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The Flagon was empty, and so were theirs. Caine fixed that by calling Vekel over.
Everyone had left for sleep or jobs hours ago, and she was sure that the bartender wanted to do the same, but as long as there was business Vekel was out to take it. He was tired, she could see that. "Tell you what, Vekel, you keep the taps open for us and we'll make sure there's plenty left for tomorrow." She dug in her pack and found a hefty coin purse. "There's my cut from my last job. If you want I'll send half your way for my next two." Caine wasn't hurting for coin, she wouldn't miss it.
Vekel cocked an eyebrow but took the septims all the same. "You two better not drink me out of the Cistern."
Brynjolf chuckled lightly and rattled his empty tankard. "We're more likely to drink ourselves out of our clothes." He winked at her, Caine couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth, or the way his smirk made her feel like a flowering maiden instead of a seasoned bowman and thief.
Vekel shook his head and turned back to the bar, returning with a small keg of mead. "I'll spare you this as long as you don't wake up the rest of the Guild."
"Will do, thank you, Vekel." Caine said, snatching Bryn's cup and filling it before doing the same to her own. They drank in silence for a time, enjoying the feeling of being alone in each other's company. Her eyes roamed the Flagon. It seemed so different when no one was in it, obviously emptier, and quieter, but there was a feeling of rest that settled into it somehow. She swooped her gaze to the bar. That, too, seemed strange without Vekel behind it.
"I don't think you ever told me how you came to Skyrim, Lass." Bryn said, drawing in her attention with the smoothness of his voice and the ease of his tone. Caine swallowed down the last of her mead. She had been so naïve, when she had come to Skyrim. Thinking about it now made her want to hide her face in her palm.
"I was in Helgen the day the dragon attacked… it was my first day in Skyrim."
"Helgen was to be used as an execution site that day, Mercer told us to steer clear of it for a few days." Bryn told her idly.
"I know. I was to be executed." She smiled, though there really wasn't anything to smile about, save for maybe the irony of it all. "I came across what I thought was a trade caravan, only it was a group of Imperials taking prisoners. I resisted when they tried to arrest me. I got a cut at the back of my head that festered for days after for my troubles."
"Did you go back after the dragon hit?" Brynjolf rested his chin in his palm, eyes shining with interest in the dim light of the few candles that were still lit.
"Yes. It amazes me how quickly the bandits set in. I don't even think the embers had finished dying. With so much destruction it doesn't surprise me that no one survived, but I have taken down dragons on my own and with help. I do not understand how the first one I met couldn't be stopped by a small army."
"Maybe it was the small bit that made the difference."
"Maybe." Caine agreed halfheartedly. "Anyway. Your turn. I don't remember how you got that scar." She gestured to the one on his cheek. The very one she had wanted to run her fingers along almost since the day she met him.
"That's because I never told you. And I don't remember agreeing to exchanging questions."
"I'm curious, humor me."
The redheaded thief squinted at her slightly, though a light smirk adorned his lips. "Fine. It was one of the first jobs I went on. My mark didn't like my silver tongue so she tried cutting it out."
"Hmm, she missed." Caine sipped her refilled tankard.
"I know. And good thing, too. Who else would have sweet talked you into the Guild?" Bryn smiled. "It was dumb luck, really. Just an impossible combination of events that turned in my favor. I got to keep my tongue, and got a nice looking scar to remember her by.
"What about you? What stories do your scars tell?"
"Not very interesting ones, I'm afraid. Unlike yours, mine can be hidden by clothes and armor." Caine absentmindedly ran her fingers along one on her knee. It had been the mark of an arrow that grazed her through flimsy leather armor.
"Alright, then. Why the warpaint, then?" Bryn tried again, filling another tankard full of mead.
"I'm a member of the Companions' Circle, though in truth it was the one good thing I ever got from my father."
"You don't speak well about your father."
"My father was a drunk. He… blames me for my mother's death."
"Did you kill her?" He asked bluntly, making Caine look up sharply. There was no accusation in his face, only genuine curiosity.
"I was too young to remember her. If I did it was when she birthed me. Everyone said when my mother died, all the good things in my father died with her. He was a bitter old man, and a violent drunk." Her fingers found their way to her neck. It seemed a lifetime ago since there were bruises to show for it, but Bryn's hands hadn't been the first to wrap around her throat. "The first time he laid a hand on me was the last time I saw him."
Caine dared a look at the Nord that shared her table. He looked horrified and angry, his mouth gaped open and his brow creased slightly. Brynjolf swallowed and broke eye contact. He felt guilt, then. Angry and guilty, it was an interesting combination. She wondered what it felt like. "I… I didn't know. I'm sorry, lass."
"Don't. It was along time ago, and I hear the bastard got what was coming to him. I hear he found his way to the Hall of the Dead with two arrows in his back. A pity I wasn't there to see it." Caine tried to give him a reassuring smile, and pushed her full mug in his direction. "Bryn, look at me," he did. She didn't think she'd ever seen those emerald eyes so clouded with guilt. "It was in the past. Do not dwell on what you cannot fix." She slid her hand atop his and gave it a light squeeze. "What about your parents? Surely they can't be as bad as mine?"
"My mother was an honest woman, worked the meat off her bones to raise three children. My father… I know only enough to know I look just like him. He died in the war when I was only a boy. I met Gallus when I was barely old enough to hold that bow of yours. Picked the wrong pocket, or that's what he said anyway.
"By then I was looking out for myself so Gallus took me back to Riften with him. Been here ever since."
"You and Gallus must have been close." She wondered what he must have felt when he'd found out Gallus had died.
"He was like a father to me. He taught me almost everything I know."
"Almost?"
"They found out I had a knack for conning people out of their valuables," Bryn smirked, "and their clothes." Caine choked on her drink, making Brynjolf burst into laughter. "Just because I can doesn't mean I will. Besides, I don't have to. I've seen you naked."
"You wouldn't need to put that silver tongue to use to get me out of my clothes… well, not for talking anyway." The Bosmer smiled. Gods… how long had it been since they'd last shared a bed? Too long, but it seemed that neither of them had the time.
"Oh, Lass, I love it when you talk dirty to me," He smiled. "What made you decide to join the Guild, aside from my charming good looks, of course."
"Don't flatter yourself, Bryn." Caine sloshed her half empty tankard around. It had been a spur of the moment decision, influenced heavily by a man with red hair and eyes that shone like emeralds. "I didn't want to be some Jarl's errand girl, so I threw in my lot with a band of criminals." Bryn had made her feel like she could do anything. It was no small disappointment when she had failed at something so simple as planting evidence. She learned a lot since then.
Caine was a good thief, but the more she knew, the more she realized that she still had much to learn.
"What exactly did you do for the Jarl?"
The Wood Elf rested her cheek in her palm with a sigh. "I retrieved a stone for his Mage. Earned my thanedom, just another fancy title with a few perks." Caine smiled. "I was such a child, then."
"We all were, once." Bryn took a sip of his mead.
"I suppose, though some grow more quickly than others. I was naïve enough to believe that I had no more growing left. Skyrim taught me otherwise."
"Skyrim is as hard and as cold as the Nords that inhabit her."
"This coming from a Nord himself?" they both chuckled.
Brynjolf smiled into his drink after the laughter subsided. "Most Nords believe legends like a devout believes in religion. They're practically blind from it."
"So you're skeptical? About this Dragonborn business, I mean." Caine stepped through the question carefully, unsure of what kind of reaction she would get.
"I don't know." He leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "You're not the type to spin a fantastic tale. You're a good liar, but an honest one. I have no choice to accept it. Whether or not I believe it… well, seeing is believing, right?"
Caine smiled. "Seeing is believing."