She stared at the locked door of Hjerim in disbelief, or perhaps more specifically, the trail of crimson that led right up to it, disappearing underneath the door of the towering manor. "Un. Freaking. Believable. There is literally a blood trail leading to this suspicious abandoned house directly from the site of the murder, and the guards don't even think to check into it? And it's right in the middle of the high-class living area of the city! Wouldn't you think those families would notice and put pressure on the city guard to investigate? Honestly, it is beyond me how they can expect to win their civil war while displaying this level of stupidity!"
At last, it was happening. Lydia had been surprised that up until this point Fjori hadn't snapped despite the strain of the situation. It was as if she'd fallen victim to the same pall that had settled over the city, losing her usual chipper attitude but also never letting her temper flare. It had all started with the whispers about Susana. Then, instead of helping, her visit to the White Phial had seemed to make it even worse. Was it because Quintus had been so down and out that she was brought to the same level? Had his seeming indifference demoralized her that much? Seeing the body firsthand had caused her to run off, but although she'd been upset enough to order the strongest drink at the Corner Club, her tone had been mellow, her epitaph dead serious rather than filled with rage. Her face showed little more than cold focus on the task at hand, one she took on voluntarily even though the cost of failure was high enough to scare even her.
Come to think of it, the ice had probably started to melt during her Thane's conversation with the guard at the crime scene. Jorleif had sent them there with permission to check into the murder, and when the guards were skeptical, things got terse. Fjori antagonized them into yielding more than convinced them. She could hardly conceal her frustration at their own ineptitude and the uselessness of their so called 'witnesses'. Now, this. Fjori was finally boiling over, and to be honest, Lydia found it to be a relief, much more like the woman she knew. Perhaps her anxiety was finally taking a backseat to anger.
"It makes me appreciate Commander Caius's leadership of the Whiterun guard, no matter what anyone says to the contrary," Lydia finally agreed. "This is incredibly sloppy of them. Even if there is a war on, all it would take is one single man to notice this. Now, the question is, how do we get in?"
Fjori just sighed. "I'd say try to pick the lock, but I'm not that good and this is a really high-quality lock. Better ask those clowns at the Palace of Kings who owns the place and go from there. Of course, if I had my way, I'd just bash down the doors, maybe smash out a window…" Her tone became pinched, as if restraining the anger. "But that would probably be going beyond my allowances as an investigator."
Lydia reached out to her, and was nearly punched in the face thanks to Fjori's surprise at the unforeseen movement, not to mention the tension running rampant through her body. "These murders really have you on edge."
"You've seen what the bodies look like in the end," Fjori glowered before ducking her head. She stared at the blood on the ice, trying to keep the more graphic images from her mind. "What Susana looked like. After meeting her at the inn a few weeks ago, that's a shock. Disgusting. Even that bat-crazy priestess of Arkay said it looked like someone took ancient Nordic burial tools to them. What horrifying cruelty, and to young women who couldn't defend themselves…" She felt her fists clenching as the rage was fanned within her. "And these incompetent guards and that incompetent Jarl just pay all their attention on their grab for power while their citizens endure this reign of terror. It's sickening!"
"I know. Why do you think I haven't even tried to stop you from getting involved this time?" Lydia paused thoughtfully. "But you were already on edge by the time you left the White Phial, and that was before you knew the details. Was there something else eating at you?"
Now Fjori just looked confused. "No. I mean, it was worrisome seeing Quintus like that, and I was sorry to hear that Nurelion had gotten worse despite how he treated me, but in the scheme of everything that wasn't a huge deal. I'll worry about it after we catch the Butcher."
It was Lydia's turn to look surprised. "Oh."
"Why 'oh'?" Fjori demanded, raising an eyebrow.
"Well…I think Quintus thought you were upset with him…" And, well, maybe she had thought that too, but why bring it up?
"Wait, really? Why do you say that? He didn't SEEM like he cared all that much. It was kind of…discouraging, to be honest…"
So it DID bother her, at least a little. "After you left, he asked me to keep you out of trouble."
A fraction of the tension released from her body. "I won't deny that that makes me feel better, but honestly Lydia, I'm more worried about the murderer on the loose right now, and I was then as well. In fact, we need to get going. Let's talk to Jorleif about the owner of this house. I'd love to see his reaction when we tell him there was such glaringly obvious evidence leading from the scene of the crime… That other drama can wait."
At that, Fjori took off in the direction of the palace, forcing Lydia to try and catch up and forgo dwelling on her guilt. The housecarl felt bad that she'd misinterpreted her Thane's concerns, despite the fact that they'd only known each other for a month and Fjori often hid behind a cheery facade. Reassured that her priorities were in line, she willingly followed wherever the Dragonborn led.
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Fjori scrambled through the dimly lit passages of the palace's living quarters, doing her best to avoid crashing into the patrolling guardsmen while at the same time dodging the protruding hawk statues that cluttered an already tight space. Even on a good day when she wasn't desperately making a break for the exit the whole area was claustrophobia-inducing. Who the hell had designed this place? With her eyes forward, searching each doorway for the stairway, she didn't notice the confusion she was causing among the patrol; they'd seen her enter Wuunferth's quarters with an intense but controlled gait, and now she was running out in a state of frenzy! Despite Ulfric's confidence in the sorcerer, they did wonder what kind of dark magic he dabbled in. Perhaps this was one of those things? Hands wandered to the hilts of their swords.
"Be right back," Lydia attempted as she blew by one of the guardsmen. She was in hot pursuit of Fjori, following the trail she blazed. That seemed to be the pattern of the day.
They had spent all afternoon untangling the knot of evidence left in Hjerim: all the flyers Viola had posted torn down and stuffed in a dresser, a bizarre amulet buried amidst the flyers, a hidden room behind a false back panel, and the macabre visage of a ritual altar, replete with body parts and journals describing the methods used. This was not just a random killing spree, but a harvest of tissues and other samples to recreate a specific person! The victims had been chosen for their suitability, the missing pieces of flesh carefully extracted rather than torn out. It explained a lot about the motivation, but still got them no closer to finding the person responsible.
When they'd tried to get more information regarding the amulet, their only lead, the relic collector Calixto had pointed them in Wuunferth's direction, stating it was traditionally given to the court mage. They were convinced then they'd found the necromantic culprit. Rumors abounded about what kind of magic he practiced. His name was the Unliving. And what did he do with that highly poisonous nightshade Fjori had delivered that one time? Still, Fjori considered herself a Nord of honor; rather than order his arrest, she decided to confront him with Lydia. The accusation came hard and fast, but was just as quickly refuted. One look at the amulet Fjori had been unwilling to sell and Wuunferth had declared it the Necromancer's amulet. Knowing this dark art was involved, he could determine when the next kill would need to take place. He predicted that very evening.
Now time was running out. Once night fell, another victim might be claimed in the Stone Quarter. Did they trust the old mage, or was he throwing them off the scent? Fjori had reacted on instinct, not willing to gamble with anyone's life at stake, but even as she ran she pondered her doubts. If they camped in the Stone Quarter and found out the next morning someone had been killed somewhere else…
Suddenly, she hit the brakes near the top of the stairs. Lydia nearly collided into her. "Lydia, I need you to stay here. We don't know if the sorcerer is telling the truth, and if something happens tonight like he says, someone should watch and make sure he hasn't left."
"My Thane, I am sworn to protect you!" Lydia protested, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. "I know you are a capable warrior, but even so…"
"Lydia, that's an order!" Fjori's barked words seemed to bounce off the stone walls. This was a tone, no, a command Lydia had never heard since becoming a housecarl, and it stunned her. Fjori seemed to notice, and grimaced. "I don't like giving orders, you know that, but I will when I must. For the sake of this mission, for the people of this city, please stay here."
Lydia gave a hard stare at her master before her shoulders dropped in resignation. "I swear, if you let anything happen to yourself…"
"Not a chance. I'll meet you back here no later than sunrise." And with that, she was gone, flying down the stairs and out the massive entry doors into the biting winds. It was already dark, with only the slightest hint of red on the horizon to show for the sunset. Holy Arkay, let it not be too late! As she ran, she cursed her insistence on heavy armor at a time like this, her own inadequate stamina as she felt her body tiring from the sprint. Close, so close to the Stone Quarter… What were the odds he'd be ready to strike so soon?
She rounded the corner from the main stretch so she could finally see into the empty marketplace. Well, empty save for two figures. One was a tall woman clutching a bag as she walked across the plaza, the other a medium-sized male whose movements were slinking at best. Her heart plummeted in her chest when she noticed a hand at his waist and his stance lower into a crouch. Damn it all, she'd never make it in time! She couldn't even scream as she gasped for breath, lungs burning. The flash of metal in the dim light, a knife in his hand! If only there were a way to…
Perhaps it was Akatosh himself that sent her the flash of inspiration she needed. She paused long enough to get a good breath, and in return she produced the shout the Greybeards had taught her up at High Hrothgar. "Wuld!" In barely a second she covered the entire distance of the market. This had of course been very disorienting the first dozen times she had tried this shout, but the mastery had paid off for just this case as she didn't even miss a beat. Her hand went to her axe in a split-second, and just as the man looked to the side in panic at the noise, just as she realized she was looking into the shocked face of Calixto Corrium himself, the weapon struck home. There was blood, no more so than any other day, she reasoned, but the shrill scream from the would-be victim who had narrowly avoided death made it so much more. So did the knowledge that only a few hours ago this man had given her a tour of his collection and played the part of an innocent man to perfection.
She glared at the carnage for several crawling seconds, the crumpled body dyeing the snow crimson with eyes still open wide in disbelief, then ripped her gaze away to find a guard, someone, anyone to sort out this mess. The terrified Altmer exclaiming to the Eight as she nearly hyperventilated was not helping the situation. Divines, she'd never had to deal with such things as a fetch mercenary! Where the hell were the guards? Of course they were nowhere to be found when they were needed!
Despite their lack of presence, as she frantically scanned the area in search of help, she did find a bystander. Her eyes came to rest upon a shocked young man standing in front of the White Phial who had clearly been in the wrong place at the wrong time and dropped his armful of firewood at the sight of this violence. His jaw hung slack, and his green eyes stared in disbelief as they looked right into hers. Searching for some kind of answer to this phenomena, no doubt. Shit, trying to explain this one would be the end of any hope she had of charming Quintus.
Swallowing thickly, she found the nerve to address him across the empty space. "I need to take her to the authorities. Keep an eye on the body so no one messes with the evidence, okay?" Without waiting for his response, she took the woman by the arm and led her back to the main boulevard, only half listening to her blubbering about near-death. She had enough on her mind.
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Fjori must have found help on her way, because it didn't take long for a half-dozen armored men to burst into the plaza bearing torches and drawn swords. Funny that not one of this zealous contingent had been around when they were needed… Now that the deed was done by someone else, they played the parts of proper investigators, examining Calixto's body and searching him for evidence. They also turned on him for questioning, as he hadn't moved from his spot outside the White Phial since she'd given him the command. Lucky him, he was the only witness they had. There wasn't much to say though. He'd been bringing in a stack of firewood when he'd heard an unusual clattering of metal armor, and by the time he'd turned to look there was a man with an axe in his back and Fjori covered in blood. That admittedly didn't paint the best picture of her, and he intuitively trusted her decision to kill despite how bad it had looked, so he crafted his words carefully. She'd prevented Corrium from coming at Arivanya, who was walking alone and fit all the characteristics of the usual casualties of the Butcher.
Of course, in his cautious description, he omitted the detail of the fury in her eye, the almost feral quality she took on in the split second before their eyes had met, when she'd glared with contempt at Calixto's corpse. It was impossible to understand how he'd seen that from such a distance, perhaps it was more of a feeling she radiated if that made any sense at all, but he'd have sworn her eyes had actually flashed like lightning. If he let on for even a second how much like a dangerous predator she'd looked then, it might be impossible to defend her. The image was going to haunt him either way.
He also neglected to mention hearing her shout a word he didn't understand and somehow speeding across the entire length of the plaza in a split-second. Who would believe that? He wasn't sure he himself did!
After being dismissed from his brief interview by the disappointed guards, he'd gathered up his firewood and headed back inside. He made sure to latch the bolt of the lock in place as soon as his hands were free. It was late now, definitely time to be heading to bed if he was going to be up at his usual early time in the morning, but how could he sleep at a time like this? To be fair, he tried to turn in for the night despite the way his head spun, banking the fire, extinguishing the lamps, and lying on top of his bed. It didn't work.
There in the dark, a million and one questions flooded his mind about Fjori and what she'd just done. Had it been some kind of magic? He didn't think she was a mage the way she relied on health potions and sold all her restore magicka potions… Had his own brain created the illusion due to stress and lack of sleep? And why the hell was it so unsettling seeing the cheerful girl he was rapidly becoming attached to killing a man in cold blood, the crimson spattered across her face the way simple dirt had before? She was a mercenary, and that was what mercenaries did! Apparently he'd just considered her a glorified treasure hunter instead of a killer all this time, and it was suddenly very hard to reconcile these two versions of the Nord.
Quintus was so deep in his thoughts that he jumped when a sharp knocking brought him back to the moment. Someone was at the front door at this time of night? He wasted no time leaping from his bed and hurrying to answer it, not needing light to find his way in the dark after living in the shop for so long. Could it be…?
And it was, the very person he'd wished to see most. When he unlocked the door and threw it open, it was a very uncomfortable-looking Fjori. She'd wiped the blood from her face and armor, he noticed despite the dim light of the street lamps, and her eyes lacked any kind of wrath now. In fact, she seemed positively meek as she fidgeted. Maybe the whole thing had been a dream? "Fjori?"
"I need to talk to you, Quintus. I would have come sooner, but I needed to get back to Lydia and tell her I was okay. She was worried, as you can imagine." She paused, a look of doubt crossing her face. "I mean, is it all right to talk now? I know it's late, but…"
"Please! I wanted to talk to you too. Come inside." He stood back to grant her entrance, then swiftly moved to light a candle. He placed the candle on the table and took a seat once he was certain she had closed the door. How cruelly ironic, he thought dryly, this almost looked like it could be romantic…
Once Fjori had taken a seat opposite him, he asked "Where is Lydia now?"
Fjori studied the flame of the candle. "Still at the Palace of Kings. I think they were going to search Calixto's house for more evidence before we get to go free for this. I can't blame them. There's no proof I didn't just murder that guy. I mean, you didn't really see the whole thing, did you?"
He shook his head. "By the time I knew what was going on, you had pretty much dispatched of him." When he saw the concern cross her face, he quickly added "But I made sure to tell the guards the least incriminating story possible, don't worry."
"You…trusted me? Even though all you saw was my axe planted in his back?" Her voice had gone soft, with a hint of disbelief.
"Well, not just that," he admitted, rubbing his chin in thought. Perhaps it was foolish to admit to seeing such an impossible thing, but he also knew that if he didn't ask it would bother him forever. "You closed the distance awfully fast."
Fjori swallowed. "About that… Well, this was another reason I didn't want Lydia to come. I mean, she knows what I'm about to tell you, but I didn't really want her to be here when I told you."
This confession put some butterflies in his stomach. Apparently they were going to get very serious with this talk… He took a deep breath. "Fjori, what the hell did I see? I mean, I didn't IMAGINE you using superhuman speed, did I? Maybe I was just tired, out of it…"
"No. I did something that defied normal human limits." She seemed to weigh her options before settling on her next statement. "Do you remember when I told you I had a secret mission? I had to get somewhere so they could tell me what I needed to do." He nodded, prompting her to continue. "The truth is…I was called to High Hrothgar." When the name didn't seem to register with the Imperial, she tried again. "The monastery at the Throat of the World?"
This he seemed to understand. "You had to try and climb up the tallest mountain in Skyrim?"
"Yeah. Because they summoned me. But, not in the normal way. I don't suppose two weeks ago or so you heard a shout thunder in the sky on a clear blue day, one that called 'Dovahkiin?"
It was bizarre. It was simultaneously understandable and illogical where this was going. "Here in Windhelm, we heard the shout from far away. The town was in an uproar, because Ulfric can shout just like that, and they wondered if it was meant for him," he said, choosing his words carefully. "He ignored it, so apparently he didn't feel they were referring to him. But you…?"
"Did you hear what I shouted before I sprinted?"
"A word I didn't recognize," he responded, tilting his head.
"A word in the language of dragons. The monks up there taught it to me. It means 'wind', and when I shout it I can cross great distances in the blink of an eye. While most people can learn this over the course of many years of diligent training, Ulfric being a prime example, I learned it nearly immediately. It is the power of a Dragonborn."
Dead silence as he blinked slowly. Fjori wondered if she'd broken him with this confession. "Dragonborn? There hasn't been a Dragonborn since Martin Septim died! In my homeland the Dragonborn emperors were the ones that kept the fires lit at the Temple of the One, kept the covenant with Akatosh which prevented the daedra from entering our world. To be a Dragonborn…" He held his head in his hand as he stared at the table. "And now that you're the first one in centuries, you're a once-in-an-era legend! Why, everyone thought we'd seen the end of them, but you…are you truly…?" It seemed simple belief was out, though she'd expected as much; now it was a matter of whether or not he would be able to wrap his brain around the idea. He was an intellectual, after all. Still, she didn't like the way he wouldn't look at her, but wrestled internally with his own thoughts.
"I didn't believe it at first myself," she replied quietly, drawing his attention back to her. "I'd grown up hearing stories about the old Dragonborns, of Tiber Septim and King Wulfherth, and all kinds of heroes who could use the thu'um, the shout, to battle the enemies of Skyrim. How could I bear that title? I'm just a mercenary from middle-of-nowhere Morthal, the daughter of a mill-owner and a flimsy alchemist." Finally she gave a bitter laugh. "Even after these last two weeks I still don't believe it. I don't like to acknowledge it, but it seems I can't ignore it, can I? I'm caught up in the middle of something so much bigger and there's no escaping it. Hell, you kow I just watched a dragon resurrect a dead dragon from a burial mound over near Kynesgrove? And then Lydia and I killed it. And you know what? I devoured its soul, and suddenly I understood that weird dragon writing we found in Curalmil's tomb, just like that! Now I can shout at people and weaken their armor!" She was rambling by this point, the line between talking to Quintus and talking to herself blurred beyond recognition. "You probably won't believe me. I wouldn't believe me. You'll also probably never want to talk to a freak like me again, but…that's the truth as far as I know."
She stood abruptly. "I hope you have a good life, Quintus, I truly do. You're a nice guy, one of the kindest I've ever met, and you deserve it. I won't bother you anymore with my clumsy attempts at alchemy. Besides, you don't need someone hanging around who's got the blood of a monster inside. You shouldn't be involved in any of that."
As she turned to leave, she heard his chair slide back just as abruptly, and felt a hand grab her arm. It wasn't harsh, something she would instinctively fight, but it was insistent all the same. Her pulse hammered in her chest as her eyes widened. She hadn't dared to hope that he might… "Don't go Fjori! I want you to bother me all the time!"
"Wait, what?" She spun around with his grip still holding her there, taken aback by just how close he was. Feeling his physical presence was dizzying, and his intent even more-so. She'd also never realized she was a few inches taller than him, and had to look down slightly to see the panic in his eyes. Panic that she was going to walk out that door and never come back? Or was she just seeing what she wanted to see?
Realizing the impropriety of his impulsive response, he released his hold as if she were scalding hot and turned an unhealthy shade of red as his hand reached back to scratch his head awkwardly. "It's a lot to think about, and it's hard to fathom, but I believe you. So, don't run away because you told me the truth. It doesn't scare me away. I don't want you to go." Then, his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'd be miserable if I never saw you again." There. He'd finally said it aloud. How in Aetherius would she respond to that? For all he knew, she'd only meant what she'd said as a friend…
"But you were so distant this morning. I thought maybe you didn't…"
Now he had to turn away he was so embarrassed. "Truthfully, I thought about you a lot. Maybe more than I should have. Meeting you made me rethink some things about my life. But, also…the truth is that Nurelion and I have been in a huge fight since the last time I saw you. You can imagine what it is like to live with him on a normal day, but ever since he saw the Phial damaged, it's been ten times worse. I wasn't myself earlier, I haven't been myself for a while. And I know I probably seemed really disinterested this morning, but I was actually very glad to see you. I swear by the Eight!" Divines, she hadn't given a stance on the matter yet, the shoe had yet to drop. He wanted to vomit.
There was a clink, which made him snap his head around to see what she was doing. She was removing a gauntlet. Before he could figure out why, she reached out with her bare hand and placed it on his shoulder. The area seemed to tingle from the contact. "I've been thinking about you a lot as well, just ask Lydia. I'm sorry to hear about you and Nurelion. He seems very difficult to deal with even when his health is not failing. I meant what I said before, if you need ANYTHING, just ask me and I will rush here even if I have to put a job on hold. Because I…I mean, without you, I'd…bemiserabletoo!" She retracted her hand and rubbed her arm shyly while looking away. "Windhelm was a detour on the way back to Riverwood. I have to leave in the morning to learn more about my next mission, so I don't know when I'll be back. I just hope that you'll still feel the same way when I do return."
"I will," he blurted without hesitation.
"Then…" Something possessed her, something about the idea of this timid but generous alchemist wanting someone like her. Taking a deep breath to steel her nerve, she stepped closer to him and left a quick peck on his sideburn-covered cheek. "I'll try to find some reason to show up at your door." Before he could see how flustered she was, she strode to the door in two long strides and stepped out.
There was a moment where he was too stunned to move, or to process. After a few seconds, once the door had clicked shut, he remembered he wasn't done. Quintus panicked, thinking he'd missed his opportunity, and rushed out of the shop into the cold night without a second thought. It was cold enough that his words left huge puffs of smoke as he shouted to her back. "Be careful, okay? Don't do anything too crazy!"
Even from the far side of the plaza, he could see her turn back to look at him and wave. Had he been closer, he'd have seen the brilliant smile on her face.
Satisfied, he locked the door for the second time that night, blew out the candle, and went back to bed. Now he couldn't sleep for a whole different reason, his body fairly crackling with electricity and pumped up on adrenaline. Sure, Fjori was the Dragonborn and that was huge news, but more importantly, Fjori had kissed him! Kind of. Nothing crazy, but definitely enough to reveal her interest in him. Holy Mara, he felt like he could take on the entire world! Like no task was too difficult to accomplish!
However, it was Julianos who spoke to him in that instant rather than Mara. In a flash of inspiration, Quintus was reminded of the box under his bed containing the cracked phial. He had been gloomy and unmotivated lately, leaving the great treasure his master had pursued to gather dust, but now there was no reason not to do as he vowed and figure out how to repair it. Flinging himself off the bed, he grabbed the box from underneath and darted for a lantern. He may as well channel all this energy into something productive; it wasn't like he was going to be sleeping tonight anyhow…
