"You know, Nurelion could have warned us that Curalmil was not just an alchemist, but a WARRIOR," Fjori grumbled, panting and glaring at the lifeless corpse on the ground before her. A minute ago, it had not been so lifeless, reanimated after who knew how many centuries to defend his tomb. The battle had been hard-fought, and while it was not Fjori's typical policy to take things from the bodies of her dead forebears, she grabbed the great man's frost-enchanted war axe, lying several feet away thanks to a vicious killing blow on her part, and fastened it to her belt; a legendary foe like Curalmil deserved to offer up a trophy for the victor. "If I'm being honest, I expected maybe a few strong bodyguards, and perhaps the man himself who would go down in one blow. I guess they don't make alchemists like they used to." Thinking of Nurelion or Quintus trying to defend their tomb as draugr triggered an amused chuckle. Nurelion would reanimate all right, but he'd probably just stand there yelling in the incomprehensible language of the undead with an accusing finger pointed at the culprit. No doubt Quintus would just stay tucked away in his sarcophagus so as not to raise a scene. Maybe it was just because they weren't Nords?
Lydia didn't respond. She was too busy draining a cure disease potion, and Fjori quickly joined suite. After their scare at Bleak Falls Barrow, they'd learned to be more cautious to avoid the health-draining gangrene, attacking the draugr from a distance with bows and arrows whenever possible and even taking preemptive measures to incapacitate them before they reanimated. Still, a whole horde had risen to join Curalmil in battle, forcing hand-to-hand combat against rusted weapons.
As soon as Fjori downed the potion, she closely inspected the room for the first time. During battle, all that mattered was the terrain and the placement of enemies. Now she had the luxury of curiosity. "Well, if we are going to take his life's work, I feel better having bested him in combat. Just sneaking in and out and running away would be cowardly and dishonorable. I hope he rests content in Sovngarde." She took a few steps further into the chamber, only to grunt in discomfort and clutch her head. There had been a mild pounding before, but she'd expected the potion to clear it up, not for it to worsen. "Uff, Lydia, do you still have your headache?"
The housecarl looked puzzled as she tucked the bottle back into her pack. "I never had a headache, My Thane."
"But you were infected the same as me…" To Lydia, it sounded almost as if the young woman was whining now as she continued to hold her head.
"What makes you think it was the gangrene?"
"Because this is exactly what happened in Bleak Falls Barrow when I got so sick." Fjori huffed in annoyance. "I'll live, I just don't understand what's wrong."
"Maybe that Quintus has got a cure for headaches too," Lydia smirked. It was wrong to tease her master at a time like this, but when such a tempting opportunity presented itself…
"Shut it, Lydia!" Spinning around to avoid the warrior's smug satisfaction at the well-placed jab, she moved towards the ramp to an upper balcony. As Lydia followed, she saw her Thane recoil. "It's getting worse…"
"Because you took a few steps in this direction?" Lydia's good humor was rapidly fading, replaced with confusion and concern. Despite how she came across, it was not like Fjori to complain about pain.
"It's like…something is causing it. Something in this room…" She forced her eyes open and slowly scanned the area. When she looked up the ramp towards a huge stone wall covered in cryptic etchings, her surroundings seemed to fade to black. Just like Bleak Falls Barrow. Fjori approached the monolith slowly, like a moth drawn to a flame. The pounding in her head had somewhere along the line morphed into a rhythmic chant. Certain letters on the wall seemed to glow as her ears filled with a crackling sound, like fire as it consumed dry wood. Finally, when she stood directly before it, the letters of the foreign language seemed to sear themselves into her brain, resolving the tension in an instant. She could pronounce the word, KRII, but what it meant, she had no idea.
"My Thane, are you all right?" Lydia called up worriedly.
Fjori staggered back slightly. "I'm better now. Maybe this is part of being…Dragonborn." Using that name still seemed foreign and wrong on her tongue, the title of the glorious legend she'd heard tales about growing up and not some backwater hired muscle like her. Jarl Balgruuf and all the guards that fought at the watchtower believed it readily, urged her to visit the Greybeards because they must have been calling to her, but she was not as easily convinced. "The wall gave me a word."
"Gave you a word? In that language no one can understand?"
"Look, I don't know how to explain it. None of this makes any sense!" Now she was stomping back down the ramp, frustration evident on her face. "Can we just get that phial and get out of here?"
"I'm sure the Greybeards will be able to explain it once we get to High Hrothgar," Lydia attempted, reaching out to reassure her master. Fjori just brushed by her, focused ahead. Focused on something she did understand: rescuing artifacts. That was her life, not weird glowing words in some dragon language that only she could comprehend, and even then not entirely.
A few seconds later, she was pouring Nurelion's secret mixture into a basin tucked in the very back. By some unknown magic, it triggered a stone door to slide open, revealing the prize sitting atop an ornately carved pedestal. On either side of the hidden chamber were tables and shelves of alchemical ingredients, and even an alchemy station. There was no denying whose tomb this was. If she didn't make it a habit to show reverence to the dead, she would have snatched up all the ingredients in sight and started throwing them together to see what would happen.
Instead, Fjori strode purposefully to the pedestal, checked carefully for any trap triggers, and carefully plucked the White Phial from its resting place. "I sure hope this is the one Nurelion was thinking of. With this kind of security, it would have to be, right?" But when she examined it more closely, her face broke into horror. "Shit!"
"What is it, my Thane?" Lydia demanded anxiously as she hurried to her side.
"The Phial, it's…got a huge crack in it…" Fjori groaned loudly. "Nurelion is going to be pissed!"
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They did not attempt to return to Windhelm once they emerged from the cave; it was so late by then that the evening stars were already making their appearance in the rapidly darkening sky. They decided instead to hike to the nearby Nightgate Inn to pass the night. Not that Fjori could sleep. True, she hadn't been a mercenary for more than a few years, but never had she failed a job. All she could think of was Nurelion throwing bottles at her, maybe even ones containing deadly poisons… She'd seen how intense he could be, and the damaged artifact in her pack was his entire life's ambition. And forget about being paid! They'd be back to square one all over again if they survived the encounter with the elderly alchemist, and Lydia would never let her hear the end of it.
Early in the morning, they set off for Windhelm at a brisk pace, arriving by noon despite the odd wolf attacks along the road. That left her standing before the White Phial, working up the courage to open the door, even as people in the marketplace bustled about around her.
"He can't be that mad, My Thane. Just get it over with. Then we can be on our way."
"I know, I know, it's not like it is my fault or anything," she muttered. It may be the truth, but that wasn't going to make this any easier. Deeply, she exhaled. "Fine, let's go. Just remember, you promised to be my shield…"
When she opened the door, she was first relieved to notice there were no other customers. Nurelion had his back turned, organizing something on the shelves behind the counter, but he had heard the small bell ding. "One moment…" She silently moved up to the counter, pulling off her pack and digging through it to grab the Phial. Then she allowed her eyes to wander in search of the apprentice. He was nowhere to be seen. Probably working in the back again. All the better in case things went sour.
After a couple dozen moments, Nurelion finally turned around to address the customers. She noted immediately how instant recognition registered on his face. "You've returned! So, did you find it? Do you have it?"
"Yeah, it was just as you said. Potion opened the secret door and everything. Not to mention old Curalmil waking up to greet us…"
"Well, what are you waiting for? Hand it over!" He held out his withered hands expectantly, like an impatient child waiting for a promised treat.
"R-right. Here." Fjori handed over the bundle wrapped carefully in rags. The last thing she wanted was for Nurelion to think she had been careless with the relic.
The old man tore away the rags eagerly, and when he saw what the bundle contained, his joy was palpable. "This matches every description found in lore!" But as soon as he held it up to the light to study it better, the crack became glaringly obvious. If Fjori had been horrified, Nurelion was downright devastated. "What did you do?!"
"It was like that when I found it, I swear," she pleaded. "Surely it can be repaired, right?"
His voice was strained as he spoke. "No one knows how it was created, nor could replicate it. Accordingly, there is no known way to fix it, and so it will never hold liquid. If it can't hold liquid, we will never know if this truly is the White Phial. And that is the end of that." He slammed the Phial down on the counter so hard she thought for sure it would shatter, but it was apparently made of sturdier stuff than that. The thought crossed her mind that if such an action didn't cause so much as a scratch, what force COULD have been great enough to crack the thing? And to think she'd been so careful…
The same thought must have come over Nurelion. "Eh, I doubt you could have damaged the Phial even if you tried. Here, for your troubles." Finally, Fjori felt a sense of relief, but it was short lived as Nurelion fairly tossed five septims at her and began to head for the stairs. "Excuse me, but I'm not in the mood for company at the moment." The old Altmer trudged upwards, audibly wheezing all the way. That just left Fjori and Lydia standing at the counter in shock.
"I mean…I guess I'm glad he didn't throw anything at me," she attempted, but her sagging shoulders revealed her discouragement.
"Except for five septims. You know, for risking life and limb." Lydia's thinly disguised disgust was given away by her agitated gesturing, but Fjori didn't even notice how Nurelion had gotten under her skin. She was too busy grabbing her few coins, shuffling to the alchemy station, and pulling out ingredients. The housecarl quirked her head in confusion. "Now what, My Thane?"
"I don't know." Fjori reached for the ever-abundant snowberries once more. "I guess I'll thin the stock first so we can travel light. Maybe we'll get lucky and make a few things that will sell. Do me a favor, can you check what we haven't tried snowberries with yet?"
Lydia was frustrated, but when she saw Fjori's tired eyes, she did her best to rein it in. She didn't understand it, but apparently this was calming for her boss, so what could she say? "Of course."
What neither woman realized was that since Nurelion's first exclamation, Quintus had been silently watching everything from around the corner in the back room, never quite sure when it would be appropriate to involve himself. He'd felt the same rush of excitement when she'd shown the Phial to Nurelion, and the same sharp disappointment as its flaws were revealed. To add insult to injury, Nurelion's reaction and treatment of his hired mercenary made him feel intense shame. He could see even from his vantage point the way Fjori was defeated despite the amazing feat she had accomplished in braving the tomb. The woman had been nothing but helpful, and this was her reward for her troubles? All of it was wrong, but what could he, the lowly apprentice, do about it?
Well, there was one thing. It wasn't a decision to make lightly, but he couldn't ignore this injustice with a clear conscience, nor did he wish to see that friendly copper-haired warrior…Fjori… looking so despondent. He turned away from the scene before him and hurried towards his bed in the furthest corner of the storage room. Then he got down on his knees to pull out a small wooden box from underneath, opened it, and counted out 500 septims. Was it a fair amount? Well, cutting his savings in half was about all he could afford, and practically anything would be better than the insulting quantity she'd been given. With one final surge of determination, he clutched the coins in his hand and slid the box back under. This was crazy, but he was going to do it anyhow.
Upon entering the main room, he observed Fjori's latest snowberry concoction emitting that tell-tale black poof of smoke as it failed again. "You use a lot of snowberries."
Both Fjori and Lydia jumped, startled by the sudden voice appearing from nowhere, as mild as it was. Fjori in particular was flustered to see who the voice belonged to. "Oh, well, I have a ton of them, especially after our last trip. And, well, I like using them to test new ingredients because they offer resistances to all the elements, so they reveal characteristics of a lot of different ingredients." She looked down at her most recent failure. "I just wish I could figure out the last property of snowberries, but I still haven't had any luck…"
"So there IS a method to your madness," he commented with a hint of surprise.
Fjori kept her eyes turned away. "I know Nurelion thinks I'm an idiot, but I'm trying my hardest to figure it out."
During the entirety of their prior meeting, this woman had given off the impression that she was unbothered by anything. She had actually been paying attention to the digs? They'd actually rattled her? Now Quintus felt horrible for his previous comment.
"Can I see what you've got?" He could not believe he had the courage to make such a demand, but Fjori seemed to think nothing of it, offering her satchel quickly. The alchemist secretly shoved the coins in his pocket before peering inside, picking through various items. "Hmm… You have collected a lot of different ingredients…"
While he was busy rummaging, Fjori finally took the opportunity to risk a good look at him. She hadn't forgotten for a second how frustrating it was not to recall what he looked like, and intended to make a careful study of him the second time around. A furry hat covered most of his head, but prominent sideburns crept down the sides of his face. They were a rich red, much better than her own rusty-colored hair, and in the brief instant she looked at the exposed patch of skin near the collar of his tunic, she saw the same-colored hair dusting his chest. Almost as soon as she caught herself looking there, she tore her gaze away out of modest respect. Okay, this wasn't really helping her remember the important stuff…
At last he withdrew a Morpho butterfly wing from her collection, interrupting her observations. "You should give this a try."
The typically brash mercenary couldn't find the right words for the situation, so she just nodded mutely and took the wing from him. In the instant she touched his hand, she noticed how despite his apparent youth, his hands were rough and weathered. Constant alchemy must be hard on them. Meanwhile, she found it was hard to keep her own hands steady; with him watching, scrutinizing her lackluster technique, the whole experience was made unnerving. When she finally mixed them together, the result turned a deep red. "It worked!" Then, she thought about her words a bit more. "I mean, not that I doubted it would. But what does it do?"
Quintus looked at her thoughtfully, and noticed the enchanted axe she wore at her waist. "Drink it, then take a closer look at your axe." Fjori nodded and took a sip as he requested. She found that she enjoyed this particular concoction. It retained much of its snowberry flavor, so it was easy to forget it also had butterfly wings involved…. Then, she pulled the weapon from her belt and studied it carefully. "Notice anything out of the ordinary?"
Her eyes widened in surprise. "It's like…I can see the type of enchantment etched onto it. Like a rune or something! I've never seen it before!"
"It's fortify enchanting. We don't sell a lot of this to the general population, but the mages up at the college buy it in bulk. Soul gems are hard to come by, and they want to make their enchantments as efficient as possible. The better the quality of the potion, the more details of the enchantment you will see, and the more powerful it will become." He took a breath after his long exposition, only to notice the curious gaze of Fjori and the glazed over expression of Lydia. Oh, he'd rambled on too much about academics… He clasped his hands together, running his thumb across his knuckles. "I mean, well, now you know all four properties. I hope that helped." The Imperial was unsure how to continue to the part he really wanted to get to.
"You make a good teacher!" she complimented brightly, causing his stomach to turn in the best way possible. "Unlike a certain someone…" She trailed off, letting him read her mind by following her gaze up the stairs.
Quintus sighed, the jolt of happiness fading as quickly as it had come. "I know my master can be a bit short tempered at times, but I've learned so much from him! Still, that doesn't excuse him for today. Look, I…" He inhaled deeply to calm his sudden nerves and reached into his pocket for the money. He held it out to her while training his eyes on the floorboards. "I think you deserve this for your efforts. Please, take it as payment."
Fjori's eyes popped at the quantity in his hands. "Tell me this isn't yours!"
"That doesn't matter," he insisted, setting his jaw stubbornly and raising his head. "You did something dangerous for us, something that could help us improve our craft. And maybe Nurelion has given up, but I haven't." Those words came out before he'd had a chance to consider them, but once they'd escaped he knew it was the truth. The cracked Phial could still offer answers if he continued his research, and he would. Even if Nurelion kept him busy all day, he'd stay up all night trying to understand that legendary artifact, crack and all. Her mission was not for nothing.
"I understand you have noble intentions," Lydia interjected abruptly, "but we cannot afford charity right now, and you know that."
Fjori was silent for a moment, then slowly moved to accept the money. "There is an important mission I've been given. I don't know why I'm telling you this, I'm sure you don't particularly care what a mercenary like me does, but she's right, I need this money. But I will pay you back someday, I promise."
"I suppose it's top secret?" She nodded, resulting in a shrug for his part. "Ah well, that's how it goes for a mercenary I guess. But, don't worry about it. It's not like I'm starving or anything. I can afford to pay you."
"Thank you." Again, Lydia was taking charge for her balking Thane. "We will not forget your generosity. Now, My Thane, we should get the rest of our preparations ready for our journey while there's still enough daylight."
Quintus had missed it the first time she'd used the title, being so caught up in his thoughts, but this time he heard it clearly. His eyes widened in shock. "Thane?!"
Fjori panicked too. "Not really. I mean, it's a long story, and…"
"I'm her housecarl, that's all that matters," Lydia concluded, grabbing her by the arm. "I'm sure we will be seeing you again. Thank you for all your assistance, including that recipe." Dragging her charge, she reached for the door.
"Lydia, wait! I didn't even say my name!" Fjori complained, flailing uselessly.
"Fjori," Quintus supplied with a smile. It was the first time she'd seen him with one of those on his face, and it made her feel warm. Suddenly, she knew she'd be able to remember that face without a doubt.
"And you're Quintus. Nice to meet you, but isn't this a bit backwards?" The last thing she saw of him was another shrug, and the unwavering smile before the door to the shop closed behind them.
Now safely out of earshot, she punched Lydia uselessly against her steel armor. "What was that for?! We were finally making some small talk, and…"
"It was getting weird, so I helped you get out while saving face. You're welcome."
Fjori paused to consider this. Lydia may have actually had a point. "Fine. But as soon as we meet those Greybeards and figure out this whole Dragonborn thing, we will come back. I mean, Captain Kjar had that job for us, and I'm sure it will require some more potions…"
"Are you going to just admit you have a crush on that apprentice alchemist?"
The pause was long, and finally Lydia started to head to the market. Once she was a few feet away, she heard a mutter from behind her. "I may have a tiny crush on Quintusshutup!"
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Nurelion remained upstairs, leaving Quintus free reign of the shop and no interruptions to his ponderings. An hour and several customers later, he was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that Fjori was Skyrim's version of nobility. Tapping his pencil rhythmically as he reviewed the month's expenditures, he was getting nowhere. Instead he was trying to imagine what Fjori might look like if she wore the fine fur robes, leather boots, and gold and silver jewelry he'd seen on Tova Shatter-Shield. Anything that came to mind just seemed wrong.
He was no expert on the subject, but after living in Windhelm for seven years, he'd figured out that the title of Thane was bestowed by the Jarl, not inherited. That much made sense at least; Fjori had probably earned it doing some particularly heroic feat for a Jarl. Did having the title not mean you were set for life then? She seemed awfully broke to be nobility, and he couldn't imagine why she'd feel the need to keep risking her life if she had the security of a title. And also, wouldn't she stay within the hold where she was nobility? She certainly wasn't from Windhelm. It seemed as if the rulers gave people a pat on the back and a bodyguard for doing good work. These Nord customs were so confusing!
Nurelion's sudden violent fit of coughing jolted him out of his thoughts. It sounded even worse than usual, leaving him gasping for air. He wasn't supposed to need the tonic until sundown, but it certainly didn't sound like it could wait. Perhaps the disease was progressing… Knowing the old man would never take it if he didn't provide it to him, Quintus set down his current project and dug out the large vial from its place beneath the counter. As he climbed the stairs with it, he wished such a brilliant alchemist would understand that even though the concoction would not cure him or prolong his life, it would ease his pain.
"Let me guess…you want me to take that damn tonic." Nurelion was hunched over on his chair in front of the fireplace, looking more weathered than Quintus had ever seen. Even with the fire blazing he was wrapped in a thick blanket and trembling.
"Yes, master. It will help ease the coughing at the very least." Quintus stood beside him and held out the container.
"There's no point." Nurelion scowled and turned away, burying himself deeper in the blanket. "I wish it would just kill me already and be done! There's no real reason to keep on living…" Honestly, Quintus thought he appeared like a petulant child who couldn't have that last sweetroll. Sure, his life's work hit a huge set-back, but it looked like the Altmer was wallowing in self-pity now.
"Master, I know this was a disappointment, but we can't give up! We've searched so long for it, and now we finally have what could potentially be the artifact of legend! There is much we can learn from it regardless of its condition!"
"Yes, well, by the time we learn anything I will be dead, so it doesn't matter."
Clearly, using the Phial as a reason to continue living was not going to work right now, so Quintus tried a different approach. "Besides, Master, you say I have a lot to learn. If you die now, I won't be ready to…"
A bitter scoff interrupted him. "You'll never be ready, and there's nothing I can do about that either." His words were not spoken loudly, but their acidity made the apprentice's stomach turn regardless. "I know what you did, you foolish, weak-willed child. You paid that mercenary woman with your own money because you felt bad. A substantial amount, too! I could hear it all. You've been saving for years so you'd have enough to visit your parents in Cyrodiil, and in just one moment you've lost half of all you had on account of a cute girl. Even after we'd talked about this!"
For once, Quintus went pale instead of red. "Master, listen to me, she-"
"Don't 'master' me. I taught you to be smarter than that, stronger than that, so if you really thought I was your master you'd have heeded me. I may as well die today if you don't ever learn your lesson."
The young man was torn between the urge to scream or cry. In the end, he found that middle ground in a wavering voice. "Maybe I don't want to learn my lesson."
"Then get out of my sight!" the old man spat. "I've wasted enough time on you. So much wasted potential, it makes me sick…"
Dropping the vial on the table, Quintus spun around and marched back down the stairs, steady so he wouldn't give away the way his body was shaking. He ground his teeth, giving his all not to break down where Nurelion would hear him and call his tears 'proving his point'. Past the counter and to the back storeroom where he finally let loose and slammed his fist down on a crate. Because anger would be okay, wouldn't it? There was nothing weak about being angry.
