Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews guys, they're awesome, lol and makin' me blush! Please continue to let me know whatcha think, feedback rocks my world!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

.

.

.

The Milk Drinker's Revenge

Chapter 4

.

.

Farkas paced behind her like like a restless wolf, and if she didn't look at him, Bel could almost imagine that a giant hairy mutant canine was lurking behind her instead of an absurdly good looking Nordic dude. Sven's letter was clenched in her fist, and as she stalked up to Faendal she squelched the urge to light him up like an snobby elven torch. Faendal had cost her her dignity, a good deal of time and experience, and a hell of a lot of loot when he'd betrayed her without warning. Bel had been set back a full day. She wasn't a lot, but she could hold a grudge like nobody's business.

Faendal shooting her in the knee? Oh yea, she carried a grudge like a giant carried a super sized club. For the longest time Bel had entertained blowing him to smithereens, but she hadn't been sure if she could have gotten away with murdering him in Riverwood, and losing Riverwood's business wasn't something that she could afford. She still thought about it though, quite fondly actually.

The Bosmer elf seemed to sense the fact that there was someone nearby who wanted to set him on fire and dance on his flaming remains because he abruptly straightened from his wood chopping and reached for his bow. Bel made sure to wipe the murderous thoughts off of her face before she approached him. Creeped out and afraid people didn't manipulate well.

"Hey Faendal," she said airily, like he hadn't almost killed her, "Got a moment?"

He didn't set down his bow and his gaze flitted to Farkas, who was fairly prowling along behind her. Faendal held his bow loosely, the string without an arrow, but he kept his quiver within easy grabbing reach. Smart man.

"What do you want?"

She held up her hands. "Geez, chill. Got a moment? I need some archery training."

Faendal sighed. "Fine. But I'm not partnering up with you."

"Why?" Bel asked. She was genuinely curious. He had shot her, not the other way around.

"Because I am well aware that whenever I'd train you when you were my companion, you would take my money back from my knapsack when I was otherwise occupied."

Farkas watched Bel turn an astonishing shade of red and she mumbled something about "it's not stealing if we're partners." He grinned. She really was pretty when she was embarrassed. Fuck, she was pretty when she was elbows deep in dead bandits and looting like a madwoman. Farkas leaned his hip against the woodpile and crossed his arms, grin widening as her pinkening cheeks started to blend in with her war paint.

"Lydia wasn't kidding," he said, reaching out and tugging fondly on a stray braid, "Klepto."

Bel batted his hand away, still red. "Shut up."

Faendal wasn't impressed with either of them. "Do you want the training or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." Bel knew that she could put an arrow right in his eye all the way from the other end of town, but she needed him to keep talking to her. Drama was on the line here.

She set down Sven's letter and hefted the ebony bow she was quite proud of. It was a beautiful piece, her baby. Found in one of the draugr crypts littering Skyrim, she'd almost cried when she saw how much damage it dealt out compared to the dwarven one she had been using earlier. The twisted black wood absorbed all light, and the poison she applied to it regularly gave it a slight green sheen that showed up nicely against the dark wood.

Faendal wasn't admiring her bow, however. He was reading Sven's letter. Bel enjoyed watching his face change from incredulous exasperation to disgust. He crumpled it in his fist, fine boned face twisting in unabashed fury. For a moment she thought he was going to attack her and flames licked along her fist, ready for a confrontation. If he struck first, then she could kick his ass without fear of the town retaliating. She would have so much fun looting his corpse, yes, yes she would. Bel would take the clothes off of his back and leave him propped up in his skivvies somewhere, probably on main street cuddling a goat or something, maybe wearing a frying pan for a hat.

"Hey!" Bel snapped, yanking the letter back his destructive grasp, "I was supposed to deliver that!"

"That twittering lute strumming barmaid has nothing to offer Camilla," Faendal spluttered angrily, fists clenching and unclenching as though Sven's neck were around for him to strangle.

Farkas snorted. He wasn't going to argue against that the blond tavern singer was more of a girl than most of the women he knew, but it sounded to him like Camilla lady in question wouldn't be much better off with the elf either. Sven couldn't fight off a rampaging butterfly, and Faendal had shown that he could easily shoot a woman in the back for stepping outside the bounds of his misguided ideas of morality. He wouldn't be surprised if Faendal turned out to be a wife beater in a few years, and Sven would probably die from crotch rot. Both men were complete douchebags.

Bel shrugged, deciding not to point out to Faendal that he wasn't exactly the picture of heroic manliness himself. "Eh. I'm not particularly a fan of him, but a mission is a mission."

"Would you consider taking a letter of my own, instead?" Faendal asked tentatively.

Bel absentmindedly picked at a thread on her gloves, studying their lock picking enchantments as she pretended to consider his question. "Oh I don't know, you did shoot me after all…"

"Fine," Faendal threw up his hands, exasperated, "I'll give you gold if you give her the damn letter."

"Now you're talking." Bel held out her hand expectantly and he slapped a small coin purse into it along with a small piece of parchment.

Faendal stomped off angrily, rid of several coins and an embarrassing love letter. Bel watched him go and shook her head. Poor Camilla. If she picked either one of them her life would never be the same. For all they claimed to be head over heels for her, Bel suspected things would be drastically different if the poor shop girl actually got married to one of them. She'd go from the iron fisted rule of her asshole brother to the philandering arms of Sven, or Faendal who would be free with the back of his hand.

What she needed was liberation, and Bel was just the Imperial gal to give it to her.

Farkas was watching Faendal depart with a rather hungry look on his face. "I think we should kick his ass, just a little bit at least."

Bel snorted. "Eh, it's not worth it. I step out of line again and that'll be it for me. I don't want to get black listed from Riverwood. It's mostly stupid here, but Delphine and Orgnar are cool and I like getting drinks with them."

"What could you possibly do to get in trouble here?" Farkas asked, raising an eyebrow, "There's nothing here but a few farms and a bunch of stupid chickens."

Her gaze slid guiltily away from his and he groaned in realization. "You broke into someone's house, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I think the chicken was the last straw."

"You shot a chicken?"

"Technically I punched it."

"Oh god."

":It was in my way!"

"Heaven help us if it was a baby, instead of a chicken," he mumbled.

"I would not have shot or punched a baby," Bel said adamantly.

"Whatever."

They made their way to the Riverwood Trader, dodging chickens and townsfolk. The sunlight drifted down through the trees, dappling the road in green and gold light. Riverwood was a very boring place, but it was also very pretty. The cool autumn sun seemed to reach all the right places and Bel enjoyed the feeling of the heat baking the back of her neck and shoulders through the chinks of her armor.

Dorthe was just leaving, and Bel stuck her tongue out at the little girl as she and Farkas entered the store.

"That was mature," he said, resuming his habit of tugging at a stray braid, "What'd that kid ever do to you?"

"Don't let her midget stature fool you," she muttered, digging in her pack for the claw, "That brat put a hit out on me once."

Farkas rolled his eyes. "You got contracted out by a ten year old? Why am I not surprised?"

"I may have liberated a few more cheese wheels than I should have when I rescued Hadvar from Helgen."

To Bel's complete surprise Farkas held the creaky wooden door to the Trader open for her. She stopped and stared at it, and then looked at him. "What is this?"

"Well, I was being nice, but now I'm going to hit you in the ass with it," he snapped.

"Ah ha, now that makes sense," she said, and danced out of the way of the door as he made good on his threat.

Lucan Valerius was behind the counter of his store, drumming his fingers on the rough hewn surface. He was glowering at Camilla, who sat stiffly in a chair by the fire, but he looked up at them as they tromped in. Bel was amazed at how fast the glower left his face, replaced by a winning salesmen smile.

"Welcome to the Riverwood Trader," Lucan called.

Bel dug the beat up golden claw out of her pack and tossed it on the counter. "Got your thingy."

All trace of the salesmen smarm was gone. Lucan leaned forward to reverently grasp it in his dirty hands and Camilla left her seat to cautiously approach the counter. They both gathered around the claw like it was a well of eternal youth or something exceedingly more valuable then it actually was. Bel glanced around the shop, mentally noting that most of the Trader's cheaper things had lost their forbidding red hue. Bel wasn't able to explain it, but she'd always been able to tell if she could take something and get away from with it before she actually did it. Call it a gift. She grinned. It was a gift she had no trouble abusing to its fullest extent.

"You found it! There it is!" Lucan cackled, holding it aloft.

"Yep," Bel said cheerfully, "I risked life and limb, but I finally got it. Gotta tell you though, that dungeon I found it in was reeeaaallly tough."

Lucan blinked at her.

Bel held out her hand. "Reeeeallly tough."

Lucan sighed. "FINE."

He plunked a moderately heavy coin purse into her hand and Bel jiggled it testing its weight. "Thanks!" she said brightly.

Bel proceeded to relieve Lucan Valerius of all of his cheese wheels and spare gold coins, shoving them into her pack. What she couldn't fit, she ate. Bel turned around, mouth full of half of a cheese wheel to find Farkas watching her with an odd expression that suggested he couldn't decide whether to be fascinated or disgusted.

"What?" she said, swallowing.

He blinked. "That was- um...there are no words."

Bel shrugged. "I have no scruples I know, and I love cheese. I have an entire room dedicated to cheese up in Solitude."

Farkas stared at her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"I shit you not. I stack cheese in Proudspire when I'm bored. The giants and inn keepers hate me for obvious reasons."

"Yeah, because you steal their shit, jackass."

Bel helpfully waggled her slim and elegant fingers at him. Fingers he wondered, that would probably be adept at wrapping and sliding sinfully around his-

She poked him in the forehead, cutting off his train of thought. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking about, dude, but quit it."

He leered at her wolfishly. "Make me."

"Psh. Settle down Balto, you wouldn't be able to handle this fine package," Bel said, slapping her own ass.

Farkas opened his mouth to retaliate but Lucan beat him to the punch. The shop keeper threw up his hands in horror. "Dear god! Not in my shop you won't! I know you did me a favor, but I am not that nice. Go terrorize someone else."

Bel rolled her eyes. "Fine. C'mon Farkas, I wanna say hi to Delphine before I leave."

He followed her hopefully. "Will there be alcohol?"

"Oh yes," Bel said firmly, "I never pass up a chance to get shit faced drunk and make bad decisions."

Farkas snorted, but didn't say anything.

"Before I go, these are for you!" Bel said cheerfully, and handed Camilla both letters.

Bel did not stay around to see the fallout. She scrambled out the door so fast it banged off the wall. Farkas followed her out of the Trader and down the street to the inn, wondering how this short trip had gotten so complicated so fast. What was supposed to be a simple delivery had now become a foray into something resembling the trashy 'Argonian Maid' novels. Farkas had a sinking suspicion that it was only going to get more complicated, and he was a little surprised to find that he didn't care. He was having more fun than he had had in years watching the Thane's burglarizing and drama meddling antics.

Bel went straight to the bar at the Sleeping Giant and plunked down on one of the stools. "I'll have a Bloody Wispmother."

Ew. That was girly. Farkas grimaced at her choice and ordered a Nord mead.

Orgnar began to mix tomatoes and alcohol, pureeing the mixture with a long wooden spoon. When it began to resemble a thick red sludge he dumped the blend into a battered goblet and set it in front of her, along with a spoon. Bel burrowed into it happily, forgoing the use of the spoon and instead put her face straight into the goblet.

"Mmmmm."

Farkas slowly swallowed his drink, watching her gurgle her way happily through her booze. "That is disgusting."

"Shut up," Bel muttered thickly.

They were quiet for a bit, and Bel had resumed her drinking slightly more politely. A blond woman in a shabby inn keeper's dress emerged from one of the inn rooms and stopped short at seeing them sitting at the bar. Farkas acknowledge her out of his peripheral, noting that the Wolf inside him was barring its fangs and raising its hackles. He didn't stop casually sipping from the amber bottle in his hand, but he shifted his weight so that he could easily toss Bel behind him if he had to. The woman looked like an inn wench, but he knew a killer when he smelled one.

The woman drifted up to stand next to the increasingly inebriated Thane.

"We need to talk," she said firmly.

.

.

To be continued...