The Bee and Bard was deserted. Stranglers passed through for the better portion of the first flagons.

Farkas' seemed content; a small smile on his face as he raised an arm for another topping with muted relish. The mead was warming her, but little else. Something about her felt clogged like a cork holding back a foam of brew. She rested her chin in a palm, finishing her dose and accepting another when the dressed up Argonian brimmed Farkas' flagon. Before the Argonian could take his leave her Shield-Brother had requested he leave the jug with him. At least that made her smiled ruefully. He gave her a glance that said he knew her better than she'd given credit.

Watching Farkas get his way through sheepish intimidation was always entertaining. No one would guess that he was such a loyal push over, especially not looking at him right now. No, no one would assumed he was actually one of the kindest and most honest warriors with the smudges of dirt in the curves of skin.

She lifted her nose breifly; finding more hidden layers of oil and grime in the dim candle light. He really was filthy. The ripe smell of sweat and dried blood (days old) stunk up past the sweet honey smell of the mead, but it didn't damper her mood anymore than the smell normally did.

The Fishery workers came in a few at a time by the moment her third flagon was drained. Farkas had drank enough for a Giant but only smirked offhandedly when she made her half-laggered gestures of the stern faced woman standing in the corner. The beautiful Nord woman glanced their way and she grinned into her now filled flagon, much thanks to the eager Farkas.

Piercing blue eyes, almost devoid of a soul pressed her into a challenge of eye contact – the Nord woman looked less offended than she was looking for a fight. The mead made the idea of a brawl seem exquisite and the sudden lift of the woman's full lips promised even more than a swell of painful blows. Who was she to deny the woman an outlet? - or herself for that matter.

"I believe I have an admirer Farkas...", she sung with the elation of the mead. Out the corner of her eyes (still keeping passionate eyes with the woman) she watched Farkas turn back in his seat – the chair moaning loudly at his weight – to look where she was gazing.

"She looks angry.", he noted, as if it was a revelation of some kind.

She snorted with more inebriation than she would have liked, but the woman's eyes narrowed to damning slits and like a followed jibe she kicked back her chair to stand. The rush to her head made her moan, but she did not wobble and she did not loose her focus as she made her way to the Nord woman.

She could feel the eyes hone on her back as she went nose to nose with the woman. Her full dusky pink lips smirked dangerously and she returned the emotion with fervor; puckering up her own thinner lips.

When the woman spoke it was like lightning, "Latched onto the bait didn't you, elf? Does it taste as good as that filthy mutt you're keeping for sore company?" That husky, almost threatening tone sparked her interest – and the insult conflicted her sudden desire to buck and brawl. For once she was unsure whether someone wanted to lay her or maim her – and for once she wasn't sure she wanted both.

She narrowed her black eyes in sharp curiosity as the Nord woman smirked higher. The heavy gaze of Farkas nailed into her spine like a pick axe, tying her tongue further against the roof of her mouth.

"What is thy matter? Did a Falmer slice out your tongue?", her liquid voice slid shallow, so quite her body had little choice but to lean forth an increment, "...such a delicate looking thing surly can speak without words, aye?"

Laying with a woman was nothing new, but the fists at her side curled more so than the warmth in her groin. If the Nord woman wanted to bed her after a good brawl then she would relent, if anything, to release the confounding tension from fighting along side the Nord behind her; the Nordic man whom every morn was turning to a test she'd rather fail than attempt success.

She finally swallowed the saliva that'd been brewing in her mouth; parting her lips slowly, "It is not the word that boils my blood like that of the fist.", she leaned into the woman, close enough to feel her body heat against her face. In the light of the hearth and the candles flickering along the wooden walls, she could makes out the soft, almost transparent, hairs standing sharp down the pale neck. "It is smacking skin that a delicate thing like me desires above all."

As soon as her last word slipped she could feel the spark ignite between their bodies. Violence had a fluid way of working like the rapid white waters of a stream; curling close and slick until a bash against an unsuspecting rock stuck it's victim soft in the head. Their clothed chests smacked, each bucking the other back but neither succeeding and then in the next second the fists were high and the teeth bared like furious beasts.

"Frail boned elven-whore." - a hiss followed a smack to her jaw-line. Sharp pain like a slice of a kitchen knife trailed up to the back of her ear, but she locked in and slammed the edge of her hand against the woman's neck, taking her breath away. She wasn't above playing dirty. Her fights didn't consist solely on closed palms and boring swings panning on until exhaustion overtook her opponent – oh no, this Nord woman would be sore when she offered her the liaison once more.

She twisted to the right, taking another smack to the same portion of jaw, but delivered one of her own that connected with a whelp on the woman's cheek, close enough to her nose that she could see the blue eyes water.

Farkas stood when her lip split and dark blood slipped down her chin, wetting further down the curve of her neck. His chair clamored to the ground and she saw his hands run up his chest like he were reaching for his battleaxe, but they paused and lowed back down. He knew better than get in the way of her fights. Azura-only-knew how many he'd had to witness and wait through in their journeys together. She was even surprised he had a reaction to bare arms after so many, but she only grinned as his surprise wore off to a loose look. Soon his deep call fell with the other cheers and cajoles as they aimed to bloody the other.

Her battle grin became feral, relishing, and only more invigorated. She loved this more than she should. Getting into fights for the sake of fighting; of smacking the piss out of another and sometime getting the same done to her.

A heavy tang of blood filled the side of her mouth, and with a ghastly swallow she grinned again and planted a rough knuckled fist into the woman eye. She stumbled back (fatigued), giving a perfect opening for a smack under her jaw. The impact sent the woman back into a wall where – unabashed or ashamed – she pinned her there and smashed a bloodied kiss along the woman's own busted lip.

The full body didn't relax and didn't give in. The woman bit into her lip and sucked roughly. One bruising return of affection and the Nord bucked her off to wipe at the spit and blood with an exhausted look.

Chuckles and whines of abhorrence alike filled the tavern, but the commotion faded into renewed conversations as they both smirked; stuck in their own world of aches and arousal.

Eventually the woman picked herself off the wall; a hand still steady beside a sconce that echoed the intentions of the two of them with a heavy flickering flame. Perhaps she needed this, and – as the woman's crisp blue eyes darted to the stairs and back to her black eyes – she leveled her shoulders and stepped close, allowing her to lead the way.

She left Farkas where he stood, watching as she turned behind the woman up the stairs. His eyes were probably enough to express his surprise. There had been no times where she'd shown interest in women during their times together, not even Aela, but there would have been no reason to explain anything to him either. Instead she ignored his hot gaze and accepted that tonight was necessary. Tomorrow the off balance they'd been having would end and back would be the amusing journey she'd so loved.

Perhaps, if fate was kind, he would find similar companionship to prepare him for the journey back to Whiterun.

The beast may not have owned his soul any longer, but suddenly he wanted none of the mead growing warm in his tankard, didn't even much care for the beautiful tavern maid sweeping the entrance with a shy smile.

His Shield-Sister was a smelter of temperaments.

He'd been witness to many a brawl before, but the unknown feelings in his gut never coincided with them like this...however – as he stared wide into his amber reflection of thick mead – he remembered that she didn't often touch lips with her opponent.

Never had he seen two women do such a thing. Though he had heard from Vilkas, just before he'd decided to join his Shield-Sister on her journey, that it was often times common for female elves to enjoy the company of other...women. The idea at the time had made him grin and chuckle under his breath. His brother pulled his leg as often as the others, and until now he'd assumed that's all it had been.

All though now he rested back in his uncomfortable chair, knowing exactly what kind of look he wore on his face. It couldn't be helped, but that didn't stop him from lowering her head down to further stare into the rich mead.

No one else had seemed very shocked by what had just happened. Not a single word bore any meaning to the fight or the intimate act between the two women. Was it honestly not the event he thought it as? A warmth settled in his chest, similar to what he knew common before a fire and...the same when they'd had to survive the ice mountains as bare as when they'd been birthed.

Hennigyn reminded him of the women that'd doted on him and Vilkas when they'd been young pups. Those women had been warriors too, but Nord and provocative with men...not pretty women...and not after brawling explicitly for the sake of the hunt. Sometimes he tried to remember who she was before they'd imparted the blood of Hircine in her veins. Was she any different than she was now? - he couldn't tell. What'd he'd seen of her before her change had been strictly to watch her progress; keep an eye on her honor and intentions in each kill. She was almost more a warrior than Aela – not in ferocity, but in meticulous slaughter. She really was Dragonborn; a hero that knew her goal and killed without guilt or second mind.

She also confused him more than his Shield-Siblings back at Jorrvaskr, and she hadn't even tried most of the time.

He let out a grunt, shifting his shoulders when that pretty tavern maid offered him another top of mead. The young lady got the message, her warm presence disappearing over to the bar amicably. Who knew when they'd be in a town again. He should have worked his dumb charm on the lady, but even he understood the feeling in his gut didn't bode well for laying with a women, at least not that woman. The image of Hennigyn; her dark hued skin slipping along the Nords pale body kept teasing him, and finding a way to ignore it was something he wasn't skilled at how to do.

If Vilkas were here he'd know...

Every so often he'd find himself going still, holding his tankard and straining to hear any discernible noise that could have proven what he assumed.

Eventually he let his head rest on a hand, then an arm, and...before he knew it she was sitting across from him with a mead bottles rim rubbing down her lower lip. He groaned and wiped the thick drool running down the corner of his mouth. He'd fallen asleep...and yet the tavern looked just as busy. Or maybe he dreamt it all? No – the swell of her lip proved it'd been real.

His eyes narrowed curiously as she smiled with cheeks full of mead. A glimmer of candle light exposed the bulge of her throat as she swallowed the mouthful. He had so many childish questions; some innocent, but most he knew better than to ask a woman. How did the mechanics of such an act even work. A fit of images struck him and he gave a haggard sigh, pushing his scruffy chin in his palm; defeated brutishly by the trappings of his own imagination.

"I had assumed you would have turned in or found...entertainment.", she appeared outwardly calm, but the purple, pattered bruise along her jaw was already deepening in hue and the start of a small cut peeked forth under her dirty hair. It wouldn't be long before she'd seek a shrine to cure herself of her wounds.

"I don't care for Bards...they give me a headache."

He watched her pale lips curl with wile intent. "I doubt my true meaning 'scaped your intuition, but I wonder...", she offered him a rare giggle, so rare it must have been the third time he'd heard it, "...we have much ground to cover in the morn. Why don't we enjoy a bed for once."

"Why don't we just spend our earnings on a Carriage and sleep the way there? I like that plan.", he grinned, doubting she could deny his profound logic.

Bones popped softly when she stood; stretching muscles he figured were even more sore than his. "You may be onto something my friend.", she returned his grin, showing through her body how tired she really was. He blew out the lantern on their table and swallowed the last mouthful of mead before rolling his own shoulder with a loud snap. She turned at the sound and he gave a small tilt of his mouth when her eyes narrowed.

"I'll order a bath when we wake as well. Oblivion can smell the both of us I'm sure.", she murmured – her heavy boots echoing on the wooden floors as she trailed to the back halls where their room lay. He grinned, following behind her just as loudly in his steps. She read his mind like an open book. A bath sounded better than it'd ever did and he wasn't exactly a man of top notch cleanliness...at least when compared to her.

Hennigyn paused outside their door, long enough for him to grumble in question. She turned and slapped her back on the front of the door; eyes lowered near his stomach. As if her black eyes were burning a hole in his gut he felt a heavy heat settle there. "Before we head in, I hope that you can forgive me for my brash actions earlier."

An apology?

"What was unacceptable about it?" He asked before even thinking about it. Yeah, maybe it was a bit...weird, but did she need to apologize? The light off a nearby torch aimed a dot of light in her otherwise pit-like eyes, making her look suddenly less like an elf and more like a...he couldn't name it, but it was unsettling.

"We haven't been exactly as acuate as we once were. The other day I had been pondering on how to rectify that...", she stared up at him, intense and dark, but he couldn't help wondering what the word acuate meant, "...and my actions tonight did nothing to cure the air between us. For this I apologize."

Sometimes her stare made him itchy, as if she expected him to come up with profound words like his brother, and like always she'd be disappointed for hoping such a thing.

"Thats...thats fine. We don't need to say sorry's."

"I have trouble at times believing a Nord can be so kind. Especially in such need of rest as you."

Her mouth turned down for a second and he felt his own do the same before she brushed it off with a smile before opening the door behind her, and turning inside. He followed, as always, taking a spot on the fur rug with a rough sigh. It felt good to finally lay down, even if it was not a bed like the one Hennigyn was rolling into.

Even with the candles still flickering he found the darkness behind his eyes sufficient enough. He could have gone to sleep, but her hot stare tickled on his face.

"What is it?", he grumbled, more tired than irritated.

"Perhaps it is time I take the floor for once." Her firm voice was soft now...as if she could lull him to her command by it alone.

"I'm fine."

Silence ebbed down on them again, pressing softly like a buzzing bee in his ears. The comfort not found in the floor was covered by the comfort of the warm air and safe cell-like size of the room. Maybe she couldn't abide the idea of his sleeping arrangements being comfortable, but a bed was a bed, even if before it had been a floor.

"I doubt, even a brutish man like you could enjoy the hard floor. Stop being stubborn and come up here. If my presence bothers you so then we shall switch places for the evening, but you and I both know I will not bend on the matter." That finality he'd heard so often remained steady in her demands.

He grunted, opening his eyes to find her leaning off the bed over him, finger tips tracing the floor between them and a smug expression gracing her pale lips. She always won.

The bed wasn't all that small, and it wouldn't have been the first they'd shared together, nor would the closeness be new...but he'd been wary ever since the infamous mountain situation. With an exaggerated sigh he sat up, pulled the straps and latches off his armor and shrugged out of them. She'd find herself regretting her demand if a steel plate nicked her skin in the night.

So in he crawled, heat already touching his face as she threw back the fur covers, scooting back for him with a smile. A smile that held nothing but care and concern. A smile he ignored as he felt his body sink into the bed with a groan.

"There. Now blow out that candle for us."

He gave her a suspicious glance at the change in her expression, but blew out the candle regardless and settled back down. The darkness was safe and comfortable, and despite his previous anxiety, everything in his body gradually relaxed...all except his pulse. She shifted in the blackness before him, bumping an elbow on his stomach, making his muscles tighten. He exhale low and steady, waiting for her to find her comfort and fall asleep.

The straw under their sheets rustle as she turned; rustled even more when she scooted, her thinly cloaked body wedging into the space between his own. This, also, was not new, but she'd been making his body uncomfortable lately, and the arm that ran up between them made him shiver like a man his age shouldn't. Those long skilled fingers played on his chest, nails pursing into the thin wool shirt he wore.

"You never used to mind this before.", she whispered into his chest. He hadn't realized her face was so close until her hot breath was seeping through the stitches of his shirt.

"You were never naked before.", he replied honestly.

"I'm not naked now."

More silence followed. He didn't know what to say. She was perceptive enough, she knew most likely, so he assumed there was no point to think too hard on what to say. Maybe she'd give up and go to sleep so he could follow after.

"Your reaction to it was not uncommon, many men can't help what their bod-"

"Go to sleep, Henni.", he grunted, figuring she'd shut up if he just pulled her closer. She stiffened and made a feminine sound not often heard from her lips and fisted his shirt, more breath flooding through the seams of his shirt. Having her close was always a blessing and a curse, even when he'd fought with her that first time. She'd shown no embarrassment to his nudity after his first change before her, and yet that first time he'd seen her naked...he made a fool of himself.

"Farkas...what I'm trying to say is that you were not wrong. I was. I reacted poorly to..."

"Please...", he sighed, already so uncomfortable with the tension settling in below his navel as she rubbed a thumb up and down a curve of muscle on his chest. "We're past apologies remember? Lets just go to sleep."

Even in the dark he knew she was pursing her lips, biting them, trying to do as he asked but struggling. She never enjoyed being told to leave things as they were, and sometimes he thought it was something only he'd been able to get away with.

"Alright.", he felt her sigh more than heard it as she burrowed like some small animal against him, "Good dreams, Farkas."

He nodded the same, even though she couldn't see it. Sleep, when it finally came, was a welcome escape from her warm, exotic frame. But even in sleep he couldn't truly escape her.

This game owns my soul. So - thanks for reading something that sorta kinda has relation to owning and draining my mortal soul. I hope this chapter didn't seem too odd. I'm not sure if I love it or loath it at this point. In the game I married Farkas, but he's not as loving as I thought. I think he's less "puppy-happy" than people see him as. I always got the feeling he was a little slow, kind-hearted, but maybe a bit "blah" as well. Which I love, but I still can't seem to get him the way I want him yet. Any criticism on this would be smashing. Or praise if I'm doing things right.

I'm neglecting other things for this, so if you like it let me know. Or I'll probably go work on things I should be. :)

As always thanks for reading!