What can I say about this next chapter except... Oh Finn, you're incorrigible. LOL

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CHAPTER VII – A Chilly Reception

"I hate Windhelm," Finverior grumbled, tugging his fur cloak a little bit tighter around himself as a new gust of wind hit him squarely in the chest.

Beside him, Lassarina laughed softly. "Let me guess: because it's cold?"

"Well, that doesn't help my judgment any." He yanked his hood back over his head; the wind had blown it off at some point and ice was beginning to form on the tips of his ears. "No, I hate Windhelm because it's filled with racist Nords worshipping their asshole of a god and subjugating anyone who isn't a Nord. And don't even get me started on their esteemed jarl."

Even though her mask was over her face, he could imagine the Nord raising an eyebrow. "What do you have against Talos, Finn?"

The Bosmer sighed. "What I have against Talos, sweetheart, is that he was a real bastard in his lifetime and he was rewarded for it with godhood. Call me crazy, but there's a bit of a disconnect there."

"He founded the Empire," Lassarina reminded, "and he was Dragonborn as well. Tiber Septim was a great hero, if not the greatest of them all."

"Yes, because the ends always justifies the murder of the Emperor he was sworn to serve, not to mention the forced abortion of his mistress's child," Finverior said sourly. "You Nords always seem to gloss over that bit."

"And 'us Nords' don't take kindly to people telling us which gods to worship," the Nord retorted icily, stopping in her tracks and crossing her arms.

The Bosmer raised his hands defensively. "Honey, I don't give a damn if you worship Talos or not. I'm just saying that I don't."

"Well, I do." She started stomping through the snow again. "And you might not want to spread that view around. After all, we are in Windhelm."

Finverior groaned, but followed her anyway. Don't remind me.

It had been a week since they'd fought the dragon in Falkreath Hold, a week since Lassarina admitted that she was Dragonborn. They'd been walking for that whole time, stopping in towns along the way to try and pawn off some of their loot; by now, their bags were considerably lighter. As per the Nord's insistence, they bypassed Riften and headed north towards Windhelm, though he honestly hoped that they wouldn't be there long. All this snow doesn't agree with me.

"So, who are we hitting this time?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. "I hear the Shatter-Shields and the Cruel-Seas are fairly rich."

"So is Ulfric Stormcloak."

This time, it was the Bosmer's turn to stop where he stood. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he hissed. "You know what happened the last time we robbed a jarl, and there's no way in Oblivion I'm living that all over again!"

Lassarina turned around. "Finn –"

"They catch me and I'm done for!" he cut her off. "The Windhelm guards are vicious towards non-Nords, let alone elves!"

"Finn," she repeated. "I'm not asking you to come with me."

It took a few seconds for that to sink in. "Let me get this straight: you're planning to rob the Palace of the Kings... alone?"

The Nord nodded.

"Rina, have I told you lately that you're crazy?"

"Aye, I'm sure you have," she said, a smile in her voice. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, right, I forgot that you can turn invisible," he said dryly. "Seriously, beautiful, you'll have to show me that trick sometimes."

"Not a chance," she laughed. "It's getting dark, so I'll head towards Valunstrad right now. Why don't you go to Candlehearth Hall and wait for me?"

"Candlehearth?" Finverior repeated. "Considering the clientele, that might not be the best idea."

"Just keep your hood up and try to stay out of trouble." Lassarina started off down a nearby side street. "I'll catch up with you soon."

"Rina, wait –!" His words ended in an irritated sigh as she slipped out of sight into the wintery darkness. Great. Leave me alone with a bunch of hostile Nords, why don't you?

Hugging his cloak around him even tighter than before, the Bosmer started to tramp through the snow covering the cobblestones towards the bright lights of the inn.

oOo

It had been at least an hour, and Lassarina wasn't back yet.

Leaning back in his chair, Finverior took another half-hearted swig from his bottle of spiced wine. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't worried about Lassarina, but at the same time, he tried to assure himself that the Nord knew what she was doing and that she was more than capable of getting herself out of trouble if necessary.

A buxom barmaid passed by his seat with a tray of mead, and he winked at her, his gaze admiring. She gave him a wicked little smile before continuing on her way, hips swaying underneath her skirt.

He chuckled to himself. He'd have to strike up a conversation with her later; she looked like fun between the sheets, and Dibella knew how long he'd gone without sex. If Lassarina isn't running back to Candlehearth right now with a passel of Windhelm guards on her trail, I just might do that.

The Bosmer finished his drink, surveying the room. It was a quiet night, but there was a fire in the hearth and there were still a few patrons, most of them gathered around the Dunmer bard strumming a lute in the corner. Aside from an older Imperial woman flirting outrageously with a weary-looking Nord man, none of them looked particularly wealthy.

Maybe the jarl was our best meal ticket after all. He lazily ran his finger around the rim of the bottle. I just wish it didn't have to be such a damn risky one.

"Need another drink, handsome?"

Finverior looked up. The barmaid he'd noticed before was standing before him with her tray tucked under her arm and a last bottle of mead dangling from her fingers. If anything, she looked even more tempting up close.

He smiled. "You read my mind, darling." The Bosmer took the bottle, uncorked it, and took a drink. "What's your name?"

"You first," she chided playfully.

"Varilen," he lied smoothly, using one of his lesser-used false names. "Your turn."

"Mine's Susanna." She returned his smile. "Mind if I... sit down?"

Finverior patted his knee. "Not at all."

Susanna settled herself on his lap, draping one arm around his shoulder. Up close, the Bosmer found he could much better appreciate how low-cut her dress was.

"So, Varilen,what brings a handsome wood elf like you to Windhelm?" she purred, fingers rubbing against the stubble on his chin.

"Business... and pleasure." His hand found its way to her waist, fitting itself into the deep curve there. "Care to help me attain one of those?"

The barmaid laughed impishly. "I'm always happy to help a man in need." She leaned over, grasping the neck of his mead bottle and taking a long, slow sip, her eyes fixed on him all the while.

As soon as she lifted her head, Finverior kissed her hard, relishing the warmth under her skin. "That's good to hear, because I am very, very much in need," he murmured between kisses.

Susanna pressed her body against him as she shifted her position on his lap, and his free hand wound around her waist and down to her rear, giving it a squeeze. His mouth wandered down to her neck – her collarbone – the tops of her breasts – and she let out a breathy moan, running her fingers through his hair.

"What do you think you're doing, elf?" a heavily accented voice slurred.

Peering around the barmaid's shoulder, the Bosmer raised an eyebrow at the man who'd spoken: a middle-aged Nord with brown stubble on his chin, wearing a hat with earflaps. There was another man in substantially more ragged clothes standing with him, but he was standing back a bit.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Finverior asked casually, trying to keep his tone light. "Enjoying some mead and the company of a lovely woman."

Susanna sighed. "Rolff, Elda doesn't want you coming around anymore. If you make a mess like last time –"

"Where else am I suppose to get a drink?" Rolff demanded. "Down in the Grey Quarter with those filthy grey-skins? I'd sooner give up Talos!"

The other man put his hand on Rolff's shoulder. "You've had too much to drink. Let's get you home before your brother has to bail you out of jail."

"Shut up, Angrenor!" Rolff shook his friend's hand off irritably. "I'm thinkin' you need to be taught a lesson, elf."

In spite of himself, the Bosmer felt his jaw tighten. "And I think you should back off," he said, allowing the hint of menace in his voice.

"Who do you think you are, threatenin' me?" Rolff stepped forward, mouth curled into a sneer. "Thalmor-lovers like you don't belong in Skyrim."

"Rolff, that's enough," Susanna tried to say, standing up. "Get out before Elda –"

Her sentence ended in a cry of pain as the Nord man slapped her across the face, sending her reeling back. "You need to learn to shut that mouth of yours, bitch, 'fore it gets you in trouble!"

Without thinking, Finverior stood and lunged, his fist connecting with Rolff's nose. Grunting in shock, the man staggered backwards, and then fell over onto the floorboards. The bottle he'd been holding shattered, splattering mead all over the wood, and the inn went quiet as patrons stopped talking and peered over to see what had caused the crash.

The Bosmer sighed. I have a feeling that this is what Lassarina didn't want me to do.

Taking a quick last gulp of his drink, he hurriedly grabbed his cloak, bow, and quiver from the back of his chair. "Maybe some other time, gorgeous," he said to Susanna, giving her a peck on the cheek that Rolff had slapped.

She smiled a little. "I'll count on it."

Finverior grinned to himself as he turned around. Maybe Windhelm isn't as bad as I thought.

Suddenly, a heavy weight struck the back of his skull, and his vision went black before he hit the floor.


This Chapter was written by BrunetteAuthorette99.

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