Oh, hey, I'm updating! Enjoy the latest chapter, everyone!
(it's so very fluffy, pun intended~)

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Chapter 16:
Out of the Rain

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20th First Seed, 4E200
Dawnstar
Khepri the Beekeeper
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There were a few surprises waiting for me, when I returned home from the Muster. Most significant was the awning and shutters that were added to my front porch; Helga, the Frost-Glow family's matriarch, insisted on the addition, free of charge, as the next months would be filled with rain and the occasional thunderstorm. "The month isn't called 'Rain's Hand' for nothing," was how she put it.

I suppose it's because I was known for relaxing on my porch in the evenings with a cup of tea, occasionally striking up a conversation with whoever walked past my house – usually the guards, though it wasn't rare to see curious children playing on the beach in front of my home, or asking me about some exotic insect they read of in a book. My habits, and my deeds, were worthy of selfless reward in the eyes of Dawnstar's populace, it seemed.

Now that it was raining, I was rather thankful for the impromptu gift. The smell of salt and rainwater wafted through the wooden shutters, their slats open to let in the scents and sounds of the first true rainstorm since my arrival in Skyrim; a warm pot of water, some teas from Valenwood – gifted by a thankful Legion Ranger – the famous historic fiction 2920, The Last Year of the First Era by Carlovac Townway, and a basket full of spiders were my company that pleasant, rainy evening.

Of course, Skitter was under the porch, but my big, heroic girl was content to watch the rain and quietly [wonder] in the Hive Mind. And besides, my spider research was keeping me quite busy.

The spiders were part of my continuing experiments into silk strength, as my long-term plans involved producing silk for clothing, or other items like tapestries; nothing commercial, no. That was limited to my honey production, at least once I was in possession of a stable base of operations, possibly with employees to aid in running the apiaries. As for the silk, such production needed hard limits, even with an optimal environment. Too much, and I would upset the established silk producers in other provinces, which would both destabilize economies and make more than a few people want to kill me; additionally, if I spent all my time working, I wouldn't have any time to myself, and that simply wouldn't do. Nevermind the strain placed on my body, both by business and, well, business; there were other pleasures I wanted to seek while I could.

No, my silk would likely be limited to heirlooms, gifted to close relations, like the people of Dawnstar; Jarl Skald would probably love a new banner for his hall, and the Frostglows were just so helpful… which reminded me to keep some silk for my family, should I start one…

A family…

I felt a smile form on my face as I continued reading about the end of the First Era; beneath my porch, Skitter rustled her wings and watched a stream of water winding toward the Bay though the alley next to my house, [fascinated] by the colors and hues of the world, even after nearly a week of enjoying her new sight. The Chaurus near the grotto were frolicking in the rain, some of them for the very first time.

I'd added another ten commons and four Hunters – two stalwart boys named Chevalier and Defiant, and two quick girls, Rachel and Amy – to the herd; these were the ones who served me the most in the Muster, or were too wounded to survive staying with their brethren in the deep dark of Blackreach. All of them, from the little tikes I found in Frostflow, to the protective old boy Defiant – who was the one Bori saw kill a Shaman, before the Muster began – were [joyful] and [awed] at the water falling from the sky.

But even this, I admitted to myself with a sad sigh, wasn't what I thought of when musing on the idea of 'family'.

It was… a concept almost too large for words. My own house – preferably a larger abode than my current residence – and a husband to welcome me home from the store, where I spent my days selling honey, beeswax, spider silk, and other insect-related products, along with Alchemical mead… or, would a house built into my place of business be more appropriate?

No…? No. I felt that business and family shouldn't be allowed to mix too much. The commute shouldn't be too long, however, so that neither my husband nor children should be kept waiting for my return home. Skitter would likely be able to assist, there. She was fast over ground, using her grasshopper-like legs and beautiful wings to propel herself with incredible speed; likely, such mobility would be of great use, especially on the plains of Whiterun.

But there were just so many unknowns! Would my husband be averse to cooking dinner, in the event I needed to work late, or would another solution present itself? What were the choices for education and higher learning in Skyrim?

My readings said there were prestigious universities in High Rock, Morrowind and Cyrodiil, but, other than the College of Winterhold and Bard's College in Solitude, Skyrim seemed rather lacking in notable academic establishments; homeschooling or community learning seemed to be an accepted norm in Dawnstar, but how did, say, Whiterun handle this issue?

After I brought up my concerns about large-scale beekeeping with Jarl Skald, and some further conversation, he commissioned a manor house for me in the Pale's southernmost reaches, as reward for my recent deeds – "Whole country can sleep a little easier, thanks to you. Also, that area's better climate for your work than these icy cliffs," were his exact words – so it was more likely my children would commute with me to Whiterun, most likely upon Skitter or another Praetorian's back, so they could spend the day among other children their own age. Farkas would certainly have no trouble escorting my… our…

I closed my eyes and thought of him: gruff, like all Nords, but thoughtful. He never loomed over me, even when standing close; though I knew he was a Werewolf, there was no feeling of violence or wrongness about him. Strong, soft-spoken, and quite the gentleman.

He also didn't have fleas when we first met.

I wanted him. More than physically – though I would never complain about the rugged warrior's physique – it was by Farkas' hand that the Tyrant's incessant mental wailing was silenced in the Hive Mind. The absence of its horrible suggestions and screaming was… unbelievably relieving, and not only for myself; with the Chaurus Reaper Tyrant gone, all the remaining Chaurus had quickly become much more docile. Oh, they were still violently territorial, especially if someone tried touching their eggs without permission, but they no longer actively attacked everything on sight; indeed, there were reports coming from all over Skyrim, of the Chaurus leaving Falmer corpses and salvage at the entrance of their caves, with commons seen stripping bark off of evergreen trees and carrying their bounty into the depths, or Hunters doing the same with game, like bear or elk.

It was all thanks to Farkas; in doing his duty, he brought a peace unlike any seen before in Skyrim's dark reaches. He eased my mind, made me feel… safe.

When was the last time I felt this way?

I… couldn't remember. Not fully; there was someone, but...

I couldn't bring myself to be irritated by not remembering, but this fact, not knowing the feeling security when it came from another person, still made me quite frustrated! How was I supposed to explain how I felt, and my intention to become seriously involved with him, when I had never experienced such things before?!

[Queen, you are troubled?] came Skitter's mental voice through the Hive Mind, an undertone of [concern] edging her otherwise calm thought-speech; the other Chaurus were either too distant or too preoccupied to notice my internal dilemma, or Skitter addressing me.

Huffing, I set my teacup down and examined my weaving spiders; the silk squares and cords I was having them create were, of course, being produced steadily, though it'd still be a few hours before the samples were completed to the point where I could examine them. I could've sworn it never took this long, before; maybe it was like with the Frostbites: thick, strong, but taking a long time to produce.

Out loud, I spoke to my biggest girl, "I'm… worrying, likely for no reason, Skitter." Surely Farkas felt the same as I, if not similarly, given his regular checking me out?

[…Queen, your thoughts are obvious to me; your chosen male is very agreeable, as I informed you earlier] Skitter told me with dry [amusement], and [approval] in regards to Farkas.

Sighing, I explained patiently to her, "Yes, physically, he's very attractive and fit, and from a Chaurus' standpoint, that's all a female need know when choosing a viable egg sac… but Men, Mer and Beastfolk do things differently, Skitter, when we choose our mates. There's not too much different, but the peoples of Tamriel definitely have more… mating rituals, than the Chaurus. Farkas and I are simply engaging in the early stages of this ritual," and speaking of the beefy Nord, a certain arrangement of insects had just entered my range; moving Twinkie into line of sight, I saw Farkas steadily slogging through Dawnstar, a cloak over his head and shoulders, trying to protect a canvas parcel held in his arms.

[I do not understand, Queen] Skitter informed me, mild [frustration] bleeding into our link, [I am aware that the bipedal races of Tamriel do things opposite to Chaurus – that is, the male seeds the female's egg sac – but you are both very attracted to the other; why not have him seed you, before you bleed once more? you should not risk another panic of the Hive Mind; the new cousins we have added may not understand that you are not injured, and your hatchlings will certainly be as beautiful and strong as both you and your mate are, my glorious Queen]

Were it not for the lantern hanging outside my porch, Farkas would've been able to find his way to my house through my blush's intensity alone. "Skitter!" I chided under my breath, trying to keep my embarrassment down and organize my thoughts, "That was once, and your new cousins have already been informed. Also, the mating rituals are seen as necessary in our culture; when my people mate, Skitter, it's expected those mates remain with one another for life, so they might both raise and give guidance to their children, until they mature enough to make their own way through the world."

My biggest girl quieted in the Hive Mind, [considering] what I told her, before replying, [but, Queen, the community aids in these teachings, do they not?] after verifying that, yes, this was how things were done in Dawnstar, Skitter huffed audibly, [biped mating rituals are very strange. [love] is shared by the community with each new hatchling, yet a female cannot have multiple males, or a male with many females?]

"We will discuss this more later, Skitter," I assured the – for now – only living Chaurus Praetorian, abandoning my book briefly to gather a towel from the upstairs linen closet. Callidus was with Liora at the moment, the young woman passionately yet gently expressing her worry at his absence, through the act of sex. It was…

Well, they couldn't do anything that I fantasized doing, especially when it came to Farkas, mostly because Cal's back was poorly, but it was endearing nonetheless.

I'd have to ask Cal when he was going to propose, but later. In the morning. He was a little busy whispering sweet nothings into his lover's ear, as she keened and ground herself into his lap…

"You know," I said as Farkas stomped up my porch – Skitter let out a growl of [irritation]; the Nord was more considerate after that – shaking himself off before stepping fully onto the covered platform and looking at my wry smirk with a sheepish expression, "If making honey and honey products doesn't work out, a career as a romance author might also be a good business opportunity for me. Between my insect abilities and the people of Dawnstar, I have several novels' worth of material already." I giggled lightly at Farkas' replying snort of humor, "Good evening, Farkas."

"Evenin', Khepri," replied the Companion and Hero of Skyrim, shrugging off his cloak; after giving the porch one more light stomp, "Heya, Skitter," – buzz – the man hefted the bundle in his arms, grimacing a little, "Muster's finally breaking up; I'm headin' back to Whiterun with Skjor and Vilkas tomorrow afternoon, so I brought all the gifts and awards they wanted to give you, 'fore you made yourself scarce."

I shook my head and sighed, "As I told Jarl Skald, Legate Rikke, and Mr. Galmar: I don't want awards for my part. The Chaurus being left in peace is enough for me," nevertheless, I took the bundle, a collection of wooden boxes, and held out the dry white towel for Farkas with a warm smile, "And really, what would a speech from me have done? I already congratulated everyone."

"I think it's cause you didn't stay for a drink. By the way, Drevas says you owe him one, and to head over to Windhelm one day so you, him and Jarl Ulfric can have a mug at the inn," replied Farkas while drying his armor and hair, which was pulled into a ponytail… and there was a purple and gold braid, with a dragon pin, encircling his left shoulder; noticing my gaze, he grunted unhappily, "When the High King found out it was me who felled the Tyrant, he told the bigwigs in the Imperial City. They gave me this thing, which is called the 'Champion's Ribbon'. Apparently it makes me a Lord or something."

"You sound like you could care less," I observed with a grin, propping my door open and bustling back into my house to retrieve some mead and a mug; over my shoulder, I called, "And I rarely drink, Farkas! Gods, can you imagine what I'd do with my swarm, were I drunk?"

"Heh! Butterflies everywhere, I'd wager," replied the large, handsome man, having sat in the only other chair on my porch; accepting the mead with thanks, I reclaimed my own chair and picked up a small square box with the heraldry of Solitude on the lid while Farkas spoke, "And I really don't care. It's just an honorary thing. It doesn't give me any land or a seat on the Senate, just a money prize for killing something especially big and nasty. There was even a part that said they couldn't give me land, because it wasn't killed in Cyrodiil, and because Ulfric still won't budge on Talos worship… tch, politics." He took a gulp of mead while I grimaced.

"Unbelievable," I shook my head with disgust, then smiled cheekily, "If it makes you feel any better, Jarl Skald is constructing a manor for me, on the southern border of the Pale, near Whiterun. There's a clearing, there, on the southern slopes of the mountains, with a lovely view of the Throat of the World, and Dragonsreach can be seen on clear days. When it's done," I averted my eyes, and undid the small box's clasp, "you're more than welcome to stay there as long as you wish."

"…I know the area. Normally, I'd say the Jarl was trying to get ya killed, on account of that area being a Frostbite breeding area, not to mention the bandits and conjurers that hold the ruins in those parts," he shrugged and smiled at me, "Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

"Well, I certainly hope they either keep to themselves, find a new calling in life, or move elsewhere. Otherwise, I'll have to use them as a way to, ah, alleviate my boredom," I quipped back with a smile, Farkas chuckling around another conservative sip of mead; taking a sip of tea for myself, I opened the box to find a diamond-encrusted snowflake on a velvet pillow. I held it up for Farkas to inspect, "What's this?"

Leaning over to look, Farkas huffed quietly, "That's the Northern Star. Pretty sure it's the highest award someone can get in Skyrim, without bein' part of a Guild, a Companion, a Guard Company, or a different group like the Legion."

"Hum. Well, it'll be a good conversation piece," I mused, closing the box and setting it aside, "I'll put it on my mantle or something."

"You'll have to make room for the other medals, too," the man I admired said grumpily; at my questioning gaze, he gestured at the remaining boxes, "All those except the bottom box are awards or medals. The Divine Priesthood gave you the Wings of Divine Kynareth, which I think makes you an unofficial priestess, you'll have to ask someone. The Legion awarded you an Emerald Shield; that's the sort of thing they give to civilians who assist the Empire's soldiers in doing their duties, at the risk of their own lives. Ulfric sent a King's Blade; the High King will have to verify that one, but it pretty much makes you Thane of Skyrim, if what Vilkas said is right."

Staring in horror at the remaining boxes, I felt my eyebrow twitch as I said, "They just gave me every civilian award Skyrim could possibly give, didn't they?"

"Not counting the Rift, for whatever reason, but yeah. I think Olquar might've nominated you for a White-Gold Rose, too."

"He recovered?" nearly everyone thought the Thalmor leader had been killed, when the Tyrant fell over. Imagine their surprise when they found him alive, half buried in corpses and nearly dead from blood loss, after the battle had ended.

"Mmm. Lost his legs, but he was sporting about it. 'I got the bastard back', he said," chuckling, Farkas then gestured at the other boxes, which I was grimacing at like they might bite me if I moved too much, "You, uh, want any help putting those inside?"

"Later," I sighed, glancing at the handsome man and poking the largest box, "So, what's in this one? An Elder Scroll? Some legendary weapon that'll collect dust on my shelf?"

"Nah," grinned Farkas, "It's from the Arch-Mage. He had me help him with that one. Open it. I think you'll like it."

Well, if Farkas helped with whatever it was… Smiling, I carefully undid the clasps of the box, which was decorated with an enamel of Blackreach on the cover. Inside, on dark blue velvet…

Was a moonstone prosthetic arm, white as snow, with articulated fingers and wrist. Lifting it with a pleased gasp, I saw some kind of Soul Gem structure where it would connect to my elbow; it was lighter and less cumbersome than the wooden arm I was using, and looked like it would be secured to my shoulder with a half-sleeve made of moonstone chainmail.

"It's beautiful," I said breathlessly, looking over at Farkas, who had the good grace to blush, "You helped with this?"

"Mostly telling them what you'd want in an arm," he grumbled bashfully, adding, "And, ah, it's not quite done yet. Arch-Mage said to bring it to you, let you get a feel for it, and he'll come by in a few days to make some adjustments."

Tilting my head, I asked with a smile, "What I'd want in an arm?"

"It's no good as proper armor," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head and giving me a pointed look, "but you said you don't like fighting, even though you're one of the best fighters I've ever seen, so I made sure they knew to make it better at fine control, than something that could hold up to, say, a troll taking a swing at you. Not like they'd ever get close, what with the Chaurus, but y'know…" he trailed off, muttering.

Remembering what I promised him, I looked at the arm, feeling my smile diminish somewhat. Was I ready to talk about it, my past?

Taking a deep breath and sighing, I looked into Farkas' eyes and said, "This means more to me than a thousand medals, Farkas. Thank you," he mumbled something, but I wasn't done with the thoughtful, handsome young man, "Where did you plan on staying tonight?"

"Well," thunder rumbled, cutting off Farkas' statement, and the rain began to intensify. Chuckling, he looked apologetically at me, "I was gonna try running back to the ruin, but the Gods have other plans, I guess."

"Oh, you don't have to," I stood, closing the box and tucking it under an arm, making my way toward the door with a sway in my step, "I'll be more than happy to put you up for the night."

Rising, and gathering up the award boxes, Farkas informed me, "Didn't want to stink up your house with wet dog smell."

"I spend most of my time with insects, Farkas. They're dears, yes, but they can make quite the stink. If you're that worried, though…" Looking over my shoulder with a teasing smile – and hoping he couldn't hear my pounding heart – I asked, "How's a hot bath sound?"

He didn't complain further.

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Hot baths were a rarity for Farkas. That Khepri had one in her basement was both a blessing and, given her assistance with that hot water pipe, expected.

Still, it was a good thing he had a dry change of clothes with him, so he wouldn't have to risk going about the woman's house in nothing but his loincloth. Sure, it was just a plain, threadbare burgundy tunic and a pair of comfortable pants… and he was gonna have to see a tailor's soon about getting a bigger size, but he was clean and presentable, and that's what mattered.

What was a little more concerning for the young man was the young woman waiting for him to finish; he was taking the opportunity to run his straight razor over his whiskers, make sure he wasn't too scruffy, because…

Shaking his head, Farkas cleaned off the razor in the sink, put it with his armor, piled in a corner, then stared at the curtain separating him from Khepri's bedroom/basement/bar/brewery (there were mead casks stacked against the wall furthest from the door).

He wasn't blind; Khepri was interested. More than interested, she knew what she wanted, and had decided that was Farkas. It made him feel… not restless – that was every Werewolf's life, restlessness – but… anxious?

There was a small medallion, a third of the Galdur Amulet, he'd discovered since that awful night on Lake Geir, and it was burning a hole in one of his armor's pockets. Over drinks last night, Vilkas actually told Farkas to tell Khepri how he felt about her… which didn't make much sense. Khepri was a smart girl, smarter than Farkas at any rate; if she didn't know how he felt, he'd eat his helm.

Sleeping with her though…

Something about that just… didn't sit right with him. Oh, she wouldn't be his first, not in any sense; between Aela, overly-thankful clients, and tavern girls, Farkas was… well, not as experienced as, say, Skjor or Aela, but he knew what to do, and was good at it.

No one ever complained, anyway… at least, not in a bad way.

Khepri, though… she felt different. Less some fling at a tavern, or a thankful woman with a 'big man' fetish.

She wasn't slight; if someone watched her closely, they might notice the well-trained muscles in her shoulders, even on the side with a stump. Her careful yet certain steps, a she-wolf making sure her domain was all in order. Khepri only looked like a thin, helpless cripple, but Farkas knew, just like any fighter worth their mettle would know, that only the arrogant and the foolish would really take her for a weakling.

He'd be lying if he said that didn't intimidate him, just a little.

It got him more than a little hot under the collar, sure, but… that also made him wonder, if she had other lovers. Did Farkas remind her of someone she was with, before Skyrim? How many had she taken to her bed, before him?

Granted, he couldn't find anything saying she was free with her body; hells, the best Farkas could come up with was a half-unbelievable rumor from Heart's Day, where she supposedly bedded that Dunmer Priest of Mara! But that was Heart's Day; ain't nobody was gonna judge what one did on that day, least of all Farkas of the Companions.

Grunting, Farkas shook his head and strode toward the curtain. He wasn't going to get any answers by thinking about it. He wouldn't find out what Khepri was really like by worrying about absurd things.

Besides, he didn't want to kick off a relationship like this one with sex. A basement in Dawnstar, with a woman like Khepri…

Farkas looked around the downstairs area; the bar was empty – save the medals, the boxes stacked on one side without care – the trapdoor was closed, and the only real light was coming from behind a large fur sheet against one wall. Khepri's bedroom.

Swallowing, Farkas approached, calling ahead, "Khepri?" he couldn't smell anything off, other than a honey-scented candle. A nice touch.

"Come in, Farkas," she called from the other side of the curtain, sounding quite calm. Banishing the feeling of walking into a Deathlord's tomb, Farkas brushed the curtain aside.

A large bed, big enough for two people Farkas' size to fit with room to spare, was against the far wall. A dresser, bookshelf, wardrobe and bedside table were the only other furniture in the small space, which Khepri had clearly tried to clean quickly. Books, loose sheets of paper, insect sketches and notes, maps, and clothes were all scattered about with no rhyme or reason, taking up every available surface that wasn't the floor, where a couple bear hide rugs tickled Farkas' feet. The moonstone prosthetic, still in its box, occupied the center of the dresser, and was bracketed by dried flowers and a few bags of Septims.

"Sorry about the mess," sheepishly laughed Khepri, rubbing her stump with her hand while Farkas looked her up and down; all she was wearing was a long shirt, one that showed off her collarbones and shoulders, and… a par of thigh-high woolen socks.

"Ah, it's fine," Farkas assured her, looking at the drawings posted on her wall, and the few other knickknacks she owned, before smiling at the green-eyed beauty, "The Companions are messier, especially Aela."

She laughed again, sounding a little nervous, but also giving him another lustful once-over. She looked torn, like she didn't know whether to jump him or sic her wasps on him.

Thinking quick, Farkas set a hand on her left shoulder, making eye contact with her, "Khepri… if you're nervous, we don't have to do anything. I'm good to just nap with you, if you'd like."

Yeah, he wouldn't mind making her moan with ecstasy either, but she didn't look completely sure of herself.

"I… want to. It's just…" she tore her eyes away for a moment, then looked pleadingly at him, "I can't remember feeling so safe around someone, Farkas. Merely seeing you makes my heart flutter, knowing how polite, sure, and caring you are." She put her hand on his chest, "I care for you, deeply, yet…" She glanced over her shoulder, at her bed, and bit her lip.

Farkas rubbed her arm comfortingly, and tried to guess what was worrying Khepri, "I can be gentle, if you're worried about that."

"No, it's not that…" she gave him a sheepish smile, "Um, I have… a lot of stamina, Farkas, and, ah, so do you. We're both quite strong as well, and… well, I'm not sure my pinewood bed will be able to handle us."

Farkas blinked; looking over her shoulder… yeah, Skyrim pine was strong, but marathon strong? Khepri kept grinning apologetically.

"Yeah…" he nodded, then shrugged with a smile of his own, "Don't want to put you out of a bed. That, and a lot of people would give us mudcrabs tomorrow, if we leave the house numb-legged and limping."

She giggled, and Farkas took the opportunity to pull her close. Khepri reciprocated, nuzzling into his chest before looking up into his eyes. Leaning down, he nuzzled her nose a little…

A spark seemed to fly across his lips, when they brushed hers. For a good long while, he didn't think, or speak, and neither did Khepri, both of them content to explore the other's body with hands, while their mouths tasted each other. She didn't much taste like honey, Farkas realized, but… she was… nice. Better than his first few kisses, by a long shot.

Khepri didn't even shy away when he rubbed her stump, either, nor did she fight back when Farkas guided her to sit on his lap, while he sat on the bed. As a certain part of his body was starting to stiffen, the Companion broke the kiss…

And licked Khepri's face from her chin to her forehead.

The look on her face was priceless… and then she licked him back with a vengeful grin.

As they both laughed and ribbed each other, getting more comfortable on the bed, Farkas felt he'd like spending more time with this lovely lass… although…

He was brushing her hair, having pulled it out of her braid, and the bells were ringing the 11th hour, when Farkas asked Khepri, "I know you've got a dark past behind you, but… what happened, to turn you off fighting?"

"Do you enjoy killing beasts and people?" she asked in return, voice very slightly clipped.

"Nah," Farkas replied truthfully, taking care not to create any knots in the soft, silky curls he was combing, "It's my job, my sworn duty, what I'm good at. Sure, I'm a dab hand at gardening, but it's not my profession."

"…I don't remember all of my past, but…" she moved her back against his chest, shivering; Farkas nudged the top of her head, to let her know he was there, and waited. Eventually… "No one ever asked for honey. I could've done it, made beehives, harvested spider silk for clothes and rope… but no one wanted that from me, not even those I was close to."

"That you remember," he reminded her, when her tone turned sad.

"That I remember," she agreed, sounding a little stronger; after giving him a thankful kiss, Khepri continued, "Everyone wanted me to fight for their cause, and damn what I thought about it. When I disagreed… well, there was a slaver who lived in my city, who could turn himself into some kind of serpentine abomination, like a dragon but much, much uglier. He hated me, for some reason; I think it's because, the first time we fought, I rotted his crotch away with spider venom."

Farkas paused in his combing, blinking, a cold feeling spreading from his own jewels, "What."

"Child slaver, Farkas. He dealt in flesh, drugged little girls and chained them to brothels."

Oh. "Good job, then. And the second time?"

"I gouged his eyes out with a knife…" she sighed sadly, "But those aren't good memories. I just… keep remembering how disappointed I was in everyone. They only wanted to fight each other; even close friends and lovers barely got along, half the time."

"Sounds like Stormcloaks and Legionaries. Still, after the Muster, they might be a little more gentlemanly to each other," he kissed the side of her neck, drawing a pleased sigh from his lass, "Thanks for that, Khepri."

She laughed lowly, "My pleasure. If only the people from my lands had listened to me so readily, there wouldn't have been nearly so many problems…" she shook her head, "Where was I?"

"Lovers. Did you have anyone?"

"Not that I can remember clearly. I have a feeling that there was someone, but…" she batted away his hand, turned around, and looped her arm around Farkas' neck, eyes shining with happiness, "They never made me feel the way you make me feel, Farkas. When you're near, I feel like nothing can hurt me."

Farkas set the comb aside, and wrapped the slender lass in an embrace, promising her, "And nothing will, so long's I draw breath." He kissed her, and pulled Khepri with him as he laid down, so she could use him as a living body pillow. Her squirming keens of happiness, how she tucked her face into his neck and sighed contentedly, these were worth more than any gold or praise to Farkas.

And he would promise her again, and woe betide the stupid bastard who tried to make him break that promise.