A/N: Systrami - I know, right? Never paid attention to him all that much either. This story is seriously so random for me, but I'm having so much fun with it :)

First day of their adventure! For some reason, I keep picturing Quintus as Bilbo Baggins in this story. Except instead of hairy feet Quintus just has ridiculous side burns. I modded them off once and he looks weirdly hot. Anyway. Enjoy and let me know how the chapter is!

Legerdemain

Chapter 10 | Buckwheat

At dawn the next day, Wyn returned to The White Phial carrying several heavy looking packs. Quintus had only just woken up, reluctantly rolled from his bed, and was hovering over the fireplace making sausages when she entered. The racket she made was strangely typical for a Nord, which of course surprised Quintus because before that moment, he had rather forget that she was one, so different she was from her brethren.

"I'm up here!" he called down to her, feeling foolish even as he did. It wasn't liked there were many other places he could be, after all. But there was no laughter or amusement in Wyn's eyes as she took the stairs. The time for such frivolous emotions seemed to be over, for there was a hard sheen to her eyes when she looked at him.

"We don't have time for breakfast, alchemist. We must leave before the city wakes." She stepped forward and looked him over. The way she did made him feel self-conscious, as if he was lacking in some way. He obviously was, because the golden eyed Nord sighed and looked away.

She hadn't the heart to tell him to stay home. The wilds were no place for a shop keeper. But she knew enough of alchemy to understand the point he made. Harvesting ingredients took some degree of know-how, and even then if done wrongly, the plant could lose a property or part of its essence. There were tricks, tricks she did not know because she did not take time to study them. But Quintus had.

"…What's wrong?" he blundered, looking down at his simple clothes just as critically as she did. He knew they were nothing special. He'd had them for years and they didn't quite fit right, for they had been Nurelion's for years before they were his.

He looked back at the Nord and frowned, "I have a heavy cloak I will wear over this, if that is your concern." And with a little huff that made him feel a tad bit childish, Quintus turned back to his sausages and flipped them over.

Wyn narrowed her eyes at him but didn't say anything more on the subject. It was a good thing she had the foresight to bring that spare set of leather armor. It was light enough for the merchant's slim form but strong enough to offer some protection if, and when, he needed it.

But Quintus did not think he needed anything more than his cloak. It wasn't because he was stupid. He had done field studies many times in the past, countless times around the Imperial City and several in Skyrim too. He'd grown used to the cold nature of this nation. But what he didn't take into account was the simple fact that the Skyrim of today was different from the Skyrim of yesterday. He would soon be forced to come to terms with this, and a great many other things as well, before the quest was over.

As for leaving before the city wakes, Quintus didn't bother asking why. He guessed it had to do with making as much time today as they could. The sun set early in the East, and they would need all the time afforded to them. But Wyn had another reason for leaving so early, and it had a little something to do with her titles and badges, and the fact that Quintus was still blind to them.

She was loathe to take his blindness from him, even as she knew it was rather cruel to let him go on like this. He deserved to know who she was and what dangers he was getting himself into by going into the wilds with her. But something stopped her from saying anything. She did not like to admit that she was lonely, but whenever she was with Quintus those feelings felt far away. Odd, that a simple shop keeper could have such an effect on her.

"Cook your sausages and meet me downstairs. Do you mind if I take some health potions from your stores? I shall repay you when this is over." She had already started to walk down to the main room of the shop. Quintus sighed but told her she could, and Wyn walked to the storage room where Quintus slept to fill her bag with the potions. She also took several stamina potions as well.

Ten minutes later, Quintus had joined her downstairs with a plate of the sausages. She tossed the thick fur cloak to him and he caught it with surprise, having not expected the movement.

As he shrugged it over his shoulders and tied it beneath his chin, Wyn wondered, "And the Old Man? How will he fare while we are gone?" The question gave him pause, for there was something that sounded almost like worry in her voice. That she was concerned for his master surprised Quintus. She had not seemed capable of being concerned for another, as cold as it sounded.

He cleared his throat and told her, "I've hired someone I trust to look after him. He'll be in good hands."

Wyn nodded. The explanation was good enough for her. She busied herself with tying off something in the pack on the ground.

As she crouched in front of it, Quintus lowered the plate of sausages to her and asked with an almost cheeky smile, "You're welcome to share breakfast with me, you know. We'll be doing so for the next few weeks, might as well get used to eating together." And she stared up at him in surprise, because something about his words made her feel very warm.

She was not used to eating with someone. The meals she had in her various houses throughout Skyrim were spent alone while her Housecarl busied around doing some other thing. The meals spent at taverns hardly counted. The meals with other companions in the snow drifts of the wilds were cold and unaccommodating, only eaten for sustenance against the harsh, freezing nights. She wondered if it would be the same with him. If those meals would still be unaccommodating and necessary or if this warm feeling would carry itself through the rest of the quest.

"…Very well," she said with a tiny tilted smile, and took a sausage from the plate. As she bit into it, Wyn had to battle back a moan because it tasted very different from other sausages she'd had in the past.

Quintus noticed the look on her face and chuckled, taking a sausage for himself as he explained, "They're from Cyrodiil. It's expensive to import them all the way to Skyrim, but after trying the sausages here – uh, no offense – it is but a small price. I am grateful for the reminders they give me of my home."

She thoughtfully glanced up at him, wondering what the other parts of Cyrodiil looked like. The time to ask questions, however, was past. The city was beginning to awake and Wyn wanted to be outside of it before people noticed her.

She ate the last bite of her sausage and nodded to the plate in Quintus's hand, "Wrap those up. We're leaving now." Then she stood, slung her heavy pack over her shoulder, and nudged his with her foot. He sighed but obeyed, and didn't even complain when he slide his own pack on.

The sausages were wrapped in a cloth napkin to be eaten while they walked. Water skins hung around their waists, beside weapons (several for Wyn, and one steel sword for Quintus). It was in this way that the pair of them quietly stole out onto the streets of Windhelm, locked up the White Phial, and turned to the city gates. Only the guards saw them disappear through it.

Down at the Windhelm stables, the Elf Ulundil was just waking up, stepping out into the frigid air and throwing his arms over his head with an indulgent sigh. When he saw the odd pair walking towards him, he raised his eyebrows and locked eyes with Brynwyn, and then with Quintus. He knew the Thane and Dragonborn when he saw her. He also knew the head strong Imperial alchemist who studied under Nurelion.

"Ah, Drago – "

"Ulundil, have you an extra horse I might purchase for my companion here?" Wyn caught the Elf's eye and gave him a meaningful look, which he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

Even so, Ulundil smiled and said only a little hesitantly, "Oh, ahaha. Unfortunately not. I sold the other a week ago to a traveling noble whose horse took an arrow in the knee. Poor beast." He would have gone on to explain how they had to put the horse down but Wyn hadn't the time for stories. She sighed and glanced at Quintus with a surly glower.

It was strange seeing that glower. Quintus hadn't seen very much emotion in her. In fact, besides amusement and the occasional joke, he hardly thought the Nord had any emotions. He recalled what she had told him that one evening – the evening of the kiss – about how her master had tasked her with deciphering passion and how she had thus far failed. He wondered why. Why it was so difficult to know what passion felt like. He had felt it many times when he worked on his beloved alchemy, when he learned new things or got praised for doing something right by his master. It was not so hard to understand.

Wyn pushed past them and glided down the stairs purposefully. Ulundil followed, and Quintus trailed behind them. After a moment of thinking, Wyn sighed once more and murmured, "Very well. Saddle my horse, would you Ulundil?"

The Elf nodded and turned to the tack room, and Wyn looked at Quintus. "We shall have to share my horse until we arrive in Whiterun." Quintus grimly nodded, knowing this was coming. He was grim for one reason and one alone: being so close to Wyn would quite possibly be the death of him. Little did he know that she was thinking the exact same thing about him.

They milled around while Ulundil tacked up Wyn's horse. When the saddle was adjusted, Ulundil gave them a hearty farewell and disappeared to do his morning chores. Wyn and Quintus were left alone to fix the saddlebags and to tie their bedrolls to the horse. After that was completed, Wyn hoisted herself into the saddle and reached down to give Quintus a hand. He hesitated only a moment before accepting it.

Her fingers were cold, was the first thought he had, and rough. Of course this did not surprise him, for he had seen her hands before and knew them to be of warrior make, honed through many years of fighting. But he was still fascinated by them. Perhaps his fascination had stemmed from what he had always known women's hands to be like: soft, gentle, slender, with flawless skin and calloused only from the tips of embroidery needles. Wyn's hands were rough, purposeful, and flawed. And yet for some reason, Quintus thought they were infinitely more interesting, more beautiful and lively.

He had always liked the idea of the Imperial woman. Dutiful and obedient, such a wife was expected and even respected in the home. If she wasn't good at cooking, sewing, and the other female arts, then she wasn't considered fit for society. He found little fault with those ideals, for they were normal to him as he had grown up in the Imperial City.

Since arriving in Skyrim, he had selfishly held onto those values because they were what he knew, and he didn't understand why Nord women who could fight were so sought after. Warrior maidens held very little interest to Quintus Navale, but for some reason this particular one seemed to defy everything he knew about himself.

Once he was on the horse, Quintus awkwardly clutched at the back of the saddle. Wyn clucked the horse forward slowly, then suddenly chuckled. He sharply looked up as she glanced over her shoulder at him, for he felt as if she was laughing at him. Indeed she was, and a moment later she was reaching behind to grasp his wrists. As she pulled his hands around her waist, Quintus spluttered momentarily with the indignation of it all. (Why, in Cyrodiil he would never allow himself to touch a woman like that in public - )

"Would you prefer falling into a snowdrift to holding my waist, alchemist?"

The question was full of cheek. Quintus gaped at the back of her head and swallowed awkwardly. Well, he certainly did not like the idea of falling into a pile of snow, and Wyn of course knew it. She chuckled again and caught his eye briefly as she looked back at him. For a moment he was mesmerized by the golden hue of them surrounded by all this white. (The white of her skin, the white of her war paint, the white of her hair, and the landscape around them, spread out with snow that seemed to never end.)

Wyn gently kicked the horse into a trot and Quintus found himself holding her tighter, for the momentum was enough to draw him closer for fear of falling off the rear. Wyn's amused voice called back to him, "We shall arrive in Whiterun by tonight, and on the morrow we leave for the Reach."

And Quintus just nodded, though she couldn't see, and clutched her harder as he shivered. It would be a cold trip to Whiterun, and he was already wondering if perhaps hiring mercenaries would have been a better idea after all. The Nord in front of him would be more than just the death of his values, he was sure. Surprisingly, the thought didn't frighten him as much as it probably should have.