A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It was the Orc's choice of reading that caught his eye.

Erandur had seen many things in his life, and not all of them were things that could be restricted to the temporal plane. His history was checkered enough that, if he were ever to write a book (unlikely. Mara blessed him in many ways, but gift of readable prose was not one of them), he could certainly fill it thick with accountings of strange sightings.

And yet the Orc sitting off on a side table, silently drinking a mug of what looked like Nordic mead, while reading a battered copy of Antecedents of Dwemer Law, was one of the strangest things that he had ever laid eyes upon. It was not that natives of Orsinium were against reading; he'd certainly seen more than a few Orcs with a book. It's just that…Antecedents was a phenomenally dense text. And it was certainly not the kind of book that one read in a public place like an inn. Not unless one wanted not to be bothered, that is.

The Orc was dressed in your standard banded iron armor, with a hood covering his head. A thick beard stuck out from underneath, but other than that the Orc seemed not to care about anything else in the world. And he certainly did not seem to be troubled with the nightmares that plagued the poor people of Dawnstar.

Erandur knew that he was called by Lady Mara to save these people, but all the same he knew that returning to Nightcaller Temple meant facing demons that he was not sure he was ready to face alone. And no one else in the city seemed brave enough or strong enough to do what might be needed.

So Erandur approached the Orc, and introduced himself.

…

Erandur shivered as they made their way down the stony steps of the temple. The Orc had needed surprisingly little convincing to come along. The dark elf had assumed that the Orc would tell him to go to hell, but instead the Orc had listened pensively to the pleas of the priest as he explained how the citizens of Dawnstar were being torn apart by nightmares that originated from something beyond the mortal plane. He had not scoffed, or dismissed Erandur's story. As soon as Erandur was finished, the Orc had spoken.

"Is there no one else to help you?"

He had a gruff voice, but that was befitting his species.

When Erandur confessed that he was alone, the Orc had sighed heavily. But then he put his copy of Antecedents in a bulging backpack that he kept at his feet, and gathered his things. That was how the Orc had accepted to help Erandur. And that was how they found themselves looking through the library that Erandur had spent many an hour when he was once Brother Casimir, devotee of Vaermina.

The library was destroyed, with most of the shelves knocked over or destroyed and many of the books set on fire. As he stepped over the bodies of the Orc invaders (and his former colleagues of Vaermina), Erandur looked around with a wistful expression. He knew that he would be paying penance to Mara for a very long time because of what he did as Casimir. He knew that he was very likely damned. But he hoped that his actions in the autumn of his life would make up for the errors of his youth.

He was distracted from his musings by the sounds of shuffling. He turned around to see that the Orc was plucking books from the shelves, and curiously looking them over. All they needed was the tome about the Dreamstride, but the Orc was clearly not stopping there. Erandur did not really care that the Orc was taking books and, if they were good, putting them in his backpack; he had long since stopped having any connections to this place. But, still, Erandur's curiosity got the better of him.

"For what reason do you find yourself drawn to these books, my son?" Erandur asked.

The Orc looked up at him, and gave him a somewhat pointed stare.

"I'm building a house. These are going in my library."

"I'm building a house." Erandur would become very used to this phrase, or some derivative of such, over the many months to come that he spent in the company of the Orc. When they had banished the Skull of Corruption to the other realms, the Orc had not objected to Erandur offering his services to him as a partner.

"I am not much of a talker." The Orc warned Erandur, as they left the temple behind.

He wasn't kidding.

…

But as time went on, Erandur saw his opportunity to make the best of an…interesting situation. While the Orc traipsed around Skyrim, doing any odd job that seemed to come his way (People seemed to find it strange that an Orc's motivation for doing something was to build a house, and in Skyrim of all places), Erandur used his nomadic lifestyle as a means to spread the word of Mara. He was not sure what the Orc believed, but he was appreciative of the fact that the Orc gently stayed off to the side while he spoke to interested souls across the country.

"Perhaps Riften is not the place to preach your sermons, elf." The Orc had said one day, as they left the aforementioned accursed city.

"Mara's faith in me manifests itself as patience towards those most resistant to the core of her message." Erandur replied, though he was admittedly bitterly disappointed in the lack of interest in Her Lady's message. "Though I will confess that some days that patience is tested more than others."

They walked in silence for a few moments more. Then, as the Orc ducked under a low-hanging tree, he stopped and looked at Erandur.

"Yes, my son?" Erandur asked.

"I'll have some things in my house for Mara." The Orc said flatly. He then turned back around and continued to lead them to Markarth, where there were rumors of work.

He did not see the grateful smile on the elf behind him.

…

As time went on, and as news of the war dragged on, the two of them found themselves staying closer to Solitude's side of the nation than Winterhold. Erandur had first seen Solitude in the distance as the two of them rested on the shores of the Karth delta, somewhere in the northern region of Hjaalmarch. In the distance, the capital city of Skyrim seemed to be carved out of the mountainside. The setting sun painted the city a glowing orange hue, and the Blue Palace looked positively radiant.

"That's quite a view." Erandur said.

"Unforgettable." The Orc agreed. He was sketching something in the margins of a book he was reading. The Wolf Queen, Vol. 3.

It was not long before Erandur came to suspect that the Orc wanted to build his house in Hjaalmarch. They had done almost every job imaginable in Morthal, and the Orc had even been named a Thane of the Hold for his work in solving the mystery of Hroggar's house fire. Though, "vampires" hadn't exactly been what Erandur signed up for. He was a paactictioner of Mara's love and message, not a cave-spelunking cleanser of the dark. But, then again, he supposed that Her Ladyship had chosen his path for a reason.

As he stepped over the body of Movarth, Erandur looked over at the Orc. Sure enough, he was gingerly rifling through the personal effects of the now-deceased vampires. Whenever he came across a book that seemed particularly interesting, the Orc placed it in that backpack that he was carrying. It was bulging quite a bit now; Erandur wondered how many books he'd put in there. Certainly at least ten or twelve since he'd started travelling with the Orc.

"See anything you like?" Erandur asked, as he cleaned off his mace.

"I'm missing a volume of The History of the Empire." The Orc said. "This vampire had it. Figure he won't miss it."

At this, Erandur couldn't help but speak.

"My son, if you don't mind me prying…why not simply buy the books? It might be a more convenient way to get the exact tomes that you look for."

Not to mention far less dangerous.

The Orc looked at Erandur, and actually raised an eyebrow.

"Buying books costs money. And I'm saving my money-"

"-to build a house." Erandur finished, a wry smile appearing on his own lips. "I should have expected that, to be honest."

"We've only been travelling together for a few months." The Orc replied. But underneath his hood, Erandur caught a glimpse of a smirk. Of amusement.

He didn't think he'd ever seen the Orc smile before.

…

Erandur's suspicions about the Orc's wishes to settle in Hjaalmarch were confirmed after they returned to Highmoon Hall in Morthal. Jarl Idgrod proclaimed the Orc a Thane of her court in thanks for his efforts around the keep, and assigned him a Housecarl (a burly-looking Nord named Valdimar. He seemed kind enough, and had been remarkably polite to Erandur.)

As soon as she finished the oath to anoint him a Thane, the Jarl looked at the Orc with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Now, my Thane, what can I do for you?"

The Orc's response was almost immediate.

"I would like to purchase property in your hold. I want to build a house."

"Well, it's not every day that I get such a request." The Jarl said, the twinkle in her aged eye staying strong. "What say I send you and a few appraisers to the north? There's some property at the mouth of the Karth delta. Perhaps you might like that place?"

"I've seen it already." The Orc said. In that moment, Erandur knew that he'd seen it too. It was that piece of land that the Orc had deemed unforgettable. "You may keep your appraisers. I will buy the lot."

"Splendid." The Jarl said. "I eagerly await to see what you do with it."

…

The Orc was talented at smithing and building. While he certainly had impressed Erandur with his way with a sword and a crossbow, it was in the building that the Orc truly seemed to showcase his true calling. Erandur watched as the empty plot of land slowly turned into a small house, which soon added a main hall, which soon added a porch overlooking the Karth delta, which soon added a fishing hatchery and stable and garden.

The Orc had hired a few Nords from the Morthal, but they were mostly there to deliver supplies to the Orc. It was here that the Orc seemed to be in his element. He was an expert in asking questions about the right kind of lumber to use, whether or not he was getting the full value out of the iron ingots that were being sold to him, and once or twice Erandur thought he was going to tell the craftsmen that he was just going to do it himself because clearly he knew more than you two milk-drinkers when it came to smelting.

On second thought, Erandur hadn't imagined that last bit. That had happened last week.

It took a few weeks for the house to get built, which Erandur thought was kind of a miracle. No one should be that good at building things that fast. But then again, the Orc was not exactly the typical figure that the priest had met. Erandur helped a little bit, but to be fair the Orc didn't seem like he needed all that much help with building things. So Erandur took it upon himself to occupy his time with his new task: he might not have had a lot of success himself in Riften, but he had made connections with the temple of Mara there, as well as a do-gooder by the name of Mjoll. He wondered if he could play a part, even if it was miniscule, in helping bring some degree of stability and peace to a city that had been infested with corruption and vice.

Thus, letter-writing and philiosophical musings began to take up the majority of Erandur's time. The Orc never told him to stop. If anything, Erandur viewed his silence on the subject as a form of encouragement.

One night, as the sun was beginning to set, the Orc set down his hammer and took a look at the house around them.

"That's a good house." He said. He pulled down his hood for the first time that Erandur had ever seen, exposing his battle-scarred face and well-kept ponytail. He stroked his beard in thought, and then looked over to Erandur. "We should have a feast."

…

It was venison and elk and an assortment of fish and other roots that grew around the property. Valdimar kept the fire going, as they sat out on the porch and watched the sun set and turn Solitude into a mountain of orange and red.

"It's quite a view." Erandur said.

"And quite a house." Valdimar offered, turning the roast elk on the stick just a few yards from the table.

The Orc nodded. But something seemed to have changed. Erandur watched his eyes. The determined gleam that always seemed to dictate his expression wasn't there. Instead, there was a decided lack of anything. All except one.

Confusion.

"My son, I have a question."

The Orc was silent, but he made it clear to Erandur that he was listening.

"What happens now? You have your house, don't you?"

"I do." The Orc replied.

"Was this your only goal in life?"

There was a look in the Orc's eye that seemed to hit Erandur right in the stomach. Because, in that moment, the Orc made it clear that the answer was yes. And now that he was on the threshold of what he had been fighting for for whatever amount of time, the Orc seemed to realize that he did not know what to do with himself. And slowly, a sheen of panic seemed to fill the Orc's eyes.

But Erandur found himself speaking again.

"You know, perhaps you could make your house home to the greatest library in Skyrim?" He began. "You certainly have gathered a lot of books in our time together. Perhaps that's the next step?"

And in a flash, the panic in the Orc's eyes disappeared. He looked at Erandur, and nodded.

"That would be good. What is the biggest library in Skyrim at this point?"

Erandur found himself caught for a loop. He hadn't expected the Orc to ask a question that, in all honesty, Erandur had no idea how to answer. But in that brief moment, Erandur took a guess.

"I imagine the College of Winterhold, my son."

"Then tomorrow we make our way to the College."

…

With Valdimar keeping the house secure while they left, the Orc and Erandur took a carriage out of the house and towards Winterhold. Along the ride, the Orc began to start talking a little bit more. He mentioned things about himself that he had never told Erandur before. Of how he had grown up in a family where the father was a blacksmith and the mother was a librarian. How rockjoint and other illnesses caught his father, and how a fire shortly after gutted their childhood home. In their destitution his mother had built a little shack next to the library where she worked for them to live.

He spoke of how he lived every day in the library, but always remembered the sense of longing for his own private place to live again. How, even though the library was quiet, it was not truly his, and the books there were not his own. His mother passed shortly before he made his decision to leave Orsinium, but had given him a copy of a book that he kept in his bag. He still hadn't taken the book out of the bag, but mentioned that it was one that his father had read to the children every night when he came home from work.

Erandur listened, but said nothing.

They arrived in Winterhold in a blistering snowstorm. Yet, as they approached the College, it was clear that the magic there was at work keeping the snow away from the stony walls that kept the inhabitants warm. Erandur was in awe of the majesty of this place, and wondered if perhaps he might spend some time researching here if they would let him.

It was only because of Erandur's rudimentary displays of magic that the two were allowed entry. Though, according to the lady that stood guard, the requirements were merely a safety precaution. At the door to the great hall of the College, they were greeted by a pair of wizards: Tolfdir, an old Nord adept at defensive magic, and the Archmage. The Archmage looked at the two of them, and smiled slightly.

"We haven't had visitors to the College in a while." The Archmage said. "Things have been…rather chaotic. But they have settled down."

"I heard you have the largest library in Skyrim." The Orc began, cutting off the Archmage's speech. "I wish to buy some of your books."

"Hmm, I do not know if I can sell books right now." The Archmage said. "But I can certainly sign off on an inter-library loan system. Perhaps Urog, our librarian, might agree?"

"Archmage, Urog might flense me if I ask him that." Tolfdir said.

"And he'll flense me if I simply sell books without his approval." The Archmage said with a grin. "My friends, speak to Urog. I am sure that you can come to an agreement." The Archmage smiled, and left with Tolfdir to discuss other matters.

…

The Archmage was right. Urog might have flensed someone if the books were simply sold.

"Do I look like I run a bookstore?" The surly Orc growled, staring at Erandur and his friend. "The tomes we have here at ancient! They would never survive outside of the college's controlled environment."

"I'm not asking for your spellbooks." The Orc countered. "I want your surplus novels and tomes. Anything that you don't need."

"That's the thing about running a college. You never know what books you actually might need." Urog gro-Shub said. "I'm still not convinced that I can part with our books."

"My friend here is the preminent scholar on Mara." The Orc said suddenly. Both Urog and Erandur turned towards the Orc.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Urog asked.

"Don't you want an advance copy of his latest book?"

Urog looked over at Erandur. He stared at him suspiciously.

"What's it about?"

Erandur took a deep breath. Not necessarily because he was having trouble breathing, but because his friend had just invented something out of whole cloth. He might be a priest of Mara, yes, but he certainly wasn't the preeminent scholar on the topic and he certainly wasn't in the middle of writing a book.

"Oh, simply my observations on how her teachings can affect those that are disinherited." Erandur quickly fibbed. Urog raised an eyebrow.

"…Sounds fascinating." He said. "When can I expect a copy?"

"A few weeks. It's still in the manuscript stage." The Orc said. "We'll send it to you when he puts the finishing touches on the manuscript."

"I don't usually read manuscript versions of stories." Urog said. "But if it's good…I'll see about loaning books to your library."

…

"Have you gone completely mad?" Erandur asked, as they left the library. "I cannot believe that you did that, my son! You just lied to an eminent scholar in Skyrim!"

"How?" The Orc said. "You are a priest of Mara. You write a lot of letters to people about Mara. I've read some of your things. They're good. It wouldn't be too hard to write a book based on your letters."

"Writing letters and writing books are two very different things, my son." Erandur said sternly.

"How so?" The Orc replied. "Isn't it just a matter of putting pen to paper?"

Erandur was about to speak, but realized that – in a way – the Orc had a point. He noticed the Orc reaching in his pocket. As soon as he pulled out the bag, he put it in Erandur's hands. It was a purse full of gold.

"It's for the house." He said.

Erandur had half a mind to shove the money back in the Orc's hand, but then he remembered the brief look of absolute fear in the Orc's eyes several days ago when they'd had dinner and he'd realized that he didn't know what to do with his life. And Erandur did not want his friend to have no sense of purpose.

"Fine." Erandur said. "But don't be surprised if it doesn't impress Urog."

…

It impressed Urog so much that he asked for several more copies, with the exclusive rights to print and distribute throughout Skyrim.

Within weeks, scores of couriers came to the house, handing Erandur letters from fellow devotees of Mara, who appreciated his reflections and hoped that he would continue writing. Erandur thought that the people would see his prose as clunky and boring; instead, readers found it straightforward and honest.

And, true to his word, Urog began sending books to the Orc's house in Hjaalmarch. Sometimes they came unattended, and sometimes a mage from the College came to help deliver the tomes (usualy as a punishment assignment for screwing something up back at the College). Sometimes it was the Khajiit mage, other times it was the Nord mage.

And other times it was the dark elf mage. Brelyna, her name was. Sweet thing, though clumsier than a drunken Skeever. Erandur was sitting up on the porch one day, watching her unload a book from the back of the carriage from the College, where her foot caught and she fell over backwards.

…Only to land in the arms of the Orc, who'd materialized behind her like a member of the Dark Brotherhood and caught her in his arms.

"Oh, goodness I'm so sorry!" The dark elf said.

"Don't be. Mistakes happen." The Orc said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…" Brelyna said, as the Orc gently lowered her to the ground. "Yes, I'm fine."

Erandur watched this exchange from his vantage point on the porch, and smiled to himself. He looked down at his own chest, where his personal amulet of Mara was tucked under his robes, and wondered when the Orc himself would ask him for one.

…

Months passed. Erandur knew nothing about the state of the Skyrim Civil War, and he knew that his friend had no idea either. Not only that, but he probably also did not care in the slightest. They were more concerned with expanding the library in the house, adding many a nice novelty to the interior…and building a smaller house off to the edge of the property for Erandur himself. The Orc had approached him one day, as Erandur was writing a letter to Mjoll (she'd been named the Thane of Riften in the aftermath of Maven Black-Briar's fleeing from the city on charges of corruption, racketeering, murder, and other distasteful crimes), and it was clear that he had something on his mind.

"You need your own house." The Orc said.

"Why, my son, are you kicking me out?" Erandur asked somewhat wrily.

"Never." The Orc said. "You simply deserve your own space."

Erandur's house was on the edge of the property, and hardly as large as the Orc's. (He had insisted, despite the Orc's willingness to build another mansion for him) But it was nice and home-y, and he enjoyed the quiet every now and then to work on his writing.

…Ah, yes. The quiet.

That was surprisingly in short supply, especially after the Orc's most ridiculous stunt yet.

They had been in Whiterun one day, wandering around the Gildergreen in the center of town. As the Orc had been talking to Danica, the priestess of the city, Erandur had noticed a young girl who was in tattered clothes and walking aimlessly through the square. She noticed Erandur and walked up to him.

"How may I help you, my child?" Erandur asked.

"Could you spare a gold coin, mister?" She asked.

Ah, a child who had no home. Erandur pushed back the welling of grief that threatened to consume his heart, and reached into his pocket.

"I can spare a few gold." He said. "But perhaps you'd like to sit down? Your shoes are worn out."

The little girl took a seat next to him.

"What is your name, my dear?"

"Lucia." She said.

"And where, if I might ask, are your parents?"

Her silence told him all he needed to know.

"If you would not mind, may I say a prayer to Her Lady Mara on behalf of your parents?" Erandur asked.

"Sure." Lucia said.

Erandur said a prayer. He noticed that the girl was hanging on every word, but felt his heart break. He didn't know the slightest thing about being a father, otherwise he might-

"Erandur, who is this?"

The Orc had returned.

"Hi mister. I'm Lucia. I was talking to your friend. He gave me some gold."

"Why do you need gold? Are your parents unable to help you at home?"

"…I don't have a home, mister. Or parents."

The Orc seemed to stare off into the distance. He wasn't even blinking, and when Erandur looked him in the eye the Orc seemed to be looking right through him. And then he looked at the girl.

"Would you like a place to live?"

And that was how Erandur watched as first Lucia, and then a girl by the name of Sofie (who'd been selling flowers in the streets of Windhelm) were the newest inhabitants of the Orc's house.

…

Roughly six months later, after many (many) more visits (Erandur suspected that Brelyna had been intentionally getting the assignment of book delivery), the Orc asked him for an amulet of Mara. A month after that, the two of them asked Erandur to officiate their wedding.

By now, Erandur was truly considered the preeminent disciple of Mara in all of Skyrim (and one of the more well-known devotees in all of Tamriel, thanks to his writings), and as such was more than well-versed in officiating weddings.

It was a lovely ceremony, in the back yard of the house, as the sun set brilliantly over the Karth delta. Urog and a few of the College mage apprentices were in attendance. There was also Jarl Idgrod, as well as a few other citizens of Morthal. Erandur conducted the ceremony, and he had to do his best not to grin the entire time.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the greatest gift that Her Ladyship Mara bestowed upon Tamriel: that of love, and of the love that can form between others." He said, holding his prayerbook in his hand and standing in front of a makeshift altar that held a homemade Statue of Mara. "And, more specifically, we gather to celebrate the union of two delightful souls in holy matrimony."

The rest of it was the basic sort of thing you would hear in a wedding. The Orc had insisted that Erandur keep it simple, as he never liked a fuss. All the same, Erandur had made sure that as many people knew of this event. He figured his friend deserved that much.

Friend.

It wasn't a word that had been used a lot in relation to the two of them. Certainly, Erandur had suspected it. After all, the Orc would have dismissed him a long time ago if they were merely business partners or in a contracted situation. But, instead, they'd stayed together and seen many a thing together. And though Erandur suspected, words could not describe the happiness he felt when the Orc had approached him to ask for his help in setting up the marriage.

"I've never officiated." Erandur said.

"I wouldn't ask anyone other than my friend to do this." The Orc had replied.

…

The ceremony was complete. Erandur watched as Sofie and Lucia were pestering Brelyna for a display of magic tricks, while the Orc was congratulated by some of the hardier Nords in Morthal for his success. It was clear from the twinkle in the Orc's eyes that he never had expected to be in this position. And Erandur was happy to have watched it. He was happy to see his friend happy.

"A lovely ceremony, yes?"

Erandur turned to see Tolfdir standing next to him. The old Nord was dressed in as formal of wear as he could, and had a goblet of mead in his hands.

"Indeed."

"Your friend should be proud of the path he's built. Am I correct in knowing that he is a self-made man?"

"Indeed he is." Erandur said.

"Well, not entirely." Tolfdir said. "He made it quite clear that he holds you in quite high regard."

"And I do the same for him." Erandur said. Tolfdir chuckled.

"I was actually speaking to the Archmage; we both agree that the two of you are examples of how Skyrim can recover in the aftermath of the Stormcloak Rebellion: you in your preachings of love and Mara's goodness, and your friend's subtle generosity. He asked us to get in touch with the Bard's College in Solitude. He wants to see about building a school or two in Morthal."

"He's never mentioned that to me." Erandur mused.

"Sometimes people are more concerned with the act of doing good than in letting people know that they seek to do good." Tolfdir said.

Erandur nodded silently.

Tolfdir looked around, and chuckled again.

"Yes, the Archmage should be here soon. There was a matter up on High Hrothgar that needed to be attended to."

At this, Erandur stopped cold. He looked over at Tolfdir.

"Why on earth was the Archmage of the College of Winterhold all the way up on High Hrothgar? That's the Throat of the World!"

Tolfdir looked at Erandur, and shrugged.

"Well, let's just say that the Archmage…she's more than just an Archmage."

…

All other conversation and merriment was cut off by the sounds of an earth-shattering roar. Everyone looked up to the sky, and saw something that none of them had ever dreamed or wished to see in their lives.

A dragon.

It was a faded gold color, its scales dulled with age and the wear of untold millennia of life. It lazily looped around the sky, and then looped around the manor that the Orc had spent so much time building. It landed gracefully in front of everyone.

There was a pause of shock, and then the Dragon spoke.

"Dreh ni faas!" The Dragon boomed. "Zu'u bo ko drem." It looked at their confused expressions. "Do not fear. I come in peace."

That seemed to relax everyone, but only marginally. The Dragon looked around.

"Where is the owner of this beautiful home?" The Dragon asked.

The Orc stepped forward, instinctively placing himself between Brelyna, Sofie and Lucia.

"Kogaan hi ahrk hin kiim!" The Dragon rumbled. "Bless you and your wife." It said again, translating the ancient speech. It looked at the wary mortals before it, and a rumble escaped from its throat. It sounded like an ancient chuckle. "My name is Paarthurnax. I am friend of the Dovahkiin, and wish to pay respects to the wedded couple on her behalf." Paarthurnax looked on his back. "Though, perhaps I should let her speak for me."

Sitting astride the ancient golden dragon's back was a woman dressed in ancient Dragon armor, though she was not wearing a helm. She had a glittering sword attached to her hip, and she hopped off of the Dragon's back and walked towards the congregation. In silence, they all gawked at her. And then Tolfdir spoke.

"I was afraid you would not make it, Archmage!"

She laughed. It was a surprisingly musical sound. She walked towards the Orc, and bowed respectfully. Her fire-red hair had been tied back into a braided ponytail that went down to her back, which had a jade jewel woven into the end. She stood upright, and reached into her pocket.

"My gift for the wedded couple." She said.

It was a pouch of gold. Erandur could see, just from the size of the pouch and the sound of the coins, that it was a frighteningly large sum of money. The Dovahkiin looked at the Orc, another soul who had started from nothing and now found himself in a position of content, and smiled.

"It's for the house."

A/N: In between my Fallout fanfic Ragnarok and my Mass Effect fanfic Blessed Be The Peacemakers, I got bored, and wrote this over the course of an afternoon. Hope it isn't too shabby.