Cyréne stood on the Dragonborn's doorstep fuming. Someone clearing their throat brought her out of her furious haze. The Dragonborn's house-carl stood before her, arms crossed, with a sour look on her face.

"You!" Cyréne pointed a finger at the dark-haired Nord. "Your name is Lydia, right?"

Lydia looked at her with suspicion, "Yes, why?"

"I'm buying you a drink, "Cyréne growled.

Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but shrugged and followed the blonde Imperial up the hill to the Bannered mare instead – it was her day off.

Six rounds later, Lydia had her head on the table. "And he makes me carry all this shit around! Huge amounts of shit."

"Ass!" Cyréne hissed.

Lydia raised her head. "Yes, just like I was his ass – to carry all of his shit."

Cyréne's mug froze halfway to her lips. She shot Lydia a sideways glance, 'Whaa?'

Lydia blinked. "A pack mule to carry all of his . . ."

Cyréne was shaking in silent laughter.

"Whas'so funny?"

"You said ass," Cyréne gasped, "like shit, and then—"

"Yeah," Lydia grumbled. "I gotta carry all 'is shit like I'ma ass."

Still laughing, Cyréne waved her hands in front of her face, sloshing her mead. Tears rolled down her face and Lydia grinned at her and shook her head in confusion. Crazy Imperial.

"So tell me," Cyréne said after she regained her composure, "the house-carl and the thane – classic love story is it not?"

Lydia nodded her head. "Oh yeah. House-carls dream of getting a thane that looks like him."

Cyréne grinned. "So . . ."

"So . . . what?" Lydia asked.

"SO . . ." Cyréne made a rolling motion with her hand. "Is there hot forbidden sex underneath all this talk of torture?"

"NO!" Lydia stated emphatically.

Cyréne laughed, "But you just said—"

Lydia grimaced and gave an involuntary shudder.

"Alright, alright - I just want to know how you avoid wanting to bed him if you find him that attractive," Cyréne said, tipping her tankard to her lips.

"Uhh . . . I spend time with him," Lydia deadpanned.

Cyréne snorted and mead spewed back into her tankard and ran down her mouth.

"Lydia, my love, where have you been all my life?"

"Hauling around shit for the Savior of the World."

Hours later, the Dragonborn entered the Bannered Mare, intent on dinner and getting some information on one particularly sweet Sweetroll. Hulda waved and motioned him over to the bar to take his order.

"Here you are," she said a few minutes later. "I hope you stick around, I may need some help later with your house-carl and her new best friend. They've been drinking all day"

Kalv followed Hulda's gaze to a corner table where Lydia dear, sweet, wonderful Lydia was laughing and slapping the table as Sweetroll, obviously in the middle of a story, made exaggerated gestures with her hands. Kalv retreated to another table with his food and watched them while he ate. A while later, Sweetroll launched into another story and soon Lydia was patting her arm with a forlorn look on her face. Kalv caught something about Dibella and whores and simmering. Interesting He signaled to Hulda for another round and settled into his chair.

"And then he said her name? Like, right there with her looking at you?" Lydia was appalled.

"Yes," Cyréne choked miserably.

"That . . . that little BITCH" Lydia spat.

"YES! He IS a little bitch!" Cyréne said, anger coloring her features.

"Well, I was talking about her, but—" Lydia cut herself off, "so is he. You should kick his ass!"

"I should kick his ass!" Cyréne said dangerously. She wobbled to her feet and teetered there for a moment.

Vilkas spent his day neck-deep in self-disgust. After everything she'd put him through, everything he'd put himself through over her, he'd let her get to him, and he'd let her fuck him – again. Yvette hadn't wanted anything more than to be free of him to marry some other unlucky bastard – and a good bedding. He still wasn't sure how he'd let it happen. He could blame it on not taking a woman in over a month, or Yvette's preplanned assault, but it didn't matter. No excuse was good enough. After holding a warm sleeping Cyréne in his arms not moments before Cyréne, gods, what have I done? He'd allowed her sweet scent to be replaced by Yvette of all people. He loathed himself. He handed Yvette a large sack of gold as she signed the papers that further severed any union they'd once had.

"Bye, Love," Yvette chirped happily.

"Goodbye," Vilkas said flatly, as he walked her through Jorrvaskr.

"And don't worry, I'm sure she'll get over it."

Vilkas eyed her suspiciously, "Who?'

Yvette blushed prettily and fluttered her lashes over her beautiful eyes, "Oh you didn't notice?" she purred.

Vilkas's jaw clenched, he found her about as appealing as a hagraven.

"That pretty little blonde of yours," Yvette continued. "Not quite your type really, is she Vilkas? She seems much too . . . happy. At least she did before-"

"Before what?" he growled

"Before she walked in on us" Yvette purred, please with herself. Her ruby lips curled upward as the color drained from Vilkas's face. Oh this is just too good! "Such a pity too, right when you were telling me how much you missed me and calling my name."

No! Please, no! Vilkas's face contorted in misery

"Funny," Yvette chirped as she slipped out the door, "that's the same look that was on her face."

Vilkas shoved a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. This isn't happening.

Njada shouldered past him roughly and followed Yvette out the door. "I wouldn't worry too much about it Shield-Brother," she said harshly. "She managed to snag the Dragonborn on her way out of town. Unlike you, she traded up."

Cyréne saw me with Yvette, and she's gone, with the Dragonborn.

Vilkas struggled to make sense of his swimming thoughts. He barely registered his own forward motion when his brother put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the Bannered Mare.

The Mare had steadily filled with customers and the two intoxicated women were not drawing too much attention – that is until Lydia sucker-punched one of the Companions. The Dragonborn choked on his mead and nearly tumbled from his chair. Shit!

"Whore! Little Bitch!" Lydia yelled.

The irate Companion was just getting to his feet when Kalv reached them.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vilkas snarled

Kalv wedged himself between them. "Apologies, it seems my house-carl has had too much to drink. If you'll just allow me to remove her-"

He turned to face Lydia only to have a surprise left hook him right in the mouth and send him sprawling to the floor. He looked up, furious. Sweetroll stood over him.

"What Lydia has had too much of," she yelled, "is carrying all of your SHIT around!"

Vilkas and Kalv gaped at her.

"Cyréne! Sweetroll!" they said.

"No!" Lydia slurred, "She's mine!"

Cyréne shot them both a 'that's-right-assholes' look and echoed, "Hers."

To emphasize her point Lydia hitched the blonde up and kissed her, leaning her low over the nearest table. Low whistles and cheers sounded from around the bar and the women righted themselves and grinned at each other.

Kalv took the hand Farkas offered him and, grinning, hauled himself from the floor. "Sorry about that," he said to Vilkas.

"Seeing as how one of ours just did you the same favor, I'd say we're even," Vilkas said.

Kalv wiped the blood from his lip and pointed at Lydia, "Home, now!"

Vilkas moved to collect Cyréne, but stopped when she turned away from him.

The Dragonborn narrowly missed another punch as he held the door for the two intoxicated women. He grinned. "Now, now . . . manners."

"Ass!" hissed Cyréne

"Whatever you say, Sweetroll."

"MINE!"

"For gods' sake Lydia."