Chapter 10

Odahviing didn't want to sit, instead leaning his back against the wall and watching Emlen with dark eyes. Emlen didn't want to stand, so she sunk to the ground and leaned against the wall opposite Odahviing, and brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them loosely.

She let her gaze linger on the floor as she explained. The story was long and she rambled through it with little thought.

"The Butcher was a killer on the loose in Windhelm. He killed Friga Shatter-shield. And two others, I think, but I don't know who. I heard about him the first time I arrived, and Friga was already dead. I left without doing anything, but when I returned to Windhelm, Susanna was dead. Her body was found in the graveyard and I volunteered to help solve the mystery.

"I spoke to Jorlief, who gave me permission but had little advice to offer. The priestess of Arkay told me that curved blades used for embalming had been used on the woman. I found blood spatters in the graveyard that led her – to Hjerim. There were journals, a strange necklace, and a room filled with bloody bones and other disgusting things.

"Jorlief sent me to Calixto Corrium to find out about the necklace. He told me it was a Wheelstone, traditionally carried by court mages and then offered to buy it so I sold it to him. I went to Viola Giordano to ask her about the pamphlets I found. She said that the Butcher was probably Wuunferth, the court mage.

"I chose to confront Wuunferth directly, but he insisted he wasn't actually a necromancer, and said he was a member of the College of Winterhold. It didn't make sense, since the College actually quietly tolerates Necromancy, but he seemed honest. He said he'd been doing research and had found a pattern and that the next strike would be in the Stone Quarter at night. So I set off to patrol.

"I found Calixto sneaked up on Arivanya, and managed to stop him, but I had to kill him. I found his personal journal in his shop. He was trying to bring his dead sister back to life."

Odahviing was silent for a long moment. "Do you think the mage – Wuunferth – might know more?"

She shrugged. "I hope so."

He studied her and she kept her eyes to the floor to avoid his scrutinizing gaze. "You must rest now," he said.

It was more of a command that a request, and for some reason it made her shiver. He was very old – and a dragon no less! Wasn't it his very instinct to command, to control, to –

She shushed her thoughts before they could scare her. Odahviing wouldn't hurt her. He wasn't…trying to control her. She was being paranoid.

To think one little phrase could set her off.

But she learned to be cautious long ago.

"No, I have to catch the murderer," she answered, half testing him.

His voice was slightly softer. "You cannot if you are exhausted. You will not be able to think."

She let out a sigh. He was just trying to help her. Why did she have to be so scared? Was she really so scarred? It wasn't like there were so many betrayals in her life.

She pulled herself up. "All right. What will you do? Don't you need rest too?"

He shook his head. "Go lay down. I'll be there."

And so she did, covering herself with the blankets on the bed upstairs after changing into a spare nightgown in one of the drawers. She watched Odahviing sit on the ground in view of her, but she got the sense he was watching over her.

That calmed her more than anything.

She closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.

Odhaviing watched Emlen sleep, her chest moving up and down, her body occasionally twisting in search of comfort. He knew rest would benefit him as well in this weak form, whether he liked it or not, so he closed his eyes and remained on the edge of sleep for some time.

He awoke, unsure what roused him. A second later came the cry, as though he had anticipated it. "Astrid!"

Within a second, he was by Emlen's side, shaking her gently to wake her. She blinked and sat up and stared at him, breathing heavily. "Oh," she said, relieved before pain crossed her face again. "Oh," she echoed, as though she realized her dream wasn't really a dream. Her eyes lowered to the ground as she calmed her breathing.

He touched her chin gently, brought her face up to look at him. "What happened?"

"Just a recurring nightmare," she answered vaguely. "I'm all right."

"Recurring?" he asked. She shrugged. It bothered him. If there was a danger, something scaring her, he would kill it. But if it was just a memory, what could he do? He didn't dare ask about the name, for fear she would be overwhelmed by a memory. He sat down on the bed and allowed his fingers to brush over her forehead and down her cheek. She closed her eyes, as though he comforted her. Strange how she could be moved by something so simple.

His fingers traced down her neck and she leaned in to him slightly. His eyes grazed over the bare skin and her thin nightgown. His touch led down over her collarbone, and he felt the hard edge, his other hand rising to gain more of her skin upon his –

Emlen jolted and pushed his hand away and got off the bed very quickly. He glared at her, and found himself feeling far more frustrated than he should have felt. She didn't look back at him, but crossed her arms. "It's best we go. The sooner we catch this madman, the better."

Odahviing stood, unaccustomed to controlling his anger. He wanted to…he wanted to…

Actually, he wasn't sure what he wanted since some of the thoughts going through his head weren't making sense.

Emlen breathed in and out, feeling a heat behind her, as though she could sense whatever was going on in Odahviing's mind. All of this scared her. It was as though her feelings with him were heightened, spiking to an uncomfortable place that was all too passionate for everything he caused in her.

But she didn't like the word passionate. It made her think of things she didn't want to think about. Or maybe she did.

She closed her eyes in a grimace, and vowed to go diving in Windhelm's port as soon as the Apprentice was over with. There was nothing better to wash away unwanted filth than the bitter waters.

"Emlen."

The voice came strange, half-choked with emotion he'd never bothered with in all of the centuries of his existence. And there was pain there that she never meant to cause, and frustration, and confusion, and something else that she didn't dare put a name to. She turned to grant him a glance and saw in his eyes no anger, but a desperation that was scratching at her as much as him, tearing at her insides. Those eyes settled the longing in her to something more innocent and simple and much more manageable.

She conceded to the desire and went to him and pressed into him, ignoring the way his armor separated her from him, and hung onto him and appreciated the way his arms wrapped around her and his hand came up to carress the back of her head, and she could have stayed in the embrace forever but had to pull herself away. There was a murder to be solved and the world wouldn't stop turning for her.