Legends of Skyrim: The Wood Orc (BOOK ONE)

VII - Retrieval

Eastmarch's warm morning gently beat down upon the sleeping Orc. In a groggy haze, he reached out to feel for Aela. Wiping sleep from his eyes and leaning up, Durag found that he was alone. He felt the warmth from the previous night suddenly stripped from him, and he felt used. He looked around to see the fire was out. The dead embers coated the ground around him, boot prints were fresh and visible. She had recently left him. Standing, he sighed as he looked at his iron mask. Why did last night even happen? He felt a tear roll down his cheek and spread across his tusk before dropping the mask. Looking up at the early morning sun, Durag allowed the Beast Blood to overtake him and, after scooping up the bag of his clothes in his jaw, sprinted across the land for the Rift. Much of the Rift was composed of lush, autumn-coloured valleys and rivers, surrounded by mountains to the south, east, and northeast. The Rift itself was located atop an immense plateau that separated it from Eastmarch, and the western mountain range south of the Throat of the World went along its border with Falkreath, making it one of the most isolated holds in Skyrim. Treva's Watch was up a path leading from Ivarstead to Riften on the north shore of the Treva River. It was a medium-sized fort, visibly occupied by both bandits and Silver Hand. To the east, Durag noticed a small mountain peak. As he climbed up it, his body changed back to his normal form, and he took his bow and quiver from the sack. He crouched slightly so that he was obscured, but his vision was not. Pulling back slowly on the bow, he noticed the strength of the new string. Despite his confusion over his and Aela's situation, he would still thank her when next they met. As he released, he noticed that there was no noticeable whistle through the air as arrow after arrow found flesh. Finally, when he could no longer see movement, he quickly pulled on his clothes and slid down the side of the mountain. Fortunately, the fort was built into the side of it.

Slowly opening the barracks entrance, Durag drew his bow, crouched, and slowly advanced. Unlike Lost Knife Hideout, this fort was deathly silent, save for the sound of dripping water. Peering through a door to his left down the corridor, Durag saw the inhabitants were still abed. He closed it and continued on his way to a staircase upwards. Upstairs, he found presumably another Silver Hand lieutenant, not yet awake. On a table against the wall, chucked lazily and neglectfully, were the fragments of Wuuthrad. Before taking them, Durag drew back his bow and fired his arrow through the sleeping woman's head. Every drop of Silver Hand blood he spilled was for Skjor, and the honour of the Companions. Sneaking back out the way he came, he began the slow trek towards Whiterun. Despite his new comfort for the Beast Blood, this time he wished to venture back across the wilds as Malacath intended - as he truly desired. The trip lasted almost a day, the sun still barely visible over the city walls as he passed through the gates. It was quite a shock, however, to find a sword at his throat as soon as they shut behind him. Directly before him was the city guard, most, if not all of them, their weapons drawn. "You must either be incredibly brave or stupid, mutt!" one spat.
Durag slung his bow back over his shoulder and raised his hands. "I mean no one in this city harm," he pleaded, "I only wish to pass through--"
His words became stifled as the blade pressed against his neck. Something wet trickled down it, whether it was sweat or blood he had no idea. "You are to accompany us to Dragonsreach Dungeon," he was ordered, "Where you are to be held for the night, and executed in the morning!"
Durag's eyes widened behind his mask, but his body didn't react. "I am no threat to you." he argued calmly.
"Shut it, Orc!" his wrists were roughly grabbed, and he was pulled forward, "Or we'll skip the wait and just kill you now!"

Suddenly, an arrow was shot at the guard's foot. A warning shot, as it bounced off the cobble. Before them, Aela stood, her bow in hand. "Release him." she commanded.
The guards exchanged confused glances. "We can't do that," one began, "By the order of the Jarl--"
"By the order of Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions," she pulled back another arrow, "Release this Shield-Brother!"
After a few moments, Durag was released. "Jarl won't be happy about this." one whispered as he walked past.
Once they were back inside Jorrvaskr, Aela pulled Durag into an empty room, took off his mask, and kissed him, pinning him to a wall. "Do you have it?" she asked.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out the fragment, gently laying it down on the table. "As requested."
"Another piece of glory," she whispered against his lips, "Good work... Orc."
The nickname stung a little, but he could tell that it was intended as affectionate, so he kissed her again. "Is..." he hesitated, "Is there more work to be done?"
She stopped, her forehead against his temple spikes. "I fear that Kodlak's gotten wind of our recent efforts," she warned, "He's asked to see you. My advice? Always be honest with the old man, but don't tell him anything he doesn't need to know."
She placed a hand on his chest, gently pulling him closer by the amulet. "I am sorry for this morning," she apologised, "I... I was scared. Of what this means."
Durag gently held her cheek as her hand slithered down to his shoulder. "It means..." he smiled, his tusks protruding, "Whatever we want it to mean, my Huntress."

Kodlak Whitemane has caught wind of my secret missions with Aela and has asked to speak with me.
- Durag Ugrua, 20th of Sun's Height