NOTE: I have absolutely no claim to the beauty that is Skyrim, I just like to appreciate her loveliness by writing creatively. I'll have to see how lewd I get with this writing… I guess it'll depend on how many people read and your response. Enjoy!

The Dark Lady

Rune reclined lazily, sunlight streaming down and filling the marketplace with pleasant warmth. He watched lethargically as the good people of Riften went about their business, purchasing, bartering, arguing and gossiping. He snorted dismissively, finding the prospect of a lawful life unexciting. He stretched his long limbs gracefully and finished off his sweetroll, then turned to observe Brynjolf lie blatantly about his newest miracle concoction, a tawny potion that glowed luminescent in green bottles and seemed, in appearance, to be Falmer blood. In truth, it was a mixture of cheap liquor similar to boot polish and copper filings created in a night of drunken revelry. Rune was doubtful of its properties of granting you the ability to be invincible or make love like a sabre cat, but it didn't stop a tiny Bosmer man from squeaking excitedly and purchasing five bottles.

"Yes, that one needs all the help he needs in the bedroom." Rune thought wryly as he noticed the elf's stout wife eying every other male in the marketplace. People were silly.

Or perhaps not as silly as he thought. Although much of the crowd watching Brynjolf's demonstration had seemed very enthusiastic at his product, Rune could see the slight frown on his face as the crowd dispersed and knew that today's sales had been less than the day before. He sighed. An intelligent but simple man, Rune did not think of much else of how to relieve someone else of their valuables and then how to spend what he got. With the poor haul the guild had been receiving lately, though, he began to seriously consider the wild rumours about a curse. For months their luck had been declining with both outright theft and more underhanded dishonesty like the Falmer blood.

Rune could only dwell on such deep thoughts for a short time, though, and he was quickly roused from them by the sight of the sun sagging slightly in the sky. It was past noon, and time for him to earn his keep.

Innately talented and well trained, it only took the thief a few moments to decide upon his target. A young cloaked woman wandered inconspicuously amongst the throng of people, seeming as if she did not belong but was comfortable all the same. She would be a difficult dip, with her quick hands and feet and the intelligent way she engaged no conversation and conflict, but worth it. The hood that covered her hair and obscured her face also betrayed some caution on her part. Her simple and well-made clothes and dagger betrayed that she had more wealth than she lead others to believe. She seemed to be a merchant's wife or daughter, and more richly loaded than the fools who bumped against her and griped about dragon attacks.

Flexing his fingers lightly, Rune easily got to his feet and vanished into the crowd. Technically everyone could see him, but his skills were good enough that none would look twice or remember him later. As he always did, he made sure there was a disreputable person of sorts near the woman before he inconspicuously strolled behind her in preparation for the dip. On the off chance that the woman noticed the lightness of her purse while Rune was still nearby, the blame would fall upon the scapegoat. In this case, he had an infallible choice; a local drunk who would be suspected to stoop to whatever means for gold.

Skin tingling with anticipation, Rune smoothly slipped his fingers into her purse, feeling the lovely smoothness of the coins.

Then, abruptly, he felt a far less pleasant touch on his hand. The cold tip of a dagger pricked his skin and sent warm trickle of blood drip off his fingers and onto the gold. His instincts forced him to keep walking, matching the woman's pace as she glanced at him in a friendly way.

"So," she inquired in a pleasant undertone, not drawing anybody's attention. "How much stolen gold is your smallest finger worth?"

He felt the sharpness of her blade transfer to his pinkie, punctuating her threat. Coldness gripped his chest and constricted his breath, and his brain began to calculate the bribe required to keep all his fingers and not get put in prison. Unfortunately, his mouth recovered first.

"How about a few drinks at the inn?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Rune cringed in horror and embarrassment. He'd spend far too much time seducing women! She wasn't some wench to be bought off with a few drinks of mead and spend the night with, he was bargaining for his safety! He swallowed hard and berated himself for getting into such a mess in an incredibly idiotic manner.

She gave him a long, incredulous look, obviously as shocked by his nerve as he was. Then, unexpectedly, her dagger disappeared and Rune heard the sound of it being sheathed. She offered him a broad smile.

"You are an odd one, thief. Lead the way to the nearest mead." This caused Rune to raise an eyebrow in amusement. He took her arm amiably and began leading her to the Bee and Barb.

"A lovely lady such as yourself drinks mead like the common folk?" he teased, his voice warm as he recognized a fellow mischief-lover. Now that the danger had passed and he was seemingly in the woman's good graces, he could appreciate her as more than a means to wealth. He raked her eyes over her appraisingly, and she raised an eyebrow of her own and pretended to be offended.

"Now, good sir, I am no common wench to be won over by your flattery!" she proclaimed, her tone teasing and her face alighting with a smile. Rune suddenly wished that her hood was not up and he could clearly see her face. He was surprised when she abruptly halted, and realized that they had arrived at the inn. Like a gentleman, he opened the door for her with a gallant bow, causing an unexpected look of sorrow to flash across her face. She quietly thanked him and they settled at a table inside.

After ordering mead for him and his mysterious companion, Rune loosened his joints and stretched his hands, as was his habit. With a wince, he remembered the cut sustained from his foiled pickpocket attempt. He looked down at his bloody finger ruefully and heard the woman chuckle. Her shadowed eyes seemed to dance with merriment at the regretful look on his face.

"How often is it that you fail at… what you do?" her tone was teasing, but also curious. Surprised at her interest, Rune looked at her deeply, then sighed and scratched his head.

"Very rarely. I have to say, you gave me quite a fright, mistress." Her brow furrowed contemplatively, and Rune found himself once again frustrated by the hood that concealed her features. Noticing his irritation, she smiled slightly and pulled back her hood. Rune drew in a breath softly. She was young, no older than twenty-five, and full or mostly Nord. Her features were uncommonly pretty, with a broad, full mouth, straight nose and exotic eyes. They were slanted and a bright blue-green, lending her a predatory and almost Elf or Khajiit look. She was uncommonly tanned, and her fair hair was bleached from sunlight. The pair regarded each other silently as the woman also sized up Rune's dark, expressive eyes, crooked smile and lean face. Suddenly, she leaned forward, her gaze searching. Rune looked at her inquiringly, but she just sighed in a sad way and settled back into her chair. After taking a long drink of mead, she addressed him again.

"Forgive me if I seem solemn or distant. I have not met someone I trusted for several years. I am waiting to be betrayed or find a reason to distrust you." With considerable effort, she smiled again. "My name is Dylarin."

"You go years without trusting anyone, and the first person you decide to befriend is someone who tries to pickpocket you?" In his confusion, Rune was painfully blunt. Frowning, he then processed her second remark. "Wait… Dylarin? The bright-tongue?" Dylarin's face registered surprise at his connection.

"You know the story?"

"I do. It was always my favourite as a boy, told from an old bard drinking the last of his days away." Suddenly realizing his error, Rune smacked himself in the forehead and Dylarin jumped, surprised at the violent gesture. "Forgive me, Dylarin. I'm Rune. It's lovely to meet you." She chuckled at his afterthought introduction and shook his hand formally. The silence stretched between them, and Rune cleared his throat, intent on getting to know his new friend.

"Your mother must have been quite the romantic to name you after the accursed bard from such a tale."

"I wouldn't know why my mother named me the way I did." Grief clouded her blue eyes and her lips twisted painfully. "I imagine you know the pain of being parentless as well." Trailing his finger through a spilled drop on the table, he nodded slowly.

"I've no recollection of my family. I was found by a fisherman, and spent my childhood gutting salmon and baiting lines." Realizing the bitterness in his voice, he shook his head impatiently. "I'm not ungrateful. I was lucky. My da was a good man, and he taught me how to deliver a mean right hook." She snorted.

"A very necessary skill," she said sombrely. Dancing shadows from the cook fire reflected in her eyes, and Rune smiled softly.

"He died two springs ago. 'Twas the rockjoint." He toyed with his tankard, remembering. "I visited there every winter, but he hid the illness from me… After I left, he couldn't take care of himself." Uttering a low oath, Rune drained his mead and scowled into the fire. "Stubborn old man."

"It seems we both awaken painful memories in each other." Rune nodded absently at her observation and suddenly roused himself.

"Well, we musn't talk of such gloomy things then. Tell me, Dylarin, how did you come to be in such an unfortunate and prolonged meeting with the sun? Not freezing to death atop in the cold Skyrim winds is poor for your health, you know." His attempt to dispel the gloominess was successful, and she let out a musical laugh. Bright-tongue indeed, Rune thought.

"You are correct. I didn't earn these abominable freckles in this lovely wasteland." Rune peered closely at her face and was pleasantly surprised that she did have freckles. They were adorable.

"I've been in Elswyr these past seven years." She explained. "It's wonderful there, by the way. I needn't wear gloves at the height of summer or protect myself from petty thieves on my first day in town." Those blue-green eyes twinkled mischievously, and Rune found himself warming to their light.

"Damned thieves. You can never trust them, make no mistake!" His announcement was so loud that an inebriated man the next table over raised his mug and shouted "hear, hear!" Rune and Dylarin collapsed in giggles as they received strange looks from the more sober people in the room.

"I think you and I are destined to plague Riften with our bad manners." Rune's heartbeat skipped at 'you and I' and he met her gaze fully. Her playful grin melted and softness came over her face. She leaned forward slightly…

A hand clamped down on her shoulder ominously, and her head whipped around to observe the man standing over her. Tall and pleasant-faced with red hair and blue merchant's clothes, he looked like a respectable Nord but for the stark warning in his grey eyes. He squeezed her shoulder ominously.

"Don't think just because he's a charming young lad that he'll play whatever little game you devise, lass." The agreeable tone of his voice closely veiled a threat and his gaze was stony and unflinching on her. He leaned in by her ear so his words breathed quietly in her ear. "You may be new here, but know that our organization is not to be trifled with. You should forget what happened with my friend and be about your business."

Rune seemed to quickly grasp the general idea of what the man was saying, because he quickly rose to grip the man's arm.

"Brynjolf, no, she is a friend. We were just having a drink. She did not mind my little… indiscretion." Brynjolf regarded Dylarin suspiciously and pulled up a chair.

"I've always got a mind for a drink," he said amiably, appraising the strange woman. She was pretty enough, he decided. But trustworthy?

"Brynjolf, this secretive woman is Dylarin. Dylarin, Brynjolf." The two regarded each other across the table, and shadows played across their faces. Looking searchingly, Brynjolf observed the keenness in her eyes with a jolt. Secretive indeed.