A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys! Life caught up to me for a while and I didn't have a whole lot of time to spend writing. I'm working on getting my writing schedule back to normal so hopefully I'll be much better about updating regularly.

ExoticDarkOne: Thanks for pointing out my mistake regarding the Blue Palace. Had a mental block there! And yeah, that's pretty much their relationship in a nutshell. It amuses me too hehe

Shamash-ub: Hey no worries! Your question wasn't too rough at all, I just ended up taking a while to finish this chapter. Sorry for my accidental silence! In answer to your question though, I didn't really think to include more scenes regarding the war. Didn't really plan to even include Ulfric in that chapter, so it kind of came out of nowhere for me too. So basically it happened by chance and there's no hidden reason for it on my part :) Anywho Delphine...true, she did have a hard life so it makes sense that her character is like that. She does make it easy to make fun of her though, you gotta admit haha ;) And I actually posted chapter 26 a week or so before 27. I think the site screwed up a bit there tbh

Thanks for checking back in and I hope you all enjoy the chapter! I swear I'll try to update faster this time around :o


Legerdemain

Chapter Twenty Eight | Nightshade

When she returned from the market, Quintus was leaning over his alchemy station with a dozen or so bottles of what appeared to be health potions. Most of them were uncorked and Quintus looked like he was checking them. They must have been curing, then, and were no doubt ready to sell.

He looked up at her entrance and would've returned immediately to his work had he not seen the hulking bag of produce she had easily slung over her shoulder. Her other hand was carrying a stuffed canvas bag of what must have been meat. He dropped everything to gape at her.

"What's all that?" he asked in astonishment, and Wyn shrugged. She looked as serenely uncaring as always, even as she dumped a bag of fruits onto the counter, just beside the others. She must've spent a fortune.

Feather's properly ruffled, Quintus marched over to the food and went through the bags, getting more annoyed with each passing second. Wyn must've been expecting his reaction, because she just propped her chin on her palm and blinked at him. Her blasé expression only seemed to make him that much angrier.

"What in Arkay's name is this, Wyn?! How much money did you spend? This is going to last us months and will probably go bad – "

She just smiled demurely at his red face and calmly interrupted, "I can spend my money however I see fit, alchemist. And besides, it won't go bad. My Housecarl buys this much every week and we manage to finish it off between just two people by the end of it." Granted, her and her Housecarl were both brawny warriors who needed the heavy foods, but still.

But Quintus just gaped at her even more, spluttering out, "Your money? You used your own money to buy our food? That's – that's not right, Wyn. You're my guest – I won't have you - "

"Relax, Quintus," Wyn told him, patting his shoulder with a gloved hand. "Allow me to show you the hospitality of the Nords for once. I have to pay for my keep, after all. And you've done quite a lot for me over the past few months." He saved her from that poisoned wound, let her live here until she was better, and of course made her feel things she never thought possible, which was the best of them all.

"But – "

"Just go back to your work," Wyn ordered him, golden eyes smoldering into his. He blinked, sighing.

"That's cheating," he mumbled to her, not appreciating the compelling way her eyes made him want to obey her. But Wyn just chuckled and turned back to the food.

"I'll get this put away," she said, and sent him a smile that made his knees feel like his bones were melting away. He cleared his throat and nodded, his arguments turning to dust as he watched her heave up the heavy bags as if they were nothing and saunter to the storeroom.

She was strong for a woman – or at least according to his Imperial terms. Such shows of strength might have made him blanch in disappointment once, for the sheer idea of her not living up his people's notion of a woman's full potential. But the cultural boundaries between them had long diminished, and he could not think of her in any other light…nor would he want her any other way. Her strength compelled him to be strong as well. Indeed it inspired him.

He turned back to his alchemy table and the curing health potions, trying to turn his thoughts back to matters of importance. Like how many things he still had to do just to get the shop back in order. They were so behind! Yet – for reasons now known to him, Quintus could think of nothing but Wyn, and after several moments of stumbling through the movements he sighed and leaned back. He would get no work done tonight, or perhaps any other night that Wyn stayed with him. His every thought was bent upon her, and it warmed him to know that she was in the other room. Nearby, close to him, just a few footfalls away.

He abandoned his work to instead return to his master's bedside, taking a few notebooks with him. Upstairs, he threw another log on the fire and then went to sit beside Nurelion, who was sitting up with a book propped up in his lap. The bowl of stew was sitting on the bedside table, only half eaten.

"Master, you need to eat if you want to keep your strength," Quintus gently chided with a frown, and Nurelion huffed and rolled his eyes, the same way he would when Quintus forgot to do a chore or came up short in his training. Such an expression used to offend him, but now it only made Quintus feel resigned. How many more times would he witness such a display or hear his master's scolding tone? He would miss the old elf. He wasn't ready for him to die yet.

"Oh hush," Nurelion quipped back, waving him away. "As if I need you to tell me how to spend my final days."

Quintus might've said something in return to that, but he was never given the chance. A moment later, Nurelion turned the book in his lap to Quintus, pointing at the text, "Look here. The mixture that will repair the phial needs to be cold. It doesn't say how much of each ingredient we'll need, but I've started a recipe that I hope will work."

"You should be resting, not working," Quintus said a little grumpily, aware even as the words passed his lips that he sounded a bit like a petulant child.

Nurelion appeared to agree wholeheartedly. He gave Quintus his best glower (a very accomplished, hardy expression), and burst, "I have been lying in this bed for weeks! I will do as I please, boy."

And Quintus, feeling thoroughly rebuked, only muttered a faint, "Yes, master…" that made him feel very much a child and not the grown man he was.

Looking a little more satisfied, Nurelion grumbled and turned back to the book. Silence fell upon them momentarily, broken a few minutes later when the elf muttered, "Is the Nord still here? I swear she never leaves anymore. An old man can't get any peace even on his deathbed. Bah!"

Looking a little alarmed at the mention of Wyn, Quintus glanced up in surprise. "She is downstairs stocking the storeroom. She's been a tremendous help over the last few days alone." He tried to keep his expression and the tone of his voice calm, but he feared that perhaps he didn't do a good job of it. His master looked thoroughly unconvinced and gave him a very dry look.

Nurelion didn't skirt around subjects. Not like the average, ever-polite Imperial would. Not even like many of his Elven brethren did. He was an Elf of different stock than his forebearers – perhaps all Elves who lived in this desolate country were – and he could see the affection in his apprentice's eyes clear as day whenever the Nord was brought up for conversation. He knew Quintus favored her, and the thought of it rather amused him. Quintus was, after all, such a different sort of man than that woman.

Vast social and cultural differences separated them, casting an entire sea between them. Yet somehow they found a way to bridge it, to part the waters – to find the similarities in that ocean of disparity. Yes, these shaky affections amused him, but they also brought Nurelion a comfort that he could not describe.

"Hmph," the old Elf muttered, "Well she ought to tell you of her intentions with you. Or are you already betrothed and didn't tell me?"

He obviously meant it as a joke, but Quintus's cheeks flared a bright red that had Nurelion choking back surprise – which soon turned to harried coughs. And these coughs drew the attention of the one person Quintus did not want present for this particular conversation.

"Are you choking yourself to death, old man?" Wyn asked, brushing back a wave of worry at the sight of him. Nurelion scowled at her and laid back. He definitely looked alright. She didn't know what had happened to make him sound like he was choking down fire itself, but it was over now. She sent Quintus a smile, and turned to leave. She still had a lot of work to do downstairs.

But Nurelion called out, "Stop! Come here, Nord. I think it's high time you tell me what intentions you have towards my apprentice – I will not have you putting this shop out of business after I'm dead!"

Quintus groaned, pressing a hand over his blushing cheeks. Wyn turned around again in surprise, then started chuckling. It was a reaction Quintus rather anticipated – she hardly took anything seriously, least of all human emotions. Though…he couldn't deny the desire he had for her to lay down those intentions and set the bar. At least then he would know if he stood a chance at marriage.

"Oh? Are you worried I might steal him away with the other women and children?" the joke had her laughing to herself, but Quintus only blushed all the more furiously. He could only imagine himself, useless, helpless, being buffeted around with females and babes. Did she count him as one of them? Unworthy of her time, save for charitable rescues?

Nurelion sharply put an end to her jokes with a well placed, "Silence! Now look here, Nord, my apprentice is absolutely useless! He's a terrible alchemist! He's forgetful and scrawny! But he's still my last hope of keeping this shop thriving after I'm gone – and damn it, I won't have you speaking about him like that!"

Wyn fell quiet, looking a little shocked. She wasn't the only one surprised. Quintus gaped at his master, for he had never heard Nurelion stand up to him in any way, even if he was degrading him at the same time.

Ever the diplomat, Quintus warily murmured, "Master…I'm sure she didn't mean to – "

"You're right," Wyn suddenly cut in, looking directly at Nurelion with an oddly serious expression. Something caught in that gaze of hers – something fiery and passionate – something that had Quintus staring. She leaned her weight onto her right leg, looking almost as if she was preparing for some great battle, and said in a louder voice, "The truth is, I don't know what my intentions are toward your apprentice, but I can assure you that they are and always will be honorable."

Honor. It was a code that the Nords seemed to live by. A way of life almost. A word that wasn't just a word, but also a form of expression, of truth, of everything good. It was a blunt word, a scrap of syllables, a hardened fire battered into steel. It was beautiful.

Nurelion stared at her. Quintus stared at her. And Wyn, no doubt thoroughly used to being stared at, just stood there and waited, looking as calm and serene as she always did whenever she pulled the rug out from beneath someone's feet.

Nurelion was the first to speak. He made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat and muttered, "Well good. Glad to hear it. Does that mean you intend on marrying the poor boy?"

Quintus choked harshly at the abrupt question and even Wyn looked a little embarrassed. Her cheeks glowed with a very, very faint pink, almost indiscernible.

"Master!" Quintus cried when his voice returned to him moments later. Horrified, he exclaimed, "I don't think our relationship is any of your business! Even on your death bed." The addition made Nurelion roll his eyes grumpily.

He knew his master was crass at times, sometimes even more so than the average Nord (which was saying a lot), but he didn't think Nurelion would say something like that. His skin was crawling with embarrassment. Wyn was the Dragonborn! Marriage was probably the farthest thing from her mind.

His cheeks felt as if they were on fire, and sweat gathered on the back of his neck. Some part of him yearned to hear her answer, to know if she indeed wanted marriage – and him – but the majority of him decided that it really wasn't fair to her. Asking such a question after only a handful of kisses and only several months of being together was going a little too far. And besides, he didn't even know if they were together. Wyn had never outright told him if she wanted to go steady.

But the vast cultural differences between Nords and Imperials once more sent his heart into a dizzying spiral, because Wyn's response to Nurelion's question was not what Quintus had anticipated.

The typical Nordic courtship was anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months, and rarely lasted more than a year. In stark contrast, Imperials often remained betrothed for at least two years before a wedding was set, and it wasn't uncommon to wait even longer should the circumstances demand it. But getting married after only a few months was, in the Imperial eye, highly unacceptable and spoke only of whirlwind romances that wouldn't last very long.

He supposed that this cultural phenomena that he had grown up with was the primary reason he was so shocked when Wyn slowly said, "Perhaps in a few months…when things have settled – if it is what Quintus wishes – then we will speak of marriage."

She didn't know if she loved him, she didn't know if love even existed in this twisted world, but what she did know was that this was probably as close as she was ever going to get to it. So what if this relationship shocked her? So what if she had never planned on remarrying, and to a merchant no less? Love came in mysterious ways. No longer could she pretend that she was above those petty human emotions. Indeed she did not want to anymore, not when Quintus was the one stirring such feelings within her.

Quintus turned gaping eyes to her, more surprised than ever to hear such an admission. Should he have been surprised? Perhaps not. Nords spoke whatever was on their minds, good or bad. They did not lie about their feelings – unless of course their pride got in the way. But while Wyn's pride was strong, she often ignored it as well, a feat that many of her brethren found disagreeable. She cared not. And so Quintus knew that she was speaking truthfully, for she had that look in her eye – the one that said that she would not cower, even from herself.

His heart blossomed in his chest like wildflowers climbing up a misplaced wall, veering off into the abandoned fields of dreams he had long given up on. Suddenly he saw his future clearly, as if looking through a crystal ball. Life would not be easy, being the husband to the great Dragonborn, to a woman like her. But if she would have him, he would gladly give up the comforts of home for the wilds of her heart. He would run into that abandoned field with heart wrenching joy. He would never look back.

Quintus caught her eye briefly amid the grumbling acceptance of his master, and what he saw there made him smile. Was it love that tempered her gaze? Perhaps he would never know, not yet, but the passion that fueled her expression could not be displaced, and he turned away as his dreams manifested right in front of him.

When she had become his dream, his future, he could not say. It was sometime between the callous first exchanges of their previous selves to the moments spent sharing hasty, endearing kisses in the snow drifts of the Skyrim wilderness. The process of falling in love was unidentifiable – one moment you are as you have always been, and the next you find yourself suddenly competent of accomplishing things you never imagined yourself capable of doing. It was the in-betweens that verged off into unknowable traces. Snow banks adrift with love. Glances made of fable. And somewhere in this inexplicable process, Quintus had fallen very hard indeed. And so, it seemed, had she.

"Well. Well, good. Good." Nurelion muttered to himself with a nod. His eyes flickered between the two youths, and a very tiny smile curled the edges of his mouth, lighting his eyes in hooded mischief. "Now leave an old man in peace and – boy, bring me something sweet. All this talk of marriage has made me hungry again."

Quintus bit his lip and stood, hiding away a smile as he busied himself with collecting the half empty bowl of stew. "Yes, master," he said, glanced at Wyn, and smiling, walked downstairs.

Wyn turned to follow, but Nurelion's voice stopped her. "I'll be holding you to your word, Nord. If you don't give him a fighting chance, I'll haunt you from the afterlife, you hear?" Wyn grinned crookedly down at him.

"Loud and clear, old man," she said flippantly, but not without amusement. And she turned, quickly following after Quintus and bounding down the stairs before Nurelion could delay her any longer. He was in the middle of taking some apples out of the crate in the storeroom when Wyn converged upon him like an ocean on a shore. She grabbed his forearms, twisted him around to face her, and drew him into a kiss that had Quintus immediately dropping the apples to instead snake his arms around her waist. They thudded to the floor, one after the other, just like their hearts. Their common sense, too.

"Wyn," he gasped, angling her head to kiss her deeper. The moments spent shyly exchanging hesitant affections (at least on his part) were long gone. In its place was a wild inferno that could not seem to be quenched.

She shoved him against the wall and swept her lips down his neck, nibbling at his skin and pushing her body against his. Without her armor, he felt the entirety of her, and it left him ragged and energized, like he could do anything – everything.

He panted against those shelves, clinging to one of the wooden planks as Wyn pressed him back. It was a wonderful feeling, almost shocking, and it reverberated through him like waves that fed off the tides of his desire. She jerked at the ties of his tunic, flipping the leather stays to the side and moving her kisses over his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, scraping her teeth over his skin with a skill that made him breathless. He gasped, pursed his lips, tried to reign in the ferocity of his passion before it could take physical form – but surprisingly, it was Wyn who drew back before anymore torture could be applied.

Quintus stared at her, half relieved and half wanting. Why did she stop? Her golden eyes flickered up to his, and the inches of space between their lips seemed to suddenly fluctuate through rifts of space-time incoherencies. She was not close enough. She would never be close enough. And he wanted to marry her. These were the truths that suckered at his mind, thudding through him like fire.

"You said you needed to go slow," Wyn whispered, her only explanation, and sent him a dizzying smirk that made his body flare to life once more.

Had he really said that? When? Why? He took a shaky breath, a gasp really. His chest shook, his breathing wavered, and then Quintus laughed unsteadily and murmured, "I can't imagine why I ever said that."

The words made Wyn smile.

She leaned forward, brushing her mouth against his. Their lips tilted forward, and suddenly they were kissing more fiercely, more savagely than they had before. Passion thrust them forward, until their bodies were pressed together, until they could no longer discern where one of them ended and the other began. They teetered, swept forward, paved a path across the floor. And then they fell together onto the tiny mattress that Quintus called his own, and life became faded, and dreams became realities. And Nurelion, who was still lying upstairs waiting for his apprentice to bring his food up to him, chuckled to himself when he heard the telltale creak of old bedsprings swinging back and forth and back and forth.

"Crazy young people," he muttered to himself, and settled back into bed.