Ciri wrapped the makeshift towel around her. The lake water had been incredibly cold, and the coolness of the evening hadn't helped much. Shivering, she trudged back up to the house. Brynjar seemed kind enough, but Ciri was wary. Perhaps she was simply putting up a barrier, but somehow Brynjar seemed to demolish it as soon as he smiled or laughed. It was simply infectious. Finally in the safety of the house, went up the stairs to where she had left her clothes. She was sure she felt Brynjar's eyes as she did. Once comfortably clothed, Ciri joined him at the now empty table.
"Here, drink this. Got a few more weeks before spring, but this oughta keep you warm," Brynjar slid a tan bottle across to Ciri. She hesitated before drinking. She took one sip and erupted into a coughing fit. Brynjar laughed loudly. "Ha! That's Firebrand Mead for ya! Perfect for keeping warm in the winter." He opened a bottle for himself.
Ciri recovered and sat the drink down. "So, I'm a stranger to these lands. Tell me about them so I'm not completely in the dark."
Brynjar nodded and disappeared for a moment to fetch more mead and a map. "Alright, well, for starters, where we are now is Skyrim," He pointed to the northernmost land. "Skyrim is the land of the Nords, vicious winters, and sky-kissed peaks. Where we are is the southern forests of Skyrim, Falkreath."
Ciri found herself not interested in that, so she went straight to the point. "Who are you? You're clearly not some random hermit, no you're a warrior, a fighter, but why are you out here in these woods?"
Brynjar stared at the map for a while. "Well… I'm…hmm, waiting on orders shall we say?"
"What kind of orders?"
Brynjar hesitated. "Orders… from the Emperor of Tamriel," Ciri gave him a confused look. "Tamriel is the continent Skyrim and other provinces are on."
"So you're a lackey for an emperor? I find that hard to believe."
"You shouldn't. There's a war coming and Emperor Septimus wants me and Skyrim on his side."
Ciri looked at him for a moment. She thought that she saw something unique about him, but couldn't quite place what it was. He was clearly a somewhat important, if he wasn't lying, but why?
"You aren't lying are you?" Ciri asked.
"Not in the slightest. Since the death of his father, Titus Mede II, the Emperor has been preparing for war and he needs allies. Powerful allies." Brynjar finished his mead and stood. "A lovely little conversation this is, but I'm retiring for the night. When you get tired, there are several beds upstairs. Pick one and fall right in."
Ciri scoffed. "What? Just like that and this is over? I want answers and I—"
"Good night Ciri." He went into his own room and nearly slammed the door. Ciri groaned. Why was this man so difficult? And what war was he talking about? The thought gave Ciri a headache, so she headed up the stairs to the small room with a bed in it. She went to sleep trying to figure who this character was she was holed up with.