intimate than what you had done immediately before.

You also thought about what Alkgan had said about the servants’ constant presence in your life. It had never bothered you before, but now you found you enjoyed the privacy, alone except for the company of Alkgan. Your husband. You no longer felt the weight of their omnipresent stares, no audience to observe you in your makeshift dress, or know whether you used a spoon or simply lifted the bowl to your lips and drank—like… so.

You also supposed that it would be best if you got used to the idea of being alone, now that you were going to leave Dumir to live amongst the orcs. Your noble upbringing would soon become a distant memory.

“We’ll leave in a few hours once the wagon’s ready,” Alkgan informed you, going into more details about your imminent journey as the two of you ate.

The route to the border was, of course, complicated by the war. Numerous detours were required to avoid populated areas and battle zones—namely moving north into the isolated mountain ranges. You also wouldn’t be traveling alone, the orc tribal leaders sending the best of their raiders to accompany you to your destination.

It was all in the interest of keeping the alliance a secret. At least until it could be revealed on the battlefield, giving the joint forces an edge against the Cerusis Empire before they could effectively plot against them.

You cleared your bowl easily, even before Alkgan had finished speaking, the final vestiges of your headache fading as the hot broth filled your belly. Until—

“We will be avoiding outside contact as much as possible. But, in the event we did have a confrontation of some kind… it would be best if you did not appear to be a noble. If you looked like and your belongings were those of a commoner. It would also be more practical for travel.”

You did not like that prospect at all. Worst of all, the logic behind the decision was indisputable; you had absolutely no good reason to oppose it, much less argue against the decision. If you were seen even from the distance, rumors would begin about orcs working together with Dumirian royalty. It would also make your convoy a target for Cerusis forces. Seven orc raiders were formidable, but not invincible. Still, the immature part of you wanted to argue that if you were going to leave behind the estate, the lifestyle, everything else—couldn’t you at least keep the clothing?

“Okay,” you agreed, having no desire to actually be difficult. The morning was going too well—the final note before leaving your home still positive—to spoil.

Alkgan frowned, and you immediately worried you had failed to convincingly hide your disappointment.

Before he could say anything else, you rose, announcing that you would be taking a bath, if he would like to join you. You let the bedsheet fall from your arms onto the floor on your way to the adjoining bathroom, Alkgan saying something in orcish under his breath—a curse, you would be. You didn’t have to turn to know he was following you, hearing his chair hit the floor from the force with which he rose to follow you.

Outside the manor entrance, at the bottom of the stairs leading out the manor doors and down to the stone path—where you’d seen countless carriages stop in identical fashion—was a covered wagon. It was being pulled by four of the largest horses you had ever seen in your life, two more tied to the back. Both the horses and wagon seemed to grow in size as you descended the steps with Alkgan and servants carrying your belongings. Well, Alkgan’s belongings and belongings which were now yours.

The clothes you wore were similarly not your own, feeling strange as you moved around within them. Everything about them felt slightly off to you, their weight and fit on your body even the feel of the material was completely alien. The only saving grace of your outfit was that Alkgan had braided your hair for you after your shared bath. It was a type of orc braid, and thus you were unfamiliar with it, but you found the end result beautiful.

So, you tried your best to maintain your usual air of dignity as you walked from your quarters wearing the dreary clothing of a commoner.

Surrounding the wagon was your orc escorts, each holding the reins of similarly giant horses.

When you and Alkgan stepped onto the path, they made brief introductions, beginning with their specific tribe of origin and names. You blocked out all other information and focused on at least getting their first names and faces memorized before anything else, reciting them in your mind as they each spoke their turn. Ket’al. Urekig. Lormekh. Gorag. Ursza. Rogmesh. Shagar.

You were relieved by the fact that Alkgan introduced himself afterwards, meaning that you were not the odd one out in the convoy; you would all begin this journey as strangers equally.

It wasn’t difficult to tell any one raider apart from the others. They were all distinct from their braids and their armor to their varying skin tones—ranging from brown with green flecks to bright green.

Alkgan had not shared from which of the seven tribes he originated during his introductions, and you filed away the question to ask later.

After only a short exchange in orcish you could not understand, the raiders mounted their steeds and Alkgan helped lift you onto the wagon bench, moving over when he climbed up next to you.

The wagon lurched forward as Alkgan snapped the reins and you held onto the bench for dear life, the ground seeming much further away than it had before the wagon had started moving.

It was impossible to see the manor behind you, only meeting the eyes of one of the raiders awkwardly when you tried. Instead, you watched as the gates grew closer until they finally disappeared above you, the convoy officially leaving for the orc lands.

[monsterywriting]

Alkgan (orc) - part 1

prologue | next part | masterlist

word count: 4.4k

You watched the sun hang just above the tree line from the window of your quarters, the sky washed with an orange hue that made the light a bit more bearable as you watched the clouds turn from pink to periwinkle and finally lavender. It was finally sundown, and you would soon be married off.

You turned away once the servants called you, already dressed in your gown and ceremonial veil in your hand. Putting on the garment and allowing yourself to be led out, you could only see your own feet as you were taken through the halls to the location the ceremony would take place—and where the guests and you husband to be already waited for your arrival.

Despite staking your claim on the marriage in front of of your father in a brave display, in actuality the trepidation you felt for the impending nuptials had only increased once you were alone. All too soon, the servants’ hands left you and you heard the heavy creaking of wooden doors opening in front of you, a sudden hush descending on the room as you were revealed. It took a firm push on the small of your back to spur you forward, slowly moving one foot in front of the other with you eyes glued to the small strip of visible floor in front of you.

After what felt like eternity, you saw the shadow of feet in front of you, the hair on the back of your neck standing up as you felt the presence of someone in front of you. You stepped around them and pivoted to face the wearer, blood rushing in your ears so loudly you could hardly hear the officiant speaking.

Your focus was squarely on the very edge of the soles in front of you, trying to imagine what the man in front of you looked like before the veil was lifted and the ceremony truly began. There weren’t many human kingdoms that bordered the Cerusis empire that didn’t have an alliance with one side or the other, and less that could provide the military help needed to turn the tide of the war. But that still left four possible kingdoms, and countless potential nobles that could be before you now. And what if he wasn’t human?

Actually, you struck that thought from your head. The elves, despite their beauty, were far too proud to marry a human, the dwarves already declared themselves neutral in the conflict and you had yet to see anyone catch a fae long enough to come to any sort of agreement. In the end, you couldn’t think of any one kingdom or individual that would warrant the tightlippedness of your parents, none that would make you non-compliant.

Suddenly, large hands pressed on either side of your temple and moved the headpiece upward, the veil finally lifted from your view.

You nearly balked when you looked up to see a giant orc staring down at you, but managed to rein in your terror and meet his eyes with your chin up—though, you had little choice but to turn your face upward as he towered over you. So this was why your father refused to tell you anything. No one in their right mind would walk down that aisle—no, not even get on the carriage to arrive—with an orc on the other end. The only thing keeping you rooted in your spot was the bold words exchanged with your father earlier, glad you had the foresight not to promise anything beyond just that.

Orcs certainly had the manpower and military prowess to completely change the course of the war back into Dumir’s favor, and you were just one of a dozen children to be sacrificed for the good of the kingdom—their lifestyle, more like, your mind bitterly corrected.

You filtered out the droning voice of the officiant, speaking when prompted but primarily studying the orc His skin was not a single solid shade of green, mottled like the equivalent of a human with vitiligo. You wondered if his selection had been for your benefit, his markings distinctive enough for you to be able to tell him apart from the others of his species once you left to his home for the second ceremony. You would then be truly alone, with no clue about their culture or society. You didn’t even know how orcs got married.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was thinking, if anything at all, about you. His expression was completely unreadable to you, a human and certainly no warrior. His expression could be completely neutral or immensely displeased. You, on the other hand, felt that you couldn’t get a handle on your own emotions or mind, still working to reach some sort of acceptance through understanding.

Another eternity passed and the ceremony was finally declared complete—your mind hurtling to the precipice of hysteria as you questioned if you were the only person out of the loop, certain everyone in the audience was secretly laughing at your fate. You took your new husband’s hand and walked back down the aisle towards the exit, knocked back down to reality as everyone rose and clapped.

To your right was the king and queen of Dumir and their children. Behind them, your family, unsurprised that all were in attendance besides the children and that your mother the only one who dared to look at you, tears streaming down her face as her eyes met yours. Perhaps your father had been correct in some aspects of his assessment of you; you felt nothing as you looked at them all and knew you would never see them again. But you doubted it was an emotional defect on your part; there was plenty you would miss of Dumir. Let’s see—friends. There were plenty of noblewomen your age you spent time with. Well, before they married, though you recall their visits decreasing in frequency before then… That was a bad example. It was better this way; better to look forward rather than dwell on what you no longer had.

Your attention moved on from them, head turning to your left to behold the most orcs you’d seen in your lifetime. They had been surprisingly quiet during the ceremony, considering everything you were told of their behavior, though you supposed you would be disquieted as well taking part in a foreign ceremony, especially one that had such sweeping ramifications for both kingdoms’ futures.

The exit was clearly marked now, a simple matter of following the signs through the hallways. You had to take two steps to keep up with only one of his, and you got the sense he was walking slowly for your benefit. Eventually stepping out the main door and into the night, there was a carriage already awaiting you. You didn’t stop, nearly yanked back when the orc remained still, your hands still tethering you together.

“This way,” you said awkwardly, pointing to the carriage and grateful when he started moving again after his eyes followed you finger.

As you approached the carriage, he let go of your hand and climbed inside, leaving you to climb up on your own without any aid.

Neither one of you spoke for the duration of the ride, the horses’ hooves beating against the road the only audible sound in the cabin. This carriage had no windows, making your destination an even bigger mystery than the wedding venue. All you knew for certain was that wherever it was, it would be where you would spend the night and… consummate the marriage.

The thought made heat rise to your cheeks as you looked out the corner of your eye to the orc on the opposite bench. He was wearing Dumirian vestments, you realized, wondering if that meant you would be wearing their clothing once you arrived at his home, which naturally led you to think about the issue of the language barrier between you.

Perhaps you didn’t need to understand each other to get married, or even participate in your wedding night, but the rest of your life would be exceedingly if you had no means of communicating with him.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and the orc did not wait for the attendant to open the door to exit. The servants quickly bowed, unprepared for the sudden appearance.

“I want dinner ready in one hour; and bring our things to our quarters. And draw a bath,” you snipped out your orders, walking ahead without waiting and leaving the servants to scramble to meet your demands, one maid leading you to where you needed to go.

Dinner went about as you expected: silent and uncomfortable. The orc—your husband, you reminded yourself to call him—was already seated when you came down from your quarters, plates of food already set in front of him and at various stages of consumption. The two of you were the only guests inside the manor, and thus sat alone at a table meant to seat twenty, staring each other down from across the long stretch of wood.

“Just dessert for me tonight, Claudette,” you said, waving away the plates set in front of you. You had asked the maid her name as she bathed you. Clearly, there was no need for decorum, as there was no one present who would appreciate your adherence to social hierarchy.

“Of course Miss- Mrs- Erm, mistress,” Claudette blundered through the sentence, red in the face and the plates clinking together as she quickly cleared them and scurried off to the kitchens.

Not a single servant had yet to meet your eyes since you arrived, and you didn’t have it within you to reprimand them, their reason obvious. A Dumirian noblewoman, married to an orc raider. You would be a laughingstock at the next dinner party—an unbearable thought if you wouldn’t be too busy skinning cave bears or steering a covered wagon to worry about what was going on back home. No matter that the orcs will undoubtedly turn the tide of the war to ensure they could continue to even have such lavish parties and continue their little popularity mind games.

There was little you knew about the details of orc society, only aware of the basics about their society as a federation of different tribes from your lessons with tutors, with all the human biases instilled in you about their nomadic lifestyles. You knew there was no king or nobility, their leaders chosen solely on successes in battle rather than lineage or finances.

You had no idea what he knew of Dumirian customs or about what came next in the wedding night—though you supposed that was universal across cultures. You didn’t even know how it all would work, tonight or beyond, unable to speak or understand orcish.

You were unused to a quiet dinner table, your home filled with chatter at suppertime—mostly your mother’s. You felt an annoying urge to break the silence yourself, an unfortunate biological fault, you guessed, one you could simply ignore.

Claudette returned with a miniature cake, gold leaf and raspberries set on the dark chocolate. Another attendant walked in behind her with a second, stopping next to your husband. You hope repeating the title will make it come easier.

“No, thank you, I’m done,” He said, lifting his palm to turn down the offered plate.

Your spoon slipped from your limp grasp onto the plate, slack-jawed and staring across the table in disbelief. Common. That was definitely common that came out of his mouth.

“You speak common?” Your voice didn’t sound like your own, embarrassed that you hadn’t even asked the simple question before assuming he only spoke orcish. Of course the tribal leaders would select someone who at least spoke common. It seemed so obvious now, for all the wheels in your mind that had been turning since you first saw him.

“Yes,” he said, then nothing else

Determined not to be cowed into silence so soon after establishing communication, and still looking for answers your own parents had refused you, you waved for Claudette to take your plate and dismissed the attendants, which gave you ample time to decide which of your questions would be first.

“What is your name?” You asked.

“You don’t know?” He asked with a tilt of his head. You weren’t sure if he was truly perplexed or making fun of you, his expressions still a mystery to you, but you didn’t appreciate your question being answered with another.

“No; do you know mine?” You asked as pleasantly as you could manage.

“Of course,” he said, telling you your name without hesitation. “Do you truly not know my name?”

“I know only that today was the day I was to be married; I was given no further details,” you said, somewhat resentful of the fact that he knew more than you, your fear of being truly alone being kept in the dark realized.

“My name is Alkgan,” he answered after a brief pause, “if you did not know my name, why did you agree to get married?”

“Are you aware of the nature of this marriage, Alkgan?” It finally dawned on you that there was a glaringly obvious cultural difference between you; only human nobility carefully curated marriages between its members solely for political gain. For him, it was in all likelihood unheard of for compatibility to be the last consideration in a union, or for the two parties to spend their engagement coming to terms with their inevitable nuptials.

“It is a political marriage. For an alliance against the Cerusis Empire.”

You hummed in agreement with his condensed explanation of complex geopolitical conflicts. You wondered if Alkgan had been informed of the political aspect of the marriage as well or if he was forced to come to the conclusion as you had.

“In Dumir, such marriages are often made between families- and not necessarily with the knowledge of those involved.”

Alkgan was silent as he absorbed the information, nodding slowly as he brought his hand up to rub his jaw.

“That seems barbaric.”

You let out a sharp bark of laughter, covering your mouth the moment the offending sound escaped you, glad there was no one else in the room to witness, even if it had probably been loud enough to be heard by any listening ears outside the door. It was a night for the strange, and an orc telling you your kingdom’s ways were backwards certainly fit the bill—though you couldn’t deny his point in your humble opinion as the one subjected to the ‘barbarity’.

“It is the duty of the child to see the agreement through- as perhaps you felt when you agreed,” you countered. Obviously, you didn’t mention your own objections or feelings on the subject in your explanation, seeing no point in driving any wedge between you at this point.

“I suppose you’re right,” Alkgan sighed, “There is no saying ‘no’ to the high council.”

“Besides, in normal circumstances, the period of engagement is usually much longer than a week. Though I’m sure the war-”

“Wait,” he stopped you, and when you fell silent, questioned, “A week?”

“Yes; I was informed a week ago of the wedding during the arrangements,” you said, inwardly reveling at how indignant Alkgan sounded on your behalf.

You had one final question, though Alkgan still seemed stuck on the fact that the marriage was sprung on you so suddenly, so you decided to give your own answer first.

“In my opinion- what’s done is done. I gave my vows with the full intention of abiding by them. However, I understand your kind has different means of selecting… mates. And I do not match that description. I’ve never raised my hand against another, nor did I earn my station in life. If this is unsatisfactory for you, we can reach- if not understanding- an arrangement. It is not unheard of to have a few… outlets in such a pairing.”

Once it registered to Alkgan what you were insinuating, he shook his head emphatically, “I said my vows sincerely as well. And, actually, when I removed your veil, I was satisfied with your character. The look in your eyes was enough to convince me.”

“Really?” You blinked slowly, the admission unexpected. Your initial reaction was that it must have been a lie designed to make you feel better, but upon further reflection you realized you perhaps hadn’t reined in your expression as well as you thought, still angry with your father and definitely had been glaring underneath your veil.

“Yes; you looked so determined, I dared not even think about any second thoughts about the marriage.”

It took you a moment to realize he was teasing, feeling guilty that your wrath had at least partially been directed at him, but once you did your mouth split open in a grin.

“Where did you learn common?” You asked once the threat of laughter passed, taking another bite of your cake.

“My father taught my sister and I,” Alkgan said, apparently growing more comfortable speaking with you, “though I didn’t get much practice until recently.”

“With the wedding?”

“No- I had an excursion to Dumir before now. About a year ago now. We traveled with a group from the village of Ozryn. In fact, I believe you would have done well among them.”

“Me? A peasant?” This was dangerous. The more you spoke with Alkgan the more you felt like laughing. Beyond being unsightly, you were amused by him—charmed, even.

It was an insult on the lips of any other, but from Alkgan it was the most genuine compliment you’ve received; definitely leagues better than the countless comparisons of your talents to your sisters, or the worth of your abilities in meeting the needs of others.

“What now?” Alkgan asked after a brief silence.

You called Claudette to clear your plate, mulling over your options. With how appalled Alkgan was at your situation, you were certain he wouldn’t object if requested separate sleeping quarters. However…

“I think we should forget all this serious talk and celebrate. We got married today. Claudette, bring us the best bottle from the cellar.”

“Right away, mistress,” Claudette bowed, rushing back out the room to complete your order.

When she returned with a bottle of wine and glasses, you quickly took them and dismissed her for the final time, asking she inform the rest of the servants the main house was to be undisturbed for the remainder of the night. Once she was gone, you walked out to the sitting room with your drinking supplies, hearing Alkgan rise to follow you without having to look back.

Without fear of any servants walking in on you, you forcibly pulled the cork from the bottle with a satisfying pop. Not even bothering to pour the wine into a glass, you tilted the bottle up to your lips and drank heartily.

Lowering the bottle, you handed it to Alkgan, who hesitated before downing over a third of the wine. It had not been purposefully—he had taken only a single gulp before handing the bottle back to you—but it served as a stark reminder of the sheer difference in size between your two species. You should have taken that difference into account when you first asked, but with all the servants already gone it was too late to request another bottle.

You drank as much as you could handle in one go before passing it back to Alkgan. The final few drops landed on your outstretched tongue once the bottle was back in your possession, unable to drink nearly as much as you had hoped, feeling only slightly warmer than normal.

Alkgan had yet to sit down, not meeting your gaze despite your insistent stare as he looked around the room at everything but you.

“This is a guest house owned by the first noble family. It appears our marriage is looked down upon favorably in high places,” you said, knowing Alkgan had no genuine interest but hoping to dispel with the pretense. When this failed to draw his attention, you stood and placed your hand on his arm, gently pulling him back to sit next to you before repeating the question Alkgan had posed earlier, “What now?”

“I could sleep in separate quarters, if you’d like… there are plenty of rooms,” Alkgan immediately offered, almost exactly as you had imagined.

“I thought tonight could be spent more productively; get to know each other intimately,” you bit back a smile as Alkgan started at your wording. You wondered for a moment if orcs flushed green, or if their blood was red like humans’. It was impossible to tell in the candlelight.

“I didn’t think- As it was not your choice- that you would want to… tonight,” Alkgan trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“If you are referring to the wedding night, sex is merely pleasure to me,” you said, unable to keep the teasing tone from your voice as you continued, “But I only meant that we could talk now, while we have some leisure time before we begin the long journey to the orc lands.”

Your provocation had merely been a way to ascertain if Alkgan had been told the marriage would only be considered legitimate once consummated. Though the wedding night was only a single item on the long list of qualifying factors, it was widely considered the first step.

Had you been a bit more respecting of tradition, you too might have felt the same. Your words of assurance had been true; you could imagine the advantages of having an orc lover in detail, and it would certainly be a pleasure. For the time being, however, you did not want Alkgan to feel pressured to rush into sleeping with a practical stranger, no matter what knowledge he had of you beforehand.

“I was not expecting you to talk so openly about… sex,” Alkgan admitted after a moment about as bashfully as an orc double your size could be, but he seemed to relax with your silent assurance that the night need not go any further should he wish it.

“And I was not aware orc sensibilities were so conservative,” you retorted lightheartedly.

“We are not, generally,” Alkgan said, “It’s just… the humans I’ve met tended to be. And I was told nobility were more so on such… subjects.”

“Generally,” you agreed, “But that does not stop such ‘subjects’ from being performed in private. And as for my forwardness… I am simply an outlier. The usual modesty of Dumirian nobles has clearly failed to be instilled in me; I like to think of it as the advantage of being the last child.”

Alkgan said nothing for a moment as he considered what you said. From your short study of him, it was something he did often; biding his time, considering his words. So you waited patiently, unsurprised when he finally spoke again, “How many siblings do you have?”

“Eleven,” you answered, not expecting the horrified look he gave you. He had mentioned a sister, but surely that couldn’t have possibly been all. You had assumed orcs would have at least as many children as well, their numbers large for a civilization of warriors, “How many do you have?”

“One! My older sister,” he said, “Twelve children… the group of humans we met, there was twelve of them.”

You frowned as Alkgan shuddered, unable to imagine having only a single sibling. Of course, you were too young to remember a time when you all lived under the same roof, and the age gaps had been substantial, but you knew they existed, somewhere, living their lives.

“Were your parents unsatisfied with their union?” You asked with a tilt of your head, and Alkgan appeared confused for a moment.

“No- it’s just that it would be a logistical nightmare for each family to move a lot of children at once in caravan,” Alkgan explained.

“Ah, then orcs utilize contraceptives after marriage,” you said, amazed. The prospect of procreation and undergoing the entire ordeal of childbirth as often as your mother had hardly appealed to you. Though virtues were never as closely guarded in Dumir as the unmarried's in other kingdoms, it was understood that once married, the act was to be productive.

“I would prefer not to go into any more detail on the topic of parents and procreation,” Alkgan said weakly and you acquiesced. Your goal was to make him more comfortable, not scar him for life.

“What about you, then; your life?” You asked, “We leave tomorrow for your home.”

Alkgan looked away, and you worried you had made matters worse, realizing only after the question was asked that it may have been an insensitive one. For all you knew, Alkgan already had someone he loved before he was called upon to marry you—probably an orc, definitely a warrior. Or, even if he had no one waiting for him, he could finally be struck by the fact that he was married, and would be returning home with you.

Unlike you, Alkgan had not spent his entire life surrounded by arranged marriages. Even “love” marriages amongst nobles were carefully orchestrated; the children of families on friendly terms, for instance, growing up and falling in love with each other as though they were not pushed into proposals by their parents. You saw arrangements and marriage as one and the same—normal, if inconvenient, and always within the realm of possibility as your own fate. Your objections had not been the rejection of something unnatural that went against your your upbringing or values. Clearly, your interactions with Alkgan would require a gentler hand in opening his heart to you.

“I became chief a year ago,” Alkgan spoke just as you were about to apologize and change the subject, “My caravan has a little over twenty families. They remained at a stronghold near the border. We will meet them there and continue on to the winter dwellings.”

“Well,” you said as you stood, “I, for one, was not satisfied with the wine. I’m sure we can find something stronger in the cellar.”

“Do you know where it is?” Alkgan asked as he rose and followed you towards the door.

“No,” you said with a cheerful smile, kicking off your shoes and taking off down the carpeted corridor with Alkgan calling after you.

[monsterywriting]

Alkgan (orc) - prologue

next part | masterlist

It's october so i decided to do another orc story. Like my other one (where we first met Alkgan), this is technically a one-shot but i decided to release this part as a prologue.

warnings: arranged marriages, politics(?), this part isn't but the next part definitely is not sfw so minors dni

word count: 3.4k

Alkgan ignored the stares that seemed to follow him down the hallways of the stronghold, tense enough about his audience with the high council without worrying about the gossip.

The caravan hadn’t even arrived at the gates before the scouts he sent to announce their arrival returned with the news that the leaders of the seven tribes were there to speak to him. Normally, the news of a change in chiefs didn’t warrant much questions, though the succession happening outside their territory in a warring kingdom might have been a contributing factor. Still, for the council themselves to request a meeting for such a small matter was unheard of.

Perhaps Derdig had misheard and they weren’t there for him specifically. Hopefully their attendance put everyone in a good enough mood that he was to be rewarded for the successful enforcement of their boundaries. His sister had requested more families for the caravan as well as a teacher to accommodate the growing number of children before they left, and although his role as chief didn’t begin until after they returned to the border, the bloody helmets he hauled along with him was proof enough the raiders completed their objective.

Once Alkgan entered the main hall, the feeling that something was wrong was cemented when he counted all seven leaders present and seated facing him. The rest of the hall was empty, the meeting apparently private. He showed no sign of weakness, however, walking forward without hesitation and stopping in front of them to throw down the sack of helmets.

“Where is chief Zhulgan?” The speaker of the council asked the moment he stood before them.

“She relinquished the title and left the caravan,” Alkgan answered, confused as to the purpose of the question. His sister was no more on the council’s radar than he was.

“Why?” The leader directly to the right of the speaker demanded. Yufar, the leader of the tribe to which Alkgan was born, though it was doubtful the old warrior knew that, “How did you come to have the title?”

“She found a wife. Human; Dumirian,” Alkgan explained. He was clearly being interrogated, but to what end eluded him, “As she was alive and capable, she challenged me once we reached the border and I defeated her in combat, as is custom.”

The ritual wasn’t a deadly one; there were no weapons, no fighting to the death. It was merely a formality to be observed for recognition by the elder generations—a fact that was well known. The question was less about Alkgan’s capabilities and more about his adherence to tradition, which meant they expected something of him.

“And the Cerusis soldiers- were you able to track them down?” Alkgan’s head swiveled to look to the far end of the row, though he didn’t catch who spoke.

“Yes. We tracked them to the southern peninsula after they crossed the border; I’ve brought back their helmets as proof. We also came across a group of Dumirians they took hostage and escorted them to the border. It was from this group Zhulgan married.”

“You were able to speak their language?” The speaker seemed almost… excited, if that was a word that could be used for the old warriors. It didn’t quite fit their battle-hardened face, usually austere and terrifying to even the most arrogant raiders, of which Alkgan was not.

He frowned, unsure of what the relevance was but knowing the council weren’t ones to be questioned—or kept waiting, “Not Dumirian, common”

The council erupted in overlapping talk, but Alkgan’s focus was on the speaker, who appeared pleased with his response even if he had no idea what the question was.

“We have decided to form an alliance with Dumir against the Cerusis Empire,” the speaker explained once the chatter quieted down, “We agreed to send war bands to invade the Cerusis Empire in exchange for claim to whatever land we conquer there, and a free trade agreement with the Dumirians once the war is over.”

Ah, Alkgan thought, that was what they had been getting at. As his caravan’s raiders had firsthand experience fighting the Cerusis soldiers, they were a logical choice to send to the front lines into enemy territory.

“I am honored to claim more land for our people,” Alkgan said, bringing his fist over his heart and preparing to turn to leave.

“Your caravan will not-” yet another leader began, towards the far edge of the group, “The Dumirian king has insisted on another stipulation for the alliance, arranging five marriages between those of high rank from our two nations- a common practice amongst humans. We have not accepted the new terms yet, as we are still approaching those whose rank would satisfy the Dumirians.”

The news left him speechless. Arranged marriages were not their way; for a marriage to come about by design rather than choice and compatibility was absurd.

His first instinct was to immediately refuse. Of course, though the council had the courtesy of asking for his approval, he doubted he had the choice to decline the offer. He was nobody; they could easily send him and his raiders to the front lines of the war to certain death in retaliation. It would be an honorable death in the eyes of others, but it would be unfair to condemn his raiders to death when given the choice here and now. Besides, he reasoned, if his future spouse was anything like the Dumirians he has met, then it wouldn’t be the worst fate to be bound to one of them. His sister obviously had no complaints.

“I would be… honored,” Alkgan said, praying to whatever god would listen he wouldn’t regret the decision.

Even as your carriage left the only home you’d ever known for the venue of your wedding, you refused to believe it. Up until hour two of your mother’s rant about your wedding dress you remained in your fugue state, unable to comprehend that you even had a fiancé waiting at your destination, much less that he would be your husband by sundown.

“I spent the entire fitting describing exactly what I wanted for your dress and stressed its urgency and that stupid seamstress still managed to get it completely wrong! I told your father to allow me to oversee her work but would he let me?” Your mother let out a frustrated noise and threw herself back in a way most unbecoming of a lady should she not have been in a closed carriage with only her youngest child and a sleeping governess to witness.

You were rapidly losing your mental battle of resisting the urge to scream at her to shut up, something you never would have imagined actually saying aloud just a week ago—what now felt like eons ago when you had no inkling of any arranged marriage that involved you.

The ‘monstrosity’, as your mother called it, was hanging next to you, wrapped tightly and tied off with silk to protect the fabric from any further misfortune during the journey. You couldn’t bear to look at it, nor could you look to your other side, where the governess sat—where you should be seated. You kept your gaze firmly forward, an act that unfortunately gave your mother the impression you were actually listening to her tirade.

In truth, it had been you who ruined the dress, switching the lace selected with one your mother deliberately thrown out, a calculation to see if your mother’s ensuing tantrum would successfully goad your father into postponing the wedding so you could have time to come up with a more permanent objection.

Strangely enough, your mother’s demands went unmet and your father stood firm on the date of your union. The entire thing was inexplicable, your father finalizing all the arrangements without so much as a letter to inform you—or at least your mother, who hadn’t successfully kept a secret in her entire life. He kept strictly confidential the identity of your husband and even the purpose of the marriage in the first place.

The fact that he refused to budge on the date made you suspect it was a political marriage, though you couldn’t even begin to understand why, the youngest of twelve children whose siblings had all married well enough beyond their own stations to ensure your family’s name was set within upper echelons of Dumirian noble society for generations.

And, more importantly, you weren’t supposed to be getting married—there was no need for you to have an arranged marriage, or in fact, marry at all. You had set your sights on the coveted role of governess. The family’s current governess, your father’s great aunt, was unlikely to linger around this mortal coil for much longer and with the number of nieces you had reaching the double digits, a new one would be needed within the next few years.

Admittedly, you weren’t nearly as genuine in your ways of propriety as your sisters, your childhood spent mostly by yourself and occasionally holding a mirror to Aunt Flora’s nose while she slept rather than having any sense of modesty instilled in you. However, you learned the etiquette until it came as naturally to you as it did any of your sisters, if only to ensure your ultimate fate would at least be equal to your current circumstances. You excelled in every lesson required of you, no matter how ridiculous you found the skill. You endured being showcased in front of the other families your mother was constantly trying to impress despite finding the bragging arms race inane folly. You played instruments and recited poems for your father’s guests on command, none of whom’s intelligence you found even worth mentioning.

So, you failed to understand how the culmination of your hard work left you in a carriage in these circumstances.

Even your mother had laughed when your father first announced that you would be married next week, certain the normally quiet man had cracked an outlandish joke. Once it was clear the news was no bit, chaos broke loose at Heartstone manor—you with immediate objections and your mother worrying about how the short notice would come across to other nobles, the period of your engagement a fraction of the precedent set by your siblings. Your mother often worried about the pettiest things, but in that instance, as it was to your favor, you were of the mind to forgive her vapidness just the once.

Perhaps the week wouldn’t have been as stressful if your father had simply divulged whatever information he knew about your fiancé. Among your father’s long list of secrets was what kingdom he hailed from, and even what your husband-to-be looked like. This made you certain that your father was keeping the information from you to ensure your cooperation, the fact weighing heavy on your mind that such marriages were rarely equitable in pairing—especially if he refused to procure so much as a portrait of your fiancé for your viewing.

You mulled over your options. In the best case scenario, your fiancé would be so old or sick it wouldn’t be suspicious if he ‘overexerted’ himself on his wedding night, leaving you a widow with all his property, but then no man in his right mind would ask for your hand again, and your objection to this union in particular wasn’t a total repulsion to all marriage. If he was young and virile, you could poison him slowly, but of course if you were caught marriage was no match next to prison.

You were vaguely aware of your mother still talking in between your thoughts, absentmindedly reiterated just how strongly you wished the stupid cow would shut up. By some miracle, she did, though after happening to glance over you saw her staring at you with a stunned expression, you realized that you had actually said your thoughts aloud.

“I must admit- I know of your husband’s identity. Your father told me after swearing me to secrecy but I- I never intended to keep it until he told me. And then- then I understood the need to spare you,” she said, voice tight as though on the verge of tears. You hoped she would get a handle on her emotions so you had one less thing to deal with for the remainder of the trip, dealing with enough as it were, “I want to give you a true Dumirian wedding before you leave with- him.”

It was a very rare occurrence that your mother was actually useful for something, so you absorbed everything she said in your desperation for any crumb of information, though it left you more confused than anything. It confirmed your marriage was indeed political, and revealed that your fiancé was not of Dumir. It was something you hadn’t even considered—the war could explain the rush to seal the deal, the situation in Dumir definitely dire enough for the king to agree to any terms to ensure support. And you were certainly a shrewd choice for marriage—close enough in relation to the throne to satisfy the other party but far enough down the line of succession to ensure any immediate offspring with a foreign parent would never actually sit on the throne.

However, if he was from another kingdom, all nearby kingdoms you could think of had nearly identical wedding traditions to Dumir, and kingdoms further away wouldn’t be much help in the war effort, which made her claim that you were leaving somewhere entirely different to home unlikely. You could not ascertain the point of the maternal display, concluding her flare for the dramatic or her own guilty conscience both as equally likely as there actually being something for you to dread at this wedding.

Deciding against dignifying her sniveling with a response, you turned your head to the open window next to where Aunt Flora slept.

When your carriage finally stopped in front of the venue, you were surprised to see it was incredibly close to the castle, its turrets and peaks visible in the distance through the window, your view blocked by your father appearing and opening the door for you. You climbed over Aunt Flora but ignored his offered hand and stepped down on your own, accepting the help of an attendant.

You said nothing as you followed your father inside, leaving behind your mother and governess happily. He led you through the winding halls until you weren’t even sure of the way out. Obviously, that was on purpose, to ensure you wouldn’t find your own way out.

The realization came down on you all at once, panic flaring in your chest as you realized he truly was going to leave you to flounder on your own out there, trapped by his choice for you without even extending the courtesy of an explanation, rundown or warning of the situation at hand. Fear poisoned your memory, thinking back to what your mother told you; her drivel might have actually had a kernel of reality in it.

You stopped walking.

Your father, not even noticing initially that you were no longer close behind him, slowed at the corner before turning to see you still in the middle of the hall, hissing at you, “What are you doing? We’re almost there.”

“I won’t go,” you declared, crossing your arms for emphasis, “Not until you tell me what is going on- who am I marrying and why have you agreed to this insanity- a one week engagement?”

“Quiet, child,” your father snapped, “It matters not- you will still be married tonight regardless. Now come here before I drag you.”

Anger filled you, your hands shaking with no outlet for the pure rage that threatened to spill over. For the second time today, you felt the mask slip, your face contorting with the true emotion you felt. If this was truly the last time you would see the man before leaving forever, as your mother suggested, you would tell him exactly how you felt, “I’ve always known you were a fool. All I ask for is answers I am rightfully due in exchange for my cooperation. But you’re too blinded by your own ego to do more than make threats.”

Your father moved towards you, his hand raised and poised to strike, but you weren’t finished, “Go on, do it. Hit me and force me down the aisle and I’ll go, kicking and screaming. How will that look to whoever you’ve sold me to? The king and queen? I’m certain they will be in attendance for this very important event.”

Your father froze, slowly lowering his hand back to his side as he stared a you in disbelief. You felt a rush, thrilled at having knocked the man whose control you had been subject to your entire life down a few pegs. You now had the upper hand, your obedience crucial for the night ahead.

The feeling was short-lived, however, as your father suddenly laughed, mirthless and half-crazed as he rubbed his eyes. You took a cautious step back, certain he was suffering a breakdown and may actually lash out at you. Your dare for violence had been but a gambit, not any indication of your ability to handle an actual blow.

“I’ve always known your true nature was there- liking underneath the surface of that front you kept up,” he finally managed to let out once he calmed slightly, “You have always believed yourself superior to all others, ever since you were little- you learned to hide that look of disdain in your eye, but you cannot fool me. It’s only ever been thinly veiled by your whim to adhere to propriety. I begged the king to choose someone- anyone- else. I even went so far as to admit my failures as a father, that I sired a monster- a creature that only goes through the motions of humanity, who has been resistant to any and every attempt to love it. You would ruin this alliance and doom Dumir.”

You felt as though the wind had been knocked from you to hear your father reveal what he truly felt about you. He thought of you as subhuman; a monster, an it. But there was no anguish in your reaction—at least, none that didn’t immediately burn as fuel for your rage, now a righteous anger as you glared down your father, the most furious you’d felt in your entire life and dared let show.

It was almost uncontrollable, the urge to hurt the swine in front of you whose tongue dared speak of humanity while his hand moved you like a pawn. When your shaking hand rose, however, it was not in a closed fist but with a pointed finger, jabbing into his chest.

“You need not worry about this alliance, for of all those traits of mine you’ve pointed out, you ignored one: my sense of duty. Whatever you think of my emotional capabilities, know I will fulfill my duty with this marriage. Remember every day- no, every moment happiness you feel is because of me. Every time you embrace mo- your wife, see your children and grandchildren, your life at the end of this war, even your favor with the king. Not because of my husband, or the nation he hails from- me and my cooperation tonight.”

If your father believed he raised a monster, you would show him a true monster. If you had it your way, you would vow the man would never know peace, but for now, the only bargaining chip you could be certain of was tonight, at least until you knew the identity of your husband. Your father believed he unmasked you, and you would ensure he regretted it.

“I will be married tonight, and the moment my vows are complete, you will be dead to me. All of you.” Your words were no longer shaking with emotion, feeling it drain from your face as you stared at the man who was now a stranger to you. It felt different, better, to have a truly neutral expression than the usual blanket pleasantry you were forced to uphold.

Determined to have the final word, you brushed passed your father down the hall, certain you would eventually come across a servant who could take you to your quarters instead.

[monsterywriting]

Hi I stumbled across your Dirrath story. I just wanted you to know I loved it so much I read it all at once.

thank you im glad you like the story 😊

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius pt 5

part 1

masterlist

word count: 5.5k

Kissing Thenerius was by and large exactly as you imagined - every sensation you envisioned brought to life and expanded upon in reality. The tips of your fingers felt every dip and indentation of his features, the faintest hint of the growing bristles of a beard, pausing at the apex of Thenerius’ cheek, the raised skin of an old knick tangible. The scent of the oil still clung to his skin, softening his skin enough that his lips weren’t so rough against your own, normally chapped between the sea air and his more recent work in the cold.

To your surprise, however, Thenerius stiffened at first contact, almost flinching away at your already light touch in what you could only assume was surprise at your sudden forwardness. But, the tiefling was quick on the uptake, just as soon reciprocating and pushing up against you with enthusiasm.

Thenerius was much gentler than you imagined, not making any further move than what you initiated. To a point you appreciated his consideration, but you soon grew frustrated at the apparent wall you were up against. You hadn’t been looking for a battle, but you had been prepared for your competing wills to spur things forward - for Thenerius’ overwhelming hunger to threaten to engulf you, for your own discovered appetite to not allow yourself to be consumed.

You had seen the interaction as throwing away the voice of reason in your mind, any and all inhibitions gone, but it seemed that Thenerius was more mature than you had originally believed.

You were only vaguely aware of the mug slipping from your hand, already nearly crawling on top of Thenerius when it slid off the cot entirely and thudded loudly on the floor. Thenerius froze, pulling away slightly, leaving you to follow his line of sight over your shoulder and to the hallway.

“We shouldn’t,” he said in a hushed whisper, a desperate whine escaping you before you could stop yourself.

You craved more - momentarily considered suggesting you moved your tryst to the barn, or even the inn at this point, before realizing that was ridiculous. The thought was just juvenile enough to cut through your disappointment with a ray of amusement, you nervous demeanors more befitting a pair of teens bumbling through their first time rather than two experienced adults.

You leaned forward, panic flooding Thenerius’ eyes as he held up a palm to stop your approach even as his eyes flicked down to your lips in longing.

“Relax. I’m getting your cup,” you snorted, rolling the mug towards you and lifting it as proof before bending down to grab your own cup and rising to walk to the kitchen.

From the counter you could feel Thenerius’ gaze on your back even without turning, rinsing the cups in what little water was left in the large basin after the day. When you finally did chance a glance over your shoulder, the tiefling appeared deep in thoughts his gaze never wavering from you but not quite registering that you were watching him back.

Your lightheartedness, the tenderness of the moment shared slowly faded, replaced with uncertainty as you took in his unseeing expression. Uncertainty clouded your mind, unsure if it was the curvature of his mouth or the particular slope of his eyebrow that unsettled you, but you were still reminded of the fact that you were an outsider to his thoughts, privy only to whatever he decided to share with you.

You knew the reality of his profession, what he had to do, but you didn’t truly understand. You couldn’t imagine Thenerius as a ruthless pirate - what expression was on his face as stared down his enemies. You caught what was likely a fraction when

You also knew all the stories - the old burn on the bottom right corner of his mouth, the result of a pistol misfire during a duel, its companion a small circular scar on his left shoulder where the bullet went through. You didn’t know about the lashes on his back, your mind reminded you, and his answer as to their origin had been vague.

He presented himself as an open book, and he was good at it, too. He played the role of the earnest, lovestruck fool - an amiable, chatty, harmless man. You couldn’t reconcile the man that had been staying with you for the past week with the pirate captain who plunder or, Tova, kill.

But, tonight wasn’t for accusations, reality. You were content for now to let the moment be what it was, let everything else be set aside for the time being.

You pushed yourself off the counter, stopping in front of Thenerius, his full attention on you, some deeper emotion swimming underneath the softness with which he stared at you. Your hand found his, linking fingers and eyes sliding closed. You breathed in the scent of the oils once again, reveling in the moment for a few seconds longer…

When you reopened your eyes, Thenerius was fidgeting, his anticipation growing tenfold as you rose on your tiptoes, getting ever closer to his lips.

“I’m going to bed,” you whispered, pressing a chaste kiss against Thenerius’ lips and squeezing his hand one last time before brushing past him. Despite your conviction, a lingering doubt buzzed around your head like a pesky insect, always circling back after you’ve swatted it away.

Still, you bid Thenerius one last quiet good night, keeping your eyes strictly forward as you walked to the room, lest you never fall asleep.

You rose long before the sun, surprised when your eyes suddenly snapped open into the dark, not having expected to actually fall asleep with how abuzz with excitement your mind had been what felt like just moments before, the dreamless sleep doing little to abate the residual glee you felt.

After quietly changing into your day clothes, layered for the cold, you made for the door. Before you opened it, however, your hand brushed against the fur coat. You had forgotten to hide it away before your mother saw it, but if she had she made no comment about it, which surprised you.

Hesitating before grabbing it, you snaked your arms into the sleeves and went out into the main room.

The entire cottage was dead silent as you stepped out, still warm from the oven burning overnight - you realized Thenerius must have added more wood at some point during the night.

After closing the door as quietly as you could behind yourself, you began the long trek to the door, tiptoeing across the floorboards in the dark with the precision of someone who had spent years of practice figuring out which were the loud ones.

You moved slowly, not wanting to wake Thenerius, certain he wouldn’t be getting up at all today, feeling as though he’d been on the hood-end of a stampeding herd once he rose on the second straight day of being sore.

Still, as you approached the approximate location of the cot, you were tempted to peek over, curious as to what the pirate’s expression was like in the peaceful, suspended state of sleep.

You resisted, steeping forward in the dark and almost immediately colliding with the cot, unable to catch yourself before you fell forward.

After a moment of utter mortification at your clumsiness before your hands made contact with the cot and you realized it was empty, your hands only touching the fabric underneath, still warm. Squinting, you could make out the folded blanket at the foot of it.

Only now did you realize the silence you had been operating under should have been sign enough that Thenerius wasn’t even inside the cottage, your turtle’s pace all for nothing.

You rose back to your fee, striding to the door in record time. Thenerius rising must have been what woke you.

The moment you cracked the door open, the wind cut straight through you, a cold snap dropping the temperature several degrees and dissipating any heat that accumulated from the sun’s rays the day before in the pale light of the moon.

Gritting your teeth, you made a mad dash for the barn, grateful for the protection the coat provided, no matter how minor. You hated the cold, reminded every winter and it was infinitely worse in Alfore than the capital, where at least it never got cold enough to snow.

As soon as you made it, you flung the door open and closed behind you. The barn wasn’t significantly warmer than outside, but it was a marked improvement as its four walls at least provided some protection from the wind.

As you ventured further inside, the warm glow of an already-lit lamp confirmed your suspicions, finding Thenerius standing in Horse’s stall. The animal was surprisingly docile, allowing Thenerius to throw a blanket over his back without so much as a nip - jealousy flared within you for a moment before you realized his mouth was working on some treat. Of course he wouldn’t behave so early without some sort of bribe, usually annoyed if you roused him too earl.

Not wanting to interrupt, you stayed back, watching as Thenerius walked into the next stall brush in hand, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he set to work brushing down his own horse.

“You should rest today,” you said, leaning on the opposite wall. It felt strange, to be speaking so casually after… what happened. Just the memory of the night before had your face heating up.

“There’s a lot to get done today,” Thenerius replied, the declaration undercut by the visible wince he made when stooping down to reach his horse’s leg.

It was entirely possible the awkwardness you felt was just you, your own self-consciousness making every interaction out to be more than it was, but surely it wasn’t normal to say nothing after such a large development in your relationship. Something must have shifted, changed as a result of what happened to mark the before and after.

“And it will all still be here tomorrow,” you pointed out, looking away only to notice the stall with the goats was empty to your left.

“It’s what we agreed to,” Thenerius retorted, “I work and get to stay.”

“And pay,” you correct absentmindedly, pushing off the wall to walk across the walkway to peer inside the pen, “Did you let all the goats out?”

“And pay,” Thenerius added dutifully, stopping to watch you walk away, “Yes, why?”

You let out a sigh, your annoyance not directed towards Thenerius, as he didn’t know any better, but resignation that what you were about to do was not going to be fun.

“The kids we castrated and their mothers needed to stay indoors until they’re healed,” you informed him, allowing a minute to let the mistake sink in as Thenerius stared wide-eyed at you, “We’ll have to go out there and bring them back inside.”

“I’ll go get them,” he said immediately, setting down the brush on the shelf in between the stalls and heading to the door.

“Trust me, it’s a two person job,” you said, scrambling to grab a hanging rope and catch up, “The kids should follow but the mothers will not want to go in now that they’re grazing.”

“What if we got them hay?” Thenerius asked.

“Then they’ll all be fighting for it,” you said grimly.

After an hour of fumbling around in the dark chasing goats that had the tactical and spatial advantage, you were close to giving up and going back into the warmth of the cottage. The only thing that drove you to make ‘one more try’ and then two and three was the cost of losing the two goats if they up and died on you - losing the money you already put in on them and what you would have made from selling them. They weren’t even big enough to make the processing worth the nearly nonexistent meat you’d get in return if they did.

You managed to grab one of the two fairly quickly, able to use the element of surprise to catch her unawares, looping the rope around her neck with a knot and pulling her back to the barn with her fighting you every step of the way. Her kid took a minute to realize she was not any of the goats surrounding him, bleating after you. When you returned outside from ushering the pair back into the stall, Thenerius was struggling to even get close to the herd, the rest figuring out they were being picked off and closing ranks from the danger you presented.

“Come on, she shouldn’t be able to get away from the middle,” you said, moving on side to steer the group backwards. Thenerius got on the other side, both of your arms outstretched to ensure no one tried to run in between the two of you.

With some luck and a lot of patience, you and Thenerius were able to finally back the herd against the fence and you were able to pounce, grabbing her horns before she could try to run with the rest, throwing the loop over her head.

The moment Thenerius ushered the last goat into the stall, you slammed the door shut behind it, the two of you collapsing against the wall, breathless and in desperate need of a break after the amount of running around you had to do so early in the morning.

Your fingers were still numb from the cold, slowly thawing as you breathed onto them and stuck them under the collar of your coat against your throat.

Noticing your shivering, Thenerius reached over, taking your hands in his and rubbing them for warmth.

“I apologize for causing more trouble,” Thenerius sighed, averting his eyes and appearing to be mentally berating himself.

You laughed, unable to help yourself despite Thenerius’ genuine shame over the situation. His hold on your hands loosened slightly, and you snaked one hand from his grasp to rest on his cheek, the other squeezing his fingers in reassurance until you could compose yourself enough to speak.

It took you a moment, but once you could, you immediately assured the tiefling, “I knew you weren’t an expert goat farmer when I asked for your help.”

You succeeded in getting a chuckle from Thenerius - even if it was more of a dry scoff than any humor from your jab, but you could see his shoulders relax. The corners of his lips curled upwards, and you wanted very badly to close the distance between Thenerius and you, the desire so strong and so sudden it hurt when you didn’t immediately move.

“Can I…” Thenerius trailed off, eyes boring into yours.

“At least get some rest until sunrise,” you said, bringing both hands to your sides to climb back to your feet, “I can do the morning chores for you.”

Perhaps you were right; things were definitely different from before, the tension nearly unbearable between you.

“I still have the rest of the list to get through,” Thenerius answered, clearing his throat as he also stood.

You frowned, but conceded, knowing you wouldn’t be able to convince the tiefling otherwise and didn’t trust yourself to not give in to baser desires. The day was for productivity, not distractions.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” you said, leaving before Thenerius could say anything to convince you to stay.

When you returned to the house, the inside was freezing. You raced to the kitchen, grabbing wood and throwing four into the stove before you realized the fire had gone out completely.

Once you relit the stove, you had no idea what to do with yourself. It was still too early to wake the chickens, and there was nothing for you to do in the barn. Still, as you looked around, you realized you could at least tidy up the house. It was long overdue, often the last thing you thought about after work and the animals. Even the barn was in better shape at this point.

It took you until mid-morning to finish - taking breaks in between to do the morning chores - but you finally dusted every exposed surface with a rag, organized the kitchen and swept the entire main room.

Your mother had risen at some point and was nearly finished breakfast, also making the coffee. You weren’t particularly hungry, deciding to go out and finish the rabbit fence instead. When you went out to call Thenerius, however, you found him doing the fence already, the posts already in place in the ground.

“Breakfast is ready,” you said, eying the sheets of chickenwire already propped up against the wall.

“I’m almost done here,” he said once he noticed you standing there in awe of how much was already done, having planned to take at least a couple days to get the project finished.

After Thenerius left to eat, you wandered around the barn looking for something - anything - to do. When you entered the barn, the stalls were already cleaned, rabbits and goats quietly eating hay, even the wood scraps and pasteurizer had been put away.

The rest of the morning passed much the same, punctuated with frustration every time you searched for something to do only to find Thenerius already on it, or doing something in your way.

Taking care of everything had always seemed an uphill battle for you, an impossible task to be placed on a single person’s shoulders… and here Thenerius was, annoyingly efficient at it where you could only get the bare minimum done after two years. His focus was solely on his work, only sparing you the occasional glance when he passed by while you felt you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, handsome to you even if he was bundled up underneath multiple layers, including his wolfskin.

Rather than enjoy the fact that the greatest source of your anxiety was being resolved after a few short days of dedication, you instead felt a bit lost having genuinely nothing to do.

Without anything to preoccupy your mind, you could only think about the night before - and why Thenerius had yet to bring it up. You had been planning out the morning conversation you thought to be inevitable all night, dreaded it, even. You had expected Thenerius to seek you out, make assumptions as to the nature of your relationship or at least demand an explanation. Yet Thenerius went along his way as though nothing had happened just a few hours prior. Worst of all, you could feel yourself going crazy at the memory, your emotions running rampant rather than going silently in the night as you believed they would, worsened by the fact that Thenerius was by all accounts unfazed.

“I’m going to the inn in the afternoon,” you found yourself telling Thenerius, his smile falling as you spoke but he didn’t argue.

You hadn’t exactly thought the idea through; if you had, you would have reconsidered doing nothing, or going hunting - even if there was nothing to catch - or literally anything else besides try and convince Thistle to let you back early. Still, now that you had opened your mouth you were too embarrassed to back out and could only hope you would succeed in convincing Thistle to let you stay.

At noon, you took off the fur coat before going out to the pasture to get Horse and get him saddled up, raising your hand at Thenerius on the cottage roof as you rode past.

“No.”

You had yet to even finish stepping over the threshold of the tavern entrance when the familiar flat intonation of your boss’ annoyed voice rang out from the bar, the preemptive answer to a question not yet posed. He hadn’t even bothered looking up at you when he said it, a testament to how well he knew you - or perhaps the reason the tavern was currently empty.

After a brief pause at the blunt refusal, you recovered and continued the trek inside to meet your godfather.

“You don’t even know why I’m here,” you retorted as nonchalantly as you could manage, sliding into one of the stools at the bar across from your godfather, “I could just be here to visit.”

Mr. Thistle clicked his tongue, shooting you an unimpressed glare but did turn to look at you straight in the eye. It was a good sign, his final verdict undecided in your mind so long as he was willing to listen.

“I do know you still have five more days before you’re due to come back,” Thistle shot back, “and I’ve known you since you were in diapers, child. Now go back home.”

You let out a long breath from your nose, loud and annoyed but ultimately you pressed on with the flippant attitude, “Then you know I wouldn’t come to you if I wasn’t desperate. I’ll go crazy if I’m stuck on the farm another day. I’ll even do inn duty at this point.”

Thistle stared you down, but you knew there was no true venom in his harsh words or glare. Still, it was true that he knew you well; well enough to know when you had anything to hide - and you definitely had something significant to hide. Thistle could not under any circumstance find out about the pirate living in your home - and was currently alone with your sickly mother. Tova, there was no explanation in the world that could make the situation sound reasonable. You had to remain strong, an impenetrable fortress that couldn’t be read.

The longer the silence stretched, the more nervous you grew. When your godfather finally spoke, however, you were at a complete loss.

“How much money do you need now?” He asked, throwing down his rag and crossing his arms.

You blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion for a moment before realizing what conclusion Thistle came to. It took your mind a moment to catch up with his, and you realized the conclusion he had drawn was that your problems were purely financial. It was a reasonable conclusion to come to; you were in fact always short on money, and had been in dire straits just a few short days ago. It was infinitely more realistic than leaping to the conclusion that you had a pirate back home paying you twenty gold a month to work on your farm at least until the warmer months. You realized Thistle likely didn’t even know Thenerius had stayed behind, probably assuming he left with the rest of his crew.

When you remained silent, Thistle sighed, repeating his question and pointing his finger at you, “you inherited your stubbornness from your parents.”

“I’m not taking your money, old man,” you snapped immediately, already knowing where the conversation would inevitably go if you allowed it, “and I’m not taking the inn over for you so don’t even bring that up.”

“Then what does it matter if you take the money?” Thistle snapped.

“It’s your retirement money,” you shot back, “and don’t give away money you don’t have.”

The topic of money had come up when you first returned home to stay with your mother. Her treatment and the farm had burned through your paltry savings within a few months, to the point you debated returning to your old job and simply sending the money to Thistle. It was then he approached you with the offer of paying for everything. You had been certain at the time your circumstances were temporary, sure a cure would be found for your mother sooner rather than later and the loan - even if he tried to convince you there was no need to pay him back - would be unnecessary.

That was when Thistle first told you the history of The Deep. You parents had been the founders, Thistle working as a bartender at the time. After your father had gone he had taken over temporarily, but without her partner and having a child to raise, your mother’s leave became permanent. Since then, Thistle kept the business alive for you to eventually take over - having no desire to run an inn.

Eventually, your desperation grew and you made Thistle a counteroffer - working for him to earn money. You initially started as an accountant of sorts, organizing the records before eventually moving to customer service for the extra money.

“Fine,” Thistle finally conceded after giving up on the stare down, “but you’re on office duty.”

You withheld the grimace that threatened to reveal itself, half tempted to return home at just the thought of the amount of work office duty entailed. The dreaded task was monumental, the deadly combination of housework, paperwork and math.

The Deep’s records were a mess - less so than when you first arrived and put things in order, but it had gone now for several months. You thought back to the last time you saw Thistle’s office, shuddering.

“Deal,” you sighed, certain the assignment was punishment but still stopping before you trudged to the back office, “thank you.”

You sat in Thistle’s chair, cramped in the limited space behind the desk and feeling all the more claustrophobic with the walls of books on your every side. The ledgers were an idea you implemented, creating something of an archive in a small corner of the storage room for the paperwork you transcribed in the leather-bound books. The only clerical nightmare greater than this you could think of was Dr. Inderpahl’s entire clinic.

Still, as you started sorting through the paperwork to find where to start - assuming every looseleaf had yet to be added to the appropriate book - you felt a bit of nostalgia.

It reminded you of your work in the archives, though things tended to be busier back then. Even though no one was allowed to talk, there was plenty of background noise from the hundreds of people walking, writing and handling books. The great library had been more like a bustling mini metropolis in the lower levels.

Once you began filling out the new ledgers, you truly felt yourself fall back on the feeling of being a transcriber again. Getting up to set all the completed ledgers out of your workspace reminded you of re-shelving transcribed books, the sound of your pen scratching against the paper reminded you of the hundreds of others that once joined it in a symphony.

It was tedious work, ensuring every number and date you copied down matched the original record exactly, but you found it infinitely preferable to dealing with customers - especially as they were usually drunk. You found it easy to fall into the rhythm of the work, engrossed with what was on the paper and whichever ledger happened to be in front of you - payments, inventory, payroll.

You had no idea how much time passed within the windowless closet, but you were forced to finally take a break when the pain in your back from being hunched over without moving grew unbearable. You leaned back in your chair, back popping as you finally shifted from the same position you’d been in after what felt like hours, but your range of motion was severely limited by the wall your chair was pressed back against.

The office was too small for you to try and stretch your legs, but you also didn’t want to disrupt your workflow by going outside, so you opted to simply stand for a few minutes before getting back to work.

The moment your mind was idle, your thoughts wandered to Thenerius, and with it, your own self-consciousness reared its head with a vengeance. He had made no attempt to go any further with you last night. Perhaps the lengthy conversation of Paloma stirred up some latent emotion within him. Or his feelings for you had been resolved with the kiss, maybe it had been a disappointment for him.

It was a ridiculous train of thought. If anything, you should have been rejoicing over the fact that that Thenerius seemed disinterested now. Nothing about your respective circumstances had fundamentally changed; it was entirely possible that Thenerius had accepted that fact, and yet you were now struggling to do the same. You knew it was unfair of you to resent him for that. You turned him down, you chastised yourself, though the rational though only furthered your annoyance.

Unable to bear the suddenly shrinking closet any longer, you grabbed the stack of filled ledgers and attempted to maneuver yourself out from behind the desk. You were slowed down by your knee knocking into the desk top at full force, however, very nearly dropping everything.

You swung the office door open and emerged from the dark lair in a souring mood, your knee throbbing and a headache forming from the sudden difference in light.

Making your way to the storage room, you filed away the books. The shelves were exactly as you had left them, a layer of dust covering everything as though to drive home the point that Thistle had yet to actually file anything after you told him your system. Once you were done, rather than return to the office, however, you walked straight past the door and into the tavern area.

Lenora now stood behind the bar when you entered, saying nothing when you walked up to the bar, simply pushing her cup of ale to you over the counter.

As though the universe itself was working specifically against you, just as you were lifting the cup to your mouth the tavern entrance was opened, forcing you to lower it back onto the counter. The warmth built up by the fire was ushered out by the frigid air, the flames wavering under the strong gust of wind that accompanied the open door. You walked towards the door, ready to greet the new arrivals when you finally caught sight of them, your smile dying as soon as you saw the group of soldiers walking in.

It was a bad idea to make enemies with the army, but you could feel your annoyance shifting rapidly to anger at their intrusion, knowing they weren’t there to patronize the tavern at all.

“You two,” the officer in front approached the bar, clearly referring to you and Lenora, the only two people in the entire room, “Have there been any pirates through here?”

It was a brazen question, the kind made only by someone either too green to understand how money worked around here or who didn’t really care about the answer.

‘It’s winter,“ you deadpanned, an effective enough non-answer that the officer merely rolled his eyes rather than get offended before motioning for another soldier to hand you a stack of posters.

You took them, not needing to look down to know they were wanted signs, or that you would likely recognize more than a few faces on it.

“There’s been a recent sighting in Alfore of a particular individual. Hard to miss. A purple tiefling,” he continued, sounding bored as he tapped the top page, “Fugitive from the south. King handed down the sentence himself; highest reward’s for the captain.”

“Haven’t seen anyone,” you said, dropping the posters on the counter behind you after a cursory flip through before turning back to face the officer.

He turned around, taking in the empty tavern before turning back to look down his nose to the counter and finally back to you, “I can see that… you still have hang the posters up.”

You nodded, motioning for Lenora to add them to the wall with the other posters, some old enough to be so faded it was impossible to tell whose face was displayed nor how much their life was worth. The new posters were just a few of the many also required to be put up, hardly noticeable once Lenora moved on to hanging the next one; not that any of the usual customers paid attention to the wall by the door - other than admiring their own features.

“Anything else?” You asked.

The soldiers didn’t stick around long after that - their kind stuck to the cities and you had no doubt the Deep’s remote location left them desperate to return to civilization.

As soon as the thunder of hooves faded, you immediately made for the wall, scanning the faces until you found one with a familiar tiefling printed on it. Your eyes quickly scanned the page, finding the charges listed. Piracy, treason, murder - all stock accusations - but your stomach sank as you found a particular note at the bottom. Wanted for the sinking of the Dumirian royal vessel Calusia and the murders of her one hundred passengers and crew off the coast of Urait.

The date wasn’t recent, but… you quickly did the math, the time of the sinking approximately seven months before Thenerius arrived in Alfore, with at least six months for the voyage…

“It’s probably a coincidence,” Lenora said nervously from over your shoulder, apparently arriving at the same conclusion as you, “They’re always looking for pirates…”

You said nothing, stalking off to the other side of the bar counter before announcing, “I’m going back to work.”

[monsterywriting]

Dirrath pt 12

masterlist

part 1

word count: 5.1k

Having grown up on the far edge of the kingdom, you had been largely indifferent to what went on within the capital walls, believing wholeheartedly that your life would be spent firmly outside them.

You never questioned the existence of the all-knowing Seer, or what exactly it meant when you were told that anyone could be called to join the Altrurian court. Conscription was common, scholarships for state academies less so, but for someone of low status to be chosen for the court - that was unheard of.

You may have been biased, being that person selected to be plucked from your simple life to have the fate of the kingdom rest on your shoulders, but it simply made no sense for someone with no qualifications to be put in charge of negotiations with a foreign nation - especially one with such a tense history with Altruria to say the least.

The thought had occurred to you once or twice since the High Queen announced her plans and chose you, but perhaps war was her goal all along. It was the only conclusion that made sense with such a high probability of your failure. Better you a martyr than the child of some other influential family; and you were far from the only one who suspected this motive. There had been plenty of whispers about you before you even left.

“And these were propagated from a few individuals from the west,” your guide suddenly spoke louder, interrupting his own speech on soil qualities to show a dense group of shrubs with pink flowers in full bloom, “The parent generation suffered a bit with the transplant but the second generation is already thriving.”

The royal gardens, much like the rest of Roquechade’s estate, were an exercise in vanity that was nearly inconceivable - thousands of acres of what was once farmland now housed a countless array of exotic plants that couldn’t be harvested on the whim of the king.

It was your first venture outside the castle since the day you arrived, a chance for a change of scenery, escaping for a few hours - and, most importantly, getting far away from any prying ears in the castle. While you had come to appreciate Myanthe, and respect her as a healer of sorts, she was still employed by the enemy at the end of the day.

Unfortunately, your plan to get away from anyone under Roquechade’s thumb was quickly derailed as the head landscaper had not stopped talking since you left his office. You hadn’t had the heart to send him off once you were set on the labyrinthine path when it was evident that he didn’t get the opportunity to show his life’s work off often, and before you knew it an hour had already passed.

So, you let your mind drift, taking in your surroundings. Despite its wasteful origin, you couldn’t deny the beauty of the gardens, and there was definitely no shortage of it to observe. The broad, waxy leaves and vibrant flowers like vases were completely alien to you - a stark reminder of how much more there was to the world than you knew, even as yours had already expanded. You soon found your head on a swivel, trying to take in every plant, catch sight of every rainbow-plumed bird flitting overhead and look down every branching path, their stones conveniently a different color from the main path.

Still, the longer you dragged out the break, you could feel the stares of your companions burn ever hotter holes in your back, keeping you from every fully relaxing.

The guide aside, Olek and more surprisingly Dirrath joined you on the nature walk, both men trailing somewhere behind you, probably sulking as neither bothered to fake enthusiasm for the impromptu field trip. You could only count your lucky stars that they both refused to swallow their respective prides long enough to figure out they were even in agreement, much less band together to outvote your decision or force you to explain why you needed to get them in the middle of nowhere to talk.

To the landscaper’s credit, he didn’t pay Gloom and Doom any mind, seemingly content with your occasional sound of affirmation to make it seem like you were indeed paying attention.

While rounding a sharp turn in the path, you caught a brief glimpse of Dirrath from the corner of your eye, the demon the epitome of misery. Olek was at least somewhat close behind you, taking his duty to guard you seriously at least in spite of the sour look on his face since leaving your room.

You had been surprised that Dirrath even showed up in the morning, albeit brooding in the corner without a word the entire time until you set out to the landscaper’s office. The two of you had argued the night before, the topic of his curse and his stubbornness regarding its origins igniting yet another fight that ended with the demon storming off off.

Though you would never say it to his face lest it begin another argument, the demon very much reminded you of a cat - one that had been domesticated as with his brand. Now that he wanted something from you, he was forced to keep coming around, though he keeps his distances and remains scarce until it suits him to show up.

Just as your guide was about to move on from the plant of interest, a servant rounded the corner from which your group just came, red-faced and panting as he bowed to you before calling out to the landscaper.

“My apologies, your highness,” the landscaper started, bowing low and looking genuinely displeased, “but I must cut this tour short. I’m expecting a shipment for the decoration of the ball…”

“It’s no problem,” you assured him immediately, your initial relief at finally shaking the talkative man without offending him fading as you balked at the reminder of the one topic you didn’t want to think about, “We can manage our own way back. Your work is truly beautiful, I wish to admire it for a little bit longer.”

He beamed, quickly accepting the compliment and scurrying off with the servant, bidding you one final farewell before disappearing.

“Finally,” you sighed, collapsing on one of the many benches that lined the main path, “I have some news.”

“What do you mean?” Olek asked, “What if someone’s listening?”

“No one comes out here anymore,” you assured him, “The king lost interest in the gardens years ago.”

You couldn’t see Olek’s frown so much as you could envision it, having been on the receiving end of his crossed arms and “we’ll see”s often enough.

“I’m attending a dinner with the royal family tonight,” you said after a long pause, hoping the anticlimactic end would encourage a more sensible response, “I’ve already accepted, before you say anything. I simply wished to let you know the plan for tonight.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Olek announces immediately, though you already anticipated his reaction, “What could the king possible have to say the night before the ball?”

“If you’re going to pretend to be allies in front of the rest of the continent, plenty,” Dirrath interjected, surprising you yet again by actually agreeing with you, but he wasn’t wrong. In fact -

“That was my thinking exactly,” you agreed, “If possible, it would be easiest to try and mend bridges before the ball. If not, at least be on the same page about how to proceed.”

“Will Dirrath join as your advisor?” Olek asked, glancing over at the demon, clearly not pleased by the idea in the slightest. Despite the fact that Olek hadn’t questioned you about the demon’s continued presence, you had no doubt the captain wasn’t entirely trusting of the stranger, regardless of his brand and especially after the stunt you pulled with him.

“He can’t,” you replied, “We have no idea how much the prince told Roquechade of his plan. If the king finds out the supposed traitor is still working for me, he may see the whole thing as a conspiracy against his son - or at least the pretext to claim as much…”

You trailed off, having admittedly put a lot of thought into running through the many different ways things could go wrong before you finally left. There was an overabundance of possible scenarios.

“Wait- how long have you known about this?” Olek demanded, immediately catching on to just how much time you had to think.

“Not long…” you replied. It wasn’t a complete lie, but with such a short period left in your stay any information you had for longer than a day may as well have been ages, “You weren’t on guard shift and I told the guard that was I’d tell you myself.”

Olek was clearly unsatisfied with your answer, but there was little he could do now after the fact, simply listening as you proposed your plan.

Beyond being inconvenient, it also reflected poorly on Altruria - the closed kingdom apparently easily infiltrated by foreign mercenaries. Because Dirrath couldn’t attend as your advisor, Olek would join you and you would simply hope the king didn’t notice the change, or at least mention it. As your guest, Olek would be unarmed, and as it was a friendly dinner, you would take only two guards - one, Dirrath in disguise and the other of Olek’s choice. Dirrath would attend in order to gauge how much of the prince’s plot the king was aware of. You weren’t expecting the demon to cooperate so readily, but while you didn’t trust the demon to have your best interests at heart, you believed he would at least do the bare minimum to prevent you from being killed to preserve his own interests - namely your deal. Other than that, you would allow Roquechade to lead the conversation, reveal his thoughts before you spoke.

There was plenty you wanted to cover, namely security. You doubted whatever allies the prince had left would enact their revenge with all the continent’s leaders in one place, but you still wanted your guards at your side the entire night. Your departure would also be swift, leaving the castle when you leave the ball. The wagons were already prepared, having no intention of allowing yourself to be a sitting target again.

As you ironed out the kinks in your plan with mostly Olek’s input, you stood, turning to continue down the path.

“Where are you going?” Olek asked, clearly confused as he pointed the way you arrived, “We can return to the castle now.”

“You can go back, I’m still enjoying my break,” you replied, having no desire to return to the stuffy room any time soon.

Sighing, Olek trudged forward, walking ahead likely to encourage you to move quickly. Before you could follow him, however, Dirrath’s hand on the crook of your elbow stopped you.

“We’re wasting time,” he murmured, clearly annoyed.

“I’ve already told you, our best bet for how to get rid of the glamor is in Altruria,” you hissed back, “The faster we get out of here - unscathed - the sooner I can concentrate fully on sending you on your way.”

You want very badly to bring up breaking the curse again, but you ultimately decide against it, not wanting Olek to circle back if you took too long. Pulling away, you walked quickly to catch up.

Dinner is about as awkward as you anticipated. Olek sits at your side, stiff as a board and barely touching his food, though the royal family pays him no mind once reintroductions are over with.

You were in a more private room than the banquet hall your first dinner with the royal family was at, the king, queen, princess and young prince seated in a line across the table from you, your guards - guard and Dirrath, in reality - stand silently behind you. The children didn’t look at you, focusing on their meals. The queen, on the other hand, was openly and aggressively glaring daggers at you from her seat, making it exceedingly difficult to pay attention to what the king was saying.

You had already suspected her loyalties would lie with the prince, her son, but you hadn’t anticipated the extent to which her resentment towards you festered.

“-apologies for not being able to visit you personally after your recovery,” Roquechade chattered on, oblivious to the queen’s death glare or simply ignoring it to stick with his empty pleasantries.

The topic of the ball had yet to come up after two courses, other than what decorations arrived late, what the menu entailed, who was attending; nothing of substance. Your patience was wearing thin.

“I have your physician to thank,” you said as diplomatically as you could muster, bringing another forkful of meat to your lips, “a sword through the stomach takes a considerable amount of skill to heal.”

Roquechade chuckled, forced and too loud. The princess looked wide-eyed between you and her mother. Attempting to continue the social dance, the king was clearly pressed for talking points as he mentioned the theme colors for a third time.

The queen stood abruptly, cutting the king off as her chair legs skidded across the floor and her cutlery clattered on her plate. She stormed off, everyone watching silently until the door slammed shut behind her.

“I suppose she tired of the small talk,” you said, recovering from your shock first.

Roquechade sighed, nodding for his children to exit. The princess absconded without another word, clearly wanting to escape the brewing tension as much as you currently did. The prince was swiftly scooped up by his nanny and consoled unsuccessfully with promises of dessert in his playroom.

“Such events are always a strain for everyone,” Roquechade replied sheepishly.

“I suppose this presents a good a time as any to discuss tomorrow,” you pivoted, setting your own fork down to clasp your hands in front of you, “I hope we are in agreement about maintaining appearances in front of the others.”

“Of course,” Roquechade assured you immediately, shooting one last exasperated look at the door, “She will be in a much more… agreeable mood with company. Though - I was hoping to save this for after the meal - but there was another matter I wished to discuss with you.”

You waited expectantly, feeling unease settle deep in your belly at the way the king nervously glanced over at Olek before returning his gaze to you.

“Well, in the spirit of maintaining appearances,” Roquechade cleared his throat, your eyes narrowing as you felt yourself grow on edge, “the absence of my heir tomorrow night—”

Your eyes widened, not needing to hear the rest of what the king was saying to know exactly what he was getting at. For a split second, you refused to believe what you were hearing, the very thought of releasing the traitor who tried to have you killed, and then tried to complete the deed himself, too absurd to accept.

“—He’ll be heavily supervised, of course, and it will be a very brief appearance. Very controlled…”

“Having a prince that has already conspired against our nations before at such an important event begs misfortune,” you said coldly, doing your best to keep your rage reined in, “any issues tomorrow night risks getting back to the High Queen. You won’t be the only one who will feel her wrath if it does.”

“My son isn’t completely unreasonable,” Roquechade insisted, “The treaty is already finalized. No one would look kindly on a broken agreement between two nations. He can’t start a war now. However… people will definitely question his absence.”

You didn’t like this one bit, feeling yourself compelled to agree. You couldn’t deny the logic. It was a historic event, the reunion of two kingdoms that had once been one, during the hatchet after decades of wars. It was definitely not something for the prince to miss. It would raise questions, and those with questions tended to seek answers.

“Fine,” you conceded, “But only if my guards are the ones to accompany him.”

The king was clearly unhappy with that arrangement, but seemed to sense that you would not be dissuaded. You could feel Olek staring at you from his chair, but you kept your gaze fixed on Roquechade, not wanting to draw the king’s attention to the captain’s reaction.

“And bring the prince. I want to hear him agree to this personally.”

When the door opened again, it was to reveal the prince, unshackled but escorted by two knights.

You freeze upon seeing him, not feeling any of the satisfaction you thought you would to see him stripped of his power. Your mouth goes dry as his eyes land on you, looking at the face of the man who nearly succeeded in killing you.

You’re on the verge of panic when he is brought to sit next to the king, scowling at you with a twisted expression nearly identical to the queen’s - and in the same seat. The plates had already been cleared by servants long ago, no sharp objects within his reach, but fear still binds you in its icy touch when his hands slam on the table.

A hand presses itself in between your shoulder blades, its warm pressure a comfort that grounds you back to reality.

“Tomorrow we celebrate our kingdoms’ alliance with the rest of the continent,” you announced, not-so-subtly rubbing his failure in his face with the simple observation. The hand leaves you with your newfound confidence, no longer intimidated by the prince’s hateful glare as you stare him down.

Silais remained silent, not responding to your obvious gloating.

Roquechade coughed, drawing his son’s attention to him, “You will attend the ball tomorrow, accompanied by Altrurian guards.”

The reaction was immediate, the prince forced to sit back down, his voice rising to a near hysterical level. You had no interest in paying attention to the back and forth between the prince and his father. It was not your job to get the prince to resign to his fate, only witness when he did.

Roquechade shot his son a glare, making it clear that this was not a suggestion pending his approval but what was going to happen, effectively shutting the prince up.

“My guards will also join your knights in providing security for the night, showing our kingdoms working together, and make my guards following you less conspicuous,” you said.

“And you will be pleasant, friendly, and most of all happy about our new alliance,” the king said sternly, as though debriefing a child to be on their best behavior.

“Fine,” the prince ground out, teeth bared as he looked directly at you.

“That’s all.”

With the implied command by the king, the knights lifted the prince up and whisked him back out the room in a scene reminiscent of what happened to his younger brother, though the lighthearted though does little to still your racing heart. The prince was a loose cannon and his sights were squarely on you.

“A toast,” Roquechade said, waving over a servant carrying a decanter, its brown liquid filling two transparent glasses, “to our shared success.”

You take your glass, giving the king a grim look as you downed the brown liquid inside. It was more of a wish than an achievement, you thought as you shook the king’s hand, but you followed along as a show of commitment to your ruse.

You would soon be out of each other’s hair, you told yourself, bureaucracy taking over the daily interactions between your nations. You would be gone tomorrow night, the thought tiding you over as you bid the king goodnight and retired.

The entire walk back to your room, you considered what speech you could give to boost morale, knowing Olek didn’t approve of the prince being set free, no matter how limited his freedom actually was.

When you finally reached the door, you still had no idea.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” you said, slipping inside and shutting the door behind you.

You were delaying the inevitable but had no energy to pretend to be a competent lady at the moment, wanting nothing more than to curl under the covers and rest.

What was likely hours later but felt like mere moments, you opened your eyes, not sure what exactly drew you from your slumber besides that something had. You had been completely drained when you returned to your room, certain you wouldn’t even dream.

Everything was pitch black, and as your eyes scanned the room you could see nothing but inky shadows swirling in front of you, as though the darkness itself was alive.

“Dirrath?” You rasped in exasperation, voice cracking slightly from sleep.

The shadows receded, the furniture slowly appearing one by one until you could finally make out the far wall, light finally filtering in through the window. Dirrath stood in the middle of the room, the shadows dispersing from him.

You whined, turning onto your stomach to shove your head under the pillow, “Do we have to do this tonight? I’m tired.”

After a few moments of silence, you groaned, rolling over to the edge of the bed and swinging your legs over the edge to trudge over to where Dirrath stood.

“Let’s get this over with.”

You closed your eyes, beginning to concentrate before changing your mind and sliding them back open. You had already tried blocking out everything else before, perhaps you would have better luck if you could see what you were doing.

Staring at Dirrath, you took in his features, focusing on the telltale signs of the glamor and trying to see past it. You could feel the layers beginning to fade away with a considerable resistance, a beads of sweat forming on your forehead. The closer you got to his true form, the more difficulty you had revealing the next layer, the curse fighting you every step of the way, but still you persisted.

After an hour’s worth of attempts, both you and Dirrath sat across from each other on the floor, staring each other down in a stalemate, both exhausted in your own rights - you from the much more arduous task of performing magic and him presumably from the emotional toll of your many failures.

“One more time,” Dirrath grunted, staggering back onto his feet, his arms dragging on the floor and face gaunt, his body already shrinking to its human proportions, “Try a more… ripping? Action maybe. Or- stripping? You can always try removing again.”

“I can’t make lightning strike twice,” you snapped, standing yourself, “That was a life or death situation! I need more information before I…”

You trailed off, an idea already beginning to form in your mind.

“I told you I’m not telling you-”

“Quiet I have an idea!” you hissed, turning to face Dirrath with an excited glint in your eye that actually got the demon to listen, the track record for your ideas speaking for itself, “What if I just add another glamor on top? A copy of your real form? The curse will probably overtake it in a few days but I can just keep doing that until I find a permanent solution.”

Dirrath’s expression mirrored your own, excitement with a glint of hope at the prospect of progress, another step closer to obtaining his goal - your goal, too, for the time being.

When you finished, you leaned back to admire your handiwork. You knew there would be imperfections in your reconstruction before you even started, working from memory and recreating a form you only caught a very brief glimpse of. Still, it was much closer to Dirrath’s original form than he was.

Dirrath turned to the full length mirror, bending down slightly to fit within the confines of its reflective surface. He was silent as he examined his new appearance, a minute stretching to two before he faced you again.

“You gave me a pig skull,” Dirrath said, and though it was impossible to tell what expression a skull was making, you could hazard a guess that he was unhappy.

“It’s a boar skull,” you corrected, defensive, “and it looks the same.”

The blue fire emanating from the sockets flashed brighter, clearly a sign he was losing his patience, “this looks nothing like me!”

“It was a week ago and I wasn’t exactly taking notes on your appearance!” You hurled back, storming to your bed, “Get out. I’m done.”

“Fix it first!” Dirrath said. You guessed the demon was too preoccupied being offended to direct his anger towards you, the brand on his still human torso remaining dormant.

“Fine! But I’m going back to bed if you’re going to be ungrateful.”

…

Morning brought with it chaos, servants rushing around just outside your door on their path around the castle. More royals had arrived to the castle overnight, the light from their carriages visible from your window throughout the night.

You were keeping yourself scarce, still mustering up the courage to attend the ball at the eleventh hour. You had declined breakfast, too nervous for what was to come to be hungry. Olek paced around the room, only succeeding in heightening your own anxiety rather than lessening his own.

“We’ll only be there for an hour. We will be posted at every other column, they said… it will be easy enough to avoid Silais, too, he’ll be with the king—”

You nod along, only partially listening from the couch you sat on and tired of the rundown of the night but knowing it was Olek’s outlet for the stress keeping him just as on edge as you.

“—The new route will be a bit longer, but we can avoid that stretch with the bandits and it should be more maintained until we reach the border-”

The door opened, stopping just enough to allow Dirrath to slip in and shut it behind him, keeping any prying eyes from peering inside. You had never felt so relieved to see the demon, eager for news.

“The prince still hasn’t left his room,” he said, slightly out of breath but almost giddy as he sat on the couch opposite you.

You weren’t actually able to capture Dirrath’s likeness - at least enough to earn Dirrath’s approval, your own opinion apparently secondary to the subject. So, you eventually forced to come up with a new plan, managing to convince Dirrath that he needed a disguise for today before he needed his true form, though only after repeated failures.

Dirrath’s new form was that of the average Altrurian, blending in seamlessly when falling into the ranks of your guard by virtue of the glamor’s peculiarity - namely, its impossible-to-pin-down lineage. The foundation remains human, but there is also the merging ancestries of orc, elf, satyr, a variety of lizardfolk, and many others whose physical traits were less noticeable but influential nonetheless. It provided the perfect cover for the demon to come in and out of your room on reconnaissance.

“They’re all curious about you,” Dirrath said suddenly, Olek’s head whipping around in alarm, “They want to hear about first Altrurian royal seen in public in a hundred years.”

“Well, what do they say?” Olek demanded, giving up on pacing and coming closer to hear what the demon had to say.

“All they can say is that you were only briefly seen on the first night before being sequestered in your room,” Dirrath shrugged, “But there’s plenty of rumors regardless.”

“Like what?” You asked, curiosity and the prospect of some entertainment momentarily warding off your anxiety.

“They mostly have to do with the fact that the prince went missing on the same night…” Dirrath trailed off, looking too amused to bear bad news but your heart sank regardless, certain that the servants had put two and two together immediately, ruining any chance of keeping it a secret that “You and the prince apparently had an illicit affair, possibly eloping to make the announcement tonight. A maid apparently heard strange noises from the princess’ room that very night.”

You felt sick, face twisting in disgust at the very implication of you and the prince would ever- even if he hadn’t made a single attempt on your life - be together. It would never happen, and you had no intention of being polite about dispelling the rumor now if you heard it. You weren’t even sure what you were more repulsed by: the thought of people believing you and Silais were an item or that someone would believe what Dirrath was doing in your room that night was anything close to… that.

Olek, notably, deflated before showing what you felt was the appropriate amount of outrage at the very thought of a romance between you and the prince, clearly more relieved that there were no hiccups in your plans before they even started.

Evening couldn’t come fast enough, you firmly believed, even without the confirmation that the wagons were loaded and ready to go.

As soon as one of your guards arrived with lunch and the good news, you kicked everyone out to change into your formal wear, an outfit carefully selected before the box containing your tent was packed into your horse’s saddle.

Although the style was incredibly common amongst the men and women of the capital alike, you still didn’t feel entirely comfortable wearing it in front of others, even after wearing it on a daily basis in front of others after your ascension. You much preferred to wear the linen tunics worn underneath armor whenever you could get away with it.

The only point of reference you had was a single formal outfit you had for holidays and other events - technically within the style but rags in comparison to the countless layers of sheer white material that currently fell off you like waves of fog, the simplest in your new wardrobe.

But you couldn’t complain; the material was soft and you could barely feel any weight, making it leagues better than the dress you borrowed the night of your arrival. Your only true issue beyond your own self consciousness was that it was impractical for extensive movement. If you had to run faster than an elegant glide you would likely only succeed in getting caught up in the excess fabric.

Once you had your fill of food and were dressed, you opened the door to Dirrath and Olek outside, stepping outside.

“Are you ready?” Olek asked. It was a loaded question, one you weren’t quite prepared to commit an answer to but nodding nonetheless.

It was time to finally make your appearance.

[monsterywriting]

Hi! Thanks so much for answering my ask previously! I wanted to request an angst smut story where reader is with a werewolf (or orc) and they end up cheating on the reader(like they were in heat or too pent up or soemthing) and they try to get her back and maybe they do but it's a long road- maybe reader even moves on and they end up in a polyamorous relationship

did i read this request and, after saying i probably wouldn’t get to it in a while, then sat down to write an entire 4k word outline for it? yes, yes i did. i didn’t know if you wanted nsfw so i assumed yes but will be writing the reader gn :)

[monsterywriting]

Hi I love your blog and stories! I just wanted to ask about like if u do commissions? Also what are the rules or what you would and wouldn't write?

Thank you so much! As of right now, i don’t think i’ll be doing paid commissions, but i’m always willing to hear out requests!

this blog was started mostly for fun since i like writing as a creative outlet even though it isn’t what i’m planning to do and haven’t had an actual writing course since high school, so it’s kind of hard for me to make time to write or write something i think is good enough to be worth getting paid for, so i don’t think it would be fair to make someone pay and wait a long time for a commission to actually be written lol

I can add a section in my masterlist for requests i accept if that’s something yall would be interested in? Right now i want to release at least the next parts for the current stories i’m writing before publishing anything new but i can definitely add any requests to my list of things to write next.

as for my limitations for requests... i’m pretty open to most things besides the obvious, like underage or dub/non con nsfw material. i’m fine with most kinks/nsfw but am personally uncomfortable with writing ddlg or anything unsanitary. I would also prefer any specific characters be original characters (either my own or the requester’s) but can do monsters “inspired” by specific media (like... if venom is your thing i can do a symbiote-like alien) just so long as it isn’t fanfic.

[monsterywriting]

Zhulgan (orc)

prologue | masterlist

wlw story

nsfw (minors dni)

word count: 10.3k

Despite the short detour being strictly business, you couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up within you at the prospect of getting to visit a market.

You had no money to your name to even enjoy it, and it wasn’t a true market like what you once imagined big city ones would be like - just a few rows of sparsely stocked stalls temporarily set up on the road near Avinca the caravan had passed a while back - but it was still a welcome reprieve from the long stretches of time spent staring out the back of a covered wagon and a chance to see other humans.

Your role was simple: accompany Zhulgan, Alkgan and Vulgud to the market, stand there and make the vendors feel slightly more comfortable to have orc raiders in their midst. The others would handle the rest.

Realistically, with the war affecting everyone, it was doubtful anyone would turn away their coin, but you still held an entire dialogue in your mind, arguing with an imaginary seller acting stubborn, the entire time you walked from the camp.

Indeed, when the four of you entered the market, there were some stares but if anyone had an objection to the orcs’ presence, they didn’t voice it. Still, your group was given a wide berth as you made your way through the aisles.

The others walked with purpose, leaving you to scurry behind them struggling to keep up. Eventually, they stopped at the small group of stalls selling meat. Alkgan motioned for you to follow him as he approached a stall with beef halves run by an old woman.

You hung back slightly, wanting to allow Alkgan to speak. All seemed to be going well, the woman apparently unbothered by an orc patronizing her stall, until Alkgan picked his choices and she gave him a price.

“15 gold for a half carcass?!” You said, louder and more indignantly than you intended, interrupting Alkgan from digging around his pocket for the gold.

“That’s the price,” the woman told you defensively, seemingly only just noticing you standing there for the first time at that moment and eyeing you up and down.

By that point, Zhulgan and Vulgud had wandered over to see what the commotion was. Rather than shrink away from all the eyes turning to you, however, you swallowed your nerves and stood straighter, “We’re traveling from the southern peninsula; we need supplies to make it to the western border.”

“I have to make a living, too, girl,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

You hesitated. You didn’t want to antagonize the woman further by pointing out that the price of meat hadn’t risen half as much a few years back when a drought killed half the herds, but you couldn’t afford to back down when you were already making a scene. This would require a more delicate approach.

“Please, grandmother-” you were taking a risky gambit, relying on the hope that the woman had any sort of maternal instinct for you to appeal to. For extra points, you switched to old Dumirian, crossing your fingers that your actual grandmother’s lessons paid off, “Our village was destroyed by soldiers. We’re a large caravan with many small children who need to eat… we can buy more, so you don’t have to carry too much home this evening, but we also need to buy other supplies for our journey.”

You put on your best pleading look, trying to appear pitiable without laying it on too thick. You hoped she wouldn’t think the orcs were there to be intimidating, but she seemed to ignore them as she stared long and hard at you.

“Fine,” she finally grunted, pointing at you, “For you, child. 40 gold for everything on the table.”

“Thank you,” you gasped, turning to Alkgan and the others to relay the deal you negotiated. It still seemed a steep price for you, growing up in the middle of cattle country, but the cost for each of the four came out to be significantly lower than what Alkgan had been about to pay for just one.

Zhulgan eventually nodded, giving the okay for Alkgan to pay the woman as she and Vulgud lifted the four half-carcasses from the table, one on each shoulder. It was almost two thousand pounds of meat, more than enough to last the caravan until the border. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if you shouldn’t have butt in, your interactions to let the others handle everything clear - stressed to you before you even left the camp, in fact. You waved goodbye to the old woman, nervously trailing after the orcs, expecting to be reamed out for your impudence.

“Good job,” Zhulgan grunted once you caught up, shifting one of her two halves to glance down at you, her expression unreadable but the praise leaving you beaming with pride.

Getting your literal saviors a discount on some meat hardly seemed equivalent to all they’d done for you thus far, but it was the first time you felt you truly did something worthy of chipping off your debt.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. Vulgud haggled more successfully on his own than Alkgan had with a vendor for two steel bars and three iron ingots while you zoned out next to him. Zhulgan had surprisingly put you in charge of buying salts and spices to cure the meat with once you returned to camp. It was nerve-racking to say the least, going up to stalls alone with money that was not your own and the weight of three orc’s stares on your back.

You were drained by the time you returned to camp, doing your best to help Zhulgan and Vulgud keep the children from getting their little tusks into the meat before you could get it to the “kitchen”.

While the meat was being divided up into cuts, you wandered around camp, not having anything in particular to do in that moment as everyone waved you off for already doing your part in preparing dinner and not quite wanting to waste the afternoon with a nap.

As you passed Alkgan’s wagon, he popped his head out and called you over.

“Here,” he said, dropping a small pouch in your hands. At your confusion, he explained, “For the meat today. The difference in gold you got.”

“I can’t take this!” You exclaimed in disbelief, trying to get him to take the pouch back, “I was just doing what I promised!”

Alkgan shrugged, “If I remember correctly, you were told not to do anything. Besides, it’s Zhulgan’s decision, not mine. Also, you should be saving every coin you get for after you cross the orc lands.”

He had a point, but you still felt guilty taking the money. Finally, you gave up on trying to get Alkgan to take it back, tying the strings to your belt and folding your waistband over it. Resolving to return the money to Zhulgan directly later, you walked back to your wagon to wait for dinner to be ready.

“15 gold for this meat?!” Grace had huffed when Alkgan recounted the story later over dinner, displaying an even stronger vexation than what you had at the absurd price, “Gods have mercy this war has emboldened vultures!”

You snorted, hiding your smile with your plate but understanding her chagrin. The Cedars, despite their arboreal surname, were cattle people; Grace would know best the quality of meat you’d been sold, even if it had already been diced and cooked into a stew.

Across the fire, you noticed Zhulgan watching your group laughing together. Just as you were about to return your attention back to a question Rose asked, however, you realized something was amiss.

“Your bead is missing,” you called from across the fire, gesturing towards the right side of your head where the unfurling braid was mirrored on Zhulgan. It was the smallest one that she usually left hanging alone, the rest all tied back together like she usually did.

Zhulgan’s hand instantly flew up to the braid, confirming that the multi-colored bead was indeed gone. She looked around frantically, standing and twisting around to look at the ground behind her. There were murmurs from some of the orcs around the fire, but no one rose to help.

Only the humans leapt up, all of you knowing the pain of losing a piece of jewelry. Most walked around the fire and retraced Zhulgan’s steps back to her wagon. You, Mauve, Winnie and Rose got on your hands and knees and combed the surrounding grass in search of it.

“It must have fallen off in the market,” you told Zhulgan apologetically once you all reconvened by the fire, everyone’s searches turning up fruitless, “You’ll probably just have to get another one.”

Despite your proposition, Zhulgan didn’t look happy, snarling something in orcish and storming back to her wagon. Alkgan merely shook his head when you looked over at him for some explanation, everyone else slowly returning to their previous conversations.

There was obviously something unspoken going on, some significant piece of information that seemed to be common knowledge for the orcs but a mystery to you and the other humans.

“Can’t Zhulgan just wear a different one?” Winnie questioned once everyone was sat back down, the mood slowly picking back up around you.

“No. That bead was given to her,” Alkgan replied, failing to elaborate further.

“Well, can’t you give her a new one?” You pressed, trying to get some explanation for the scene that had just unfolded in front of everyone.

“Our father gave it to her,” Alkgan finally answered after a few moments.

You immediately understood. If the position of chief was inherited for orcs as it was in human leadership, that meant their father was more likely than not gone. You had nothing of sentimental value left from your family but if you had, you likely would have had a similar reaction to losing it, if not worse.

“What if we made a replica? I could go back to the market and ask if anyone makes wooden beads. I could even be the one to give it to her and explain,” you offered, interrupted by the laughter of some of the orcs that had been listening in.

Alkgan bared his teeth at the offenders before looking down at you, “That… isn’t a good idea.”

You sighed, looking down at your plate once again and continuing to eat in silence. While you understood that it wouldn’t be an adequate replacement, the likelihood of the bead being found in the market before the camp moved on was slim to none.

Resolving to look for it yourself - or get a replacement if you couldn’t - you turned in early. You got up before the sun, climbing over the others in your shared wagon and through the camp. On the way, you passed Zhulgan’s wagon. Without thinking, you peeked inside, intent on asking her if she wanted to go with you only to find the wagon was already empty.

By the time you reached the market, vendors were already setting up their stalls. You followed the same path as the previous day, your eyes kept squarely on the ground looking for any sign of the bead in the dirt.

You smiled sheepishly at the old woman from the meat stall when she greeted you, helping her set up when she asked. She spoke at length, mostly telling you about her daughters and grandchildren and complaining about how the vendors were all forced out of the cities because soldiers would take all their hard-earned money.

Once you finished, you took the opportunity to ask if any of the stalls sold painted beads. With the directions she gave you, you quickly wove your way through the stalls to the other side of the market. It was easy enough to find the man she told you of, his stall filled with colorful accessories, mostly leather hair ties and wooden brushes. Asking him if he had beads large enough to put in a braid, you looked through the bowl filled with various wooden beads he held out to you.

You were pressed for time, the sky already brightening as the sun began to rise. The caravan was no doubt beginning to wake up and would soon be finished packing up the camp - but you didn’t want to rush your decision, trying to find something that reminded you of the original bead’s design, even if you couldn’t remember its exact markings.

The closest one you could find to the olive and orange coloring was an oblong bead painted red with alternating blue and green palm fronds on it. You buy it, apologetic as the man is forced to break one of your gold coins to silver and bronze change. When he’s more than a little short, you also buy twelve brushes and leather hair ties, giving him back a silver coin to cover the cost.

By the time you returned to camp, the wagons were already loaded and the children were being herded into their respective rides. You went straight to the wagon you shared with the other humans, deciding to give the bead to Zhulgan in private whenever you eventually saw her next. In the meantime, you handed out your immensely popular gifts, everyone more than happy to finally brush their hair with something infinitely better than their fingers, no one really asking questions about where you got the money.

You felt bad lying about the money you had, but you weren’t planning on keeping it for yourself anyhow. While you agreed with Alkgan that you needed to begin saving money for your life after leaving Dumir, this particular payment didn’t feel rightfully yours. After returning it, you would have to figure out a way to pay back the rest.

Unfortunately, you didn’t see Zhulgan for the rest of the day, the caravan not stopping to set up camp until the next evening, but by then you were too busy watching after the children before dinner to go looking for her.

Zhulgan wanted to avoid the larger cities more likely to have Dumirian soldiers stationed in them, so the caravan shifted course to northwest. The market was the final stop before the caravan moved away from the coast, venturing further inland to avoid the ports.

You immediately missed the cooling ocean air - not just because it reminded you of home, but because the air became humid and even the nights were muggy and miserable.

Rather than squeeze into a wagon all together, everyone in the camp who had to share their sleeping space took to sleeping under the stars with just your pillows. It offered little relief from the heat, even without a blanket, but after a long day of being jostled around on a hard wood floor you would pass out cold every night.

You woke with a start on one such night when someone stepped on your back, your instinct to begin thrashing when you felt hands pressing down on your shoulder until you processed that it was Winnie shushing you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You groused, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and falling back onto your pillow.

“I have to pee,” Winnie answered swiftly.

You pause, letting your hand fall to your side and waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness to examine her closely. She shifted from one leg to another, rolling her shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes even in the dark.

“I’ll join you, then.”

“No!” She gasped, her voice rising slightly. Her agitated reaction in response to the offer had been entirely expected, and Winnie realized as well that you had seen right through her ruse, deflating with a sigh, “Fine. I’m meeting Vulgud.”

You blink dumbly, your mouth falling open in a silent ‘oh’. You thought back on the journey thus far, trying to come up with some hint of the two being that close, reading into every instance you saw the two interacting with a new perspective. You couldn’t recall any single moment that stood out, much less indicate that they were involved. You felt guilty, so preoccupied with leaving Dumir and how you would all survive that you hadn’t been paying attention to the others in the present. You wondered what else you had missed.

“Okay,” you finally said, voice high and ears burning as you looked anywhere but directly at Winnie, “Be back before morning and… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Winnie looked mortified, her face turning a tomato red as she hissed your name. You fell back as soon as she scurried off with an almost inaudible promise to be back well before morning. If it hadn’t been so damned hot - and your weren’t surrounded by other people sound asleep - you would have hidden under a blanket and screamed.

With the embarrassing exchange fresh on your mind, you couldn’t go back to sleep. By chance, you remembered the bead that had until that point lay forgotten in the coin purse. You never did give it to Zhulgan despite there being plenty of opportunities to do so since you bought it. Your hand wiggled its way into your bag, rolling the cool wood in your hand.

Eventually giving up on falling back asleep, you resolved to leave the purse with the bead inside on the edge of Zhulgan’s wagon for her to find in the morning, getting up and picking your way around the others much more carefully than Winnie had.

You proceeded to spend the next ten minutes pacing outside her wagon. Every time you stepped close you would find yourself spinning back around, unable to go through with the drop off, only to make it a few steps before turning around and trying to approach all over again, any resolve you had while still half-asleep sputtering out before you could actually enact your plan. Once you had time to second guess your actions, the entire thing seemed ridiculous. Alkgan’s words echoed in your mind - this was a bad idea.

Your concern was mostly over the bead, rather than the money. The orcs’ ways were still largely a mystery to you, even when you had been living alongside them, particularly what they thought of gifts. There was also the matter of Zhulgan’s reaction would be. You weren’t particularly close to Zhulgan, most of her communication with you through her brother. Now you questioned if it was a good idea to try and replace something so personal with a random bead so far from her home. If she wanted to replace it at all, she was likely waiting until the caravan returned to the orc lands. What if she didn’t even notice the bag and it fell off the wagon, never to be seen again? Then the loss would be all that gold and the bead.

Finally deciding enough was enough while facing away from the wagon, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself to turn around, put the bead on the edge of the wagon and be done with it.

When you did turn, however, you were confronted with a snarling Zhulgan, bleary-eyed and clearly displeased with being woken.

“Uh- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you I was…” you trailed off, struggling to come up with some excuse as to why you were loitering around her wagon in the middle of the night, scrapping the bead idea entirely. While you stammered, Zhulgan’s head disappeared back into the wagon.

You stood there for a moment in disbelief, wondering if she simply decided you weren’t worth talking to and went back to sleep. Just as you were about to turn and leave, her voice called out from inside.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry up and come in.”

You obeyed without hesitation, clambering up the ledge and trying not to appear as curious as you felt being in Zhulgan’s personal space. Orc wagons were all huge; even the single orcs’ wagons had to be large enough to carry all their belongings as well as fit a fully grown orc to sleep comfortably in at night. The chief’s wagon was no exception, trunks stacked and pushed against both sides of the wagon with the center covered in thick pelts - obviously Zhulgan’s bed.

On the far end of the wagon, Zhulgan was sitting down rubbing her forefinger and thumb into her eyelids to clear the crust of sleep, her hair down in loose waves that reached her waist. It was a shock to see the orc chief so at ease - you were so used to seeing the rigid, ever-serious woman riding alongside the caravan, or silently eating dinner. You sometimes caught glimpses of a different Zhulgan with the other orcs, but in front of you and the other humans, she never broke character.

You took only a couple steps inside before sitting at the edge of the outermost pelt, too afraid to venture deeper. When Zhulgan made no attempt to speak first, you decided to break the silence.

“Have you found your bead?”

“You came here in the middle of the night to ask me that?” Zhulgan asked, her eyebrow raised.

You shifted under Zhulgan’s disbelieving stare, eventually resigning yourself to the fact that your true purpose in waking her was infinitely better than wasting Zhulgan’s time asking random questions to beat around the bush.

You took out the purse and the bead, holding both out on your palm, “I went back to the market- I looked for your bead first, of course, but I couldn’t find it… I had to use some of the gold you gave me to get this one but I can’t accept it- I’ll find a way to pay it back but the rest is all there.”

Zhulgan stared down at your hand, her entire body tensing and eyes alert, though she made no move to reach over and take either from you.

“I’m sorry, Alkgan told me the bead was a bad idea-” you began to retract your hand so you could remove the bead but Zhulgan moved faster, taking your wrist in her hand and taking the bead from you.

“It’s fine,” Zhulgan said tersely, her eyes never leaving yours, not even to look at the bead in her hand.

“W-what about the gold?” You stammered, leaning forward to try and place the purse onto Zhulgan’s open palm.

She closed her fist before you could, shaking her head, “it’s yours.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but one stern look from Zhulgan silenced you. You were resolute in your decision to give the gold back, but definitely weren’t brave enough to argue with an orc chief to her face about it, conceding to try again another day.

Once the silence began to stretch into uncomfortable, you cleared your throat, unable to tell if she even liked your other gift, still in her hand on her lap.

“Uhm… I can put it in your hair, if you’d like?” You offered awkwardly, surprised when Zhulgan actually handed you the bead after a long pause, seemingly unwilling to part with it.

You crawled over to her side, waiting patiently as Zhulgan grabbed a small wire hook and hair tie from the top of one of her trunks and handed everything to you. Rising to your knees, you set to work combing your fingers through her hair to detangle it.

As you ran your fingers through one last time with no resistance, Zhulgan’s right hand nestled itself on the back of your knee. You tried not to jump or show any reaction to the sudden contact, realizing too late how intimate your position was, leaning against Zhulgan. There you were, alone in Zhulgan’s wagon, less than a hair’s breadth away from each other when you only intended to drop the gold and bead off.

You were so nervous, you nearly dropped it while trying to run the hook through it, able to catch it against your body before it was lost in the shadows but immediately thrown into another crisis as Zhulgan’s hand rose slightly when you first fumbled, then tightened around your thigh when you secured it again. This time you did jump, knowing Zhulgan could feel your muscles tensing underneath her hand. For once, you were grateful for the humidity, at least having an excuse for your sweaty, flustered appearance.

Once a sizable lock of hair was looped through the hole, it was easy to pull the rest all the way through and move the bead up until it was almost to Zhulgan’s jaw, near where the other one had originally been. You were technically done, but you found yourself unwilling to be the first to move, your fingers still toying with the bead.

“I should go,” you finally whispered, grateful your voice didn’t sound as uncertain as you felt.

Zhulgan turned her head fully to you, her eyes boring right into your own, her lips parting and tongue peeking out for a moment to wet them, “If you’d like.”

You were caught entirely off guard, eyes focused on her mouth before flitting your attention up to her eyes with a delay that would’ve been noticeable even if Zhulgan hadn’t been watching our reaction carefully. You had no idea what to say in response and Zhulgan was being even more tight-lipped than usual while she waited for you to answer.

“Uhh—” you began intelligently, your eyes flying down to your leg as she gave it a reassuring squeeze, making your resolve to leave crumble even further. You were certain you weren’t imagining the sudden atmospheric shift in the wagon, that you weren’t alone in your anticipation for something, anything to happen.

Zhulgan continued to watch you, patiently waiting for you to get a grip. There was no amusement, no teasing - at least, on purpose, you were fairly sure - about how tongue-tied you were, just the constant weight of her eyes on your face and her hand on your thigh. You wished she would remove it, put it on the floor so you would no longer be distracted by it, wanting so badly for her to just move it up past the hem of your nightgown instead of making you say something first.

“I should braid it,” you finally exhaled, your mouth full of sand and hyperaware of every single point of contact between you, “so it will stay in place.” Zhulgan hummed, the meaning behind which you could only guess but she remained still, neither convincing you to stay or pointing out your conflicting statements.

Slowly, your hands returned to her scalp, taking the lock with the bead and sectioning off two more locks of similar enough size. Oh gods you were nervous, under no illusion your shaking hands would even compare to those of an orc, even their children better at making a braid than you by the time they hit adolescence. Still, though you were certain Zhulgan would fix it anyways come morning, you tried your best not to mess up too badly, tucking away the errant tufts while you worked.

Zhulgan’s thumb began to move, making your breath catch in your throat when the pad of her finger brushed circles over your skin, her palm once again settled in the crook of your knee. You stilled, only a few turns into the braid. Hesitantly, once it became clear Zhulgan had no plans to go further at that point, you began to weave the locks together again, your breathing continuing noticeably more labored.

Zhulgan muttered something in orcish under her breath as you finally tied off the end, your eyes fluttering up to meet hers. You had been picking up some orcish slowly but surely over the course of your journey, Alkgan taking the time to teach you when he had time, but you didn’t know much more than a few relevant words and phrases and were also too distracted to catch any more than one in particular: sweet girl.

A common pet name between parent and child within the caravan - as well as for couples, you thought, more importantly. You wet your lips, mirroring her own actions earlier and you catch Zhulgan looking down at them just as you had earlier.

“Please,” you breathed, your voice so low you were certain it had only been said in your own head, yet another unfortunate instance of you getting lost in your own thoughts and forgetting to actually speak. You weren’t even sure what exactly you were asking Zhulgan to do, just certain that you wanted this misery to end.

Zhulgan closed the distance between you, her plush lips enveloping your own in an electrifying kiss. You melted immediately, glad for your hand on her shoulder to keep yourself upright. Her palm travelled upward, leisurely in its pace and aimless in its direction, stopping for a moment midway of what you’d hoped would be its destination to grip the meat of your thigh.

You whined into Zhulgan’s mouth as her rough fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot on your inner thigh, the dull tip of her tusk digging into your cheek as you arched your back into her, your lips never wanting to leave hers.

You eventually have to part for air, both of you panting heavily as you both looked at each other with heavy-lidded eyes.

You wanted to stay longer, but your mind reluctantly reminded you of Winnie’s promise to return before morning and, just outside the wagon, the first rays of morning light were making the camp gray.

“I have to go. They’ll notice I’m gone,” you said, the faintest hint of a whine in your tone as you reluctantly let go of your vice grip on Zhulgan’s shoulder.

After a moment, Zhulgan’s hand slid down the length of your thigh, over the bend of your knee and to the floor by her side, her fingertips brushing against your bare calf and sending one last shiver up your spine. Eventually, you climbed to your feet like a newborn calf.

As soon as you were standing, Zhulgan shifted until she was facing away from you. You felt the urge to say something, but had no idea what - thank her? Apologize? You opened your mouth, then snapped it shut again, leaving the wagon and making the trek back to where the others still lay sleeping.

Laying back down on your thin blanket, now slightly damp with dew, You told yourself you were staying up until Winnie got back, but you were really just running over the events of the night over and over in your mind, analyzing every second of interaction and wondering what could have happened if you stayed.

The thought immediately made you feel guilty the moment it crossed your mind, knowing it was selfish to be seeking personal comfort in your temporary accommodations. You should be planning the next step, figuring out what to do once you crossed the orc lands instead of imagining a night spent in Zhulgan’s arms…

You remained awake well after Winnie returned, the first beams of orange sunlight cutting through the distant mist covering the mountains in the horizon. You couldn’t bring yourself to scold her for staying out later than she promised, you yourself having done the very same thing.

By the time the others began to wake, you were exhausted. You flinched when Mauve leaned over to wake you only to find you already staring up at the sky. The morning passed in a haze. It was your turn to ride in the kids’ wagon while the caravan finally passed Barba. You mostly just let them play with your hair while you were lost in thought, the younger kids more than happy to be allowed to practice their braiding on you.

For years you had assumed your indifference towards the boys of Ozryn could be attributed to the fact that you had known them all your life, unable to find the kids you grew up with as attractive. Even as your friends managed to do just that, your mind was always ready with some rationalization. Never before had you felt as you did with Zhulgan, the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach at the very memory alien to you.

Perhaps it was all a mistake, your mind conflating the debt you owed her with desire, gratitude mistaken for feelings. Nevermind that Alkgan had been the one to help you that day, and the sibling that you have been spending much more time with since then… No, you simply respected Zhulgan, felt indebted to her, wanted to kiss her again—

You cursed under your breath, apologizing aloud as you extracted yourself from the group of kids making braids of varying size and quality in your hair. They merely shrugged, easily transitioning to playing with each other’s hair instead.

You were tying your hair back when the wagon suddenly lurched to a halt, everyone inside tumbling as well. In the process, your hair tie snapped as you jerked your hands apart to find purchase before you could fall out the back of the wagon. You groaned, the combined reaction of your back knocking into the wooden frame and orc kids knocking into you. Another groan left you at the sight of the two pieces of leather still being clutched in your hands.

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, waiting until the chorus of grumbling affirmations died down before crawling out the driver’s end.

Derdig, a young orc only recently having earned the title of warrior, appeared just as confused as you were at the abrupt stop.

“What happened?”

“No idea,” he replied, trying to look over the tops of the wagons, confirming your suspicion. Whatever it was, it must have happened towards the front of the caravan.

“We’re setting camp here!” Augrak called from a few wagons ahead.

There were more than a few annoyed groans across the caravan, no one happy to be stopping so soon. You jumped from the wagon and walked ahead, careful to avoid the wagons veering off the road.

It was soon apparent what the issue was: a wagon leaning heavily to one side in the middle of the road, its back wheel missing. Zhulgan and Vulgud were in deep discussion next to it as you approached.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, doing your best not to look directly at Zhulgan lest you stumble on your words, only to find yourself unable to meet Vulgud’s eyes as you thought of Winnie the night before. You settled on examining the intact wheel still laying on the ground.

“One of the fasteners snapped when it hit a dip,” Vulgud sighed, “It will take me a few hours to make a temporary one and change it… and I might as well check the other wagons while we’re at it.”

“Mauve can help you,” you offered, though it felt somewhat awkward to be doing so in her absence, “It will go faster with two people.”

Vulgud nodded once in thanks, heading off to his own wagon for supplies. It was only after he was gone you realized you should have walked back with him, now standing alone with Zhulgan. To your great surprise, she still wore the exact same braid you made. You wondered if anyone had noticed it before almost immediately concluding it definitely had; all the orcs had braids of some form or another, and Zhulgan’s was so obviously made by an amateur.

You felt embarrassed at the thought of her telling others you had been the one to make it. Zhulgan definitely wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but you fretting at the possibility that others would find out what the two of you had done afterwards.

“Your hair is still down,” Zhulgan observed.

You flinched, touching the ends of your hair at the reminder of your broken hair tie, having worn it every day since you bought it. Did your hair look that bad? It must have, considering the number of kids that had been braiding it - or, more accurately for some, twisting it together haphazardly until it made knots.

Between the current state of your hair and the braid you made on hers, Zhulgan probably thought you had never even learned to take care of it.

“Oh, yeah… It snapped.”

Zhulgan’s lips parted slightly, seemingly on the verge of saying something when Rose called out to you and Zhulgan, waving her hand for the two of you to come over.

At first, you were relieved to be called away before you could embarrass yourself further. You didn’t make it far, however, until you saw what she had been calling the two of you for.

A small party of soldiers - Dumirian, by their flags - was riding down the road towards the caravan from Barba, their armor glinting in the evening sun.

“Go get the others and wait in the wagon. Don’t be seen,” you told Rose, unable to explain the terror that seemed to fill you at the very sight of the soldiers.

“Take the children with you,” Zhulgan added, Rose nodding and hurrying off.

Perhaps your distrust was unfounded - these were technically your countrymen, after all - but your previous experience with soldiers obviously sowed the seed of doubt within you that was currently sprouting. You wanted to err on the side of caution, if only to keep things simple for the orcs.

“I am General Tarren Aubron,” the leading man introduced himself as they stopped in front of you and Zhulgan, sliding his leg over his horse’s back and stepping down, “Do you require assistance?”

Assuming he was addressing Zhulgan about the broken wagon, you remained silent, your gaze behind the general and on the swords his men carried on this supposedly friendly visit. When the silence stretched on, you looked at the general, your stomach sinking with the realization that he was looking directly at you. You glanced out the corner of your eye to meet Zhulgan’s, more nervous than you probably should have been. It was making you slow. Why would you need help? And why wasn’t Zhulgan speaking?

Recalling that she allowed Alkgan to speak for her when you first met to let you think she didn’t speak common, you took a deep breath and hoped what you were about to do was the thing she was waiting for.

You turned to look Zhulgan directly in the eye, “What do I say?”

She looked down at you for a moment. If she was surprised by you suddenly speaking orcish, she didn’t show it, only subtly nodding for you to speak.

“Chief Zhulgan is in charge of this caravan,” you told Aubron quietly, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the soldiers and wondering where Alkgan was, “I am traveling with them.”

“What about the other girl we saw? Is she traveling with you as well?”

You inwardly groaned, hoping he didn’t ask to speak to Rose as well.

“Yes.”

You thought that would be the end of it, but the general was seemingly undeterred by your curt responses - or driven to investigate your apparent discomfort further and continue to address you alone.

“If you require an escort within the kingdom, I can spare some of my men with you girls wherever you need,” General Aubron offered, clearly thinking his offer magnanimous as he stressed the word ‘spare’, “Surely you would rather come with us?”

“No thank you,” you said without hesitation and you believed firmly.

The unease you felt from the beginning of your interaction with the soldiers was validated further the more the general persisted in trying to get you alone, taking a step forward every time you took a step back. You wanted nothing more than to snap at the man, already telling him in no uncertain terms that you would not leave the orc caravan with him, but you feared it would only cause more trouble should he take offense.

Unfortunately, General Aubron took your politeness to mean you could be swayed, his overbearing demeanor leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Well, we should ask your companion, at least, perhaps she would-”

“She said no,” Zhulgan finally intervened, stepping in front of you once she finally had enough of the circles the conversations was running around.

Aubron’s concerned facade slipped for a moment as his mouth twisted into a scowl as he finally faced Zhulgan for the first time. You shuddered to think what chance you had without the imposing figures of the orc raiders to back up your repeated refutations.

“We are here to protect the people of Dumir. She should come with us, not brutes,” he said, attempting to sidestep Zhulgan with an arm stretched out for you.

You felt your skin crawl, as though his advances were literal grime sticking to you. You wanted nothing more than to run away, slap his hand away from you or whatever you had to to keep him away.

You thought back to the market. If there were soldiers stationed as close as Barba, why would the vendors remain out in the country? When the meat vendor spoke at length about hating soldiers, you had assumed she had been referring to the enemy, but she had never elaborated, so perhaps… You wondered how much longer it would take Vulgud to get the wheel fixed. And where the hell was Alkgan?

Zhulgan growled, the heavy rumbling like thunder you were so used to hearing in jest among orcs now sounding like a true threat. Relief washed over you as the very sound made the general stop dead in his tracks; so much so, that before she could speak, you did, emboldened by Aubron’s sudden fear.

“I have said multiple times now that I won’t go with you,” your voice shook for a moment, but the more you went on, the more confident you grew, “I am crossing the orc lands and you cannot help me with that! Frankly, even if you could, your insistence has ruined any chance you had of me trusting you - and for that matter, why are you stationed here? My home and countless other villages have been razed in the south and yet we’ve not seen a single soldier until now! What have you been doing while people were dying or being taken prisoner? Is that what you call protecting?!”

You were breathing heavily by the time you finished, blood rushing in your ears as your short-lived satisfaction morphed into the grim realization that Aubron was now glaring daggers at you. Guilt consumed you for giving in to your anger - not for Aubron’s sake, but for creating more problems that Zhulgan would have to deal with.

“Think carefully, human,” Zhulgan said, causing your head to immediately snap up to look at her, not realizing that she wasn’t speaking to you until you saw her focus was directed towards Aubron, “We have done you and your king a favor by taking out a foreign platoon, but my warriors want to return home now; I cannot stop them from stomping out any pests that stand in their way.”

Aubron’s nostrils flared in anger, his features contorting even further into pure rage. For a few tense moments, nobody moved. Just as you began to worry his pride would win out and he would challenge the orcs, he turned, barking for his men to turn back to Barba.

As soon as the horses disappeared in a trail of dust, you deflated with relief, relieved of the tension that kept your back straight throughout the entire encounter. You immediately began to take off to check on the others only for Zhulgan to grab your arm.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized immediately, believing Zhulgan was upset with you for blowing up as you had, “I shouldn’t have said those things. It could have made him attack or go get reinforcements but I just- I hated how he was so arrogant and all the soldiers… and when he called you brutes—!”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not angry with you,” Zhulgan interjected, “He was the one in the wrong. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

You nodded, twisting your head around when you heard Mauve and Winnie calling you. Zhulgan let you go just as you began to race over, resisting the urge to break down when everyone else jumped out of the wagon questioning you about what happened.

“Rose wouldn’t tell us anything,” Mauve huffed, worry etching across her features despite her attempt to sound neutral.

“Dumirian soldiers,” you said, too breathless and tired from the unpleasant run-in to adequately explain all the emotions you felt, “They- they were insisting I let them escort us.”

“Why didn’t you agree?” Grace cried out, pushing her way to the front of the group, “They could have taken us somewhere safe - still in Dumir! We wouldn’t have to cross the orc lands!”

“I-” you hesitated, the reasoning for your rejection feeling inadequate now that you were trying to explain it to those that weren’t there. The general had asked if you needed help? Insisted on being of assistance to you? You were doubting yourself, wondering if it was just the armor that made your mind twist innocent intention, “I don’t know how to explain it… I didn’t get a good feeling from the general-”

“Quiet, Grace!” Mauve hissed, rounding on the girl, “We all made this decision a long time ago - it’s safest to get out of Dumir until the war’s over.”

“Please,” Grace retorted, refusing to back down even facing down Mauve, “We haven’t even seen any more enemy soldiers! For all we know, the war’s already as good as over! Or at the very least, not here.”

“Stop it,” Rose said, stepping in between both girls, “If she thought it was safer to go with them, then we would have gone- right?”

All eyes turned back to you. You nodded, trying once again to explain, “they only saw me and Rose. I did turn the general’s offer down immediately - but then he kept insisting. When Zhulgan told him to respect my decision, he got angry. Called the orcs brutes and then tried to follow me when I tried to get away.”

There were some noises of indignation, Grace’s indignation swiftly leaving her and Winnie in particular appeared the most upset. Your hand found hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“He probably didn’t know,” Grace said softly, though it seemed like a weak attempt to convince herself than you or the others.

“No… he was beyond reason. If there wasn’t an entire caravan of orcs behind us, I’m afraid he might not have taken no for an answer. And- at the market- one of the vendors at the market told me about the soldiers - they’re the reason they moved outside the city limits. They aren’t good people.”

“See?” Mauve said, “I knew there had to be a good reason.”

Any further bickering was interrupted by Derdig, informing the group that Vulgud had replaced the wheel and that the caravan would be moving on. You were relieved, wanting to put as much distance as possible between everyone and the soldiers.

When sundown came, the caravan pressed on, not stopping to camp until the next afternoon. To make up for lost time, Derdig had assured the whining children, but you knew the truth. Zhulgan also wanted to get far away from Barba.

Zhulgan had stopped relatively close to a stream, most of the caravan taking the opportunity to do laundry, everyone stripping down to what they were comfortable with and washing their clothes. You were helping make the food, so you weren’t able to go yourself until the sun was hanging low on the horizon. You sat a good ways upstream from the camp, wearing only your nightgown as you scrubbed your undergarments with soap and a vigor you were too embarrassed to display within anyone’s eyeshot, even if it was already dark.

Unfortunately, the necessary movement also made your hair fall into your eyes no matter how often you swept it back. Your only option was to work quickly, your tunic and pants already back at camp hanging.

Your hair had gotten substantially longer; your mother likely would have had you sitting down in the kitchen for a trimming by now. Your brother as well if she could catch him. Those were the moments you missed the most, small things about the present reminding you of the past. When the caravan had stopped near a beach, all the children had leapt at the chance to go swimming; your brother would have definitely been there to hoist them up and toss them into the water, just like he used to do in the large lake near Ozryn in the summers.

Your melancholy manifested itself as frustration, throwing your sock down on the rock you perched yourself on. You bunched your hair with your soapy hands and held it there for a minute, willing it to suddenly stay in place - an attempt to distract yourself from the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

A twig snapped form across the stream, your name a quiet question. When you looked up, Zhulgan was standing there.

You smiled sheepishly, looking back down so you could discretely wipe your eyes with the material of your sleeve.

“Sorry, my hair was annoying me,” you forced out a laugh, incredibly conscious of how you appeared to the chief.

“I can braid it for you,” Zhulgan quietly said, continuing when you said nothing, “get it out of your way.”

You blinked slowly, not sure if you heard her proposal correctly. You chewed your bottom lip, uncertain if you were reading too much into the offer. Your interactions with the orc chief had been limited since your two groups began traveling together, and yet after a single night the two of you had… you had no idea whether you should take the advance as a proposition to continue what you had started or simply take it at face value.

You found yourself nodding despite not reaching any conclusion, scolding yourself for the giddiness you felt at the prospect of being so close to Zhulgan again as you gathered your clothes and wrung them out one final time before crossing the stream. Zhulgan sat on the ground, procuring multiple hair ties from her pocket. You realized she had come prepared with a small smile you quickly hid as you sat with your back to her.

“Get closer,” she said and you scooted back a few inches, not having the nerve to get as close as you wished even with the knowledge that Zhulgan had sought you out after your brief comment about your broken hair tie.

Instead of taking your hair, Zhulgan’s hands gripped your sides and easily maneuvered you in between her thighs, eliciting an undignified squeak from you. You quickly looked along the stream to confirm no one had wandered from camp. You began to fidget, too engrossed in the proximity to realize you were making it impossible for Zhulgan to grab your hair.

Finally, she placed a hand on your shoulder, her breath fanning over the shell of your ear as she told you to sit still. You froze immediately, not daring to so much as exhale as you waited for Zhulgan to begin.

“Breath,” she said, and though you were facing away, you could have sworn you could hear a smile in her voice.

You exhaled, feeling slightly lightheaded with the rush of air finally entering your lungs. At last, Zhulgan’s hands ran down the length of your hair, working out the tangles from the kids’ earlier attempts from the tips upward.

“Should’ve brought a brush,” she noted, your eyes sliding shut as her nails scraped along your scalp.

You could only hum in response, Zhulgan extracting her fingers once she found a knot and slowly pulling it apart by hand, surprisingly gentler than you expected the warrior to be.

“Thank you, for your help,” you eventually said, “I didn’t get the chance to thank you for protecting me at the time.”

Zhulgan made no reply and you had to resist the urge to lean back into her as her fingers deftly maneuvered the locks she partitioned into a single plait along the top of your head and down towards your neck. It felt good after so long of sleeping on a moving wagon or the ground, especially with the large bruise on your back from the earlier abrupt stop.

Though you couldn’t see the work in progress, you had faith Zhulgan would make it flawlessly, seeing how she did her own hair every morning. Perhaps it was because of her position, but she had by far the most intricate braiding amongst the orcs, which made you curious.

“Can I ask why you left the braid I did?”

Zhulgan tensed, you head snapping back slightly as she tugged your hair in the process, your sleepy, relaxed state doused with ice water.

“Sorry,” she apologized immediately. You waited a moment for her answer, but she simply focused on getting back to your braid. Before you could apologize for the question and give up on getting an answer, she spoke again, “For orcs, to braid someone’s hair is… an important gift. It is not something to be changed lightly.”

You twisted around, shocked, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have offered if I-”

“It’s alright,” Zhulgan said, and from her soft tone, you were inclined to believe her, “I accepted your gift, remember?”

And, after turning your head back around and feeling Zhulgan comb out the partial braid and start over, you realized she was right. Zhulgan would have had no trouble turning you down. However, you now had the question of what exactly was the implication of you braiding her hair - and her returning the favor. “If I had known you would leave it, I would have done a better job…”

Zhulgan laughed. It was not as loud as Alkgan but you still you felt a sense of accomplishment - even if you weren’t trying to be funny with your sincere statement. You smiled, deciding you liked the sound.

“You can redo it after I’m done,” she promised once she composed herself, reworking the braid with experienced fingers. You wished you didn’t have to sit still, wanting nothing more than to look back and decipher her expression - was she serious or still teasing? She had just shared with you how important the act was and yet still wanted you to do it again, now armed with the knowledge that it is important.

When Zhulgan finished tying off the braid, she leaned forward, seemingly checking to make sure it was all in place. However, instead of leaning back once she was finished examining her work, she pressed her lips to the base of your neck where it met your shoulder.

You gasped, feeling Zhulgan’s hand envelop your midriff and pulling you closer until you were surrounded by her. You leaned into her warmth easily, your head falling back onto her shoulder, exposing the column of your throat for Zhulgan to kiss. You turned your head to meet her kiss, whimpering as you felt Zhulgan fist the fabric of your nightgown over your stomach, lifting it above your knees.

“Want me to touch you?” Zhulgan rasped, her voice alone making your muscles clench in anticipation.

“Your braid…” you think you meant it as a question, but it was hard to even remember if you were talking about the braid Zhulgan had made or the braid you did when Zhulgan’s fingers touched your bare belly, not moving any lower.

“I can stop, then,” Zhulgan hummed, beginning to pull away until your hand flew from its perch on her thigh to catch her retreating hand and weaving your fingers with hers. Your significantly smaller digits strained almost uncomfortably to reach, but you still held tight.

“What if someone sees?” You whisper, unable to resist planting another kiss on the upturned edge of Zhulgan’s mouth despite your concern for the camp only a hundred meters away.

“It’s dark,” Zhulgan said, feeling her hand move down your soft belly before her fingers ran along the edge of your curls. The pads of her fingers following the crease of your thigh to bring your leg over her own, brushing up your slit before urging your other leg to follow suit.

Despite the humidity, you could still feel a breeze, making you shudder even before Zhulgan’s middle finger found your exposed bundle of nerves, your toes curling and thighs tensing as your hips pushed themselves into her touch.

“I hated how he spoke too you,” Zhulgan suddenly admitted, her hand dipping lower to brush against your slit and the other pressing on your sternum, “Ignored you when you said no… Wanted to kill him where he stood- shut him up forever.”

You appreciated the sentiment, but the last thing you wanted to think about with Zhulgan’s hand in between your thighs was General Aubron. Still, you allowed Zhulgan to work out her frustration, content to focus on the thick finger teasing your entrance, the blunt tips of her nails sending electricity up your body. Suddenly, it pushed inside you to the base, first cursing then writhing when Zhulgan’s thumb continued to rub rough circles around your clit.

Zhulgan’s hand was obviously larger than yours, but it did little to prepare you for the sheer difference in size, your walls flexing to try and accommodate. It took all you had just to moan her name, Zhulgan’s palm slapping over your mouth before you could cry out once she began to move, the rapid motion of her wrist making slick sounds.

“So tight,” Zhulgan panted into your skin, tusks scraping over your back as she moved to rest her chin on your opposite shoulder, struggling to get another finger inside to join its neighbor, “Sweet girl.”

You wanted to explode, drowning in Zhulgan’s embrace - overwhelmed with the heat and the chance of being caught at any moment, on display for all to see in your current position. Eyes rolling back as a second finger joined in pushing your towards the edge, tipping over it once you felt the stretch of both digits scissoring apart. In an attempt to stabilize yourself as your hips involuntarily spasmed around Zhulgan’s hand, you were vaguely aware of the orc chief babbling words of praise in your ear, a long whine escaping you instead of all the words you wanted to say racing in your mind.

You were too tired to protest being lowered to the ground after your climax, Zhulgan’s temporarily missing warmth almost unbearable for the moment it took her palms to leave your sides to slowly parting your legs once again, her thumbs opening you for the long stripe licked with her tongue. You gasped, your legs instinctively jolting with oversensitivity only for Zhulgan to hold you still, nuzzling your thighs and continuing to eat you out - licking you clean, you realized as you slowly felt the overwhelming feeling subside only to feel the pleasure build back up again.

“I think I messed up the braid already,” you panted once Zhulgan finally sat back up on her haunches, somehow managing to sit up and crawl with your noodle legs onto her lap, your fingers lacing into hers as you brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles.

“Hm. No, I make mine to last, unlike you,” Zhulgan said, and it took you a shocked moment to realize that she had made a joke at your expense. Once your shared laughter subsided, you sat together in a comfortable silence, head tucked comfortable underneath Zhulgan’s chin, feeling the strong heartbeat reverberate in your skull, neither one of you willing to part and return to your separate wagons just yet.

“I can feel you thinking,” Zhulgan’s voice was a rumble in her chest, a reassuring sound if she wasn’t trying to get you to talk.

“So what now?” You finally dared ask, voice low and uncertain, reluctant to bring reality back to shoot you down from your emotional high. It brought a sour taste in your mouth, worry creeping its tendrils into your thoughts.

You can do my braid again… or we can just go to straight to my wagon,” Zhulgan hummed.

“Hilarious,” you sneer, but your attitude only seems to amuse Zhulgan, her entire body shaking with her laughter, forcing you to cling to her until it faded once again, “I meant- in the future. How- what will we…?”

Zhulgan sighed, “I know what you meant.. We both have people we are responsible for. I cannot ask you to forget about your responsibilities just as you cannot ask me to forget mine-”

You nodded, burying your face in her neck.

“-But we have time still to get to the orc lands, and more to cross them, and if you need to earn more coin for wherever you go next… you can stay.”

You felt your eyes moisten ever so slightly. Longer, you know she means, but for the moment, you can pretend.

“I think… I want to go to your wagon,” you whispered, glancing up and meeting Zhulgan’s grin for just a moment before you found yourself being lifted with her as she stood, her strong arms supporting you even as you clung to her.

“Wait, my clothes!” You cried out, wriggling out of her grasp for a moment to grab your forgotten undergarments, feeling her stare as you bent down to gather the articles of clothing.

When you stood back up, Zhulgan was behind you, her hands running along your sides. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to lean back into her. For the moment, you decided, you would simply enjoy the happiness blossoming in your chest, lose yourself in the moment.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel quite so adrift, tethered by Zhulgan’s arms if only for the moment.

[monsterywriting]

Zhulgan (orc) - Prologue

next part | masterlist

AN: Thank you to those who left the kind comments on my update post :) i know i said i’d post this yesterday but reading it again i wanted to fix up some stuff and ended up pretty much completely rewriting it... i hope you all enjoy the story.

word count: 7.4k

f!orc x f!reader

When the notice of war finally reached your village, half a year had already passed since the document had been signed and issued by the king. A town meeting was called and went throughout the night. The village leaders had been nervous to hear the news, not knowing if the fighting had yet to even begin or if it was already on your doorstep. It was eventually reasoned that because no soldiers had been seen in your village nor others nearby, there was no reason to panic just yet.

It wasn’t long after that a foreign platoon swept through the village of Ozryn, pillaging the grain stores and burning down every home and storefront for good measure. No one had been prepared, all the residents sleeping soundly when the attack began.

Most of the village was wiped out, people you’d known your entire life gone in a single terror-filled night. You were among the few survivors led out of Ozryn at dawn in chains, all of you still wearing your nightclothes and most barefoot. Only a fraction of the population were spared and it was immediately noticeable that they had purposefully kept the young women alive, making their motivation for taking you all prisoner all the easier to deduce.

Still, you refrained from sharing your grim observation as some in your pitiable party wept their prayers thanking the Maker for their miraculous survival. You simply didn’t have the heart to crush their hopes so soon—not when you were still trying to come up with a concrete plan for your escape

Unfortunately, the longer the group walked, the more you worried about nightfall. You no longer recognized the land and had lost track of how far from Ozryn you were, unable to concentrate on anything besides putting one foot in front of the other once the adrenaline drained out of you.

The sun was above your head when Mauve, the blacksmith’s daughter, slowed until she closed the distance between you, the chain that connected the two of you dragging along the ground. After a few moments of tense silence to see if any of the soldiers had noticed, she whispered.

“I know where we are.”

You froze in your tracks, playing off your shock as though you merely stumbled in the mud in case any of the guards actually were watching the interaction. You took in the surrounding country, willing the endless hills and marshes to suddenly become familiar to you. It still looked like a bunch of muddy grass when Mauve continued.

“We’ll come up on another village in a day or two. Tasca, halfway to Vircia.”

The names were familiar. Tasca was to the northwest of Ozryn, Vircia straight north. It made sense Mauve would have a pretty good grasp of the land, often leaving the village with her father to make deliveries. Despite the information making your planning a bit easier, your heart still sank. Another village meant another night of death, possibly more prisoners. From Mauve’s grim expression, she had come to the same conclusion.

“Keep it to yourself for now; they can’t know we’re talking,” you finally whispered back, both of you moving back apart.

It took all your willpower not to run your hands down your face in frustration, instead directing your energy to include more people in your revised escape plan.

At some point in the afternoon, the group stopped, word traveling down the procession to set up camp. You were all left to sit around, still chained together and several soldiers guarding your group. While the others all but collapsed where they stood, you forced yourself to remain on your feet, trying to get a head count of everyone who was still alive.

While you recognized all the faces, you knew only a few by first name. Winnie, the baker’s daughter, was closest to you, the only one chained behind you. Her face was relaxed as she was already asleep. Mauve looked similarly exhausted in front of you, though she still managed to remain awake as she laid sprawled on the ground. The rest were from the farming families that lived near the village, all faring marginally better, groups of sisters sitting close together to mourn their losses quietly.

Altogether there was twelve of you, six families left represented of the thirty or so that called Ozryn home- but you crushed that thought before it began.

“What are we going to do?” The elder of the two Littlerock sisters, Rose, whispered. She was around the same age as you and Mauve, the three of you in the same class when you were in school. It took you a moment to realize she was talking to you.

You look down at the Blackbriar sisters, by far the youngest members of your group, all three still teenagers. Everything was still so uncertain—such as how the twelve of you would outrun an entire platoon with horses and crossbows and the twelve of you debilitated and on foot with not a single shoe between you. The most you could share was your line of thinking, much of your plan dependent on opportunity that wasn’t likely to present itself in the middle of an enemy camp.

“We will have to wait and see if they separate us tonight,” you begin carefully, some of the older girls’ expressions flashing with disgust as they caught the subtext. “We need to gather our strength and escape. Preferably by tonight. We’re getting near Tasca; if we can get enough of a head start, we may be able to warn them and get to Vircia.

“Or, Dumir’s soldiers are already on their way and we won’t have to do anything,” you added lamely after a moment, the paltry hope you offered clearly doing little to dispel the gloom hanging in the air. The chances you would be found by anyone able to help and before nightfall were slim, and you all were just as likely to be killed in the chaos of a battle. The only true escape would be to escape on your own, something everyone had to come to grips with on their own.

When a soldier approached your group once again, everyone scrambled to huddle together, Winnie roused from her slumber and dragged close.

You alone remained standing, facing him down and doing your best to block his view of the others. Despite your best effort to keep yourself from showing any of the fear you definitely felt, you couldn’t help but take a step back when he got uncomfortably close. He grinned at you concession, the predatory look he gave you sending chills down your spine. Perhaps you wouldn’t even have until tonight to need to escape.

“All of you, get near the fire,” he finally said, ignoring you to address the group before jerking his head towards the center of camp where a large bonfire was already going strong. “What for?” You demanded in one final act of defiance, refusing to let your gaze drop when he turned back to you, annoyance twisting his features as he now loomed over you in a different threat.

Before he could say anything, a hand fell on his shoulder, the man sending the soldier away without a single order passing through his lips. You immediately recognized him as their leader, the one riding in the front of the procession and the one who had ordered the village be burned to the ground after capturing you all.

“There’s a hot meal for you all by the fire. None of my men will bother you there,” he smiled.

You didn’t trust the kindness of his words nor the honorable front he put on.  It was obviously not for any of your benefits that he protected you from the soldiers; if that were the case, none of you would be prisoners in the first place. His words did, however, give you more information about your circumstances. He needed you all alive and unharmed, if not for his soldiers or himself, then for his higher-ups and possibly until you were out of Dumir - which meant you could potentially have plenty of time to escape before finding out.

You followed after him as he turned to the fire, the others trailing close behind. He led you all to a vat hanging over the fire, soldiers serving bowls of broth and handing them out. You watched carefully as your meals were served, making sure nothing was slipped into the bowls before the hand off. Despite the likelihood of the soup already being poisoned was low, you still waited until you saw the soldiers eating before cautiously digging in.

Taking the opportunity to observe the camp’s layout, you tried to absorb your surroundings. They had set it up in a small valley, the size hidden from anyone traveling unless they happened to be right on the hills immediately surrounding it. The smoke form the fire, however, would make their location visible for miles, which meant they were either unaware that there was a village nearby or they weren’t worried about it. The former seemed even more unlikely as soldiers began to turn in to their tents despite the sun not being even close to setting. That there would be another attack that night was the more likely option.

Just as you were about to voice your observations to the others, you caught the leader staring directly at you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you quickly looked down at your plate. The encounter left you shaken, fearing that you had given away your intentions and ruining any chance of escape.

You woke later that evening, hours after you had been led to an empty tent and eventually fell into a fitful sleep after shaking at every noise that ventured too close to your tent. You had laid closest to the tent flap, making it a bit awkward for the others to sleep with the connecting chain but wanting to make certain that you could hear if anyone was going to enter.

There had been a guard posted outside, but as your eyes adjusted to the dark tent, you realized the camp was completely silent—save for snoring just outside the entrance.

While you don’t risk looking out and waking up the guard, you couldn’t contain your excitement as you roused everyone else from their slumber.

You couldn’t just walk out the front, the chances of the twelve people passing a sleeping guard waking him too great, but if you could crawl out the back without jostling the tent too much, then you could run up the hill and disappear in the marsh. You hurriedly whispered your plan to the others, Mauve telling them your destination should you get separated sometime in the night: the Great Gorge to the east that would lead you north, eventually near Tasca.

You, Rose and Mauve eased the back two stakes from the ground, the only injury a splinter in Rose’s finger she quickly pulled out. Once free, the canvas flapped slightly with the wind, hopefully any movement later attributed to that.

Once Mauve had the stakes, however, she got the idea to break the connecting chain, running along loops in your shackles and only fastened at the ends. While you all also had individual chains keeping your arms together, it would be much easier to move without being tethered to each other with a loud chain. Carefully looking at every link in the long chain until she found one with weak welding, she laid it on the ground and stuck the two points of the stakes into the hole, pressing down on the wider tops with both palms with all her weight until it snapped open. You all waited, everyone laying down on the chain in case the guard heard the noise.

After carefully extracting everyone in between the two people at the ends from the chain, Mauve and Rose slowly raised the fabric of the tent in the back, giving you a large enough gap to crawl out.

There was no soldier waiting to catch you as soon as you got out, fortunately. You glanced around the sides of the tent to see if there was anyone near the fire who would see all of you scaling the hill, holding on to your chains tightly as you moved so they wouldn’t make any noise.

The camp seemed deserted with the only snoring audible form the soldier that was supposed to be your guard; definitely unlikely for a camp of forty some odd men after spending the night before attacking a village to be so silent. An unease settled deep within the pit of your stomach but you brushed it aside, the more pressing matter of getting out undetected on the forefront of your mind.

The others crawled out once you signaled it was safe, immediately running as soon as you pointed them in the direction to go. Once Rose was out and gone, you held the tent open for Mauve, dropping it as soon as she was out and the two of you moving between the tents as stealthily as you could. Just as you were about to make a break for the hill, you were yanked back by your collar.

You gasped in surprise, the same soldier you had a run-in with earlier grinning once again with his sword pointed directly at you. You were caught. You tried to tell Mauve to run, but your throat was seized in panic.

Gathering every ounce of your courage, you spat in his face instead, trying to draw his attention away from Mauve so she had time to escape. It worked, his grip leaving your chain and wrapping around your neck as he shook you.

Instead of running, Mauve appeared behind him, wrapping her chain around his neck and pulling, his eyes bulging out in surprise as he dropped you with a squawk. For a moment you sat there, dazed until you realized the soldier was loud. If anyone was still in the camp, they’d definitely hear his gurgling screams. You scrambled to your feet, coughing as you gripped the shackle around your dominant hand as best you could and smashed it over the top of his head, blood spraying from the impact.

Your entire hand throbbed with pain, most acutely in your wrist. A sob escaped you almost immediately after but it had the desired effect, the soldier going limp. You stared for a moment as you watched him stare at you, twitching and then growing still. Too still. He continued to stare. You and Mauve blinked up at each other.

If he was found, it would be obvious you all escaped and in what direction. Mauve pointed at the tent and you both moved quickly to drag him back to it, you one-handed. Mauve rolled him underneath the gap while you held the loose material, careful not to get any blood on it to give yourselves that much more time.

You then ran blindly, time ticking before your group’s escape and your gruesome act were discovered. Your legs burned as you went uphill but you didn’t dare slow even after you and Mauve scaled the hill. The soldiers were already on your heels in your mind, easily following your footprints in the soft ground just as you and Mauve were following your companions’.

You weren’t sure when, but you found your hand in Mauve’s at some point as you ran, both of you tugging on the other whenever one of you stepped into a hidden pockets of water. The two of you were in the true marshland now, the tall grass making it impossible to tell where the wet soil ended and water began. The moon was but a sliver in the sky, as though she kept her light to herself to keep your trek cloaked in darkness from your pursuers. You looked over your shoulder feeling your stomach drop when the column of smoke originating from an orange glow wasn’t nearly as far as you imagined.

“How far is the ravine?” You pant, your hand and throat still throbbing.

“We should make it before dawn,” Mauve answered.

Over the course of the night, you rejoin Rose and Winnie, the latter one of the first to take off but a slow runner. None of you let her fall behind, forcing your group to move slower. It was dawn when you reached the gorge, a jagged break in the landscape with eight ghostly figures visible standing at its edge.

Rose ran ahead, pulling her sister Lily in a tight embrace. You, Mauve and Winnie, being the only members of your respective families to survive, are much slower to join, feeling awkward to interrupt the reunion and somewhat envious that there was no one for any of you to rejoin.

“You’re covered in blood!” Winnie suddenly cried out, looking at you and Mauve in horror in the morning light. You had thought the blood had been washed from you with all the water you fell into throughout the night, but if Mauve’s red face was any indication of what you looked like, you could understand the concern.

“We’re fine,” you said grimly, “but we need to assume that they found out we’re gone already and move fast.”

“Are we going to climb down?” Grace, the eldest of the four Cedar girls, asked, her voice hoarse.

You look at everyone, all covered in mud and looking about as tired as you felt. Unfortunately, your morbid gift in the tent had undoubtedly been found by now, so there could be no breaks.

“Yes,” Mauve answered for you, looking over the edge, “We can rest once we reach the bottom, but up here we’re too exposed.”

You look down as well, the slope steep but not an entirely sheer drop, likely the result of rockslides and time. Swallowing back the growing lump in your throat, you began to pick your way down, sitting forcefully whenever the rocky surface would break away under your bare feet.

A rock suddenly bounced off your back, very nearly making you lose your balance as you feared the entire thing was coming down on you. You looked up, the others also moving down the path you left. The further you descended, the colder the air grew, the small amount of sun you did have disappearing behind rock.

Contrary to what Mauve promised, you pushed the girls to continue moving, following the tapering stream north. The only way to tell the passage of time was the brightening sky, white fluffy clouds moving across the narrow strip of blue you could see. You pass natural grooves in the stone face, not quite large enough to be considered caves but which could provide a decent refuge when you do decide to stop, keeping you hidden from anyone looking from above.

You wanted to put as much distance as you could between you and the soldiers, hopefully going far enough out of their way that they couldn’t justify wasting resources searching for you. Unfortunately, none of you had much strength left to keep moving, the group forced to stop when the youngest Blackbriar girl collapsed in exhaustion.

Everyone huddled into one of the grooves, too cold and scared to split up though that was probably the wiser option. You planned to remain awake, listening for any sign that you’d been followed, but you passed out almost as soon as you leaned against the wall only to be shaken awake by Rose what felt like only a moment later and feeling entirely unrested.

Because your group was at the clear disadvantage - traveling with limited visibility in every direction with the tall cliff faces and the winding path of the ravine - you decided it would be best to travel by night, which would also allow the others time to rest.

You, Rose and Mauve remained awake to come up with a plan, Tasca still half a day’s walk away at least and no food or water to sustain the twelve of you until you reached the village. It was then you finally shared your concern that the reason you all were able to escape the night before was because the camp was empty. It was unlikely you could make it to the village before the battalion, if they did indeed leave to attack it as they had Ozryn.

Rose sobbed as you pointed out that even if you did go straight to Vircia and managed to survive without eating, none of you had any money or appropriate clothes, meaning it was still necessary to go to Tasca and hope there were still some valuables left untouched for you to take.

It was the third morning since the attack that your emotions finally hit full force, weeping silently into your hands until you finally slipped into unconsciousness, and even then the faces of the people of your village haunted you. You replayed the moments you tried escaping, running through the garden as you felt an incredible heat on your back as your home was engulfed in flames behind you. Once again you were cut off by a soldier on horseback and dragged back into the heart of the village, the faces of the stacked bodies you passed stared blankly up at you, covered in soot and blood. You thought about the same look on the soldier’s face back at the camp.

You didn’t let a single noise leave you, not wanting to wear down the others’ spirits any further. For some reason, possibly from some misguided belief that because your father had been the justice of the peace of Ozryn that you were the natural person to listen to, they were all relying on you to get them all to safety. For better or for worse, you would have to remain strong.

When you suddenly felt a hand press onto your shoulder you jumped, whipping around to see Winnie looking at you with similarly glistening eyes. You reached blindly for her and she immediately embraced you. You were grateful for her sturdy frame engulfing you, the two of you falling asleep like that, comforted by each other’s presence.

That night, you travelled again until dawn, stopped for a short rest and then looked for a way to climb out of the gorge safely. The walls were significantly less steep here - about double Rose’s, the tallest of your group, height - not nearly as much of a canyon as it had been out in the marshland. Despite that, none of you could afford any injuries in this pivotal moment in your journey. If the attack on Tasca was anything like Ozryn, the battalion was likely long gone, but you wanted to be prepared for the worst case scenario.

One of the Blackbriar girls found something better, noticing an old goat path along the cliff face with just enough space for each of you to ascend in a single-file line, the river they were brought to long gone but the route carved by countless cloven hooves remaining.

Once the group cleared the gorge, you found yourselves in a pine forest, the mud replaced with dried needles. The unfavorable terrain made everyone slow down, the sharp points of the pine needles making everyone flinch at some point or another.

“Do we all have to go?” One of the Cedar sisters suddenly piped up, her voice trembling with emotion, “Shouldn’t some of us stay in the gorge?”

You sighed, knowing her concern wasn’t entirely unfounded and likely mirrored the thoughts of most of others. You also were loath to see another ruined village, but to split up was dangerous, especially with no supplies or familiarity with the area.

“I’ll go into the village, but you should all stay close,” you answer, quickly adding, “Spread out but keep within each other’s line of sight. Run the moment you even think there might be danger.”

There were slow nods of agreement, but Mauve stepped forward to stop you from leaving.

“I should go, too,” She argued, “two sets of hands is better than one.”

You shake your head firmly, “You have the most profitable skill among us, Mauve. We need you if we’re going to make it in a larger city.”

You didn’t give anyone else time to argue, venturing through the forest the rest of the way alone. There was no smell that would suggest an entire village was burned two nights ago as you approached, but the forest was also completely silent save for the birds flitting through the tops of the trees. When you finally reached the first buildings, they were all still intact but there was no sign of life.

Entering a few of the homes confirmed your suspicion. Tasca had been deserted, likely long before just a few days ago as there was no evidence of a mad dash to get out. Nothing had been left disturbed, wardrobes and dressers carefully closed once emptied, picture frames and other personal items - things that would have been left behind if there was a sudden attack in the night - gone. Even if the soldiers hadn’t ransacked the village two nights ago, you suspected that you wouldn’t find much.

Just as you ended a fruitless search of the village center, you were suddenly seized outside the building, crying out as you were hauled by your hair out into the commons. You caught only a glimpse of your captor, bile rising in your throat as you immediately recognized the leader of the platoon.

Your heart leapt into your throat, any kind front he put up the day before gone as he glared down at you with purple-faced fury. You looked frantically around at the other soldiers surrounding you, your relief that no one else had been caught short-lived as you began to worry about your own fate.

The leader was yelling at you, but you didn't hear much as he shook you like the answers would come tumbling from your lips. You couldn’t say anything as you tried to keep your neck stiff, your stunned silence only seeming to stoke the flames of his wrath. The soldiers were silent as he dragged you to his waiting horse, snatching his riding crop from the saddle and bringing it down on your exposed calf.

You could only scream, mind completely blank with terror. It’s impossible to think, to come up with some means of getting out of this situation alive, but you were struggling to even believe you could. 

Suddenly, a horn - an unmistakeable signal for battle - blasted from the forest, seemingly from everywhere by the way the sound bounced off the pines but definitely close. Shouting erupted around you, though you were only vaguely aware of the chaos as you had gone entirely limp, no energy left in you to react to yet another dramatic turn of events. The leader attempted to pull your dead weight onto his horse, shouting for one of his men to help him, but he was alone in focusing on taking you prisoner, everyone else simply trying to survive the apparent ambush.

You managed to get a full view of the scene unfurling in front of you, not quite registering that orcs were storming into the village from the forest and attacking the platoon. In your defense, you were no where near the orcs’ lands, their shared border with Dumir to the west and definitely not extending this far south or east - orc raiders were the last thing you would expect to suddenly save you, more likely perhaps than only the king of Dumir himself or aliens.

You were released suddenly, narrowly avoiding getting stamped into the ground by the leader’s retreating horse. You ran unsure where you were going but well aware you couldn’t remain in the middle of a battle, at least having the wherewithal to go at a 90 degree angle from where the orc horde was currently pouring out of the forest in an attempt to get out of their way as fast as possible.

You could only pray that the others heard the ruckus and managed to escape, focusing on getting as much distance between you and the fight. Had you any money to bet, it would have been squarely on the orcs, but you weren’t about to stick around and risk getting killed or captured all over again, especially once they realized the village was empty.

The pines began to thin and you began to slow, believing you were nearing the gorge. You immediately skidded to a halt, your heart pounding in your chest as an entire orc caravan stared back at you, clearly as startled to see you as you were to see them.

When an old orc woman stood, you swiveled to your left and ran, though you didn’t even make it more than a few steps before you ran straight into another orc.

You floundered in his hold, unable to understand anything he was saying to you in your panic until a familiar name cut through - Ozryn. Before you could ask what he knew of your village, you heard your name, looking over your shoulder to see the others all standing there, clean and wearing different clothes. Their restraints were gone.

“We thought you’d been caught!” Winnie cried, her and the others rushing forward towards you, “It’s okay, they’re here to help.”

“You speak orcish?” You asked, still somewhat dismayed by all the things happening in such quick succession.

“No, I speak common,” the orc answered instead, much to your surprise. His accent was thick, because of his native tongue or from the tusks you weren’t certain, “The soldiers that destroyed your village trespassed on our land when they crossed into your country. We tracked them from then.”

A bitter taste was left in your mouth as you imagined how differently things would have been had they found the soldiers sooner, even if by just a few days. You would have still been at home, at this time likely taking taking your father and brother their forgotten lunches.

“I am Alkgan. Come, let’s get those chains off. Then you can bathe and change clothes, too,” he said, ushering you towards one of the wagons.

Various weapons were leaned against its wooden side, Alkgan disappearing to talk with whoever was inside the wagon. While you waited, you took in your surroundings, not quite ready to accept that you were completely safe just yet. Beasts milled around the wagons, tearing at the grass; it took you a moment to realize they were cattle, never seeing a breed so large before. The camp was populated mostly by children, from toddlers to young teens. It was obvious where most of the adults were. Few of the children paid you any mind, and those that did seemed more interested in your shackles than the group of strangers walking around the camp.

“This is Vulgud,” Alkgan said, bringing your attention back to the wagon, “He is our weaponsmith.”

The tall orc in question was stepping down from the wagon with a small iron object in hand. You had expected the chain to be broken with a large hammer on the anvil on the ground nearby. Instead, he took one of your hands and searched for the key hole, inserting the tool and seemingly randomly jiggling it around. Within moments, the shackle popped open, giving away and swinging while he repeated the process with your other hand.

You thanked Vulgud, running your finger along the bruised skin of your dominant hand’s wrist, evidence of what you did the night you escaped. It was big, spanning from your knuckles down your arm.

You quickly hid your arm as the old orc woman from before approached, a herd of young children following her. She held a bundle of clothes and ushering you towards a large basin.

Small, chubby hands of every shade of green held onto the rim, all trying to see who was in their tub. You smiled in between scrubbing the mud from your body with soap, the water thankfully opaque with all the grime and dirt from the last two days. They didn’t speak common, directing their questions in orcish to the old woman. She bared her teeth and growled, sending them all scattering, nodding to you before leaving you.

When you were finally changing into the clean set of clothes, Rose gasped, her gaze directed not to your arm but your legs. You looked down as well, noticing the welts that had grown more pronounced on your leg. You had felt the sting while you walked, but you hadn’t realized they had gotten so noticeable with all the dried mud. You pulled up the trousers, covering the marks. The clothes were clearly made for orc children, fitting your waist around but the leg not quite reaching your ankles. Fortunately, the boots you were provided made up for the difference, making the shorter length look purposeful.

Rose left the matter of your wounds at that, both of you returning to the others silently. Once you rejoined the others, Mauve filled you in on what happened while you were in Tasca.

Apparently, they had been found by the orc caravan shortly after you left, before they even had a chance to split up as you planned. They thought they were residents of the village before they saw the chains. It was a fortunate coincidence that the very people you all were running from were the same ones they spent weeks looking for.

“So, what now?” Mauve finished with a question, the others now gathered around you, “Do we still go to Vircia?”

“Shouldn’t we return home to Ozryn?” Grace argued, “The soldiers are all dead, it should be safe now!”

“Why can’t we stay here?” Winnie asked, “It’s safe; at least for a few days…”

“What if we rode along with the orcs?” Rose said, “I’m so tired of running… they’ve helped us so far. I’m sure they’ll pass by Vircia, at least.”

“You haven’t heard?” You all jumped as Alkgan approached the group, all of you watching him expectantly. “Most of the villages we passed were burned down… The larger cities are the same since humans have been fleeing Dumir through our lands for months-”

You stopped listening, despondent over the revelation. Your entire world had literally been razed to the ground just a few days ago and the final shred of hope you had been clinging to had been ripped away as well.

The others were staring at you. You could feel it, but you had no comfort or assurances to offer this time. The news was just as abrupt for you and you had no fallback. They all expected you to be like your father, always knowing exactly what to do and how to adapt, but he also never had to deal with situations of this magnitude in Ozryn so you felt entitled to take a moment.

Wordlessly, you turned around and walked away, unable to provide them the answers the so desperately wanted and overwhelmed with the weight of twelves lives you had found thrusted upon your shoulders. You had convinced yourself that everything would be alright so long as you could reach Vircia, that there would be people there who would no what to do, that you could somehow escape the rest of the war. It was the only way to convince yourself to keep moving and not just curl up and wait to reunite with your parents and brother.

Tasca gone you could handle - you had already suspected it to be the next target of the soldiers and it was always meant to be a stepping stone - but to learn that every other village and town was no longer an option…

You walked straight out of the camp, eventually leaving the forest behind and squatting down in the tall grass. You didn’t sit, not so besides yourself in grief as to dirty the borrowed clothes so soon but still trying to curl up as small as possible. You tried to dampen the nausea you’ve felt for days now, willing yourself to stop dry heaving. There was nothing in your stomach to bring up, but that fact did not stop your body from trying.

Alkgan appeared next to you at some point, plopping down on the ground and waiting for you to compose yourself before speaking.

“The others look up to you. They said you were the reason they were able to escape. Even refused to leave after we removed their shackles.”

“I see,” you croaked, not really seeing anything but wanting to be polite. You wondered why Alkgan didn’t go with the other raiders.

“You aren’t pleased that they see you as their leader?”

You snorted at that, “I’m no leader. There’s just no one else left from our village; they didn’t have any choice.”

“Of course they had a choice!” A deep rumbling that you soon realized was laughter came from deep within Alkgan’s chest as he looked down at you with amusement, the colorful beads that adorned his twin braids rattling together, “They had eleven others, or even choose no one. If you do not accept their trust, then you waste it… and you will need it if you are going to survive.”

You were taken aback by the unexpectedly profound piece of wisdom, the encouragement seemingly from out of the blue. Perhaps that was Alkgan’s role for the caravan, his insight so vital he didn’t go out into battle.

Before you could thank him for his advice, however, the sound of the horn once again echoed through the forest, signaling the return of the raiders. Before the sound even faded, Alkgan was up and walking back to the camp and you close behind, the orc woman leading the group calling out to him in orcish.

She was tall, a whole head taller than Alkgan once he was standing in front of her, who you thought was too tall already. Her armor was dented and covered in blood but she seemed to be in a good mood after the battle, baring her teeth in a gruesome smile and shaking her black plaited hair out of her helm. You gulped as she looked at you, her gaze clearly analyzing you. You were definitely intimidated, glad that you were not been the one to have crossed the orcs.

Mauve had told you that the warriors had already split off from the main group when they were found, so they definitely had no idea why a bunch of humans were in their camp. You could hear nothing while the two talked, the snippets you caught all in orcish anyways, but there was a lot of pointing and looking over at you, which was disconcerting. You stayed rooted in your spot, trying not to look as anxious as you felt while Alkgan walked back towards with you, the orc woman following him. You managed to at least maintain eye contact, even when you had to crane your neck back as they got closer.

“This is the chief of this caravan, Zhulgan,” he introduced the newcomer before turning to her and saying something in orcish.

You could definitely see a resemblance up close even without the similar names, their facial structures strikingly similar and the same mottled shades of green. The two went back and forth for a minute, both seemingly getting annoyed with the other.

The nausea flared up again as your imagination ran wild about what they were discussing, clearly about what to do with the twelve of you. The most obvious thing was being taken prisoner again. Even if your experience thus far told you differently, you felt that orcs would be a less desirable captor than fellow humans.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Alkgan finally met your gaze once again and you relaxed slightly, though the apologetic look he gave you kept you from fully calming down, “She says… your group should leave now.”

The tension immediately returned to your shoulders. You hadn’t expected to be faced with a decision on what to do so soon, despite having just discussed you options with the others. At the time, it had seemed far away, like you had been getting in front of the issue before it became one and you hadn’t even been able to come to a consensus.

“I- but- Surely you could just stay for the night? If you can just leave in the morning-?” You floundered, trying to think of some reason that could buy you some time to figure out what to do.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve remained on this land for too long already, especially during a war. We’re low on supplies already, we must go,” Alkgan said, the pity clear in his eyes.

You were on the verge of panicking, your mind and heart racing as you willed yourself to come up with some plan, an easy fix that would knock out all your problems. You had no time, unable to pause the conversation to talk to the others, so you were forced to act on impulse.

“What if we travelled with you?” You asked, the desperation clear in your voice. It was a long shot; Alkgan knew your plan was to go north and they were heading west; not to mention that you had nothing to offer them as payment in exchange.

Alkgan didn’t even bother to translate your request before responding, “That’s not possible. You’re humans-”

Zhulgan said something in orcish, Alkgan shaking his head.

“If everyone is fleeing Dumir, we will probably need to leave, anyways.”

“You can cross the border faster here.”

“Some of the girls have family out west.” A blatant lie, but necessary to try and sway Alkgan with a plausible enough excuse. “If they left, it would have been through the orc lands.”

You suppressed every nervous tic that threatened to disrupt your straight face, willing Alkgan to take the natural next step in his argument: that you had nothing to offer. You couldn’t decide who to look at to implore - Zhulgan was the chief, but Alkgan was taking charge of the conversation - so you awkwardly flitted your gaze between the two as a compromise. Zhulgan was staring solely at you, apparently trusting her brother enough to allow him to do so.

“Well you can’t cross without-”

“-paying tribute,” you finished with just a tad too much eagerness but now confident that you could win this argument, “As you know, our village was destroyed. We have nothing of material value to offer you, but we can work off our debt. Mauve knows how to work in a forge and can work metal. We can also help you procure supplies from any of the towns- or work with your animals or help take care of the young ones-”

Alkgan laughed, boisterously loud and making you jump. Zhulgan was still watching you closely, an unreadable look flashing across her eyes, though it was possible you imagined it. You were breathing heavily, not having taken in any air during your passionate monologue. You weren’t entirely sure if Alkgan was impressed with your quick thinking or convinced that you were completely insane.

Rather than clarify, he turned to speak with Zhulgan. You had no way of gauging if the discussion was in your favor or not, Alkgan still looking amused and Zhulgan’s expression frustratingly impassive.

After what felt like an eternity, Zhulgan turned to you, her expression inscrutable. “Your group may travel with us.”

Your jaw dropped, never once suspecting that she could understand what you were saying the entire time. You were embarrassed, believing she would only get a summarized explanation of your words. Still, your proposition had been accepted either way and you were relieved.

Of course, you didn’t have long to enjoy the victory, Zhulgan ordering the orcs to begin loading the wagons. You would have to break the news to everyone else - a prospect that made you dread the role of unofficial leader anew. Grace had already expressed her desire to go home and at least some of the others must agree. However, Alkgan’s words came back to you, putting some air back into your sails. They trusted you to keep everyone safe and you wouldn’t waste it.

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius - pt 4

masterlist

word count: 7,146

AN: slight warning for mentions of animal death/general farm stuff. i tried not to write anything too graphic, but i realize what may seem pg for me may not be for everyone! i think i made up for it in the end, though :)

When you arrived back home from Alfore, you made a beeline to your room, leaving Thenerius to unload what you bought. From your desk, you grab a few blank sheets of paper from your stack and a pen, writing out a list of chores for Thenerius to do with detailed instructions underneath each numbered task.

By the time you finished and returned back outside to meet Thenerius, you’d filled out two of the papers front and back.

“Do you know how to read?” You ask as you hold out the papers for him to take.

“Of course,” he scoffs as he does, scanning the pages.

You blink at his unexpected reaction, attempting to alleviate his defensiveness, “No shame if you couldn’t. Some of the wealthiest people in the capital couldn’t. That’s what they hired so many scribes for.”

“Well, I said I can,” Thenerius not quite snapped, but he was clearly getting more wound up from you pushing the subject. You realized too late that your response came across as skeptic.

“All right. I put the faster jobs first and the longer ones last,” you say instead, opting to smooth over the topic entirely, “Don’t worry about finishing all of it today, I just wrote what I could think of. I’ll be back.”

“Wait, you’re leaving again so soon?” Thenerius looked up from the list at you, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I have to go to The Deep,” you reply, “It will be fast, just returning something and coming back.”

“What about the rabbits?” He asked, following you into the barn. You had nearly forgotten, the four creatures sitting quietly in their cage sitting in the barn.

“Clear out one of the empty stables and put them in there. All they need is hay and clean water for now,” you worry your bottom lip before continuing, “I don’t… normally leave so often when I’m not working.”

You’re not sure where the need to explain yourself comes from, nor why you feel placated when Thenerius seemingly accepts it.

You clear your throat, taking Horse by his reins and walking out the barn, “Then you can get started on that list.”

Horse makes it immediately clear he isn’t happy to be ridden again so soon - testing your commands to move and only going forward when you press your heels into his belly - but you know he’ll calm down once you reach The Deep and bribe him with a sack full of oats.

You enter The Deep in record time through the side door near the stables that lead directly into the kitchens. There was no one in there besides the new girl, who jumped and nearly collided into the large pot she stood in front of when she turned around to see you standing there, collecting herself and whispering a near inaudible ‘hello’.

She was painfully shy and as quiet as a mouse, and you couldn’t remember her name despite knowing you’d been introduced before. She couldn’t meet your gaze directly, something you knew not to take personally as she avoided everyone’s. You couldn’t help but wonder what she would do once the tavern got busy and all available hands were needed taking and serving orders.

“I need to find Lenora,” you interrupt her rambled apologies, having no patience waiting for the girl to form a sentence, “Is she in her room?”

“Uh—actually, Mr. Thistle is looking for you,” she said, shrinking back when you blinked at her - as though you were a ticking bomb waiting to blow. It dawned on you that this was not her normal aversion to social situations, realizing everyone already knew you spat with Lenora earlier. Great.

“I understand,” you say as gently as you can, “but I need to speak with Lenora, first.”

You emphasize speak, and after a moment’s hesitation, the girl nodded, looking around before whispering, “Mr. Thistle is working at the bar right now. You have to go back around to the main entrance.”

You nod your appreciation, stepping back out and going back around the building to the entrance to the inn portion, passing the main desk with a nod to the person working and climbing up the stairs. You knock softly on Lenora’s door, not wanting to draw the attention of Mr. Thistle, who had full view of you standing on the balcony if he were to look up.

As soon as you hear the door unlock, you push your way in and close it behind you, pausing once you see Lenora’s tear-streaked face. You had been until that point rehearsing what you would say, only planning on saying your piece and then leaving. Now, however, the words eluded you, seeming simultaneously too far and too little. When you finally managed to push them out, it was with a much less certain execution than you had imagined.

“I brought back your coins,” you fish the coin purse out of your bodice and force it into Lenora’s hands, “If you were meaning to trick me into taking them, you shouldn’t have used the embroidered one I gave you.”

Lenora turned over the small bag, her mouth falling open in a small ‘o’ once she saw the leaping frog, her thumb running over the vibrantly colored thread.

“Thenerius told me you thought I was… troubled. In the mind,” you continue awkwardly, going off script, the impromptu speech bursting forth now that you were in front of your friend, “I- I understand your concern. It doesn’t excuse what you did - it was incredibly stupid - but I understand it.”

“You’re right,” Lenora sniffled, tears gathering anew in her already red eyes, “I know I don’t deserve to ask for your forgiveness, but I just didn’t know how to get through to you—so I made a decision. A bad one, that only brought you trouble.

“I heard you speaking with Mr. Thistle that day. How you needed more shifts and- and gold. I knew you wouldn’t any of out help so I thought… Thenerius would be the best bet to help.”

“I’m not… as angry,” you finally admit, taking a long pause to take in the information and form an opinion. It’s true. You know firsthand that worry and desperation can drive a person to take drastic measures, and though you can’t forgive Lenora entirely just yet, you can’t fault her in trying to help.

“Has Thenerius come back to the inn already? I’m sorry I didn’t think matters through-”

“No,” you shake your head, wording the next sentence out of your mouth very carefully, “Actually, he’s staying with us for now. He agreed to work for room and board.”

“What?!” Lenora exclaimed, her recalcitrance forgotten for the moment with the potential gossip, “Tell me everything! Have you slept together yet?”

“Not telling,” you smile coyly, trying your best to come across as though you’re hiding the most passionate night of your life, the full details of which filled with debauchery just waiting for a listening ear, “That’s your punishment.”

You leave Lenora there, her pleas for mercy and just a yes or no falling on deaf ears. Rather than head back out the main entrance, however, you go to the stairs leading down into the tavern, Mr. Thistle immediately noticing you from the bar and watching your descent closely.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you until your next shift,” he said as soon as you reached the bar counter, wasting no time getting straight to the point with his usual bluntness, “What happened between you and Lenora?”

“Personal matters, boss,” you reply with a glance at the lone customer sitting on the far end of the bar, “Sorry it happened at work. It won’t happen again.”

A blatant lie. A week couldn’t pass without someone getting annoyed at someone else at work and starting fights - most much more eventful and public than your and Lenora’s brief exchange of words.

Mr. Thistle looked up at the balcony, then at you, “I take it that means everything has already been settled. I don’t suppose you would be willing to tell me what exactly it was about, then?”

“Nope,” you answer cheerfully, “Now, it’s my day off and you very specifically said you did not want to see me for a whole week, so I’ll leave you to it.”

You could hear Mr. Thistle mutter something about how you all always closed ranks on him once you headed towards the kitchen, but he waved you off nonetheless.

“Wait!” You stopped at the sudden call of your name, just about to step outside, turning to see Lenora and the other girl holding a wrapped cylinder. Food.

You accept the gift with a nod, stepping out into the courtyard with a vastly improved state of mind and a considerable weight off your shoulders, ready to return home and finally eat.

When you do return once again for hopefully the final time that week, Thenerius was hammering away on the barn roof.

You hop off of Horse, looking up at the tiefling in disbelief. Replacing the old shingles had been the seventh or eighth item on your list and you hadn’t been gone long. You couldn’t believe Thenerius could have finished every task before that one in the time it took you to go to The Deep and back.

When he noticed your arrival, Thenerius made his way down the ladder to meet you leading Horse into the barn, still carrying the meal Lenora had packed for you. He was drenched in sweat and had shred his outer layers despite the frigid air, the sun beating down thanks to the cloudless sky.

“You’ve already finished the first page?” You called out once he was within hearing range, hopping off the last rung of the ladder and onto solid ground.

“First page?” He echoes questioningly, your stomach sinking until he lets out a sharp bark of laughter at your reaction.

“Don’t scare me like that!” You let out the breath you had held, looking out at the rest of the homestead, “You mended the fences?”

“Yes.”

“Cleaned out the chicken litter?”

“Did that first.”

“Then took it to the compost?”

“If you’d like, you can go through the list yourself to check,” Thenerius offered, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“No. No, that’s fine,” you reply, embarrassed by your own micromanaging before remembering the food and holding it up, “I brought lunch. Go rinse off in the river or something while I reheat this.”

The house is much warmer than outside, your mother or Thenerius apparently taking advantage of the new firewood.

Thenerius enters the house just as you’re setting down the plates, looking like an illustration from a strip in a newspaper you remember seeing once - a man who fell into a freezing lake and becomes an icicle.

You peer out the window, barely noticing how dark it suddenly was, clouds obscuring the sun and the tops of the trees bowing to the wind - certainly making the trek back from the river miserable.

“Go sit in front of the fire, quickly,” you wince half with pity, grabbing one of his folded blankets and throwing it around the tiefling’s shoulders as soon as he was seated in the warm glow of the fire, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would get cloudy.”

“How the hell can anyone get in that water?” Thenerius gritted out through chattering teeth, shivering uncontrollably now that he was beginning to thaw out, “I think my stones are still inside my body…”

“The water feels quite nice in the summer,” your mother suddenly appears behind you, both you and Thenerius twisting around to stare at her slack-jawed. Her response to the former made it clear she had heard the latter comment.

You can’t contain your laughter, doubling over when you turn and see Thenerius’ mortified expression - and your mother’s amusement with the situation only fueled your own. It gave you the perfect excuse to not see how he watches you, his embarrassed grimace fading into a soft smile at your mirth while your mother watches the entire interaction with an unreadable expression.

You know she immediately catches on to the significance of Thenerius’ meaningful look, the entire reason for his sudden appearance into your lives undoubtedly obvious to her now.

“Everybody go sit,” you are still slightly winded by your outburst but considerably subdued as you walk over to your chair and plop down, taking a sip from your ale - a generous addition to the peace offering from Lenora.

The smell of the warm stew was heavenly for your senses - beef tips, carrot and potatoes all cooked in bone broth - making your mouth water at the sight. Cows were rare in these parts, Mr. Thistle the only owner of a herd for miles. Beef was the primary dish of The Deep, Mr. Thistle also offering deliveries during the holidays for those who had the gold to spend on it.

“Did Lenora make this?” Your mother breathed in deeply, both her and Thenerius clearly having the same reaction to the food as you did.

You shake your head, wasting no time taking a spoonful in your mouth, “The new girl. Applied to be a barmaid, but truthfully, her talents are as a cook.”

“The quiet one?” Your mother smiled knowingly, “I must agree she’s much better than you or I, though you’ve been making some improvements.”

You roll your eyes at the teasing jab, mirroring her smile as you chuckled. You weren’t a bad cook, but you were no chef, your own cooking style having only a goal of ‘edible’, “I helped in part, at least - harvesting the meat.”

“You slaughtered the animal?” Thenerius interjects - no judgement in his tone but definitely curiosity.

“Of course,” you laugh, nearly choking on your ale in the process, “Where do you think all the meat you’ve been eating comes from? A grocer?”

The conversation continues easily, your bellies filling with seconds and then thirds with ale still left over. You notice that Thenerius stops drinking long before your mother or you. It’s because he isn’t in the company of his crew, you try to tell yourself, but you can’t help the feeling of guilt that gnaws at you saying otherwise - that he was able to stop now that you weren’t continuously serving him.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” your mother grunts, gathering the empty plates before you can even think about getting up. You’re all too happy to let her, glad to see her so invigorated for the first time in a long while. You yourself feel your eyelids begin to grow heavy, the sheer amount of food you consumed beckoning for you to take a nap.

“I should keep working on the list, too,” Thenerius said, beginning to rise.

You place your hand on the crook of his elbow to stop him, “You’ve been up since before dawn and you’ve gotten plenty done today. You shouldn’t overwork yourself now.”

“I’ve had harder jobs. I can handle some farm work,” Thenerius snorted, dismissing your advice and standing without so much as a grunt as though to prove his point, “I’m a pirate, remember?.”

You shrug, too sleepy to seriously argue with his pride. Farm work was definitely different to manning a boat with the wind and current doing most of the work. And he also had an entire crew to rely on - here it was just him and you. The first day you worked on the homestead after so many years, you hadn’t been able to get out of bed the next day. However, you decide as Thenerius leaves to finish the shingles, it was no skin off your back if he woke up sore the next day. Either way, he was still going to work - he had to help you castrate the goats, along with all the other daily chores and whatever you wouldn’t get to on the list today.

You grab two woven baskets from the kitchen and go outside soon after Thenerius leaves, wishing the sun was still out as you walk to the vegetable garden downhill behind the pasture, a buffer between the animals’ waste and the river when it rained.

The rest of your very short afternoon is spent there, meticulously going down each row on your hands and knees pulling out the seemingly endless weeds that grew in your absence, tossing them onto the grass. Once you were confident that you got every last sprout, you began to harvest some of the tubers, yielding a good amount of carrots, potatoes and even a few onions.

Once the sun kissed the treetops and you were engulfed in the shadow of the barn from where you worked in the garden, you began the long process of drawing a bath, hauling bucket after bucket to the house. The sun sets by the time you finish, the water steaming invitingly. Your mother goes first, and you enter right after her.

You relax in the hot water, perfectly contented with your day and more at ease than you had been in a long time, something you couldn’t have imagined when Thenerius first showed up at your home and upended your quiet existence. You look up at the heavens, still able to make out the vast array of stars even through the steam rising to the sky. You watch in quiet awe for a while, only absentmindedly attending to actually bathing.

You only just stepped out the bathroom when Thenerius finally returns, your mother nearly done with dinner.

He seemed in high spirits, nowhere near as fatigued as you had been on your first day. You would never admit that you were wrong to Thenerius, but you definitely weren’t complaining if it meant he would be able to work the next day.

You go  to sleep early, eating while Thenerius was bathing and fast asleep by the time he gets out, tired after all the running around and the emotional mountains and valleys you endured with Lenora.

You don’t dream that night, waking suddenly with the sun still well below the horizon and the rooster not yet crowing his song. You get up anyways, actually feeling well-rested and not nearly as dreadful as you normally did after your days off, having done admittedly little hard labor yourself that day.

After changing into clean day clothes, you trudge into the kitchen to make coffee, Thenerius still snoring in his cot as you pass. He sleeps through the rooster’s first crow, and you let him rest until the morning fog receded from the field and the sky brightened from a dim gray to silver just before the sun broke the horizon.

When you finally do rouse him - first whispering his name and then shaking his shoulder - Thenerius startles, a pained groan leaving him before any coherent word. You hide your smirk, knowing now was not the time for an ‘I told you so’ no matter how deserved, simply waiting patiently for Thenerius to stretch his back, four distinct pops his reward.

“Have some coffee, then meet me in the barn,” you say quietly, waiting to leave until Thenerius nods in acknowledgement, with obvious difficulty.

It was freezing outside, the temperature having dropped significantly overnight, but you forgo your new fur coat, not wanting to get blood on it. You get the hardest part of the entire process done first - separating the three male kids from the herd. You let them out of their stable and into the larger barn area, the group going straight to the far door out of habit. Instead of releasing them immediately out to pasture, you picked out and carried each boy one by one into the empty stall next to the rabbits before letting the rest out and shutting the door behind them. The kids weren’t happy, bleating loudly and standing on their hind legs at the stall door to try to see where their mothers had gone, but the rabbits seemed unperturbed by their temporary neighbors as they continued nibbling their hay.

Thenerius trudges slowly in as you’re putting the loudest two month old in the tipping table, bags like bruises under his eyes.

“You’ll be helping me castrate the boys today,” you announce, handing Thenerius a pump bottle of brown liquid, “This is antiseptic. Your job is to spray them with it afterwards.”

Thenerius glances as the cleaned and sharpened knife in your hand and then at the goat on the table, appearing confused, “You mean-?”

You waste no time, not wanting to keep the kid restricted and stressed longer than necessary, rubbing a numbing paste on the area before making the first incision.

Thenerius is pale as he sprays the final goat, all blood drained from his face as you right the table and release him to waddle back to the large stable to join the other two. You wipe your hands the best you can on your skirt before handing Thenerius the bucket with the discarded testes to give to the chickens. He looks shellshocked, no doubt empathizing with the emasculated goats, even if his pain was an entirely different sort.

“I’ll give you the list of daily chores you’ll be needing to do from now on, then you can get started on whatever you didn’t finish on the list yesterday,” you said, not at all reveling in Thenerius’ stricken look, knowing he couldn’t argue with you after you had so specifically warned him about the very pain he was currently experiencing.

Before anything else, you check to make sure the goats had plenty of hay to feed on since they wouldn’t be out grazing for a while. After washing the blood from your hands and knife, you spend the morning fencing off the area on the side of the barn where the rabbits were kept, the temporary housing working out so well you decided to make it permanent rather than make a hutch from scratch. You would simply cut out a door in the side of the barn that could be opened to let them out to graze in the miniature pasture in the spring. You dug out holes for the fence posts, your plan to eventually make a fence of chickenwire high enough none of the rabbits would be able to jump over it.

Once you were done plotting out the fence, you began the tedious process of tilling the soil inside the fenced area, careful to keep the chunks of pure sod undisturbed. In the newly bare patches, you planted the leftover winter pea seeds from the main pasture.

By the time noon came and went, you had largely forgotten about Thenerius, lost in your work and only catching fleeting glimpses of him in your periphery; a colorful phantom standing out amongst the washed out wood and bluestem grass even more so than he did in the homely atmosphere of the tavern. He flitted around the property, first in the chicken coop, then in the pasture and, finally, nowhere.

You don’t realize how much time had elapsed since you last saw hide or hair of him until you took a quick reprieve to get your mother’s tablets ready with a glass of water. It suddenly struck you that you hadn’t seen him pass by the kitchen window at all in the time you’d been standing there, and when you peer out more closely, the only movement you could see was the animals lazily grazing in the pasture. His horse was still grazing with all the rest, so he hadn’t taken off. You try to think of the last time you saw him, but the brief flashes all blended together.

You left the tablets and water on the nightstand next to the bed where your mother rested and went out to milk the goats, mostly filling two pails and then going into the barn - only intending to pasteurize it and having no other motive besides perhaps making sure you didn’t accidentally kill your farmhand on his second day.

Thenerius was standing in the center of what appeared to be a wood scrap pile, staring down incredibly exasperated at his list. You caught a glimpse of a sketch you recognized immediately, having forgotten you’d asked Thenerius to build a rabbit hutch.

Unsure how to say nevermind when he was already working on it - and clearly frustrated with it - you instead walk in with the two pails and interrupt his concentration, “Come help me with this, Thenerius.”

He drops everything to take the pales from you, and you suspect it had less to do with his desire to help you than being able to take a break from building. You let him, grabbing the bottoms of the pails so they wouldn’t jostle as much during the transfer.

“The pasteurizer is over there,” you point, ignoring the giant pile and walking to the small metal contraption. Lifting the lid, you take out the funnel and seven metal bottles from the wire cage inside the main chamber, setting them down on the floor and sticking the funnel into the first bottle. You gestured for Thenerius to pour, moving through each bottle until both pails were emptied.

You place the filled bottles back into their wire slots and pointing at the pails, “Go wash those out and bring back water.”

“But the hutch-” Thenerius trailed off, looking at the unfinished scraps of wood.

“It’s fine, this needs to be done first,” you assure him, motioning for him to go.

Once he leaves, you go to the pile and grab small pieces of wood, sticking them in the chamber underneath the pasteurizer along with some hay. When Thenerius returns, you take the pails and begin filling the main chamber, stopping once the bottles were almost submerged and striking a match to light the hay.

You step back from the soon to be hot metal once you place the lid back on, keeping a close eye on the thermometer.

“You don’t have to make the hutch anymore. I’m just going to keep them in the stall,” you finally admit as you wait.

Despite still working as hard as he did the day before, it was evident that Thenerius was in pain, taking care not to move too much and antsy as he stood behind you.

“You can sit, you know. This is going to take a while.”

“I’m afraid if I sit I won’t be able to get back up,” Thenerius replies, his grim expression unchanging even when you burst into laughter.

“Suit yourself, then. You could always end the day early. Honestly, you’ve done more these past two days than I would be able to do in a month.”

Even your rare praise isn’t able to convince Thenerius, who resolutely denies your offer to rest. Deciding to get dinner started as the sun lowered in the sky, you instruct Thenerius when and how to close the bottom chamber and where the mitts were to take out the wire cage so he could bring the milk to you in the kitchen.

Later that evening, Thenerius all but collapsed into the chair next to you, favoring one leg where one of the goats rammed into his side when he was herding them back into the barn. Earlier, you had considered asking him to also draw the bath, but seeing how ravenously he ate his cold dinner, you were glad you had taken pity on him and done it yourself, your mother already out the bath.

“Go wash up,” you prod his leg with the side of your foot, careful not to hit it too hard.

Groaning, Thenerius painstakingly rose back to his feet and you could have sworn you heard him utter a few curses under his breath as he shed his boots and jacket at the door before trudging to the bathroom.

You enter a few minutes later unannounced, Thenerius immediately splashing down chin-deep into the water in an attempt to hide himself, stammering nonsense at your sudden appearance.

“Calm down, I just brought you some magnesium sulfate and scented oils,” you interrupt sternly, setting your supplies down and sitting on the edge of the tub directly behind Thenerius, who had turned away from you.

You pour a generous amount of the salt into the bath, enough that the water becomes opaque. However, before you add the oil, you hesitate, noticing Thenerius’ back is still streaked with dirt too stubborn to be rinsed away. You tell yourself to just pour in the oil anyways, or even just leaving it there to do himself

“Lean forward,” you find yourself saying instead, grabbing a clean washcloth and dunking it in the water, “You missed your back.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I don’t want to have to clean up dirt after you.” The words come out a bit harsher than you mean them to be, but you succeed in getting Thenerius to comply with your command, his chest submerged under the steaming water and exposing his back.

Scars of all kinds were scattered all over his skin, some paper-thin lines of lavender with the passage of time while others were a deep red wine - old burns and bullet holes. You lathered the bar soap into the washcloth, but your attention kept returning to the raised and puckered skin the width of your forefinger, ten overlapping stripes horizontal across the expanse of his back. The remnants of a particularly brutal lashing.

“You’ve never told me the story behind these,” you murmur, pressing the sudsy cloth against his shoulder blade at the very edge of the topmost scar, the ridge much more pronounced than the others; likely the first. You feel the phantom pain in your back, easily picturing the painful healing process. Thenerius had always bragged to you about his scars, but you never saw these particular ones - never even been shown his back, for that matter.

“I was young when I got them. Stupid,” Thenerius said, the bitterness in his voice melting into a soft sigh as you rubbed small circles around his shoulder blades.

Thenerius thankfully made no comment as you purposefully moved the cloth down his back, at first only to remove the dirt, but soon losing sight of your mission and working out the knots of his muscles, every so often splashing warm water up to rinse it. You loosened the tension in one area before moving on to the next, continuing long after all the dirt was washed away. He could not, however, hide the small sounds that escaped whenever you brushed against a particularly sensitive spot.

Your feel increasingly embarrassed with every hiss and grunt, but you continue on, guiltily enjoying every noise elicited by your hand, seeing just the back of his head leaving you only able to envision how he reacted - eyes screwed shut, lips falling open ever so slightly. Your imagination ran wild when your knuckles brushed against his side and he moaned.

It had been out of pain, the flesh bruised from goat horns, but your face burns and you swallow thickly nonetheless. You quickly finish, stopping right where his back meets the water and quickly turned to wring out the washcloth and drop it in the basin. Unable to meet Thenerius’ eyes just yet, you smell each bottle of oil, using your feigned deliberation as an excuse to keep your back to him.

Finally grabbing the first bottle after smelling each twice. It was citrusy, with the faintest hint of some herb, you think.

“Soak with this for a bit. It’ll help with the soreness,” you clear your throat, handing over the bottle. Thenerius had been falling asleep with your ministrations, but now snapped awake with the cold glass making contact with his palm.

“I shouldn’t- you still need to bathe and the water will be cold,” Thenerius begins to argue, rising from the water the slightest bit without realizing it, but you act quickly, pressing your hands down on his shoulders to keep him submerged.

“If you don’t, you won’t even be able to get up tomorrow,” the gentleness in your voice feels foreign, but it is sincere, “I know a lot about these things. Trust me, it can get a whole lot worse.”

Thenerius immediately relaxed under your touch, leaning his head back onto the rim of the tub and the points of his horns stopping on either side of your head, fortunately his eyes closed so he could not see you staring wide-eyed down at him. It took all your willpower to keep your palms rooted in their spot, your fingers itching to move lower. It would be a simple thing, to just… glide your hands down his chest, over his stomach - resting your chin on his shoulder - and wrapping a fist around his—

You are brought abruptly back into reality when Thenerius’ soft snores reach you, extracting your hands like a burn and quickly pouring the oil into the water. Once the bottle is empty, you quietly abscond.

It’s nearly half an hour before Thenerius finally exits, apologizing profusely. You had been pacing in the living room clutching your night clothes, avoiding every creaky floorboard with well-practiced coordination. As soon as he steps out of your way, you brush past the tiefling and shut the door.

The water is frigid, which you’re glad for, intent on freezing the molten heat that had grown in your core. You don’t know what’s come over you. Dangerous ideas consumed you the entire time you waited, impulses made all the more tempting with the knowledge that Thenerius wanted you; your mind twisted the memory of his confession into words of desire and his innocent noises into pleasured moans.

You scrubbed the dried sweat and grime off of you with just a little too much vigor, your attempt at grounding your beating heart. As soon as you’re finished, you pulled the plug and scrambled out the tub, quickly toweling off and getting dressed.

When you exit, Thenerius is seated on his cot, holding a steaming mug. You had been planning on going straight into the bedroom, but upon hearing the bathroom door open, your mother came from the kitchen, immediately seeing you and holding up a mug for you. Your stomach dropped. You had assumed she’d been asleep as she’d gone into the bedroom immediately after getting out the bath, and now wondered how long she’d actually been awake - if she had noticed the time you spent alone in the bathroom with Thenerius.

Out of habit, you take the mug, the smell of hot cocoa spiked with ale drifting lazily to your nose. You thought she would also drink with you. Instead, she walked straight past you towards the bedroom.

“You’re going to bed already?” Your voice is tight in panic at the thought of being left alone with Thenerius, the source of your temporary madness.

“I’m getting old,” she smiled, misinterpreting your question for concern for her health, her voice lowering to just above a whisper as she brought her lips close to your ear, “and I’m not one to stand in the way of young people’s affairs.”

Your gaze bores into the back of Thenerius’ head. Against your better judgement, you carry your mug to the cot, sitting on the very edge to keep your distance.

Blowing on your drink, you take small sips to avoid burning your tongue. Between the hot drink and the crackling fireplace in front of you, you almost forget your own awkwardness, the coziness only possible with the inhospitable winter outside lulling you into a sense of security.

“I was missing out on a lot with this drink,” Thenerius suddenly broke the silence, mirroring your own careful sips.

You temper your reaction, maintaining a smile you pray conveys a completely normal, neutral interest in the conversation, “You’ve never had hot cocoa before?”

“Never had a need. We usually stick to where it’s warm,” Thenerius said and your smile falters slightly at the implication, sobering slightly from your runaway thoughts.

“Why didn’t you leave with the others?”

The abrupt question hangs in the air between you, the pause stretching without Thenerius reacting to the point you wondered if you didn’t actually ask it.

Just as you are about to ask again, Thenerius spoke, slowly but not uncertainly, as though taking a moment to choose each word, an admission that took you entirely by surprise, “I was going to. After your rejection.”

“Why didn’t you?” You sound almost breathless, never before having considered the possibility that your extreme reaction to his proposal would have actually discouraged him. You have assumed that he had arrived with the goal of winning you over. You tried to think of some other possible motive, but you just drew blanks.

“I told you that your friend at the bar asked me to go to you,” he said, waiting until you nodded in acknowledgement before continuing, “At first, I thought she had seen- us. And I got… angry. I was embarrassed and it seemed like she was simply having fun. Then she told me she was worried about you, but that you refused her and everyone else’s offers help. I tried telling her I was the last person you wanted to see, much less accept help from, but she was persistent. Said you were just prickly around the edges, as it were.”

You grimace - a fair assessment, to be sure, but an unpleasant one to be so finely put a point on - but remain silent, digesting the new perspective. You feel dense, not having once considered Thenerius’ feelings about what had transpired between you. You also feel slightly disappointed that it was not his own passion that drove him to seek you out, though you know you have no right to feel hurt, now more than ever.

You down the rest of your cocoa, unsure if the heat or the ale is what burns down your throat, or your own disappointment. Already you could feel your face warm, the sweetness of the drink having hidden the strength of the alcohol.

“I’m sorry.” You’re unsure of what else to say, afraid to elaborate lest you drudge up every negative feeling over what happened.

He only nods, taking a sip from his drink and keeping his gaze fixed on the fire.

“I’ve always wanted to ask this,” blood was rushing through your ears as the ale settled heavily in your belly, making you just a bit bolder, “Why me? I mean—I know Paloma was leaving and she was the one to introduce us, but you seemed- I thought you were in love with her…”

You try to seem nonchalant as Thenerius chuckles, then deliberates, not sure your ego could take another blow tonight and also as if the question was a completely normal thing to ask platonically during a heart to heart with the man who proposed to you only four days ago. Tova have mercy. Had it really only been that long?

“I didn’t love her,” Thenerius finally put you out of your misery after a long stretch of silence, and you cursed the blooming hope in your chest, “She told me she was quitting. And why—she was in love. What was between us was not… it wasn’t the same. I didn’t know that at the time, I was just selfish, thought of her as mine even though I didn’t consider myself hers.”

You frown slightly, wanting desperately to pay attention to what Thenerius was sharing - obviously a very delicate and sensitive subject - but you can’t help the illogical wave of jealousy rising within you. He hadn’t known you then, only seeing for a few weeks out of the year after that. You shouldn’t have finished off your drink, too all over the place and unable to get a handle on your own emotions.

“I didn’t understand her then,” Thenerius continued, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “How she described the love she felt - to do things for someone else’s sake, rather than one’s own. And to forsake everything, be unwilling to trade anything for that love.”

It was evident Thenerius was no longer talking about Paloma, but of his own feelings for you. However, he had yet to answer your question and you’re unsure if you trust yourself to elaborate, opting instead to repeat it.

“So why me?”

“I’m not sure,” Thenerius admits sheepishly, “I began talking to you. It was the longest I ever talked to anyone that wasn’t on my crew—and about something that wasn’t about anything in particular. And I saw you interacting with others - the tavern owner, the other workers - when you thought no one was paying attention. You seemed so… carefree. Or just free. You didn’t have to worry about making it to the next port, or if you’d be paid. And when we moved on, I couldn’t think of anyone else, be with anyone else.”

You glance over at Thenerius, feeling incredibly warm, like the heat was rolling off your cheeks in waves. The alcohol had given you a buzz - not enough to be entirely gone, but enough to give you the excuse to throw caution to the wind as you observed Thenerius unabashedly.

His downturned eyes made his eyelashes brush against his cheeks, the strong slope of his nose casting an uneven shadow across his face where it veered slightly from an old break. But your eyes were most drawn to his lips - plump, slightly chapped after the hot shower and the corners tugged down into a frown that you wanted desperately to alleviate.

“What about now?” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, and Thenerius seems just as surprised by your question as you do. He doesn’t, however, seem to grasp your implication, if his self-deprecating snort was anything to go by, his next words making your momentarily-fragile heart break for him.

“I completely misunderstood your intentions. I told myself I saw no difference in how you interacted with me and your true friends. And I’m all the more the fool, because I know these things but it has done nothing to curb my useless pining.”

Your countless worries and responsibilities seemed to melt away in that moment, your rational mind telling you a thousand and one reasons not to do what you were about to do holding no power over you. You live in a place where it gets cold, you cannot go with him. But all you could see was Thenerius in front of you, present - a concept you could never before focus on. It was always thinking of the future; what needed to be done, paid for, taken or given.

In the present, you reach out your hand to Thenerius’ cheek furthest from you, turning his gaze from the fire to you. You lean forward, slotting your lips against his softly, but without hesitation.

part 5

[monsterywriting]

Maledos - pt 1

masterlist

This is a rewrite. Read the original parts here, here and here

word count: 7,381 (!!!)

AN: i have really wanted to finish this story, but the original wasn’t really well planned out (and reading my old writing was :/) SO i decided to make one GIANT rewrite of the originals and continue from there. i mostly added on to what was already there with some minor changes so the story would make more sense and just add some extra bits :) the originals will be taken off the master list but will still be linked here.

Everything burned as you raced through the streets of your neighborhood, frantically searching for your dog. Your legs and lungs were screaming from the workout you’d only just finished and your eyes stung with the threat of tears from your panic.

Of course Pumpkin would take off after the two of you had just come back from running on the park trails, only seconds away from entering the safety of your apartment building when a car backfired nearby and scared her.

You called her name out in desperation, though you knew she was probably long gone from the area. You had only just moved into the city recently and neither her or you were familiar enough with the area to not get lost.

You bit your thumbnail anxiously. Pumpkin wouldn’t last a minute out on the streets by herself, exposed to the elements. She was sensitive, scared of her own shadow when it was cast on a wall. Not to mention, the weather forecast for the night called for thunderstorms, dark clouds already gathering overhead to block the afternoon sun.

“Hey, kid, need some help?”

You almost don’t realize the stranger is talking to you, too preoccupied in your own worry to pay much attention to your surroundings. Once you do, however, you’re too relieved at the display of kindness to correct the tiefling that you were actually an adult.

Your potential savior towered over you, well over 6’ even without including his horns that curled back over his head, average for a tiefling but giant in comparison to your short figure. His skin was a fiery red and he was dressed in all black - a nice dress shirt tucked into slim-fitting trousers that accentuated his buff figure nicely. The most striking part of his outfit, however, was the leather biker jacket with an unfamiliar emblem of a stag surrounded by brambles. Had you been in your right mind, you may have also taken in his short-cropped black hair, bright yellow eyes, strong nose and jawline, nice full lips - in short, handsome, model-like, statuesque, hot, all terms you may have used to describe him if you weren’t preoccupied with finding your dog.

He also looked fairly annoyed with you, though you decided to attribute it as his resting face since he had obviously taken the time to come out of his way to stop and help you.

“Uhm- yes, my dog, Pumpkin,” you explained breathlessly, hardly able to focus as you continued to look around for a familiar flash of fur, “she took off while I was unlocking my apartment building’s door! We just got back from the park!”

Maledos appraised the tiny human with an eyebrow raised. He was still debating whether to actually go out of his way for you, his question more rhetorical than anything else, expecting the person to wave away a stranger rather than roping them into their problem.

Based on the owner, however, he figured ‘Pumpkin’ was a chihuahua. Or a Pomeranian; something small and fluffy that surely couldn’t have gotten far. It wouldn’t take long to find the little rascal, so he didn’t mind potentially being a few minutes late to work.

“I’ll walk with you and help you look,” he offered. You certainly didn’t look like you were a resident of the neighborhood, and at the grateful look you gave him as you eagerly accepted, you had probably been worried about wandering around the predominantly orcish neighborhood alone.

Maledos came to regret not minding his own business, however, as those few minuets stretched into an hour of searching every single alleyway, dumpster and parked car they came across and he had long since missed the window to get out of this mess. Valbaugh was definitely going to kill him once he finally showed up. 

You, on the other hand, were laser-focused on finding your dog, nervously looking up at the darkening sky every so often and hoping that she was hunkered down somewhere and not running in the busy intersections.

After entering yet another alley while you checked under parked cars, Maledos squatted down to look under a store’s dumpster, careful not to get his shoes or pants in any of the unidentifiable dumpster juice leaking from a crack in the metal but eventually forced to place his hands on the pavement to peer underneath the gap, internally cursing at the definite crease in his leather shoes. He stood up, glancing down the mostly empty alley and catching a glimpse of brown fur disappearing behind some smaller trashcans.

Praying its your dog and not a stray so he can leave, Maledos approaches, intent on grabbing the dog and swiftly returning it to you. Moving the trashcan and expecting to see a tiny fluff ball, his gaze was instead met with that of a giant pitfall, its expression decidedly murderous. Its muscles flexed impressively underneath its reddish-brown pelt and its studded pink leather harness only added to the fearsome image before him. He scrambled out of the way, about to yell at you to run when you suddenly let out a screech and called out Pumpkin’s name again, this time in joy, crouching down and holding your arms open.

The pit ran past him and barreled into you, nearly knocking you over with the force of the collision. Standing up, you lifted Pumpkin with barely a grunt - an impressive feat in and of itself - and peppered her face with kisses as Maledos stood awkwardly out of the way of the touching reunion. 

Finally setting the dog down, you grabbed the leash that had been trailing behind her and began thanking Maledos profusely as the two of you walked down the street and back to your starting point.

“Thank you again,” you repeated as you walked your now definite savior, sincere in your gratitude even if he’d been a grouch the entire time, “I only moved here a month ago and I was so worried I’d get lost!”

You gestured to the specific building down the road, evidently having no issue with telling him your address. In fact, the entire time Maledos had been with you alone in isolated parts of the neighborhood, you didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that he, a complete stranger, may well have been a serial killer.

But more pressingly, Maledos realized the apartment building you pointed to was his own. Another surprise - you were apparently his neighbor.

As Maledos tuned out your rambling, he took the time to fully examine you. You obviously weren’t a little kid as Maledos had originally thought, but were incredibly short - you couldn’t be more than 5’. You were dressed in workout clothes, which was to be expected if you had just left the park as you told him. You spoke animatedly, your eyes and facial expression giving away every fluctuation in emotion while your hands waved about, even as he didn’t pay attention, he could guess you were recounting the moments leading up to you losing your dog - who was walking calmly in between you and him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, seemingly the exact opposite of her spaz of an owner.

“I just don’t know how to repay you,” you finished as you finally reached the front of the apartment building, gulping down a deep breath before looking expectantly at Maledos.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly, continuing down the street in the direction he’d originally been going before the over hour-long deviation from his routine. Glancing at the time, he realized just how much time had elapsed and cursed under his breath, Valbaugh no doubt fuming at the bar.

“Well, I hope to see you around!” You called after him, certain he didn’t catch your name even as you shouted it as loudly as you dared in a residential neighborhood.

Maledos doesn’t turn around, not bothering to acknowledge your friendliness, knowing you wouldn’t last long in the neighborhood - no matter how tough your dog looked.

You, meanwhile, turn to look down at Pumpkin, the dog whining as she pulled on her leash to go inside. You quickly acquiesce, rushing to unlock the door just as the first raindrops began to fall on the sidewalk where you’d just been standing.

It wasn’t until after you reached your apartment and threw yourself on your bed in exhaustion that the gravity of the entire situation hit you. You could have lost Pumpkin for far longer than the time it took to find her had that tiefling not found her. And only now did you realize you never caught his name, though as you hugged Pumpkin close in your bed with emotional tears streaming down your face, you felt incredibly indebted to him, whoever he was.

You don’t remember falling asleep like that, though you must have as you’re forcibly shaken awake by your roommate facedown on your bed with your shoes still on your feet hanging off the edge and Pumpkin stretched out along your side. In your surprise, you suddenly shot up, effectively scaring the daylights out of Kharza, which in turn scared Pumpkin passed out next to you.

Checking your phone, you were shocked to find it was already 4 o’clock in the afternoon and outside your window the storm was in full force, the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance as giant raindrops sounding like hail pelted the windows.

Kharza flicked your forehead and pouted as her other hand reached over to scratch Pumpkin’s ear to soothe her, “Don’t scare me like that! What the hell happened to you? I’ve been calling you all afternoon.”

“Pumpkin got spooked by some car backfiring today and took off,” you explained, apologizing before getting into the whole spiel of what had transpired, wondering just how much to reveal to Kharza of the grumpy tiefling who came to your aid in case it made for an awkward interaction later, “Somebody did stop and help me, though. I don’t know if he lives nearby but if it wasn’t for him I probably wouldn’t have found Pumpkin.”

Kharza’s expression had grown increasingly grim as she absorbed the story, concerned about what could have happened to either one of you while running around the city’s busy streets alone. Rather than lecture you for not being more careful when you were so clearly shaken up about what had happened still, Kharza instead turned to Pumpkin and mock-scolded her in a baby voice, making you laugh at Pumpkin getting excited by Kharza’s tone alone.

You’ve known the half-orc since you were both in diapers, growing up in the same small town together - and keeping in touch even after she went to college in the much larger city - meant that she knew how important Pumpkin was to you and exactly what you needed to relieve the tension you felt.

“I’m glad you found her quickly,” Kharza said as she got up and walked to your bedroom door, “but hurry up and jump in the shower. We’re going out for drinks tonight.”

“What about the rain?” You asked, looking out the window at the seemingly endless torrent. You couldn’t even see the street below through the thick sheet of rain.

“I already checked the weather. It should be done by 7 so we can head out at 10,” Kharza insisted confidently, “I need a drink after being called in on a Saturday and you need to get out of your little new resident bubble. Bring out the party animal you from our high school days, huh?”

You chuckled along at the memory, somewhat embarrassed but acquiescing with her invitation out, knowing that despite coming out as a demand, she would have no problem if you declined. You supposed Kharza was right in that you had been in something of a slump since moving to the city and away from home - not going anywhere besides your job, the park with Pumpkin and the apartment. You didn’t know anyone here, and hadn’t really made the effort to get to know them.

You thought once you started your job you could get to know your co-workers, but the office you worked at was much larger than you thought and the cubicles kept everyone fairly separate, making it hard for you to really get friendly with anyone. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity for you to meet Kharza’s other friends and perhaps make some of your own.

Still, you were apprehensive standing in front of your closet wrapped only in your towels just hours later. It had taken you hours to convince yourself that Pumpkin would be okay alone, the thunderstorm long past and snoring loudly on your bed after going out to use the bathroom, and now you couldn’t help but agonize over what to wear. On one hand, it was your first time going out with Kharza in a long while and you wanted to go all out. On the other, you didn’t want to be stuck wearing uncomfortable clothes all night long.

Finally, you decided to go halfway, picking out a nice top but comfortable jeans, nice shoes but slipping an extra pair of sneakers into your bag just in case. Once you’re satisfied with your pick in clothes, you decided to leave your hair as it was out the shower, only blowdrying it briefly without brushing it out.

With your outfit complete, you grabbed your bag and keys and went out into the living room where Kharza was waiting to head out, though not before you both hyped the other’s outfit. She thankfully also went with a more casual outfit, wearing a pink crop top with a short jean skirt and black heeled boots. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back in loose waves, untamed but not entirely wild, which it usually was when she took it out her work braid. Kharza had been in the process of putting on her jean jacket to complete her look when you exited your room, and as soon as she was ready, you both left.

“What’s the name of the place again?” You asked as you both walked down the empty sidewalk looking for what Kharza claimed was ‘the best bar in town’ and ‘just down the street.’

“The sign doesn’t really match the name, but it’s named after the owner,” Kharza explained, directing you to cross the street at an intersection, “Mal’s.”

You heard the place before you saw it, the patio completely full even after the sudden rain left everything drenched. Though what made your drop was when you approached and recognized the sign, the familiar crest with the stag surrounded by brambles.

You kept your mouth shut, however, as Kharza led you inside through the crowd to a large corner filled with people of all kinds - a couple of orcs and elves, a satyr and a dryad who jumped up smiling and immediately enveloped you in a hug as Kharza introduced you to everyone else.

After brief introductions, you and Kharza head to the bar and you somehow managed to order your favorite beer from the absolutely colossal orc bartender despite the place being completely hammered.

Once you both return to the booth cradling your drinks, you get settled at the edge across from Kharza, you quickly get comfortable, engaging in the conversation with ease, the coincidence of the sign slipping from your mind as you laughed along with everyone.

Kharza always said you had a knack for making friends ever since you insisted on being her friend even when everyone else in kindergarten was wary of her as a half-orc and even went so far as to convince everyone else in your class that she was quote - the coolest and prettiest friend ever. However, tonight you had to attribute your easy assimilation with Kharza’s city friends to her having apparently talked their ears off about you, her best friend back home - including the story of how you became friends. A nice circle, you thought.

Less than an hour later, a familiar face appeared from the midst of the crowd, making you freeze in the middle of listening to the dryad, Nitidea, talk at length about their day. The newcomer squeezed in next to you, making you freeze where you were. Everyone in the group shouted over the crowd to greet the person next to you, all of them referring to him as Mal.

You don’t look up, caught by surprise and stunned into silence at the sudden appearance of the tiefling you met only a couple hours earlier with the most sour expression you’d ever seen on anyone now smiling so widely you were nearly blinded by his sharp, pearly whites. You do note that the smile does falter once his eyes finally met yours as ‘Mal’ realized not only was he sitting right next to you, but the arm he’d so carelessly draped around the person next to him was also you.

“So you were the new roommate Kharza’s been talking about,” Maledos said quietly, recovering from his initial shock with record speed once the rest of the table’s conversation shifted back to what it had been before he arrived, carefully taking his arm off you and pretending to reach for his drink while flashing a quick smile to everyone else, “I wasn’t expecting you to be…”

“Human?” You chuckle as you took a small sip of your own beer, not wanting to get buzzed too quickly, “and I wasn’t expecting the person who went out of their way to help a stranger look for their lost dog to be named Mal.”

“Maledos,” he clarified just a little too quickly, thanking the gods above that he was too red to noticeably blush as you laughed, though he wasn’t sure why he was so damn nervous in his own bar, though he suspected it may have something to do with the intensity of the stare Kharza was giving him from the other side of the table.

“Thanks again for today, I really do appreciate it,” you turn serious for a brief moment, noticing Maledos’ discomfort, which you presumed to be from how standoffish he’d been when you first met, deciding to try and ease the tension now that you apparently had mutual friends.

Giving Maledos one last nod of appreciation, you turned to rejoin the booth’s conversation, the tiefling soon loosening up as well as you pointedly didn’t make a big deal out of his entirely different demeanor. 

Most of the group had never lived outside of the city and urged you to tell them more about living in “the country” since Kharza only ever went on about how boring it was - downplaying just how wild it could be growing up in a small, half-suburb-half-farmland town could be when kids were left to make their own fun.

As you were in the middle of telling your highly engaged audience about the specifics of the after-prom house party at one of the football players’ houses your senior year, the bartender appeared and quietly extracted Maledos from the group. You glanced up as he left, conscious of the sudden loss of the body next to you but continuing the story with Kharza inputting her own memories of the event.

Some indiscernible amount of time later, you found yourself struggling to get through the crowd and to the bar to order another beer for yourself. Once you finally are able to get the bartender’s - Valbaugh, you overhear a nearby patron call him - attention and get your order in, you noticed Maledos a few feet away talking with another group of people, once again amazed by how different he could be, though you supposed since he was at work he couldn’t exactly be Mr. Resting Bitch Face, an assessment you were now comfortable with making now that you knew that wasn’t how he normally looked.

Just as you paid for your drink and were about to turn away with it, Maledos glanced up and you both made eye contact. You smiled and gave a small wave with your free hand, but instead of returning the gesture, Maledos said something to the people he was talking to and began walking over to you. Neither one of you spoke as Maledos ordered a whiskey and when he gave no indication that he was going to speak while you both drank, you finally decided to break the silence yourself.

“You need that stiff a drink to talk to me?” You quipped, already kicking yourself mentally as it seemed to have the opposite effect than you intended, Maledos attempting to explain himself rather than lightening the mood, “I was kidding, Mal. This isn’t a interrogation.”

“Right,” Maledos cleared his throat, downing the rest of his drink, “Sorry, I’m not usually- I just really didn’t expect to see you again, much less with my friends. No offense.”

“None taken. I get it,” you smile, truly not offended as you figured that was just Maledos’ personality with with people he wasn’t close to, deciding to extend the olive branch of friendship first, “So… Kharza tells me you’re the mysterious neighbor I’ve never seen around the apartment before.”

“Yeah, I’m usually here all night and just knock out once I get home,” Maledos finally relaxed, falling into easy conversation with you once he imagined he was speaking to a potential regular customer, “I come and go at odd hours, so most people with normal work schedules wouldn’t exactly run into me.”

“I’m not envious of the all nighters but it sounds nice to have days for yourself,” you marveled, “so how’d you decide you wanted to own a bar?”

“I inherited it from my mom, actually. It’s named after her, too,” Maledos explained, handing his empty glass to Valbaugh and holding up two fingers, “When she opened it, the city was still pretty segregated between the different races. She wanted to have a space that was a neutral zone.”

“Well, it definitely fits the vision she had,” you smile, turning in your chair to take a full look at the diverse crowd in a new light.

“Well, what about you?” Maledos inquired.

“What about me?”

“Why the sudden switch to big city living?” He pressed, “I mean, I get Kharza’s old roommate sucked but that’s hardly a reason to move halfway across the country.”

“You’re right,” you snort, “I was already offered a job here when Kharza told me she needed a new roommate. The pay’s good and the rent was in my budget, so I decided to just bite the bullet and come out here—”

“With Pumpkin,” Maledos finished, chuckling as you beamed at him and nodded enthusiastically in agreement. You had a nice smile, he thought offhandedly, “I’m not gonna lie - seeing that giant dog when I was expecting a chihuahua almost gave me a heart attack.”

“A chihuahua?!” You feigned indignation, the corners of your lips threatening to turn up into a smile, “I’ll have you know a lady of my stature needs a dog to match.”

At that, Maledos burst out into laughter as he commented you probably had to scale the bar stool you were sitting on when you sat down, which finally broke your own serious expression and you both were laughing uncontrollably. The rest of the night passes in a blur, you and Maledos talking at length about anything and everything with only occasional interruptions as other patrons of the bar came to say goodbye to Maledos before leaving.

“I was totally surprised to find out you were so talkative… and smile-y,” you admitted, only a little tipsy after cutting yourself off on your third beer since sitting down, “I mean, you hardly said two words to me all afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of an asshole before people get to know me, or so I’m told,” Maledos admitted, slightly embarrassed that after making so many assumptions about you, he was now actually enjoying an entire conversation with you.

At some point, Kharza comes looking for you, everyone else heading out. The orc was giving you a familiar look, one you pretend not to recognize or notice. You were shocked you’d spent so long talking to Maledos after telling everyone you were just going to buy a single beer. Maledos glanced down at his watch, looking just as dumbfounded as you.

“Shit, it’s already closing,” Maledos frowned, “Valbaugh, why didn’t you announce last call?”

“I did,” the bartender replied, rolling his eyes, though the grin on his face indicated he wasn’t truly annoyed as he added teasingly, “I guess you were too preoccupied to notice.”

You and Kharza burst out laughing as Maledos’ tail, which had up until then been lazily swishing behind him, stood straight up as he began sputtering indignantly.

“Well, we’re going to head out,” Kharza said, dropping her hands on your shoulder and about to lead you away from the bar when something finally dawns on you.

“Oh, since we’re neighbors we should exchange numbers!” You said quickly, rummaging around in your bag for your phone and completely missing the looks Valbaugh and Kharza shot Maledos.

“Don’t feel too special,” Kharza warned sarcastically, “she also got Ms. Lalshur’s and Mrs. Umekrana’s numbers the first week she moved in.”

Valbaugh snorted, but Maledos’ pointed ears perked up at the second name, “I understand Ms. Lalshur, she talks to everyone… but I’ve lived there for almost five years and Mrs. Umekrana hasn’t said more than ten words to me. And they were ‘quit making all that fucking racket on the stairs every night’.”

You bite back a smile at the jab at your cranky neighbor, handing Maledos your phone so he could add his number to your contacts and taking his offered phone in return, “she’s nice once you get to know her. But it didn’t hurt that I was able to fix her sewing machine for her the day I met her…”

After saying your final goodbyes to both Maledos and Valbaugh, you and Kharza walked back to your apartment, Kharza wasting no time interrogating you about your apparently two hour long conversation with the tiefling as soon as you exited the bar. What did you two talk about? Did he pay for your drinks? Was he flirting with you? And, most importantly, do you like him?

You barely manage to keep up with the barrage of questions, and the last question nearly makes you choke on your own spit at its abruptness. As far as Kharza knows, you’ve only just met Maledos tonight at the bar, and while it is too soon to discern any deeper feelings, you can’t deny that you had fun spending time with him, or that he was incredibly attractive. However, you reason, it wasn’t ideal to date within a friend group, especially when you had no one else you knew - if things even got that far. Frankly, you would probably just embarrass yourself developing a crush on Maledos.

In any case, it would be more trouble than what it’s worth for everyone involved and you immediately decided it would be best to avoid that road altogether, firmly denying any feelings when Kharza asked.

…

A month passed quickly since your first night at the bar. It was the go-to hangout spot for Kharza and her friends, so it was a given once you became a part of the group that you would hang out there often as well, which meant even more interactions with Maledos - the only time you’d see him despite living across the hall from each other. And whenever you went to the bar, the two of you would inevitably take up each other’s time and attention, a fact Kharza loves to claim as proof of something deeper going on between you, entirely convinced that the two of you were sneaking behind everyone’s backs no matter how often you point out that your very average conversations were nowhere near the proclamations of undying love she imagined.

Rather than convince Kharza that nothing was happening - which it wasn’t - it always managed to set her off in a long speech about how dense you were and how you wouldn’t recognize Maledos’ feelings for you if he got down on one knee before you in front of everyone, to paraphrase.

While you couldn’t deny that Maledos was attractive to your best friend, who would easily see through such blatant lies knowing full well your ‘type’ had remained largely unchanged since you were teenagers, you still stood by your decision not to complicate the dynamics of the group with undoubtedly unrequited feelings. It was just downright unlikely that a hot, successful business owner who met hundreds of people every week through his job would find you of all people particularly interesting. Especially considering the fact that Maledos hadn’t given you any sort of indication that he wanted to be anything more than friends, no matter what Kharza said about the ‘subtleties of love.’

Despite your conviction whenever you told Kharza she was reading too much into things, but that didn’t stop the part of your pride that reared its head whenever she inadvertently stroked your ego with claims that some small action showed Maledos secretly was crushing on you. Despite it feeling so very high school, it was still an addicting rush to think so and didn’t help your burgeoning feelings for the tiefling every time you saw him.

After a particularly long day at work - a visit by an important client for the company you worked for requiring all hands on deck as your boss had everyone bending over backwards for them - you fell asleep almost immediately after getting home, only taking Pumpkin out to use the bathroom by your apartment building before passing out and even bailing on Friday night drinks with everyone. So when at almost 6 in the morning Pumpkin’s whining at your bedroom door to be taken out woke you up, you rushed to get changed and take her for a much needed walk, feeling terrible for depriving her of her evening walk.

You went to the park a couple blocks away, sitting on a bench in the small dog park while you watched Pumpkin excitedly sniff around. Despite sleeping well over eight hours, you still somehow nod off, not even realizing you do until you felt someone tapping on your shoulder, eliciting a shrill scream from you.

“Gods above that was loud. And here I was trying to save you from falling off a bench,” you recognized Maledos’ teasing voice right away, twisting around in your seat to look at him leaning over the fence as Pumpkin jumped onto the bench next to you for ear scratches.

“Are you barely coming back from the bar?” You stifle a yawn behind your hand, grinning as you watched Maledos easily scale the fence to sit next to you, still apparently full of energy even after pulling an all-nighter at the bar. He was wearing the leather jacket with the bar’s logo on it - the one article of clothing you had yet to see him without in all the time you’d known him - but now he wore a plain black shirt, jeans and white sneakers as opposed to the dressier clothes he’d been wearing when you met.

“Yeah, Fridays are always our busiest nights so I usually have to stay until the next morning,” Maledos sighed, draping himself over you melodramatically with one arm thrown over his face in mock despair, “I was bored all night without you there. Why did you leave me all alone?”

“Oh, I’m sure you were absolutely lonely in the bar surrounded by 800 of your closest friends,” you snarked, nudging Maledos in his side to get him off. You stifle down your soaring emotions at his remarks, knowing that Maledos’ words were far from flirtatious.

You had long since realized that the tiefling was very much like a cat in that respect - an aloof brick wall to those he didn’t know but incredibly needy with those he was close to - though you couldn't help the swell of pride that came with thought that he preferred having you around over anyone else. It certainly didn’t help dampen your growing crush on the man.

“And what are you doing sitting around in a dimly lit park this early?” Maledos asked, finally sitting up but still draping his arms around the back of the bench.

“I fell asleep early and didn’t get a chance to walk her,” you replied, placing both palms on either side of Pumpkin’s face and squishing the excess skin, making the dog grow so excited her whip-like tail began swinging right dangerously close to Maledos’ arm, “but when else would I be able to run into my night owl of a neighbor?”

Maledos snorted, the two of you beginning to joke around with each other while you sat, mostly about a certain couple on the first floor who was seemingly constantly arguing. You thought it was just in the middle of the night, but Maledos assured you they also kept him up during the day when all he wanted to do was sleep.

As the sky rapidly lightened overhead, Pumpkin started tugging on her leash in your hand, a sign that she was ready to go. Maledos walked with you through the park and back towards the apartment building in a comfortable silence, Pumpkin sticking close to Maledos’ side since he pet her while you walked.

“Oh yeah, Ms. Lalshur tells me you baked her the best cookies she’s ever tasted when you first moved in,” Maledos mentioned as he held the building door open for you, “gotta admit I feel a little left out.”

“I gave some to everyone on our floor, but somebody never answered their door when I knocked,” you said as you started up the stairs with Pumpkin.

“Y’know, I think I remember looking through my peephole and seeing a girl scout once…” Maledos tapped his finger on his cheek while feigning a contemplative look, though he was soon doubling over in laughter as you shoved him for the jab, though he doesn’t even budge.

“Well you can forget tasting any of my baking skills, mister,” you scoffed, turning as though you were going to stomp to your apartment door.

“Hold on, I’m sorry, please give me—shit!” Maledos tried to follow behind you, but neither of you noticed Pumpkin standing between you, the large tiefling falling forward as he tried to avoid hurting her and stumbling over his own feet.

Maledos fortunately caught himself on the wall, effectively caging you between his muscular arms as he hunched over you, your faces mere centimeters apart just short of a collision that would have surely left you both concussed - you worse if his horns had knocked into you.

You let out a chuckle to try and ease the tension, but it comes out too airy, made worse as you tried to joke, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you tripped on purpose, Mal.”

Maledos’ expression softened at the nickname you so rarely used for him in favor of his full name despite how universal it was for everyone else. He broke into a small grin, beginning to say something when the door across the hall slammed open and Mrs. Umekrana walked out into the hall with her trash in one hand and a cigarette in another, interrupting.

“You can’t keep it in your fucking pants until you get into your apartment, Maledos?” She muttered, continuing towards the stairs and taking a long drag that somehow doesn’t set off any of the smoke detectors.

The two of you watched the willowy-looking drow disappear down the stairwell like deer in headlights, the moment quickly hurtling towards uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know Mrs. Umekrana even knew my name,” Maledos said weakly, the first to break the silence as he quickly stepped away from you and loudly cleared his throat.

You were still struggling to catch your breath, not wanting to sound too flustered when you finally responded, though you were fortunately spared from the awkward situation as Pumpkin began whining to go inside beside you.

“It was good seeing you, Maledos,” you said with an only slightly strained smile, unlocking your apartment door and waving one last time before finally shutting the door and able to let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

Your mind and heart were racing as you took off Pumpkin’s harness, relieved Kharza was such a heavy sleeper. Obviously unable to sleep after that, you tossed and turned in your bed as you wondered what would have happened - if anything at all - had Mrs. Umekrana hadn’t decided to take out her trash at that very moment.

Finally giving up on sleep, you got up and ventured into the kitchen, Pumpkin not moving from her spot on the bed. It was already 9 o’clock, which meant if your started baking now you could be done in an hour.

You quickly set to work, gathering all the necessary ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator while the oven preheated. Rather than make cookies, you decide to go with brownies since they were much easier to prepare.

Kharza wandered into the kitchen after you’ve already set the pan of mix in the oven, futilely pushing back her bedhead as she watched you pretend to scroll through your phone and look at anywhere but her while you sat at the dining table.

“Brownies? Who’re you bringing out the big guns for?” Kharza yawned as she leaned on the island counter with her chin resting on her palm.

“I’m not bringing out anything,” you replied, pressing the oven light to watch the brownies’ progress despite only just putting it in, keeping your voice even as you nonchalantly add “I’m just making Maledos some brownies.”

“Oh, Maledos, I should have known.” You don’t even need to look up to know Kharza was wiggling her eyebrows with a knowing smirk, her tone saying it all.

You don’t bother to make a reply, any defense of your actions only feeding into her conviction. You definitely could not tell Kharza about what had transpired hours earlier - no matter how badly you needed her advice on the matter. It would only make her more convinced that you and Maledos were an item and Kharza would no doubt tease Maledos with the information, which would make it obvious you were overthinking things with him when nothing actually happened and you couldn’t risk Maledos finding out your feelings like that.

By the time Kharza left on her morning jog with Pumpkin, you had already taken the brownies out the oven and placed the pan in the fridge to cool before cutting them into squares. After stacking two thirds of them onto a plate and sending a quick text to Maledos about coming over, you leave your apartment to go down the hall.

It took you a minute of pacing back and forth in front of his door to gather up the courage to knock, praying that Maledos was even awake. However, before your lifted hand can even make contact with the door, it was swinging open, Maledos standing before you before you can even jump from the sudden movement, your mouth slack in surprise.

“I- uh- got your text,” Maledos explained, standing aside to let you inside. He had changed into a plain white t-shirt and sweats, his hair still dripping obviously fresh from a shower. 

As you walked into the apartment, you were struck by how different it appeared from your and Kharza’s, even with the exact same layout and fixtures. The interior definitely suited Maledos - a lot of steel grays with black splashed here and there, all very modern. The entire apartment was impeccable, ripped straight from a catalogue, a show apartment for tours rather than a home and definitely not one lived in for the last five years. However, it made sense considering Maledos spent most of his free time in the apartment sleeping, the rest in the bar, so it was a given the apartment wouldn’t be messy.

You set the plate down on the kitchen counter, nearly running face to chest into Maledos when you turned around just as he was reaching around you for a piece.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, ducking around him and not looking at Maledos as you felt your cheeks burning. In turn, you missed how Maledos turned to watch you make your way to his bookshelf, reading the spines but not daring to move your hands from your sides lest you mess up the order of everything.

Unbeknownst to you, Maledos had also been unable to sleep after the almost-something in the hallway. He had laid in his bed, wide awake and texting his older sister, who had been less than pleased to be woken up so early on a Saturday but easily placated with the news that Maledos of all people was having girl troubles.

He had been surprised as well. For years running the bar had been his life, everything else put on the back burner to that goal. He was good at that. Successful, even. But in romance, short flings and one night stands were his forte, not pining over his neighbor or a friend’s best friend - in your case, both. You were growing increasingly important to him and he knew for a fact you didn’t deserve having to deal with his ineptitude in longterm relationships. You were someone who baked cookies for your neighbors in your free time and helped old ladies fix their ancient singer sewing machines. You just came over with a plate full of brownies just because he mentioned he wanted to try your baking that morning.

Not to mention he would be risking your friendship if you didn’t even feel the same way. There was simply too much at stake for him, preferring to keep his feelings closely guarded and never acted on.

But all that care and caution was all thrown out the moment he would see you - just as he had this morning while walking back home from the bar. He had needed to rest, wake up before noon and go back to do the expenses. Instead, he found himself already walking over to you and tapping your shoulder, reveling in how all drowsiness dissipated from your expression upon seeing him and the way the corners of your eyes crinkled as you flashed him the widest grin - unconscientious, unabashed in wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“Maledos?” You asked again, jumping up to wave your hand in front of his eyes and drawing him back to reality, “You were spacing out pretty hard. Are you okay?”

“Of course!” It came out too forced, you certainly looked unconvinced. He laughed sheepishly, “Sorry, the all nighters are starting to get to me. What happened?”

“I said Kharza and I were going to go for drinks tonight since we didn’t get a chance to go out last night,” you reiterated, curious of what he had been thinking but respecting his decision not to share, “Maybe you could go with us? I think you could definitely use a night off. You seem tired. Get away from the bar for a night, scope out the competition. I’m sure Valbaugh and the others can hold down the fort.”

The concern you showed for him made a surge of emotion rise up in Maledos, bringing forth a wide smile before he could stop himself, agreeing to go with you. And Kharza.

“Great,” you clapped your hands together in excitement, heading towards the door with a wave, “See you tonight, then. I’ll text you.”

“See you tonight,” Maledos repeated back, returning you wave and standing in the middle of his foyer for a good five minutes after you’d closed the door behind you.

His phone alarm finally sounded, rousing him from his stupor rather than a nap and telling him it was time to go back to the bar. Dismissing it, Maledos opened up his recent calls and dialed Valbaugh to let him know he would be taking the night off.