"Oh my word, Lydia, did you see the way they glared at me today?" Fjori wailed as soon as the door to their shared room in the Hall of Attainment was safely closed.

"In their defense, it was pretty uncultured of you to take all their rare ingredients and throw them together blindly hoping for the best," Lydia countered with a shake of her head. She'd thought Fjori would have learned by now to show a bit more restraint when it came to alchemical experiments given her time with Quintus, but apparently that part of her nature was not changing any time soon.

"They told me their resources were at my disposal. How was I supposed to know they were just being polite and actually had expectations for their use?" Fjori was quickly stripping off her armor for the night, and her helmet was flung to the ground in a huff, bouncing off the stone tiles.

Lydia wanted to retort that anyone with common sense would have picked up the hint, but she figured that would be pushing things too far. Fjori was clearly in a worked up state and didn't need more provocation. "But besides that, they have been very helpful, haven't they? They've given us information about the Elder Scroll, provided us a place to sleep…"

"They look at me like I'm growing a second head," came the bitter rebuttal. Down went the gauntlets with another mighty clank.

"Again, to be fair, you and I were dressed in full suits of armor. It did look rather conspicuous in a room full of robed mages. Also, there is the fact that you declared yourself Dragonborn after doing battle with a dragon on their doorstep and absorbing its soul in front of a captive audience…"

"Well, how else was I supposed to get in? Man, if I wasn't the Dragonborn, they'd never have let me cross that bridge. I honestly can't believe they did even after knowing the truth. Something about the thu'um being a type of magic… No way, nothing like their type of magic. The thu'um was an ability possessed by elite Nord warriors in ages past, a blessing from Kyne herself, not some volatile combustion or cult daedra-summoning devised by milk-drinking elves!"

"SHHHH, my Thane, not so loud!" Lydia hissed, knitting her brows and double checking that the door was indeed latched. It was bizarre. Until now, she had never heard Fjori speak in this manner. Generally, she was accepting of all races, albeit unsure of how to handle certain situations given a lack of experience. Why, she would never say anything like this in front of her new friends in the Grey Quarter! The one area where she was always somewhat hesitant and cautious was the subject of magic, to be fair, but even when battling rogue conjurers she didn't spout this kind of venom. It would appear that when under duress, her Nordic prejudices reared their ugly heads.

"Whatever. As soon as we find that Septimus Signus lunatic, we can get the location of that scroll and get on with stopping Alduin. Man, this is going to be horrible, judging by the quality of his crazed ravings in that book we had to read…"

By now, both women were dressed down to their simple tunics and trousers and ready to crawl into bed. Well, perhaps if Fjori wasn't spitting fire. "My Thane, you are so on edge tonight. What has gotten into you?"

She was met with a loud snort. "What's wrong with me? More like what's wrong with them! They speak in riddles, like they just get a kick out of seeing my confused expression. Look at that stupid brute, let's remind her why she doesn't belong here. Hell, the only one in this entire college that makes any sense is the librarian. Capital fellow. Gave me a list of books I could retrieve for him. Sweet Akatosh, I can't wait to get out of here!" Not even waiting to check and see if Lydia was ready, Fjori blew out the candle and buried herself under the covers. "The sooner we sleep, the sooner it will be morning, the sooner we can leave."

All Lydia could do was blink. Sure, maybe Fjori was feeling somewhat out of place, but to react in such an explosive way… Perhaps she was simply feeling unwell and some sleep would remedy the situation. Divines, please let that be it. Sighing heavily, she rolled over and closed her eyes.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"My Thane! Are you all right?!"

"I've been better," the Nord growled, clutching a fresh wound on her leg. Typical, right above the boots and under the greaves… When she attempted to put weight on it, she let out a colorful curse.

"You should rest a moment and take a potion. We are in no hurry." Despite her concern for Fjori, Lydia herself was looking worse for the wear. A large number of dwarven spiders had caught them unaware and didn't go down without a fight. A fresh cut on her arm was evidence of that.

"You know it's bad when I agree with your philosophy of being patient." Hobbling, Fjori maneuvered to a fallen pillar, intricately carved with Dwemer symbols and embellished with golden inlay. All the work they'd put into designing it, and now it was little more than a bench for a crippled ruin-raider… She immediately went for the White Phial, uncorked it, and took a long drink. "This is why I never go into Dwemer ruins as a general rule. Too many horror stories. Just give me an enemy that confronts you head on, like a Forsworn or a cave bear, not these stupid creeping contraptions that just pop out of walls when you least expect them."

"Wait, so you've never entered a Dwemer ruin before?" This seemed to genuinely surprise Lydia, who joined Fjori on the pillar.

She shook her head emphatically. "No way. Too many people go in that never come back out. Better to leave that old elven technology where it lies. I've spoken to other mercenaries before, heard about these great big metal warriors they've got…centurions I think. Look like statues until you get too close, then they come to life with a great hiss of steam as soon as your back is turned. How are you supposed to fight something like that with a sword or arrow?"

"So that means we really are going in blind," the warrior frowned in concern. "We've barely gotten through this initial tower and already are having problems. Who knows how many enemies lie inside the ruins themselves?"

"Too many." With a grunt, she got to her feet. She still wasn't feeling one hundred percent, but it was certainly passable. "I guess at least we know what to look out for now. Be on your guard."

"You don't have to tell me twice!"

The duo pushed on ahead, narrowly avoiding floor saws and flame-throwers while getting the jump on more mechanized defenses. All along the way, Fjori picked up as much scrap metal as possible. When Lydia complained about carrying it all, she explained to her follower that this metal could not be recreated, as the secret was lost with the Dwemer, and was worth quite a bit for crafting armor. As a competent smith, she could fashion herself something a bit sturdier than the steel armor she currently owned. That was enough to convince Lydia to shoulder the cumbersome burden.

After much longer than they'd expected, they finally came upon a door. "Main ruins?" Lydia wondered.

"Honestly, I hope not," Fjori admitted. When Lydia gave her a confused glance, she shrugged. "I'm not feeling so great, and it's not the leg wound. It would be foolhardy to go too far in in this state."

"So if it doesn't lead back outside, we turn back?" Fjori nodded soberly. "Perhaps a cure disease potion would…"

"We don't have any. I used the last one while fighting off that pack of wolves out in the tundra. Rockjoint is such a pain. There was nowhere around to restock, and I didn't think we'd have to worry about it in a Dwemer ruin. Everything is made of metal here. How the hell could this have happened…"

Lydia fought down the panic. "Maybe it's not that. We shouldn't jump to conclusions."

Slight dizziness. Swelling at the site of infection. And the sensation of being hot was definitely not because of the flamethrowers. "This feeling reminds me of that time in Bleak Falls Barrow when I got the gangrene."

"Umm, that nearly killed you back then!"

"Right, so we need to get going, just to be safe." Seeing Lydia get jumpy made her nerves flair up too. Closing the conversation, she pushed open the door, only to be hit in the face with a cold gust of wind. She had never been so thankful to feel her face going numb.

They were on top of a massive glacier, the remains of a buried explorer's camp still poking out of the snow. Any other day, Lydia would have suggested they make camp in the remnants of the abandoned shack and try again tomorrow, but even she could see the pallor of Fjori's face in the afternoon sun. "Where is the nearest town?" she demanded of her thane.

"Windhelm." When Lydia raised a suspicious eyebrow, Fjori held up her hands defensively. "I'm not just saying that, for the record. Winterhold has nothing to help, and I don't know the way to Dawnstar from here. Plus, we know for a fact that there is someone in Windhelm that will be able to help. If we take the Wayward Pass, we'll make it by nightfall."

"If you're still standing," Lydia reminded grimly.

"Less talk, more move then." Fjori took off in the direction of the pass, leaving Lydia scrambling to catch up.

They only paused their flight once to pray at the shrine to Arkay located within the pass. The divine's blessing fortified her health enough that she was able to make it to Anga's Mill on foot, though just barely. That was the end of the line; her legs had become too unstable to carry her weight further, especially the infected one. Anga had not forgotten her help during a previous encounter, and readily loaned a cart for Fjori to ride in as soon as Lydia explained the situation in a broken narrative. Not a single complaint passed her lips as she took up the handles and hauled it down the steep road to Windhelm at a brisk pace, careful not to go so fast that it would jostle the ailing passenger. She would not let her Thane down now, and more than that, she would not let anything happen to her friend.

The path that normally felt like a brief jaunt now felt like the entire expanse of Skyrim. Fjori was uncharacteristically quiet, a very worrisome sign indeed. Had she fallen unconscious? Lydia glanced back several times along the way, though said nothing to break the spell of the groaning wood or the clatter of wheels against the pavers of the road. Despite her sickly complexion, Fjori appeared to simply be asleep, curled into a tight ball. Of course, with the sun lowering on the horizon, it was becoming harder and harder to judge her condition. All the while, Lydia went through every possible option within Windhelm for healing. The temples might offer healing, but given what she knew of the eccentric priestess of Arkay and the militant priestess of Talos, she had her doubts. Then the only other place one would go for healing would be…of course. No one would work harder to fix her up, Lydia mused with a grim smile as she passed through the city gates.

And so they arrived in an unconventional manner to the White Phial yet again. Most of the people had cleared from the marketplace as the sun sank beyond the horizon, but the few onlookers openly gawked at the scene they made. Lydia didn't particularly give a damn what they thought; all she could focus on was saving Fjori. She set the cart down gently, and then with a loud thump she banged on the locked door to the shop. "Quintus! It's Lydia and Fjori, open up!"

When she stilled her knocking, she could hear footsteps hurry to the door, then the click of a bolt sliding out of place. The door was flung open and she could see the shock on Quintus's face, no doubt because they were back so soon after their recent departure, and also probably that Lydia was the one he saw first. "Lydia? What's wrong?" Nervous green eyes darted back and forth, searching. "Where's Fjori?" Stepping back to reveal Fjori's miserable huddled from resting in the cart, she watched as the alchemist's face blanched. "What happened? Can I move her?"

"She's sick," Lydia explained helplessly as she moved to roll Fjori face-up and grab her under the armpit. The movement roused her, causing her to groan in annoyance, but she refused to open her eyes. Quintus rushed to mirror Lydia's action until Fjori was lifted out of the cart and resting heavily on their shoulders. Well, mostly resting on Lydia's shoulders with some support on his end to keep her upright. A full-grown Nord woman in full armor was HEAVY. "Something in a Dwemer ruin must have infected her, and we have no cure disease potions left."

"Gangrene," he declared seriously. "Most people associate it with draugr, but ancient Dwemer implements also carry it. How long has it been since she started showing symptoms?" Even as they spoke, they hauled her into the shop and in the direction of the storage room.

"She got the cut this morning, and started complaining about not feeling well by early afternoon. We headed back as soon as she knew something was off."

Lydia didn't expect the urgency to melt away from his expression. "Then it shouldn't be a problem. If it had been this bad for over twenty four hours, we would have had a real emergency on our hands. As it is, this will be easily cured with the appropriate potion, a thorough cleaning of the wound, and bedrest. She looks worse than she actually is at this point." Gently they eased her onto the bed that had once belonged to him and spun her legs so she was lying in the right direction. "I'll go fetch what I need while you get her out of her armor." Lydia nodded as he strode purposefully out of the room, marveling at how different a man he seemed when not under Nurelion's shadow. Then again, maybe he was just a different man when Fjori needed his help.

When he returned with a few different flasks and rags, he found Fjori's armor littering the ground against the wall and Lydia bent over his patient, coaxing her awake. "My Thane, you need to wake up and take your medicine."

"Where are we?" she mumbled, clearly in a stupor. She barely opened her eyes.

"Where else? In Windhelm. Look over there," Lydia insisted, pointing at Quintus. Slowly her head lolled to the side, and after a few blinks, her puzzled expression morphed into surprise.

"Quintus?"

"Yes, I'm right here. I'm going to take care of you. Are you ready to take your potion?" he asked softly, kneeling at the bedside next to her.

What happened next was not the reaction he expected. Her face crumpled. "I'm so sorry…"

"Huh?"

"I'm so stupid…how can you stand me?" A tear escaped, and then another.

Quintus looked up at Lydia with a bewildered expression. She looked just as bewildered. "Umm, Lydia, I'm going to need some warm water to wash the infected wound. Would you mind heating some upstairs and bringing it to me?"

"Sure," she agreed tentatively, clearly hesitant to miss what was happening. Only after he mouth the words 'talk later' did she feel reassured enough to leave the room.

Finally alone, he turned his attention back to a sniffling Fjori. "Drink this first, and then we'll talk, okay?" Before she could argue, he propped her up against his shoulder, held the open flask to her lips, and carefully poured it into her mouth. She swallowed without a fuss, though it was difficult to do so with the tiny spasms her distress was causing. He tenderly wiped any stray drops from her lips with his rough thumb. "That's better. Now with some rest, you'll be as good as new, and back to finding artifacts…"

This statement triggered an adverse reaction as she began to bawl in earnest. "How can you care about someone as dumb as I am? You're so smart! You'd understand everything they said, and all I can do is…smash some machines and get sick from it because…I was too worked up to take my time and restock…just an idiot brute…" By now she was hiccupping between sobs as hot tears splattered across her feverish cheeks.

"Fjori, I think you are delirious," he attempted, at a complete loss. Fjori was Dragonborn, a great hero and a far cry from some simple-minded sword-arm. Where was all this self-hatred coming from? "You're not making much sense. We can talk about it in the morning, but right now, we need to…" He tried to ignore the weight of her senseless words and rub her arms to soothe her, but to no avail. The stream of consciousness just continued to flow.

"You won't want me!" she blurted, body convulsing at the statement. "A woman as dull as me, there's no way you could ever love me…"

And Quintus had heard enough, delirious as she was or not. Without thinking, he moved in front of her, leaned down, screwed his eyes shut, and resolutely pressed his mouth against hers to silence her doubts. It didn't even matter that he had absolutely no idea what to do next, having neither experience with passionate kissing nor even a woman he'd loved enough to consider what it would be like; he just held his mouth there, head tilted so his nose didn't smash into hers, and willed all his emotions to come through with this meeting of their lips. He was hyper-sensitive to her reactions in case she took offense to the act, so he noticed Fjori still beneath him. While she didn't seem to reciprocate, she didn't push him away either. It made him entirely unsure whether his action was appropriate or not, and so he nervously pulled away to study her face for a sign.

Despite tear-stained cheeks, her crying seemed to fizzle out after the kiss had dampened it. "Q-Quintus?" His name was a fragile question, her voice unsteady and confused, and he knew the real question she wanted to ask was 'why?'.

"I really don't like hearing you talk like that," he replied lamely, turning away to grab a rag. Then, he blotted the moisture from her face. Her eyes were glued to him, and he refused to look away, determined to show her the sincerity behind the action. "You remember what you told me before, right? Something like 'whether you're at your best or your worst, you won't scare me away? Well, that goes for you too, you know. I don't know what happened, but I'm not going to leave you."

"Umm, Quintus…was that a good idea? I mean, with me being sick?" she wondered, seemingly ignoring what he had considered to be clever wording. His motions froze with this out-of-the-blue observation.

"…probably not… Excuse me a moment." With that familiar blush, he got up and went for the spare bottle of cure disease potion he'd brought along just in case. Technically, they hadn't exchanged any saliva or anything during that weak excuse for a kiss, but no way was he going to risk it. As he chugged down the potion, he was grateful he'd thought ahead and didn't need to explain to Lydia why he was out in the shop pickup up another one. "Umm, thanks for pointing that out." He gave an awkward laugh while setting down the empty bottle. "And I'm supposed to be the professional…"

"Quintus," she insisted, again ignoring him. Her puffy eyes were quickly drifting closed in exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

"Yes, Fjori?" He let the back of his right hand rest against her forehead, feeling for a fever. She was still a bit too hot for his liking, and he was already planning for a cool, damp cloth.

"When I'm better…will you kiss me like that again?"

His hand trailed down to caress her cheek. "Of course."

"I'd like that." With a sigh, she tilted her head against his palm and drifted off to sleep.

Quintus, for his part, hated to pull his hand away. He'd been so wrapped up with his own drama that any desire to touch her, hold her, kiss her, had been buried under obligations and duties. Now it was hitting him full force. Despite her mussed hair, cold sweat, tears, and untreated wound (which he really needed to get to work on), she was beautiful in her vulnerability. It was not a condition he had seen her in before, and it touched something deep inside of him.

"Er-hrm." Quintus tore his eyes off the peaceful woman and to the source of the noise. Lydia stood in the doorway bearing a bowl of steaming water. "I see you go her to calm down?"

"Yeah." Carefully, he eased his hand out from under her so her cheek met the pillow instead. "She was spouting all kinds of crazy talk and getting extremely worked up. Do you have any idea why, or was she just feverish?"

Lydia tip-toed over to the bed and set the bowl down on an end-table. "She's been on edge ever since we went to the college. But I'm sure she'll tell you what's eating at her before she tells me."

"I see." With a frown, he looked down her body to the ripped fabric of her trousers. A healing potion had sealed the wound shut, but little else. "I don't suppose you have any experience cleaning wounds?"

Lydia shook her head. "I know how to bandage them up, but cleaning them is not one of my strongest skills."

Quintus swallowed hard. "I guess that means I'll have to be the one to…ummm…" He turned bright red. "Will you take her pants off and cover her up so I can work?"

Lydia almost burst out laughing, and the only reason she held it in was the fact that Fjori was finally asleep. "By the Nine, Quintus, you're the one who's got a thing for her! You should be jumping at the chance to remove her clothes!"

"I have a sense of decency!" he sniffed in annoyance, grabbing a rag and dipping it in the water. "Just do it, will you?"

"Fine, fine. Besides, I think your sense of decency is why she likes you so much." With a wink, Lydia began to unfasten the trousers.

Quintus turned away immediately, focusing on vigorously wringing out the cloth. So he and Lydia were on teasing terms now… Ah well, that should be taken as a compliment, he figured. More importantly, Fjori apparently liked his moral conduct. That was good; he wasn't sure what else he was able to offer. This would make for an interesting conversation tomorrow when she was in her right mind.