A/N: I'm back! Finally! Have some new chapters ready for posting, so make sure you guys check up during the next week or two! And as always, reviews = love/faster updates because I'll be inspired :3

Legerdemain

Chapter Eleven | Butterfly Wings

True to her word, they arrived in Whiterun before dinner, stabled the horse, and lugged their belongings into the city. Whiterun was vastly different from Windhelm, and while it wasn't Quintus's first time there, he stared in awe all the same as they made their way through the streets. Wyn led him to a smallish house near the market. She had a key for it, which surprised Quintus, and he wondered, "Whose house is this?" even though he already knew.

She glanced at him as she opened the door. "It is mine," she said in her lazy voice. It was the same voice she had used when she told him the Brotherhood was after her. The same voice when she had brought the cracked Phial back. Somehow, it did not surprise Quintus that she owned a house in Whiterun. What did surprise him was the warrior woman who approached them with the words, "Welcome home, my Thane. I was not expecting your return." Thane. Quintus should have known.

Wyn just shrugged as if being Thane was no great feat, and indeed to her it wasn't. She would not tell Quintus that she was currently Thane of six holds, one of which was his own city. She would not tell him she fought dragons as a pastime and just so happened to devour their souls afterwards. She wouldn't tell him of the oddity he was, to have earned a place by her side even though he could hardly lift his sword or notch an arrow. She hardly knew why she had insisted he accompany her, though she did have a very quiet inkling that she would not acknowledge any time soon.

"Ha! You're a Thane," Quintus muttered, shaking his head in amusement and bewilderment. He drifted to the fire and crouched before it, ignorant to the stares he was receiving from both Wyn and the other Nord whose name he had yet to learn. His disbelief only further hardened her decision to keep all her other titles hidden away. If he knew she was in fact the Dragonborn, she doubted he would stay with her for even another moment. For once in her life, Wyn found herself tiptoeing around rather than brashly spewing the truth as she was often apt to do. It certainly had Lydia looking conflicted, hovering nearby her Thane and eyeing Quintus unabashedly, as if trying to unravel the mystery of his presence without having to ask outright.

Wyn decided to put her out of her misery. She stepped forward, untying her Nightingale cloak as she said, "Lydia, this is Quintus Navale of Windhelm. Quintus, Lydia my Housecarl and sworn protector." The last bit was almost mocking, in a cheeky way Quintus had grown rather accustomed to, and Wyn sent him an amused glance as her Housecarl frowned.

They exchanged wary nods. Wyn threw her boots off and added it to the pile of discarded armor near the door. She distractedly told Lydia, "We're on a quest to repair the White Phial. Oh…" she paused, and Lydia and Quintus both turned to her. After a moment, Wyn tossed Lydia several heavy septims and said, "Would you mind sleeping at the Bannered Mare tonight, Lydia? It seems I've not thought about proper bedding."

There was something almost eccentric about Wyn that had Quintus curiously watching as she swept through the room, plucking spare pillows and blankets out of a cupboard and tossing them to the floor by the stairs. "Not to worry," came her muffled voice as she disappeared into a smaller room pushed off to the side, "at least in the morning we can get you your own horse, alchemist."

When she returned with a platter of ingredients for a stew, Quintus raised his eyebrows. The thought of this Nord actually cooking made him want to laugh. He managed to halt the instinct but not without the risk of a small chuckle slipping into existence. The sound had Wyn glancing over at him and wondering, "What is it?" She said nothing of the fact that this was the first time in months that she'd seen the effects of his laughter, the way it made his face brilliant and youthful.

Quintus cleared his throat but couldn't clear the smile from his face. "You, cooking?" He was unsure if he had crossed a line with the slight insult, because Lydia stiffened just a bit and Wyn glanced at the Housecarl. He was about to retract his words as tactfully as a city alchemist could when Wyn gave him a smirk and winked. His cheeks flushed with relief and something else, something that came entirely from that wink.

"Indeed I am not so skilled in the culinary arts as you, alchemist, though I do find that most Nords can, at the very least, make a half-decent stew." They exchanged smiles and Quintus felt himself puff at the compliment she gave him. That was when Lydia stepped forward and cleared her throat, catching their attention as she said, "I will take my leave, then. Goodnight, my Thane." Wyn muttered the words back and Lydia left. The two began to chop up the ingredients for the stew in silence.

That silence continued on into the night, but it was not uncomfortable even as the two retired to their beds. And as Wyn collapsed beneath the furs in her room upstairs, she decided that she quite liked having someone to eat dinner with, to have in her home. The thought made her warm, in a way she could not recognize, for she was unsure if she had ever felt such heat before. Unsurprisingly, it took a while for her to fall asleep, because she was very much aware that Quintus was nearby, breathing peacefully and quietly two rooms over.

The next morning did not dawn bright and early. No, instead Wyn awoke to the thundering of raindrops slamming against the rooftop. A soft drip was also apparent, and she rolled over to see a little puddle forming on the floor by the wall. With a grumble she threw her blankets away and sat up, but she moved too quickly, and the dull headache blazing through her head tripled.

"By the Gods," she moaned, rubbing her temples briefly as she blinked back sleep. The darkness of the sky did not give her much insight into the time, but she knew she'd overslept. She always did when she awoke with a headache.

There was nothing for it. Her sharp ears caught the sounds of someone moving downstairs. By the rustle of clothing, she guessed it to be Quintus. She also smelled cooking meat, an aroma that ultimately pulled her out of bed and down the stairs blindly. Had she given more thought to herself, she might've cleaned herself up before stepping downstairs. But she cared not for outwardly appearances, even if her snowy hair was ruffled and uncombed, even if her tunic was skewed and wrinkled.

Quintus himself looked pristine and flawless. He'd changed into his clean pair of clothes and had washed his face and hair, for the latter was a little wet. He'd done a number on the house, too, in her absence. The fire was stoked and the cooking pot filled with breakfast. The table was cleaned and dusted. The bookshelf as well, and the floors seemed to have been swept. Wyn stared in surprise at the suddenly clean state of the room, and Quintus turned and saw her, and his cheeks immediately heated up with a blush.

"Oh, um, good morning. I made eggs and sausage. And I, well, I cleaned up a bit too," he hurried to explain, his nerves fueling his words. After the initial embarrassment passed, Quintus got a good look at her. His throat ran dry at the sight she made, and it was apparent that she'd just tumbled out of bed. He rather liked the look of her when she was sleepy and confused. And that was when he noticed how she kept rubbing her temple.

"Do you have a headache?" he asked. She nodded dully and went over to sit by the fire.

"And it appears I overslept as well. Damned rain," she muttered, but Quintus was not listening. He'd already stepped to the alchemy nook on the far side of the room (he'd been absolutely delighted to discover it) to gather several herbs. Wyn watched curiously as he ground something up, his movement peppered with a slight mumbling as he recalled the recipe he was following. When he returned several minutes later, it was with a little bowl of what looked to be a salve.

"This should help," he said, his voice reverting back to his alchemist-no-nonsense tone. "Just rub it to your temples and – " he paused, for it seemed that she was hardly paying attention. Instead she just stared into the fire with a contemplating look, and Quintus sighed and shifted closer, scooping a bit of the salve onto his fingertips and deciding to just do it himself. Perhaps he should have thought through the action a little more.

Wyn started at the gentle touch, and looked up to see Quintus only a foot away, staring intently at the side of her head as he rubbed tiny circles to her temples. It was strangely intimate, in a way, and he suddenly wished he hadn't initiated so bold an action. But it was too late to retract his fingers, for Wyn had quickly accepted the touch and was sinking into relaxation as her headache slowly drifted away.

"It's working," she murmured thickly, feeling progressively relaxed and lazy.

Quintus swallowed and continued, trying to brush away the surprising intimacy with a scoffing, "Of course it is, I made it."

Wyn smiled at the words, and Quintus stared. That curve of her lips had his heart stuttering wildly, and he decided he had to remove himself from this sudden situation else he fall prey to his confusing desires. His method of choice was a question, and a welcome one at that, for he had wondered at this particular one for many weeks now.

"Your hair…how did it come to be so pale? You're younger than me, yet the color is all but vanished…" It had been bothering him for quite a while now, though he hadn't asked because he thought it might offend her. But Wyn merely hummed and closed her eyes, shutting away her golden gaze.

His words were true. Wyn was indeed younger than him, as far as she could tell without outright asking his age. Yet every part of her was pale save for the bold color of her eyes. It was an odd combination, one that Quintus had never seen on a Nord or anyone else, for that matter.

"I have always had this coloring. My mother told me once that I was cursed and would never find a husband. In response my father denounced her and said I was a rare beauty, and could have my choice pick of any man," she chuckled, and Quintus found himself blushing, for he thought her words to be true. "But I have always wondered if my mother was right. She was a bitter woman, but the only one I had as a child looking for guidance."

The conversation had taken a turn that Quintus had not anticipated, but for some reason he was glad of it. Words that he wanted to utter blossomed upon his tongue, yet he tried to hold them back, for he knew they would embarrass him. Alas he was not successful, and blurted them out before he could properly rein them back under his control.

"You're lovely," he said, then flushed brightly as she stilled and slowly opened her eyes. There was something in that golden gaze that gave him pause as well, and his fingers slowly stopped moving as they looked at each other. The small distance between them lurched to the forefront of his mind, but he could not move away. It was as if her eyes were pinning him down. The feeling was not unique; he had felt it before, many times. The pull of her gaze often appeared inhuman and frightening. But at that moment, to Quintus she resonated with inhuman beauty, and not terror.

He was quite aware of the fact that she hadn't yet pulled away, as he had expected of her. Instead she lingered, staring up at him with those haunting eyes that made the blood boil against his eardrums. And because she did not move, neither did he, and the moment unfurled itself into a strange but wonderful cacophony of emotions that both frightened and consumed him.

After several more seconds of this, Quintus cleared his throat and slowly drew his hands away.

He mused quietly, "I've never heard you speak of your parents." The words were meant to break that silence that had settled between them, and for the most part it worked. Wyn drew herself back and the spell was shattered. She stood, and Quintus nearly cried out at the agony of her passing, for she appeared to be closing herself away once more as he knew she was apt to do.

She went to fetch two plates and forks, and as she did so she responded with a brief, "I do not think of them often. They died long ago, and now reside in the halls of my forefathers." She said no more on the subject, and Quintus had a feeling that the time for questions and idle chit chat had passed.

They ate breakfast quietly, speaking only of their journey. To Quintus's dismay, Wyn planned for them to leave within the hour for Rorikstead, a small farming community just west of Whiterun. He would have much preferred waiting another day rather than venturing out into the harsh and unforgiving weather. The rain was still pounding just as heavily as it had all morning, and did not appear to be letting up even a little bit. To him, it was both foolhardy and stubborn to continue their journey so recklessly, but he had little say in the matter. And a little rain wouldn't hurt them, at least according to Wyn.

After breakfast they rose to fetch their packs and to restock some new supplies. Wyn filled an extra saddlebag with food, for it would be a long ride through the Reach, and then bounded up the stairs to search for her cloak. She returned with it draped over her head, the resilient fabric long and protective. It would suit her well in the elements, though she was not so sure about the state of her companion.

She looked at him for a long moment, then disappeared once more. When she came back, it was with a hood that she immediately dumped rather unceremoniously onto his head. He spluttered and gaped at her, wondering, "What is this?" To which she responded only with a raised eyebrow and a dry expression.

The hood was made of a similar fabric to her cloak, and would at the very least offer him some protection from the rain. It would keep his head warm, and his body temperature would stay balanced. He sighed and fastened it around his neck, tying off the leather ties in the front. Then he looked up to see Wyn looking him over once more, and his cheeks blushed from the attention he was receiving.

But it was in a matter-of-fact way that her eyes spun over his body, and that only made him more flustered because he found himself disappointed. He wanted her to look at him with more emotion, like she had when he had rubbed the salve into her skin minutes prior. And of course the suddenness of this desire made him very surprised at himself, for he rarely thought himself to be so blind in these kinds of matters. Something in Wyn made him feel irrational though, and he could not easily negotiate this change in demeanor.

"Let's head out. It is my hope that there will be a horse available for you to ride," Wyn said, grabbing her pack and walking to the door. She had left a little note for Lydia when the Housecarl returned, to tell the woman of where they were headed and when they would return. With all these little matters attended to, the two of them walked out into the heavy rain and made their way to the stables. With every step, Quintus found himself dreading their journey more and more. For it was not the rain that worried him, but the thought of riding a horse.

He was an adequate rider, but he much preferred to have his feet on solid ground. As an Imperial, he'd had some horse training as a boy, but he had grown up in the Imperial City and that had given him something of a disadvantage in those regards. He hadn't ridden in quite a while, and knew it would take some getting used to. That, and the rain, was quickly souring his mood.

But he did not complain when Wyn paid for the spare horse. They spent some time distributing the saddlebags between the two horses, and then Wyn was pulling herself onto her mount, and the white steed nickered softly and shifted, eager to begin the journey. Quintus's horse was not so eager, it seemed.

"She is a gentle mare," the stable master told him as he patted the horse's neck. The old Nord had given Quintus a reassuring nod, as if he was well aware that Quintus was not used to riding, and had told him, "She responds well to humming, if you've the voice for it. It will calm her." Quintus was glad that the Nord hadn't outright mentioned his obvious nerves. He'd nodded his thanks and gently kicked the mare forward to follow Wyn, who was waiting a ways away.

When he moved to her side, Wyn looked him over once more and nodded her approval. He looked good on the horse, and the mount seemed to be a good choice for him. Wyn had rightfully guessed that as a merchant and city dweller, Quintus had little recent experience with horses. She was glad that the stable master had a mount that was gentle and easy to handle.

"Ready to go?" she asked him, raising her voice so that he could hear it over the sound of the rain. He nodded, his face set with something like determination, and it made Wyn smile a little. She nodded again and they were off, blazing a trail through the heart of the plains and hoping that the rain would yet stop before they reached their destination.