Sapphire leads Vilkas through endlessly twisting tunnels, and she does so in complete darkness, apparently navigating entirely from memory. Many times, he finds himself running into walls or nearly stepping off of ledges, and each time he fumbles, he hears her stifled giggle. A few times, he thinks that if he thought he could find his own way back, he'd turn around; but he thinks of Mayenor and plunges onward. Finally, he catches a glimpse of a flickering light ahead, and they emerge into a small, stone-walled room sparsely decorated with only the table that holds the lantern. Sapphire leads him to the right, down a small slope and to a heavy door. Then, she turns to eye him.
"You're outnumbered here," she tells him, as though he hasn't already considered that fact. "If you draw your weapon, we will kill you. So behave yourself." And, with that, she opens the door.
Vilkas had been expecting to see a dark, dank room, lit only by one or two candles, with unsavory individuals sharpening knives or counting stolen goods; instead, he sees a cheerfully lit, high-ceilinged chamber circling around a reservoir. On either side of the water are shops, and Vilkas can identify a blacksmith and an alchemist before Sapphire ushers him around the walkway. Hanging over the water is a wooden platform, and a pair of women sits talking at a table there, their eyes following Vilkas as he circles to the back of the room, where, he notes with awe, they've set up a makeshift bar.
"Welcome to the Ragged Flagon." Vilkas turns to face Brynjolf, who leans against a crate and looks around with pride, absolutely beaming. "Not what you expected from us thieves, huh? Thought you'd find a moldy hive of scum and villainy?" Though Vilkas doesn't respond, his answer is clear on his face.
"This place used to be like that," says a harsh-looking blonde from her place at a table, "until Mayenor turned it all around." A few people lift their tankards and give a call of here, here! in agreement, and Brynjolf smirks openly at Vilkas. He knows the other man doesn't want to be reminded that Mayenor is a thief or that she once lived in these sewers with Brynjolf by her side.
"Where's Delvin?" Vilkas growls, not in the mood to entertain Brynjolf's boasting.
"Say whuh?" Comes a voice from behind the Companion, and he turns to look at the speaker. He's a short man, pudgy, with a bald head and beady, leering eyes: though he seems like a harmless, fat little man, something in his air reminds Vilkas that he, like the others down here, is a criminal.
"I have a question for you," Brynjolf says, pushing off from the crate he's leaning on and going instead to sit at the table across from his mark. "You've heard about what happened to the Dark Brotherhood, yes?" Delvin sobers immediately, looking solemn.
"Aye. It's a bad thing that happened to them. The Brotherhood has a long history of ending rulers' reigns; this time theirs ended. Badly." Brynjolf nods almost as though he agrees that the faction's disbandment is a shame.
"Would you happen to know if anyone survived, then?"
"You mean Mayenor?" A sly smile crosses his lips. "I may know a thing or two about her whereabouts." Vilkas sees Brynjolf tense just as he does; his heart, he knows, is beating out his chest.
"Tell me," he demands, and Delvin purses his lips.
"May'd have my head if I told anyone… She took great pains not to be seen when she came back—"
Before the little man can finish his sentence, Vilkas has the front of his armor balled into his fists; their faces are inches apart, Vilkas's teeth bared in a snarl. Around him, a subtle flutter of movement announces that the thieves have pulled their weapons, that they're readying themselves to protect their own, but Vilkas doesn't care.
"Tell me where she is," Vilkas growls, "or I'll kill you."
"That wouldn't be very smart, would it?" He quips, making a show of being unperturbed by his current predicament. "I'm the only one who knows where she is. You'll never find her without me."
"At least I'd get the satisfaction of hearing your bones snap one—by—one under my fingers," Vilkas hisses, tightening his grip. Devlin goes white and glances to Brynjolf for help.
"Tell us," Brynjolf insists, apparently surprising his fellows with his candor. Delvin gulps.
"Well, I guess I see why she likes you," he grumbles, glaring at Vilkas. "She always did love animals. What's left of the Brotherhood is in Dawnstar, at an old sanctuary there. I don't know any more than that; she wouldn't tell me exactly where the sanctuary is. All I know is it's north of the town, hidden behind a black door. You can't get in without the password, and I don't know it."
"We'll deal with that later," Brynjolf says, waving a hand dismissively. "Let him go, Vilkas." When Vilkas doesn't move, Brynjolf frowns. "Let him go. He's told us what we need."
"How do we know he's not lying? You thieves aren't known for telling the truth."
"Why would I lie? You think I'm not worried about the little bitch? She lost her entire family—that changes someone." Vilkas lets him go, then, but the scowl stays painted on his lips. He doesn't want to think that the Brotherhood was Mayenor's family; he wants to be her family, him and Farkas and Aela and all the others. And yet, as he's reminded by a glance around the Ragged Flagon, she constantly chooses someone else.
As though sensing Vilkas's thoughts, Brynjolf smirks even as he stands from Delvin's table and steps over to the Companion.
"Follow me. We have a trip to plan," he says simply, leading Vilkas away from the others and down what looks like a hallway. There's a door at the end of it, nestled at the bottom of a short slope, and Vilkas waits for Brynjolf to go through into what is undoubtedly home to the gang's living quarters. But Brynjolf takes a sharp right and stands face to face with a shut cupboard, and Vilkas arches an eyebrow. The thief opens the cupboard and then, still smirking, pushes aside a false back. Grudgingly impressed, Vilkas follows him and waits for him to shut the door behind them.
At the end of a short hallway, Vilkas stops dead in his tracks, eyes widening. They've emerged into a huge, circular room, with beds tucked against the walls and another cistern of water in the middle. Over this cistern, though, is a three-pronged bridge that meets in a round platform over the water; straight across from the entrance are two huge, intricate golden doors. Vilkas can only imagine what stolen treasures lay behind those doors.
"C'mon," Brynjolf grunts, failing to suppress a grin at the Companion's surprise. He heads across the bridge, toward the big doors, and settles down at a desk. Behind the desk are shelves laden with golden statues, jeweled crowns, and what appears to be an enormous diamond. Vilkas scans the loot while Brynjolf settles into a chair and steeples his fingers.
"So. It seems we'll be working together for a while," he says conversationally, eyeing Vilkas. The larger man fights not to squirm under the redhead's gaze: something about him, undoubtedly the calculating glint in his eyes, unnerves the Companion.
"So it seems," Vilkas grunts in reply, tearing his gaze from the treasures. "We should leave as soon as possible."
"My thoughts exactly. I can have my bag packed in twenty minutes." Vilkas blinks, surprised.
"You want to leave tonight?" He asks a bit dumbly, and Brynjolf quirks an eyebrow, pinning Vilkas with one of his charming smiles.
"What, isn't finding May your top priority? We can wait until daylight if you want, I suppose…" He trails off, a satisfied smirk replacing his grin when Vilkas scowls.
"No. We'll leave immediately."
"Excellent. Meet me by the front gate in twenty minutes, then."
Vilkas thinks about arguing, about pointing out that Brynjolf could easily slip away and leave Vilkas to fend for himself—but then he realizes he doesn't care. He knows now that Mayenor is in Dawnstar, and that's all the information he needs in order to find her. Now that he knows where to start, nothing will stop him. So, with a few directions from Brynjolf, he manages to navigate his way out the back exit and retreats to his room in the Bee and Barb. He's surprised to find all of his things still intact and present—but then, he reminds himself bleakly, he's in league with the thieves now.
He's one of them.