A/N: So, originally wrote this as a whim. Not much effort put into it, really, didn't intend to make this more'n a oneshot. Then I saw 50 views. Don't know whether any of you liked it (except for WhisperedDarkness; thank you!) or not without more reviews, but the assassin won't let me be and so I think I am going to continue with this. So I've cleaned it up and added to it, changed the name to something a little less generic. Hope you like it. Reviews are nice! They let me know what I'm doing right!

Unfinished Business

With a creak, the wooden door opened into the inn, admitting into the smoky, nearly empty interior a soldier, a Bosmer, and the night wind, laden with the first chill that hinted at the coming autumn. The former held open the door for the slight elf, who gave the Imperial a wary glance before edging away to a far corner. The legion soldier frowned, and went to the counter; his kindred stood cleaning a cup.

"Um, some mead and whatever you have cooking," he said. With a smile, the woman set down her cloth and cup to comply. From the hearth, she spooned stew and herbs into a bowl, added a hunk of bread, and set it before him. She poured a jug's sweet contents into a cup for him.

"First patrol, hon?" she asked. His cheeks turned red and he mumbled a reply before retreating to the nearest table. "What about you, love? Anything?" she asked of the Wood Elf, seated at the small table in the corner. He looked up from the book he was scrawling in, a furtive glance at the legion soldier.

"Er, yes. Same, I suppose…" he answered, a line between his brows. She carried a steaming wooden bowl and clay cup over to him, her skirts rustling to her nimble steps.

"Is this venison?" the soldier asked. A warm smile lit over her face and she looked at him; youthful naiveté hadn't yet been whittled away. Sympathy creased the corners of her eyes before vanishing.

"Of a surety; a hunter traded a night's stay for a few cuts. A good deal, if I do say so myself. Mutton gets tedious after a time." Setting the food and drink in front of the Bosmer, she rested a fist on her hip. "Anything else, love?" He looked her over, his eyes following the linen folds and dips, opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it. Reconsidering with a cleared throat, he tried again.

"A bed for the night? I haven't a deer to trade for it, though." A toothy grin broke out over his angular face. She chuckled, good humor writ over her plain features.

"Ten coin'll do for it, and I think it was a stag; he was rather proud of it," she replied. He chuckled and slid forward payment for room and food, before digging into the hearty stew. Returning to the counter, she took up the pitcher, and sashayed to the soldier. As she refilled his cup, he fumbled through his bulky armor. A token was produced, and he stared at it with unfocused blue eyes before holding it out to her.

"Just… send it to…" he mumbled; her hand covered his, a soft smile crinkling her eyes again.

"Send it for payment to the legion, I know, hon," she said before leaving the pitcher. She retreated to the counter. The fire crackled, its cozy music underlining the scraping of wooden spoons and the gurgle of mead. Soporific warmth and hazy smoke filled the room, a snug heaviness filled with the scent of roasted venison and root vegetables soaked in herbs and milk-and-flour thickened broth. Stirring the stew, she threw a glance over her shoulder at the Bosmer. "What brings you out this way?" she asked. He swallowed his mouthful before swiping his arm across his mouth.

"Guild work," he bragged, his chest expanding with pride. She nodded and gave him a teasing grin.

"Oh? Thieves?" His eyes widened and he slid a hasty look at the soldier. The Imperial scrubbed a hand over recently cropped blond hair, then down his face over his smooth chin. He frowned into his empty cup, his eyes blinking with difficulty. The Bosmer looked back at the woman, his eyes canting left before he replied.

"Uh, Fighter's. I know, I don't look the heavy armor type, but I'm handy with a blade," he said. She leaned across the counter, hand under her chin. His eyes swept over her flimsy blouse.

"Oh yeah? Scout?" she asked. His eyes flickered again, and he nodded absently. With a shake of his thoughts, he held out his bowl. She rose slowly before walking to him with a dancers grace, and collected it. Refilling the dish for him, she brought it back, the only sound the swish of her skirts. Silence lapsed again, companionable against the dark night. She went down into the storeroom behind the hearth, and the Bosmer returned to his meal. He pulled his book out and continued writing in it. He furrowed his brow in annoyance, and pulled a map out, studying it in comparison with his book with a muttered frown.

A thud behind him made him jump nearly out of his chair, and the publican poked her head out. He swung around, and saw that the legionary had passed out. The woman hurried over to him, easing his face out of the nearly empty bowl. She gave an apologetic smile to the Bosmer, using a cloth to wipe the inebriated Imperial's face clean.

"New soldiers don't hold their liquor too well," she drawled. He laughed, and returned to his map. She passed by him and her finger tapped the parchment. "You're here, the Blue Road; where are you headed, love?" she asked, the soldier's bowl in her other hand.

"Oh, just the Imperial City. I had some business in Cheydinhal. I'm just planning another, uh, journey. Chorrol's nice this time of year, right?" he replied. She smiled and nodded.

"Right. Then you're where you want to be." She looked down at the map, her brow furrowing. He cast her a glance, and she shrugged her thought away and took his bowl as well. "You'll find the farmers've just drunk the year's surplus away already, though. Should've gone there for Harvest's End; could've joined them and had some fun."

"I was, uh, busy that day," he answered. He folded the map and put it away, set on his course. He glanced over his shoulder at the soldier again, relief plain on his face. She returned, laying a hand on his arm. "Not fond of soldiers, love?" she asked, her voice warm and beguiling.

"Did some time in the Imperial Prison, so no," he answered, then frowned. His brow furrowed, but he shook his head, and she sat down across from him. Her green eyes met his impish brown, and he was pleased to see awe in hers.

"Oh my! But you managed to, to join the Fighter's Guild? I thought they didn't, um, didn't accept…" she flushed, and he couldn't help grinning.

"They don't." Her eyes widened, then she threw her head back and laughed, a vibrant sound.

"So you are a thief! Is that why you were imprisoned? You were caught?" she asked. He shook his head, mouth quirking into a rueful grin.

"More like that bastard Lex rounded up anyone he suspected, guilty or not, and I wasn't quick enough," he admitted before taking another swallow. Still, the look she was giving him was full of admiration.

"But you've served your time?" she asked. It was his turn to laugh.

"Not exactly." He shifted, and a red glint came from his pack. He frowned at it, his face showing signs of irritation, and shifted again. She rose to retrieve the pitcher; a look in it led her to refilling it from a cask in the backroom. She returned and poured him some; his fingers brushed hers as she handed his cup to him.

"Were you the one that upset Lex?" she asked, pouring herself a cup and sipping from it, an enticing twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, yes. Usually it's the Grey Fox is who he fixates on, but I couldn't help needling him a little," he answered. He frowned again, looking at his mead. His face flushed, but there was an answering rosy glow on her cheeks. It made her rather pretty. He looked her over before adding, "Well, maybe a lot. More'n I was supposed to."

"How did you escape?" she asked, her voice full of reverence. He preened eyes dancing with mischief.

"Through great skill… and a good deal of luck," he admitted. "There's a sewer entrance outside the city, leads into the prison," he explained, taking a drink. She gaped.

"That's far more interesting than here. All I get are soldiers passing by. A traveler on an occasion, like yourself. Otherwise it's very dull," she made a face, a cute little grimace that wrinkled her nose, and took another sip.

"Well," he appeared to give it some thought, "We could make use of the bed." Her cheeks flamed, and she buried her face in the cup. He took another swallow from his, eyes focused on her. Hiding behind bay brown hair, she rose to stir the stew again. His eyes followed her, sweeping over her. She came back towards him, and he looked back at the mead. She walked behind him, utter silence and he couldn't place her until she leaned against him. Chills broke out over him at the soft press at his back. She swept aside his mahogany hair and kissed his cheek.

"The bed does sound intriguing," she whispered into his right ear with a lick at its tip; he shivered. "But Lex says hello." As he registered the remark, a blade pricked his ribs and slid between them. He choked and his eyes bulged. "Never underestimate a Captain who is wound too tight, love. They don't take kindly to being made fools of." The point speared his heart, and he collapsed onto the table. The dishes clattered to the floor, cups and jug shattering. The woman stood up, a bemused smile on her face. "And thank you for the tip," she added. She wiped her dagger onto his twitching body. She checked on the soldier, who snored heavily. A satisfied nod, and then she began searching the Bosmer.

She frowned at the large ruby necklace she found. She had seen it before, but couldn't place it. Odd for him to carry, but an added bonus for her. He had a few rings in his pack as well, gold, and a shortsword she found wanting. His map wasn't nearly as good as her own, but he'd been scribbling in his journal for awhile. She decided to pocket it, out of morbid curiosity, and then, after one more perusal of his pack, noticed a statuette. Living in Cheydinhal, it was familiar to her, and she gaped at his audacity before bursting into laughter. He was lucky its owner hadn't put out the plea to the Night Mother; it might not have requested a simple death. Pain may have been involved. Torture, even. She shivered.

She went to the hearth and began clearing out the stew. No point in burning the inn down or leaving behind evidence of her sleeping poisons she'd given the Imperial. Let the soldier think it was the mead. It would be a lesson to youthful drunkenness; the reprimand would stay with him, and she felt a fleeting sympathy for him. She checked once more on the true publican; the woman snored on her cot, but her life-beat was strong. The Imperial assassin carefully trickled more mead and draught down her throat to keep her asleep. Finally, she changed from the bloodied linens to her dark, fitted armor; she shredded the former and fed it to the fire before banking it down low.

One last trip to the dead Bosmer. She felt for his wound and coated her hand in his blood. With it, she yanked back his head and left a sanguine handprint his face and then the door before leaving. She smiled with satisfaction and headed for the stable. She checked on the sleeping horses, and noticed a pack on the Bosmer's chestnut, her fingers twitched in old habit, and she was at the saddle before she'd made the choice to move. A bow and some arrows, or disappointing quality. Supplies. Lockpicks she pocketed. Books carefully wrapped, and she claimed them as well with a cry of delight.

She left hay and water for his horse and soldier's bay, then went to her own. She led her mare away and swung into the saddle. One last look at the silent inn, shrouded in the forests shadows. She looked skyward, at the clouds that obscured the moons and stars, making it as dark as the Void. She closed her eyes to the chilling silence before vanishing into the night.