Rated M for explicit sexual content and strong language.

"Go away, Faendal."

Camilla Valerius thrusts her chin in the air, squares her shoulders, and storms off down the street.

Faendal rushes to catch up wither her. "Camilla, please. Please just listen to me."

"Thanks but no thanks. That traveler told me everything—how you wrote that awful note, pretending to be Sven, in hopes that it would better your chances! You disgust me!"

"Camilla, he started it! He wrote a fake letter from me first!"

Camilla stops and whirls around, her black hair rippling in the sunlight. Faendal's heart beats faster—when she makes sudden movements like that, he gets a whiff of her perfume. Perfume from the imperial city.

Camilla's eyes narrow to dangerous slits. "You think I don't know that?" she says. "Seeing those letters—I couldn't believe it. Both of you. You're like children, tattling on each other. No, tattling would be better than trying to sabotage each other! Why didn't you come and tell me when you found out that Sven wrote a fake letter?"

Faendal looks at the ground and shuffles his feet uncomfortably. "I—I was angry. I wanted to get back at him."

"Get back at him?" Camilla's scowl deepens, accentuating her high cheekbones. "Don't you get it? If you'd just told me, I would have been upset with Sven and pleased with you for being so mature about it. But no, both of you had to behave like a couple of jealous children!"

"Camilla, wait!" Faendal grabs Camilla by her slender wrist, his heart throbbing in his chest. "I'm sorry! I'll never—I promise—"

"Let go," Camilla snaps. Her voice is like a dousing of ice water.

"No, please, you've got to hear me out—"

"Do we have a problem here?"

Faendal looks up. Lucan Valerius stands beside him with his arms folded, scowling deeply.

Faendal releases Camilla at once. "N-No, Lucan. Not at all," he says quickly, his breath catching in his throat. "I was just—"

"If I ever catch you with your hands on my sister again, I will end your miserable life, and that's a promise, elf," Lucan says. Dark haired and dramatic looking like his sister, Lucan Valerius is a terrifying sight when he's angry.

Even so, indignation rises in Faendal's chest. "I was only trying to apologize," he says, trying to keep his voice level.

"Keep your apologies. You and Sven won't be speaking to my sister ever again." Lucan's arms remained crossed, but his dark eyes glitter with malice.

Faendal looks disbelievingly at Camilla. Surely she objects to this? Fiery and independent, she is constantly resisting Lucan's control, but now she merely gazes down at her toes, not saying a word.

"Fine," Faendal seethes. "Fine." Unable to stomach Camilla's complete lack of indignation at her brother's interference, he spins on his heel and storms off, past the blacksmith forge, across the bridge, and out of sight.

It's another slow evening at the Sleeping Giant. Delphine mops the countertop with a filthy rag. She stares at the wall, not really seeing it. She mops the same spot for a good fifteen minutes before someone comes in and she looks up.

It's Sven. The boy shuffles over to the bar and plops down on a stool. He looks so miserable that even Delphine's interest is piqued.

"What's eating you, boy?" she asks, flinging the dirty rag into a bucket on the floor.

Sven starts, as though he didn't expect to find anyone at the bar. "N-Nothing. An ale, please, Delphine."

Delphine reaches under the bar and retrieves a bottle of ale and a mug. She pops and pours it for Sven, who nods gratefully, but doesn't say anything.

After a moment, Delphine goes back to tidying up. She knows from experience that if she waits long enough, Sven will eventually—

"Have you ever lost everything that matters to you, Delphine?" the boy suddenly asks, looking down at his ale as though contemplating drowning himself in it.

Satisfied, Delphine leans over the counter. "Well…" she hesitates for a long moment, apparently lost in thought. "No," she says, eyes glazed-over, "I can't say that I have."

"Well I have." Sven takes a deep gulp of ale.

Delphine smiles gently. "Does this have anything to do with Camilla Valerius?"

Sven chokes and sputters, spraying the counter and Delphine with ale. "It has everything to do with Camilla Valerius! And that smug elf! And that traveler! What's she doing anyway, poking her nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Woah, woah, woah," Delphine says, wiping the ale from her eyes. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Sven takes a deep breath and dives in. "Alright, let me tell you, I've had it up to here with that elf! I've seen him sneaking off to pick flowers, and don't think I don't know who they're for! Camilla's mine. It's only decent! She's a human, not an elf!"

"So what happened?"

"I wrote a letter. From Faendal. To help Camilla see him for what he really is—a stuck-up fool!"

Delphine frowns. "Sven, don't you think that was sort of… low?"

"No! I was only trying to help her. That elf is nothing but trouble!"

"Okay, okay. So apparently all didn't go according to plan?"

"No. That traveler—the one who came into town with Alvor's nephew—said she'd give the letter to Camilla! And she did, alright! She gave it right to Camilla and told her who really wrote it!"

Sven slams his head down on the bar and groans. "And now Camilla says she won't speak to me anymore!"

A long moment passes, in which Sven groans into the bar and Delphine strokes her chin thoughtfully. Finally she says, "Sven… give it time. I'm sure Camilla will come around."

Suddenly the door opens with a squeak. In steps Faendal, who looks around, spots Sven, and scowls deeply.

"You!" Sven booms, springing from his barstool. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here!"

At this, Delphine leans back against a post to watch.

"This is Riverwood, Sven," Faendal says acidly, his pointed features pinched with great dislike. "We can hardly avoid each other for long."

"Well you stay out of the inn," Sven snaps. "It's mine."

"Yours?" Faendal sneers. "Just like Camilla Valerius, eh?"

"You shut up about her! She's mine and you know it!"

Faendal's eyes narrow to slits of hatred. "Yours—ha! If you'd done half of the things with her that I have—"

"Things? Things?" Sven gasps, his eyes bugging. "What do you mean, things? What things?"

Faendal laughs softly. "What's the matter, Sven? Too timid to make a move?"

"No!" Sven shouts. His face is red and blotchy. "We've done plenty! I just can't believe that she would—I thought—" he chokes.

"You thought you were the only one bedding her?" Faendal sneers. Delphine looks at the ground, her face reddening ever so slightly.

Sven plops back down on his barstool, looking thunderstruck. His face crumples. "Yes."

Faendal stares at Sven for a long moment. "Well… so did I," he finally says.

Sven looks at him miserably, and for the first time, something like understanding passes between them.

Faendal's contemptuous façade crumples. He heaves a deep sigh. He isn't sure how to feel. Betrayed? Maybe. But his love for Camilla and his despair at the thought of never speaking to her again exhaust him past the point of anger. He slumps to a barstool beside Sven. All of the fight has gone out of him. Suddenly he feels like weeping.

Delphine looks uncomfortable. "Hey—you guys aren't going to fight each other or anything are you? Because I just got all the bloodstains out of the rug from last week's murder."

Both of them look at her with big, round, sad eyes. She cringes. Violence, she can handle. But she's never pretended to be an expert on feelings.

"I'm gonna go… get… more mead," she says, and escapes into the cellar.

Faendal and Sven don't seem to notice.

The inky black sky begins to lighten as Sven and Faendal sit on the steps of the Sleeping Giant Inn. Sven takes another gulp of ale and peers across the river.

"We used ta take swims in there," he slurs. "All-a time. Naked, I mean."

Faendal leans his head against the railing, shivering slightly. He's not as drunk as Sven, but something inside him feels numb all the same. "She asked me if I wanted to. But I can't swim."

Sven glances up, surprised. "Oh. Well s'not so deep. The water."

Faendal nods. "Yeah. But I'd rather do it in the grass. Or in a tree. She climbs real beautiful."

Sven nods too. "She does." He smiles vaguely. "Bout everything she does is real beautiful."

The conversation dies and man and elf stare across the water. Each thinks of Camilla—her fine dark eyebrows, deep-set green eyes, comely figure, and high, sweet laugh. Nord and wood elf alike come to the conclusion that life without Camilla Valerius is no life at all.

The sky grows rosy and the little birds in the trees begin to wake. Sven groans and puts his head in his hands. "If there was somethin' I could do… anything to make it right… I'd do it. You bet I would."

Faendal nods. "Me too."

"I thought… presents… but she doesn't really like them," Sven slurs. "But I want to make her happy. I want to make her feel like a jarl."

"That's a tall order for a girl who won't accept any presents," Faendal says sourly.

"Hey… I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"There's nothing we can do, ice brain," says Faendal, standing up in anger. "Nothing! We blew it, both of us. Lucan will probably send her back to Cyrodil, and she'll meet some imperial milk-drinker, as you Nords like to say, and raise a brood of imperial milk-drinkers."

"Don't say that," Sven mumbles, drooping visibly. "I'd rather it was you…"

Faendal's anger recedes. He slumps back to the step, exhausted. "I'd rather it was you, too. At least then I would still get to see her."

"That girl," Sven says slowly, and chuckles drunkenly.

Even Faendal cannot help smiling. "She's really something, huh?"

"Yeah… the only thing that really seems to make her happy is…"

Faendal grins. "Being bedded?"

Sven agrees with a loud guffaw. "She's crazy. Crazy little minx," he says affectionately.

"That'd make her happy…" Faendal muses, staring off into the trees. "Yeah… that's about the only thing that'd make her talk to me again, I think…" suddenly he smiles widely, his eyes glinting. "That's it!"

Faendal springs to his feet, still beaming.

"Hold on," says Sven sharply. All traces of his drunkenness are suddenly gone. "What's it?"

"I'll invite Camilla over for drinks… somehow… and I'll make her feel like a jarl! Massage her with oil… kiss her all over… drink her sweet nectar…"

"Oh no you won't!" Sven snaps, grabbing Faendal around the ankles just as the elf starts down the steps. Faendal crashes to the ground face-first, so surprised that he doesn't even try to stop himself with his hands.

Yet he leaps to his feet with surprising speed considering his inebriation and recent injury. Quick as lighting, he draws an iron dagger from his belt and cries, "Get ready to die, Nord!"

Sven rolls out of the way and Faendal's dagger comes crashing down on the step, lodging itself in a crack in the wood. Faendal braces himself with one foot and pulls on the handle of the blade, giving Sven just enough time to aim a drunken kick at his backside. Faendal tumbles over onto the ground, sending a gaggle of chickens screeching for the safety of the brush.

"Wait!" Faendal shouts, raising his hands beseechingly as Sven advances, fists raised. "We could both do it!"

Sven hesitates. "What are you talking about?" he barks. "It'd be stupid if both of us tried to do it! She'd never fall for it twice."

"Maybe, maybe not," Faendal says quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

After a long moment, Sven seems to decide to cease-fire. He groans and plops back down on the step. "Elf, you're delusional. What makes you think she's going to let either of us touch her again anyway?"

Faendal seems to be thinking fast, his eyes flickering back and forth. Finally his mouth flattens into a thin, determined line. "I don't think she would… unless we proved to her that we've changed our ways."

"How?" says Sven glumly.

"By working together."

Sven contemplates the elf sullenly. Suddenly his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Wait—are you saying—"

"Like a jarl," Faendal cuts in, plucking a flower from the side of the road and holding it out in front of him, as though offering it to Camilla.

Sven looks slightly punch-drunk. "That's… that's…"

"Messed up?"

"Yes."

"Kinky?"

"Uh huh." Sven wrinkles his nose. "Which, of course, means she'd probably be all over it…"

Faendal smiles wryly. "Indeed. Not that I relish the thought of seeing you naked, Nord, but considering the circumstances—"

"Hold on," Sven interrupts, "I didn't agree to anything yet."

Faendal laughs softly. He clasps his hands behind his back and begins to pace. "Look… Sven… I'm going to get Camilla back, whether you want a part of it or not. I simply thought I'd offer you the same opportunity, you know, out of the goodness of my heart. But if you're too soft for it, I suppose I understand."

Sven snorts. "Yeah, that, and the fact that it's not going to work without my help."

The elf smiles lightly. "That too."

A long pause follows. Sven sighs deeply and gazes across the river. He doesn't feel like sharing Camilla with anyone, especially the arrogant elf who has been his rival since Camilla moved to Riverwood. But what choice does he have? It seems that he must either share her or lose her at this point.

"Alright," Sven finally says. "Alright. For Camilla."

Faendal grins, snags his ale off the railing, and raises it. "To Camilla. The jarl."

Sven smiles back—hesitantly—and lifts his own bottle to Faendal's. They come together with a ringing chink as the sun peeks over the throat of the world.

It's finally closing time. Camilla props the broom up in the corner and sighs. There's dirt under her fingernails and she can feel a headache coming on.

Lucan is a messy shopkeeper. Trying to be subtle about cleaning up after him—restocking shelves and sweeping up in his wake—is difficult. He doesn't like to admit that he's the reason the place is so disorganized.

Camilla kneads at the base of her neck, breathing deeply through her nose. She wants a drink. But she knows that Lucan doesn't approve of her popping in and out of the tavern… especially when it's likely that Sven and Faendal will be there.

She grimaces. Her public display of complete and utter disgust for both of them has, without question, barred them from her life… she is far too proud to admit that she yearns for both of them already, in spite of the fact that it has only been three days since she last saw them.

Part of her always felt bad about two-timing them, but the thrill of it was so delicious that she couldn't bear to tell either of them the truth. They had hated each other so much already…

So what exactly did you expect them to do, Camilla? she wonders. Shaking her head, she removes the kettle from the fire, pours it in the wooden tub, and heads outside to refill it.

After several trips to the river, the tub is full of hot water. Lucan is at the tavern, so Camilla strips down and eases herself into the tub, prepared for a luxurious soak.

She dips her head and washes her hair with precious imperial shampoo. Then, with Lucan's oily homemade soap, she scrubs the soot and grime from every inch of her body.

Once she's good and pruney, she gets out, dries off, and dons in one of her less ragged dresses. She's decided that she's going for a drink, whether Lucan likes it or not.

She towel dries her dark, thick hair, braids it, and applies a spritz of perfume. She's not sure why she's going to all this fuss… Faendal and Sven will be at the Giant, of course, but under the circumstances…

When she arrives at the inn, she looks around for Lucan's disapproving face, but doesn't see it anywhere. In fact, the only people at the bar are Sven, Faendal, and Orgnar. Not much of a turnout for a Loredas night in Riverwood.

"Camilla!" says Sven, twisting around on his barstool, beaming.

Camilla bristles. Though she has been fantasizing about Sven's hot, wet mouth on hers consistently over the past few days, something in his eager expression makes her wary.

Orgnar is turning something over and over in his hands, but he looks up just as Camilla turns to leave. "Camilla, come in, have a drink."

She turns and looks at him. She hasn't had much to do with Orgnar before. He seems to keep to himself for the most part. So why does he care if she sits down for a drink?

"I hear you're pretty upset," he says, still examining something between his fingers. "Why don't you come talk about it?"

Camilla glares at Sven and Faendal. They obviously put the barkeeper up to this. "If you think I'm going to forgive anyone tonight," she says, nostrils flaring, "then I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I have nothing to say to either of your friends here."

"Oh come on, Camilla," Faendal says easily. "No one said you have to forgive anyone. Just come have a drink. Let your hair down a little." He gives her a knowing smirk that she doesn't like one bit.

Suddenly she realizes that he and Sven are sitting right next to one another, looking completely at ease. Her frown deepens. What in the world is going on? Their behavior towards one another should as antagonistic as ever. More so, actually.

Orgnar reaches under the counter and retrieves a bottle of Honningbrew Reserve. "C'mon lady. On the house."

Camilla looks from his face to Sven's to Faendal's. They look expectant, but not too expectant. As though it doesn't really matter all that much if she stays, but they'd like it all the same.

Camilla sighs. "Well… I suppose. But don't think this means anything," she says warningly to Sven and Faendal.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Faendal says.

Orgnar pops the reserve, looks around, and bends down out of sight behind the counter, muttering something about finding a clean mug.

Camilla gives a dainty sniff and sits down next to Sven. When Orgnar reappears, he hastily pours the reserve into a mug and hands it to Camilla.

"Drink up lady," he says warmly.

She takes a sip and smacks her lips. It has an unfamiliar spiciness to it that she finds… interesting. But it's still quite good. She takes a deep draught, sets the mug down, and wipes her mouth.

Sven chortles. "Only one woman in Skyrim who can drink like that."

Faendal laughs in apparent agreement.

Scowling, Camilla turns to them. "So you two are best buddies now?" she sneers. "Got a lot in common, don't you?"

"More than we could have predicted," Faendal says. He's still smiling but his eyes narrow ever so slightly.

Camilla blushes crimson. She swings the mug up to her lips and downs the rest of the reserve. Her eyes are watering by the time the last swallow goes down her throat.

"What a woman!" Sven cheers.

Camilla can't help smiling just a tiny bit. She hiccups daintily. "So you two haven't been sitting here talking about how much you hate me, then?"

Sven's grin vanishes. "No."

"Or how mean old Camilla did you wrong?" she presses. The spicy drink has emboldened her.

Faendal nods at Orgnar, who disappears into the next room. Then he leans towards Camilla, smiling slightly. "We've come to a bit of an understanding," he says.

Camilla knows his look all too well. It's the look he gives her just before he begins to undo the buttons on her dress. His gaze turns to Sven, and Camilla turns just in time to see the same look reflected on the Nord's face before it disappears.

Camilla starts; an unexpected image pops into her head—Sven and Faendal kissing roughly, their toned, naked bodies intertwined.

Heat floods to her face. "What kind of an understanding?" she asks, trying not to sound too eager, but the words come out in a rush and Faendal's grin widens.

"Well," he says, casually examining the contents of his own mug, "we've come to realize that there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends. We've got a lot in common, after all. Like you said."

Camilla can't help but shiver a little at the purr in Faendal's voice. She can't get the picture of them, together, out of her mind. Arousal sweeps through her, sweet and strong.

"That's… good," she stammers.

"Yeah, it is," Sven interjects. "Only we wish you were still our friend, too."

She clears her throat roughly. She feels hot and strange. "I'm still your friend," she says. She's not exactly sure why she says it, but it feels good coming out of her mouth.

She expects both of them to deny it, but they don't. Rather, Faendal caresses her cheek with his hand, still smiling, and says, "Then won't you join us at my house for the evening? It's a more comfortable place to drink."

Camilla knows that she ought to smack his hand away. She ought to be affronted. But here, in the dim light, with no one listening, she realizes that this is what she really wants. The wetness she feels between her legs confirms that.

"Okay," she says, getting unsteadily to her feet. Faendal follows swiftly, catching her by the elbow as she sways. It occurs to her that feels very drunk. It also occurs to her that one of Sven's hands rests lightly on her ass.

"Sven." She swats at it, still grinning, and Sven catches her hand in his. He presses it to his lips.

"Jarl Camilla," he murmurs fervently, looking into her deep green eyes.

She doesn't get the reference, but Sven's touch feels so wonderful. So does Faendal's. Sighing contentedly, she allows them to lead her out the door and into the night.