Disclaimer: I do try to adhere to lore as much as possible, but sometimes I jump off the rails a bit for the sake of the story or the character. I'm by no means an authority on any of the cultures or history. I just like to tell a story, and hope that it's a good one. I'll let you be the judge of my success in that. :)

Events in this chapter are inspired by the Daedric quest, "The Taste of Death."

A Delicate Flower

Lily wept, a fist shoved in her mouth to stifle any sound. Wedged between a musty, linen-wrapped corpse and the back wall of its alcove, her horrified eyes watched helplessly as men and women she knew, who had greeted her on the streets of Markarth, who had visited her own house, were slain by the Thalmor Justiciars in the name of Jarl Igmund. Among them were her own mother and father. The high stone ceilings of the Halls of the Dead rang with shouts, screams, sword clashes, then an almost deafening silence.

She watched as they dragged the bodies into a row, identifying each one and recording the names, their voices cold and remorseless. Until they spoke her own parents' names, she thought them justified in committing such wanton slaughter. Had these people not spat upon the laws of both Divines and man, and dared to worship such a bloodthirsty Daedra as Namira? Were they not guilty of defiling the dead to feed their repulsive cravings?

Yet her parents were among them. The woman who birthed her. The man who taught her bowcraft. How could she despise them? Except that she had watched her mother preparing human flesh the same way she had cooked venison countless times in the family kitchen. Meals Lily had eaten, that she now suspected were not what she had believed them to be. And her father, carving portions from the flank of a dead man as if he were a pig.

Knowing she should not have been there that night at all only increased Lily's fears as she cowered. The men were methodical in their cataloguing, collecting jewelry, coins, even her father's fine leather boots. Would they never leave?

Men came and went, carting the bodies out, washing the evidence of their deeds away so that the Halls of the Dead could be opened to mourners once more. Lily dozed off and on, trapped as she was, worn down by shock and terror, until the last one departed and the only sound was the drip, drip of distant moisture off the chill stone. She was about to crawl stiffly from her hiding place, when she heard voices.

"...likely more where this lot came from," one voice said. Lily froze. The stragglers were not very near, but their voices carried in the echoing halls.

"Aye," a second voice answered. "One by one, we'll find them. Start with the families, say I."

"He'll be wanting to let this lie for a bit, though," the first said. "Let'em think they been missed."

"Then round'em up." The second man laughed, a hollow sound in the stillness.

The families. Lily shivered. The Thalmor knew each of the dead by name, knew who they were. A simple matter to track down members of each family.

She waited until after the boom of the great doors faded, and she was certain no other sound could be heard, then tumbled out of the alcove, her numbed legs reluctant to bear her weight. Not caring for stealth now, she staggered to the doors, and slipped out into the night.

Not knowing where else to go, Lily crept from shadow to shadow to the tradesman's section of the city. Checking that she was not marked especially by the guards patrolling the stairs, she knocked discreetly on a particular banded bronze door. No answer came at first, so she pounded more insistently. Quite suddenly, the door was yanked open.

"Whaddayou want?"

Lily jumped back, nearly pitching herself into the canal behind her. She hadn't expected Moth to answer, and the sight of his brutal face, barely illuminated by the flickering street lights, nearly tore a scream from her throat. It wasn't that he was an Orc that frightened her, so much as the threat of his ire. There was, after all, the matter of the 'innocent' teasing to which her and her friends subjected the impatient smith. Not long after he and his sister settled in Markarth, some of Lily's friends decided Moth was their favorite entertainment, and often hid his tools or called mockingly to him in the echoing halls of Understone Keep, causing much confusion as he sought out his tormenters. Lily was slowest one day, and she still bore the marks of his wrath.

"Please," she hissed, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, "I must see Ghorza."

"What for?" he barked suspiciously. Lily winced; would he not be quieter?

"I need her help. Please."

"Better be important, calling this late," he snarled, then stepped back to allow her inside. Just being off the street, and away from prying eyes, was enough for Lily to nearly collapse with relief. "And I got my eye on you, whelp."

She winced. Having Moth's attention was not something she particularly wanted. Thankfully, he went to fetch his sister, and didn't return with her.

"What is it, Lily?" Ghorza asked as she came into the front room. It was a humble place, like many of the more modest dwellings in Markarth. Most residents filled their homes with light, for few had windows cut through the rock to let in the sun. Ghorza and Moth must have been preparing to retire for the evening, for only the hearthfire still burned, as well as a lantern on the table.

"I have seen... Ghorza, I am frightened!" Lily cried, embracing her friend as the shocks she'd sustained came flooding back.

"There now, tell me what troubles you, Kit," the Orc woman said, urging Lily to sit on the bench along one side of the dinner table. The use of her old nickname calmed Lily, and she obeyed.

With halting words, Lily recounted the horrors she'd witnessed in the Halls of the Dead until she was once more breathing fast and fearfully. Ghorza patted her shoulder. "Can't say I blame the Jarl in this one thing. Shame your parents were mixed up in it, though. You stay here tonight, Kit. No one'll think to look for you here. We'll decide what's to be done in the morning."

Grateful, Lily let Ghorza fuss over her and put her to bed in the spare room. She could hear Moth's thunderous snores coming from his own room on the lower level. For some reason, the commonness of such a sound helped her sleep, if fitfully.

In the morning, Lily shot awake as if she'd been splashed with ice cold water. The events of the previous night flooded back, and she began to shake anew. Badly as she wanted to sink into the stone bed and never surface again, Lily knew staying in Markarth was no longer an option.

She found Ghorza and Moth at breakfast when she emerged, and silently joined them. She couldn't look at either one, and kept her eyes down when Ghorza slid a plateful of eggs and bread before her.

"I told Moth, Kit," Ghorza said matter-of-factly. "He agrees you cannot stay here."

"I am grateful for the risk you took in giving me a bed for the night," Lily replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No, Kit, we don't mean in our home. We mean in Markarth. Stay here the rest of the day, and tonight, you must leave the city."

Lily looked up, and met Ghorza's gold-yellow eyes. The woman's brow was smoother than the Nord had seen it before, but then she'd rarely come to call on the smith at her home. Perhaps beyond the cares of her work, Ghorza was different. "Where would I go? I do not know anyone beyond these walls."

"That I cannot tell you," the Orc woman sighed. "But it is a vast Hold, is the Reach. You will not lack for settlements to rest in, mines to work in... Moth and I traveled for over a year before coming to the city. There is much to see."

"Aye," Moth said, and Lily was surprised to find his tone gentle, at least for an Orc. "You have a way of getting into and out of mischief, Lily. I do not doubt the wilds will have a time of it taming you." She could swear his pale yellow eyes twinkled. Most of the time, Lily only saw Moth from a distance, or by a quick glance behind while she and her fellows were on the run after some mischief. She'd never seen how his red beard framed a face that, though brutal and savage like all Orc males, was capable of warmth and humor as well.

"Forgive me," Lily said, embarrassed. "I and my friends... have often been unkind to you. It was unjust."

"It was children teasing an old man," Moth rumbled. "Think nothing of it. You are not a child anymore, Lily. Not for a year or more, I expect?"

She nodded. "My coming of age was two years ago."

"There you are. Not a child," he said. "About time you sought your fortune, eh? See what lies beyond these cold walls. You may find the sun is warm. I have sometimes forgotten that." He laughed at his own remark for a moment. Rising from the bench and running his fingers through his thick mane of red hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, he announced, "I should report for duty. There will likely be Thalmor blades to repair first thing." Casting an apologetic look at Lily, he departed.

"Ghorza," Lily said hesitantly, "what if I... looked for an Orsimer stronghold? Would I be welcome there?"

The Orc woman raised her eyebrows, but considered the idea. "If you were Blood-Kin, you would be, yes."

"How do I become Blood-Kin?"

"Why do you ask?" Ghorza replied.

"I have sat at your feet for several years now, my friend," Lily said carefully. "You have told me only a little of the ways of your people, yet you have inspired in me a great curiosity. If I am to wander homeless, I would... like to... at least believe, however falsely, that I may be welcomed somewhere."

"There is much you have to offer any settlement, Kit," the Orc said. "You are a capable smith, and your bow is quite deadly, I'm told. For all his faults, your father taught you well. But you should know that the Orc strongholds are not quite like Nord settlements. They are often run with a mind toward keeping all outsiders out, even when it comes to trade."

"Why?" Lily asked.

"Protection," Ghorza said, shrugging. "My folk have suffered in nearly all provinces we have tried to call home: driven out, put to the sword, enslaved. Had we not been found useful by the Empire, we may never have been accepted anywhere."

"What must I do to gain acceptance?" the Nord woman pressed.

Sighing with resignation, Ghorza said, "Go to a stronghold. There is one southeast of here, Dushnikh Yal. You will be given a task to fulfill. Succeed, and you will be Blook-Kin and may enter any of the strongholds in Skyrim."

"And... if I fail?"

"There is no prize for failure, Kit. To fail is to die, for the task is often difficult, quite possibly deadly. You must be willing to risk all on behalf of the Orsimer; that is what is valued."

"I have little enough left to lose," Lily said, bowing her head. "Ghorza, you once told me you left your stronghold because you did not wish to be the wife of a chieftain."

"That is so. Not just the wife, but the third wife. Such a position is not favorable, though I have known the third wife to hold some degree of prestige if she is determined enough. Or foolish enough."

"What do you mean?"

Ghorza chuckled. "I do not believe I have told you enough about the stronghold way of life. The chieftain is the only one permitted to wed, and he often has several wives. His wives run the work that sustains the stronghold. The first wife is often the Hunts-Wife, while the second is Forge-Wife."

"What does the third wife do?"

"Spread her legs, mostly," Ghorza laughed. Lily blushed fiercely. "Most chieftains I have heard of do not have very many wives. Two is often enough for them, as you can imagine. Any other women in the stronghold are likely his daughters, or perhaps the wives of a prior chieftain. If he takes a third wife, it is usually from a political arrangement with another clan, or because his position as chieftain is threatened, and he wishes to appear still in possession of his youthful vigor. That is how I have seen it, anyway."

Frowning, Lily forced herself to ask, "Would I... if I went to a stronghold, would I be required to... wed the chieftain in order to stay?"

Ghorza smiled kindly. "You are a Nord, Lily," she said. "The chieftain would not demand you be his wife in exchange for a bed to sleep in. Not only would the Orcs in the stronghold take offense, so would any Nord who learned of it. So if your heart calls you there, go. See how the Orsimer live, if you are curious."

Lily had been fascinated by Orsimeri ways ever since Ghorza and Moth set foot in Markarth several years ago. To see Orcs not sentenced to serve in the Cidhna Mine for some offense, or simply able to live comfortably enough by their smithcraft to have housing in the city instead of the Warrens beneath, was cause for notice. Though technically a race of mer, they looked so... different. Yet she could see kinship with them in so many things. The Orcs shared with the Nords much in how they honored the fallen, and in how they respected friends as well as enemies. Ghorza once told her that the Orsimer lived in Skyrim before the Nords ever came. The thought made Lily sad, for there seemed to be so many Nords, precious few Orsimer.

She would go to Dushnikh Yal, then. Or if not there, then some other stronghold, for Lily had never heard of the sort of things her parents had done when anyone she knew spoke of the Orsimer. At least there, she believed, divine laws were heeded.