Title: Brave [13 of ?]
Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader
Summary: You explore the great Orc stronghold of Tarrath, and what you find is unexpected.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore
A/N: thank you as always for any and all feedback and interaction with my work! tentatively re-considering starting a taglist—let me know what you guys think!
Tarrath is easily triple, quadruple the size of the Kings’ City, and Steve takes great care as he guides you through it. In another life, you might have been joined by a chaperone to ensure no impropriety were to occur. But in this new life the two of you make your way without a third party for modesty, your hand held in his massive one.
Just to keep from being separated.
“I trust Carol showed you the market.” Steve ushers you through an alleyway, and you emerge in a small, tiled plaza. There is a fountain in the center of the little square, and children laugh and play in the clear water.
“A-a little. It was…”
“Overwhelming?” He supplies. “It will be better when you’ve learnt our tongue.” You nod.
“It seems rather difficult,” you admit.
“Not so difficult as yours,” Steve replies with a laugh. “So many vowels.”
“I—where did you learn? Common?” You ask, following him through the space between the houses. The street you exit onto is busy, but the crowd of people part for Steve, like water curving around a stone. He grasps your hand again, and you feel the familiar warmth in your cheeks and belly as his thumb curves protectively over your knuckles.
“In the King’s City.” Steve says after a moment. “When I was still a youngling.” His eyes go dark. “It is a story for another time.” You try to imagine a young Steve, an Orc in a city of Men, but it is difficult to see him as anything other than what he is—
Power.
The sky is bright over the tops of the shops and houses, the sun a brilliant circle set into the peerless blue. And beyond them—
The cliffs. Your heart pounds.
“Will we go over?” You ask, and he grins.
“Oh yes Little One,” he says. “I will show you the Fall.”
The edge of Tarrath is worn smooth with the passage of time and many, many people. Just beyond it the ocean crashes against the rocks, the scent of saltwater rising up from the distant shore below. Steve holds out his hand when you hesitate.
I’ll fall, I’ll fall and die—
“The city’s magic is old and strong,” he says, one foot on the cliff’s edge. “It will not fail us today.” He smiles at you gently. “Trust me.”
Do you? Do you trust him? You recall that first day—the last day, you suppose, the last day of your old life.
I’m telling you to run.
You are not that woman anymore, scared, incompetent. Your blade hangs above the mantle just the same as Carol’s, your deer horn on the little table at your bedside.
You’ve only to make it to the river!
The woman you had left in the river could not kill a deer. Nor could she skin a rabbit, hold a sword or navigate the stars—it is she who doubts him, you decide. She who whispers fearfully that he will lead you to death and ruin. But you?
You place your hand in his and step forward with him over the very edge of the world.
For a moment there is a rush of air, and the sensation of falling—before your feet touch paved street once more. The world is shifted on its axis now, the sea sparkling at you from the end of every street, like a great wall of endless blue stretching up above your head to that infinite place where it meets the sky.
You stare at it, breathless and wide eyed, too stunned to notice that the orc’s gaze is not on the spectacle above, but on you, a soft smile on his lips.
—
“Are you hungry, Sweetmeat?”
You realize that you are—starved. The meal you had shared with Carol earlier that morning is long gone now, and your stomach twists as if realizing that it is completely empty.
“Yes. But I—”
“You’ve no need of coin with me.” Steve replies, silencing your objection.
Oh.
Your face grows uncomfortably warm again, and you are ever more aware of your hand in his, of every time your bodies brush together as you pass through the streets of Tarrath.
“There is a tavern by the library.”
“There’s a library?” You ask excitedly, and Steve chuckles.
“There is no rival in all the lands. I will show you another day—the hour grows late, and the archivists do not stay long past dusk.” Disappointment dulls the spark of your excitement, but only barely. Steve is a man—well, an Orc—of his word, you know you can trust that he will make good upon his promise.
You’ve been wandering the city the better part of the day, and now the sun hangs low in the sky, close to setting. The heat has abated a little, but not much. Still, you enjoy the breeze that rises up from the sea, cooling your sweaty face. Steve leads you down a merchant-lined street, toward a wide building with a wooden sign out front. There is writing on it that you can’t read, the letters strange and unfamiliar. As you squint at it, Steve chuckles.
“Don’t worry, Sweetmeat. I’ll teach you.” He pulls aside the cloth covering the entrance and ushers you inside.
The inside of the tavern is brightly lit with a fire roaring in the hearth despite the heat outside. A few rabbits roast over it on a spit, and beneath them is a huge, bubbling pot. You sniff the air and your stomach rumbles. It smells good, like warm spiced meat and ale.
There are not many empty tables, but Steve finds one, settling down onto the wooden seat with a sigh. The seats are rather large, and your feet dangle a little off the ground when you heave yourself up into it. The barmaid approaches, furiously wiping down a warped looking glass. She chatters something in Orcish at you, and you smile apologetically.
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Com-mon?” She asks brokenly, her smile still broad. “Food eat you?” She asks, pointing at her mouth and then the cauldron over the fire. She holds up two fingers, and you realize after a moment that she means money. You look to Steve for help, and he laughs, before answering for you. You watch as he roots around in the pouch on his belt before producing two bronze coins. She takes them happily, biting one hard before reaching into her massive bosom and producing a purse of her own. She drops them in and then stows it away again.
“Bowl,” she replies happily. “I bring.” She bustles away, returning shortly with two full bowls bigger than your head along with two mugs of ale. She’s given you a healthy portion of stew and a good chunk of rabbit. You look to Steve.
“How do I say thank you?”
“Ahn lat.”
“Ayn lat,” you try, and the barmaid giggles, and says something else before she hustles back over to the packed bar. You glance at Steve.
“What did she say?” A small smile creeps across his face as he lifts the spoon to his lips.
“She said that my pretty human has nice manners.” He takes a bite as you choke on air. Your whole body goes cold and then hot, skin prickling beneath your borrowed dress.
“I—I’m not—” You grab for the ale, taking a big swallow. “I’m not, I mean, we’re not—” You think of Peter’s rejected courting gift, of the shell on your little table.
“Of course not.” He replies, though it doesn’t look as though he means it at all. You’re unsure of whether or not that bothers you. “Eat your food, Sweetmeat,” he says, eyes glittering as he takes another bite. “While it’s still warm.”
You do, taking your first bite with the too-big spoon, and it’s delicious. You close your eyes, savoring it. The spices are new and rich, and you wonder what plants they come from, if you might grow them in your little garden.
“What’s in this?” You ask through a mouthful, and Steve cocks his head.
“Probably aissa, maybe some spice-leaf. Easy enough to grow.” He smiles at you. “Would you like some seeds, Little One? For your garden?” You look down bashfully. How had he known? ”I will bring your seeds, then.”
Gods, you don’t know what to make of the feeling in your chest, joy, anticipation, and some new kind of terror that leaves you breathless. It isn’t like when the zhut had descended upon the pack, or when you had seen the village fall. This is softer. Newer.
When you are done eating—try as you might you cannot finish the massive bowl—Steve takes you back to Carol. The sun is nearly set, the first stars beginning to appear in the sky as he opens the gate for you. Carol is waiting in the doorway, arms folded with a wide, knowing grin that makes you want to flee back the way you’d come.
“Showed her the city, did you?” Carol asks. You nod.
“It was wonderful.” You turn back to Steve. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure.” He runs his thumb over your knuckles before letting you go. “And I shall bring you your seeds.” You watch him go until he disappears into the tide of bodies. Carol leans over to pat your shoulder.
“Makes quite the tender suitor, doesn’t he?” She asks, laughing. You stare at Carol, open mouthed, breath caught. Suitor? No. No. He isn’t. Least of all to you.
“What did you say?”
“Your suitor. Tender, isn’t he?” The smile on her face grows impossibly wider as you turn tail and flee up the stairs to your room as Carol’s laughter follows you.
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