Here's Chapter 7! Let me know what you think! As a side note, I did some paintings of Liette (links on my profile if you'd like to see them.)
Liette finally managed to corner Brynjolf back in the cemetery. He had grown tired of the game and flopped down on the grass, laughing and trying to catch his breath. She sat next to him and wiped the sweat from her brow. When he had finally caught his breath he returned her coin purse and stood, extending a hand to help her up from the ground. She looked up at him with an unreadable expression and placed her hand in his. The awkwardness of the moment wasn't lost on Brynjolf, he recalled her stunned expression after he had kissed her.
"Brynjolf...what was that back there? I suspect you aren't always so friendly with your guildmates." She was clearly embarrassed, but seemed determined to get an answer out of him.
"Misdirection" he said, only half lying.
"I see. Well should you wish to misdirect me further, I would have no objections" she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him suggestively.
He shrugged. "Those kind of of relationships never mesh well with our line of work."
"Gods above, Brynjolf! I'm not asking you to the Temple of Mara" she laughed. "I'm just looking for a bit of fun. But if you think you can't handle it...I'll just have to find someone else." She brushed a lock of tangled hair from her face and looked at him expectantly. But he wasn't falling for the temptress act, sure that she was using it as a ploy to cover her own embarrassment.
"You're full of hot air, lass. A beautiful creature like you wouldn't take a washed up old thief like me to bed. Not that I couldn't handle it" he remarked.
She felt her cheeks starting to redden, the seams of her facade starting to split. Had he just called her beautiful?
"Look, I get your game, lass. No one comes to Riften who isn't looking for a fresh start or a distraction. But I'm not going to let you use me to run away from your problems."
She took a step backwards, as if his words were physical blows. Her first instinct was to run, but his words had sewed the seed of rage within her. Who was he to criticize her? Who was he to imply she was a coward? Suddenly her anger burst into full bloom. She lunged forward and slapped him across the face, leaving an angry red welt.
"You don't know anything about me, Brynjolf" she spat. He was rubbing the mark on his face with a look of smug satisfaction, which only served to anger her more. She moved to hit him again, but he caught her wrist.
"Then why don't you educate me, lass? What exactly are you running from, what could be so bad?"
She paled, looking like a frightened animal.
"You'd never believe it" she lamented. "Why do care anyway, Brynjolf? We've only just met."
"The moment you joined the guild you became a member in our family" he said seriously. "Let's grab a drink, then you can tell me what's on your mind."
Liette fidgeted in her seat at the Bee and Barb. She had insisted that they avoid the Flagon, though she was beginning to trust Brynjolf, she didn't want the other guild members to overhear. She waited for Brynjolf to bring the drinks, every second feeling like an eternity. Finally he slid into the seat across from her with a two bottles of spiced wine.
"Alright lass. Are you ready to tell me what's troubling you?"
She sighed. "This isn't really my thing. I'm not even sure where to begin."
He could tell she would require a bit more encouragement to get started.
"Just start from the beginning. How did a breton like yourself come to Skyrim? I suppose you were raised in High Rock?"
She groaned, "everyone always assumes that."
He chuckled. "If you're this close-mouthed all the time, I can see why."
Liette put her hands up in mock defeat. "Alright, Alright. I'll tell you!"
She cleared her throat and began.
"I was born in Cyrodiil. We lived in Bruma for as long as I can remember, my Father was fur trader and my Mother was master of restoration magic, the town healer, if you will. When I was still a girl, my Da fell ill and died. A few years later my Mum was killed by marauders and I ended working as a farm hand."
"I'm sorry" said Brynjolf solemnly.
"I don't want your pity" she snapped. "Anyway, I ended up as a farm hand, working for my meals. The drudgery was too much for me. I decided to leave Cyrodiil when I had saved up the money, there was nothing left for me there anyway." She paused to drink deeply. This part of the story was something she didn't quiet understand herself, but bizarrely she found herself feeling lighter as she told it.
"So after a year of saving I joined up with a clan of Nords from Bruma. They had heard about the Stormcloak rebellion and wanted to come to Skryim to fight for their right to worship Talos. I figured that Skryim sounded like as good a place as any, so I packed up and left with them.
We crossed the border and ended up in the middle of an Imperial ambush. After that, I can hardly believe what happened, even if I did see it with my own eyes. We were taken to Helgen and lined up for execution..." she trailed off, staring off into the distance.
"Helgen was attacked by a dragon."
Brynjolf nearly choked on his wine. He had heard the rumors about Helgen, but he had figured it was Stormcloak propaganda.
"I'm sorry, did you say Dragon? Because I'm not sure I heard you right" he said.
She shot him a venomous look. "Yes. A Dragon. And that's not all. In the confusion I managed to escape. I ended up in Whiterun, I'm still not completely sure how, but I was roped into fighting for the Jarl a dragon attacked their watchtower. We managed to kill it...but when it died..." she trailed off.
"What is it, lass?" He spoke hesitantly, by this point he was feeling a bit over his head, whatever he had been expecting her to say, this wasn't it.
She shook her head. "It'd be easier to show you." She stood and gestured for him to follow her.
Liette led him out to Riften's gates and past the stables. Once she had ascertained that they were far enough from the city, she turned to speak.
"When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it. It was a truly terrifying experience" she recounted. She turned her back on him and tried to summon the word she'd learned. Focusing on the knowledge that had burned its way into her mind that day, she felt the power building in her chest. She braced herself and released the word to the skies.
"FUS" she shouted, her voice redolent with ancient magic.
Complete silence followed her demonstration. Brynjolf was dumbfounded. When he finally came to his senses, all he could manage to say was, "You're the Dragonborn?"
"I...well...I'm not sure" she said, her brow furrowing. "I heard the summons of the Greybeards, but you were right about me Brynjolf." She looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, "I'm a coward, I didn't answer their summons. I ran away."
In this situation he would have normally offered words of comfort or words of advice. But for the first time in Brynjolf's life, he was lost for words. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled her into his arms and held her until the tears stopped.
They walked back to Riften together, Brynjolf still trying to find the right words.
"You know, his isn't exactly within my realm of experience" he began, "but I'd say that you should just take this one day at a time, lass. Go to the Greybeards when you're ready."
They walked on in silence for a bit longer, she stopped a few steps back and breathed a sigh of relief.
He noticed that she had stopped and raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.
"Something wrong?"
She answered by standing up on her toes and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you, Brynjolf. Ever since I came to Skyrim it seems that someone, somewhere was demanding something from me. It's good to finally meet someone willing to let me make my own choices" she said.
"Anytime" he grinned at her, "so lass, still care for some more misdirection?"
She laughed and smacked him on the shoulder, secretly grateful for the change of subject.
"Aye, I'll race you to the Bee and Barb!" She winked at him and took off.
