Thief of the Heart

Ebrus walked up to the front door of his meadery, key in hand, only to find the door already unlocked. The world stood still as the key twisted the lock with no resistance. A gulp formed in Ebrus’s throat and a bead of sweat dripped down his temple. He installed those locks himself only four days ago. Had somebody already broken in?
He slowly pushed open the door and creeped in. The storefront looked undisturbed. Morning sunlight shone through barred windows, illuminating rows of bottles decorating the desk and shelves. A sweet intoxicating scent wafted from barrels placed around the edges of the room, each painted with the keg and wreaths of the Keghauler Meadery. Utter silence reigned until the slow creaking of wood emanated from the door across the room.
As quiet as his stocky dwarf form would allow, Ebrus grabbed a bottle of mead from the front desk and made his way to a position next to the door. As it swung open, Ebrus made to swing but stopped as he saw a familiar dwarven face sharing his dark hair and bronze complexion. Bergrem met his brother’s eyes as both dwarves screamed and stumbled back from each other, nearly knocking some bottles off their shelves. Ebrus sighed in relief.
Bergrem, clutching a parcel loosely wrapped in paper, was the first to speak. “Brother! You startled me half to death!”
“I startled you?” Ebrus responded. “What are you doing here in the first place? I thought I told you to get some cinnamon at the market before we opened. You know how quickly that sells out.”
“Oh, yes.” Bergrem avoided his brother’s gaze. “I was going to the market, but I remembered I forgot my hammer in the cellar after we added the bars to the windows, so I decided to get that on my way to the market.” A smile grew on his face, the same kind a street urchin gives before taking one’s coin purse. Ebrus only raised an eyebrow at his brother’s parcel, which looked more bottle-shaped than hammer-shaped.
“Your hammer?”
“Yes.”
“You managed to fit your hammer into that bottle you’re holding?” Bergrem gave a nervous chuckle at his words, then bowed his head in defeat. He knew when he was found out. Ebrus groaned, stood up, and walked over to him. “I swear you really are a child sometimes. Come on, hand it over.”
Bergrem hesitated slightly, then lifted the parcel into Ebrus’s hand, the brown paper crunching as he grasped it. The parcel was indeed a bottle. Its weight shifted as the liquid within sloshed around. Ebrus tore the paper off and tossed it to the side.
Inside was a large bottle of dark glass, lacking any markings, images, or names. Ebrus didn’t need any, however. The brew of mead inside had no name because he had not come up with one yet. He had only finished this brew two days ago, and this was the only bottle of its kind.
Ebrus’s grip on the bottle tightened, nearly to the point where he could shatter the bottle with his bare hands if he didn’t need its contents. He turned toward his brother, his eyes wide with anger. Bergrem, who still sat on the floor, seemed to shrink into his messy hair and beard.
“How dare you?” Ebrus began. “You know I’ve been working on the recipe for this brew for weeks. You know I need this to persuade those tavernkeepers to buy from us. Yet despite that, despite everything that I’ve done to build our life here, you steal from me? I negotiated our passage here, bought us a nice house in Eronia, brought in the business that keeps food on our plates, yet you steal from me? What kind of brother are you?”
Bergrem had buried his face in his hands, withstanding the storm circling around Ebrus, who continued to voice his outrage.
“Why did you do it? Hm? What reason on Toril do you have for stealing from your own brother? Did someone offer you money? Did some other meadery put you up to it? Or were you just looking to get drunk?”
“No,” Bergrem finally muttered.
“Then why?”
“I met someone.”
“Who?”
“A girl.” His answer cut off whatever Ebrus was about to say. He wasn’t expecting that.
“What sort of girl?” he managed to muster.
“A pretty one. A nice one. We met at the market yesterday. She was selling bread at a stall and we just started talking. She’s very kind and sweet, and she made me feel happy. She offered me dinner at her home in the Halberd tonight and I promised to bring the mead.” Ebrus said nothing. He simply stood stiff, desperately trying to find words. How come this sort of thing was always so difficult?
“Why couldn’t you just take a different brew?” Ebrus finally asked.
“I talked about this one we were making, and she really looked forward to it. I didn’t want to disappoint her. Haven’t you felt that way toward some people before? You like them a lot and you want to do everything for them.” A chuckle escaped from Ebrus.
“You know I don’t look at people that way, Bergrem, but I understand what you were trying to do.” He sat on the floor next to him, a moment of silence passing between them. “I’m sorry I lashed out then. I’m just trying to make all this work for us.”
“I know.” Bergrem leaned against him. “You always do.” The brothers wrapped an arm around one another and sat there for some time, listening to the town come to life outside.
“What’s her name?”
“Brena. She’s a halfling.” Not what Ebrus expected, but he had no issue. Another minute passed by before he made a decision he might regret.
“Keep the mead,” Ebrus said. “Those tavernkeepers can wait for the next batch.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You deserve to enjoy your own life. Also, I should probably think of a name for the brew before we sell it.” The two of them shared a laugh before Bergrem stood up and left, the bottle of mead in hand. Ebrus looked out the window and watched him run off, wishing him all the luck he had to offer.