So this is a collaboration between me and my good friend and fellow fanfiction author, BrunetteAuthorette99.We always love talking about Finverior and the shit he's done in his past, more than once we've thought about the shit he and Lassarina did in their six months together, robbing Skyrim blind. A discussion of my latest chapter of Two Halves: Sovngarde Beckons finally made us want to write it. So the way this is going to work, Brunette and I will each take turn writing a chapter, but each one will be published on my page, since its set in my Dragonborn world.
We both hope you enjoy this little spinoff. It's a way for us to relax from the stress our main stories bring to the table.
CHAPTER I – Codependence
When Finverior finally woke up, he was surprised to find that it was a beautiful morning; the sun was just coming up over the mountains, the temperature was above freezing, and best of all, there was no snow in sight. Best of all, he woke up underneath some warm furs and between two gorgeous, naked women curled up next to him.
He smiled to himself. A good way to start the day.
As stealthily as he could, the Bosmer wormed his way out from his companions' embraces and the weight of the furs and half-crawled and half-stumbled out of the tent, remembering at the last second to grab his trousers and pull them on. Rubbing his eyes, he knelt by the stream running by the hunters' camp and splashed some water on his face; the cold water jerked him out of his drowsiness.
Finverior crept around the camp to retrieve the rest of his clothing – shirt, vest, belt, boots, cloak – pulling it all on as he found it. His personal effects were still by the remnants of last night's fire, so he slung the bow and quiver of arrows back onto his back and slid the sheathed daggers back onto his belt. He checked his satchel, ensuring that his coin purse, a few assorted potions and poisons, and the carefully wrapped vials of skooma were all still there.
Snatching up a partly stale loaf of bread from a basket of dried food on the rocks nearby, he cast one longing look towards the tent. The two hunters had been more than happy to entertain a traveler the night before – in more ways than one – and he wouldn't have minded waking them up for a quick tumble before they parted ways.
Unfortunately, I'd like to get to Falkreath before nightfall. He sighed and turned away, munching on the loaf of bread. Skooma doesn't deal itself.
Suddenly, he noticed the horse with its reins tied to a tree branch, pawing the ground and whickering softly at the edge of the camp site. Somehow sensing his gaze, it turned its eyes to him.
Finverior smiled, a new idea forming in his head.
oOo
Shutting the door behind him to keep out the chilly breeze, Finverior scanned the Dead Man's Drink. There weren't too many patrons in here tonight – or probably any night, for that matter, he thought wryly. Falkreath's hardly a bustling metropolis.
The Bosmer thought of the stolen horse tied up to the rail outside; even though he'd gotten to the hold capital in better time than he'd thought possible, it unfortunately seemed that there was nothing here for him anyway. From what he'd witnessed of the people here, they didn't seem amenable to purchasing something to rid them of their troubles and cares for a while.
Wouldn't hurt them any, Finverior chuckled to himself, but sobered. He'd been running low on coin for weeks, and he needed to do something to get him back on his feet, be it stealing or selling himself or even skooma dealing; he hadn't done the latter since leaving Cyrodiil and the drug wars in Bravil, and with the amount of skooma he was carrying, he kept expecting someone to come up and put a shiv in his back and take the lot.
But the fact of the matter remained that he his luck turned around as quickly as possible. And I'm sure as Oblivion not going to find any opportunities here.
He took another look around the bar, as if to prove his point to himself. A few worn-out farmers huddled over their mead at a table in the corner... a heavily rouged barmaid leaning up against the bar, talking to a tired-looking bartender... and a petite, slim figure sitting alone – a woman sitting alone.
The Bosmer perked up a bit, smiling to himself. Maybe this night won't be as much of a waste of time as I thought.
He slipped closer to the table, trying to discern more about her; however, with her pitch-black armor that fit to her body like a glove, it was as if the woman was part of the shadows herself. But as he watched, her hand fell away from the tankard of mead she was holding, and the woman buried her face in her hands, quietly weeping.
A crying woman... should be an easy sell. He strolled over casually enough, and took a seat at her table, leaning back in his chair. "What's wrong, lovely lady? Someone break your heart?"
The woman looked up, her eyes red and tear tracks streaking down her face. Even with the signs of her sorrow, Finverior could see that she was clearly attractive: heart-shaped face, pale blue almond-shaped eyes, shoulder-length auburn hair.
She glared at him, though it seemed a bit subdued. "Not interested." She took another swig from her tankard. "Go try your luck somewhere else."
"Sorry, but once Finverior sees a pretty girl crying, he can't help but try and comfort her in any way he can." He smiled charmingly.
"And I assume you're Finverior?"
"The pretty girl assumes correctly. Now, tell me, love –" he propped up his elbows on the table and leaned forward a bit "– what's troubling you?"
Her glare was fiercer this time. "None of your gods-damned business."
The Bosmer chuckled, raising an eyebrow. This one's got spirit. I like her already. "I can see your grief as plainly as your eyes are blue. You also look weary." He lowered his voice, making it a bit more soothing and persuasive. "I have something to help you relax, if you're interested."
"Already have my mead." Her fingers curled around her tankard possessively.
"I can see that, but mead can only do so much," he said. "What I'm offering you is the finest skooma, the sweetest moon sugar."
The woman's eyes widened. "Skooma?" she echoed. "You – you mean the drug?"
He nodded slowly, feeling his smile grow. "Some call it a drug. I call it a way to let loose... to forget your troubles."
With the flair of a magician, Finverior pulled out a single vial of skooma – fished out from his satchel and unwrapped during his pitch – and rolled it between his fingers and the table top, all the while gazing at her, trying to gauge her reaction. Her head was down, but her hand left her tankard and reached out for the vial, as if she were in a dream. He grasped her wrist, and it seemed to bring her out of her stupor.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with pain and want. "How much?" she asked softly.
"For you, beautiful, the first one is on the house." He passed it to her before he could change his mind about the pricing. "Enjoy."
The woman uncorked the vial and raised it to her lips, but then she glanced archly over at him. "You're going to make a lady drink alone?"
The Bosmer laughed quietly and pulled out another vial from his satchel for himself. He uncorked it and drank, relishing the sweetness on his tongue. Good batch. I can hardly tell my own from what I bought from the Khajiit.
He glanced over at the woman, who was staring at her own empty vial. The tears were drying on her face and she already looked a bit brighter, more lively.
She met his gaze, and he grinned at her. "So what's your name, beautiful?"
The woman returned his smirk, leaning back in her chair. "Lassarina."
"Lassarina," he repeated, placing emphasis on each syllable. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." His smile broadened even further. "Feel like having some fun?"
oOo
When Finverior finally woke up, he was surprised to find himself in a narrow bed – without anyone sleeping next to him, no less – in an equally narrow and dusty room. There was no window to let natural light in, but there was a candle on his bedside table that flickered in the dim light.
The Bosmer sat up, rubbing his forehead, already feeling the throbbing headache that heralded a hangover. I must have had a lot to drink last night to warrant that, he thought wryly. What was the occasion?
"You're awake."
He glanced over, squinting his bleary eyes at the nearby chair. A petite, slim woman in black leather armor that highlighted her curves was leaning back in it, her auburn hair lying around her shoulders in tangles.
She looks familiar... Finverior pointed at her, trying to place her. "Lassarina, right? That is your name, beautiful?"
She stared at him coolly with pale-blue eyes. "You don't remember anything?"
"My mind's not exactly functional first thing in the morning. Besides, I take my sweet time getting up, princess." He stretched his arms upwards, noting that he was shirtless; judging by the fur blanket draped over his lap, he was willing to bet he was pants-less as well. "Unlike you. Look at you: all dressed and ready to leave me." The Bosmer gave her a mock-sad look.
Her gaze hardened. "We didn't sleep together – though not for lack of you trying."
"Pity." He shrugged, dropping his arms. "So enlighten me, beautiful: what did happen?"
"We drank together – you much more than I did. We talked, we laughed. You sang at one point." Lassarina smiled slightly, but it faded. "And – and you sold me some skooma."
Now it's coming back to me. Finverior nodded knowingly. "And now you want more?"
He could practically see her facade of strength crumbling. "Yes. I do, I do –" She stopped, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the words she'd uttered. "But I – I gave you what coin I had last night for the other vials. I don't have any more."
The Bosmer regarded her for a moment. Then he grinned. "Well, there's always ways to get more money, sweetheart. Just as many ways as there are to spend it."
Lassarina laughed, and he got a glimpse of the kind of woman she'd been the night before: bright and beautiful like a falling star, and falling just as fast. "Oh, I know. You don't think I know a thief when I see one?" she said teasingly.
He raised his hands in false surrender. "You've got me there, beautiful. I didn't know you were with the Guild, though," he added, gesturing to her armor. "Don't exactly look like you run with them – no slight meant."
Her good humor faded again. "You're not with the Guild, are you?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes worried.
"Me? Nah. I prefer to carry out my criminal activities on my own," Finverior chuckled. "It's easier than having an army of superiors breathing down my back."
Lassarina pursed her lips in thought, now pensive. Then: "I don't suppose you have room for one more, do you?"
The Bosmer raised an eyebrow. "You want to travel with me?" he asked incredulously.
She nodded.
He whistled in astonishment. Well, well. I'm beginning to be very glad that I stopped in Falkreath. "It isn't every day a beautiful thief like yourself wants to be partners with a sleazy deadbeat like me," he said, flashing her a lecherous grin.
"I have some rules, though," Lassarina interrupted warningly, putting up one finger. "One: don't try to sleep with me."
Finverior was about to protest, but underneath her glare, he settled for sighing dramatically. "Oh, fine. I hope you do realize I'm bound to slip up every now and then, though."
She ignored him. "Two: you try and steal from me, and I'll kill you."
"C'mon, princess. I'm not that desperate for coin that I'd steal from a fellow thief."
She snorted, tossing her head a bit. "Three: you don't ask about me, or what I do, or my past, or anything."
His eyebrow went a little higher. "You're not exactly in upstanding company, beautiful. I doubt you're any worse than me."
Lassarina swallowed. "Four," she continued, her voice shaking, "we don't set foot in Whiterun – and you don't ask why," she added.
"Are you quite done yet?" he asked dryly.
"Aye, I am." Her eyes bored into him. "Do you agree?"
The Bosmer shrugged. "Fine, fine. Whatever you say. Say," he continued, "you don't mind being called 'Rina,' do you?"
She shook her head stiffly. "No." Some of the ice in her demeanor melted again. "Not if you don't mind being called 'Finn.'"
"Nah. All of my friends call me 'Finn.'" He grinned, holding out his hand. "Ready to get this show on the road? I couldn't help but notice that Jarl Siddgeir has some very nice jewelry that needs to be liberated from him."
A small smile curving her lips, Lassarina shook his hand. "That sounds like a good place to start."
This Chapter was written by BrunetteAuthorette99.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter and will stick around for more of Lassarina and Finverior's adventures through Skyrim! Make sure to Fave/Follow/Review and as always, we appreciate the support and love we get from our loyal readers!