A soft summer breeze rustled leaves as it drifted through the wood. The faint scent of lavender mixed with the fresh lakeside air and joined the aromatic medley. Nisil reveled in this freshness as he gingerly knelt beside another Yellow Mountain Flower and began to snip free only a few buds, so as not to hinder the still growing bush too greatly.
As he leisurely strolled through the wood, his mind once more drifted to the woman he had met nearly two weeks prior. A smile spread wide upon Nisil's face as he reminisced upon their rich conversation and their shared interest in the alchemical arts. In fact, he was so caught up in ending on a high note that he had forgotten to introduce himself. Even worse, he had not even learned her name.
As he scraped a few samples free of Scaly Pholiota, an unfamiliar sight caught his eye. Squinting, he crept forward softly amongst the birch trees.
Imperial soldiers milled between leather tents: occupied with the daily tasks of a military camp. Nisil stood, stowed his clippers in his satchel, and strolled forth into a clearing before the barricade. He could see there were several smaller individual tents, one larger headquarters tent, a forge, and a longer tent for their mess hall.
From behind the barricade, a young man in the traditional imperial cuirass with gladius at his side, bid him halt before asking his business in the wood.
"I've been gathering ingredients… I'm just an alchemist," Nisil replied, apprehension rising within his chest.
"Just?" The young man asked. Concern was evident on his tanned face: out of place in the colder north.
Nisil nodded, hoping his non-threatening demeanor was obvious, despite the large distance between them. The soldier had a crossbow bolt pouch at his belt as well, Nisil saw, with the crossbow itself resting against the wooden chair beside the barricade.
There was a long, delayed pause as they scrutinized each other.
Nisil grew more uncomfortable.
"Do you have any salves?" The young man asked bluntly.
Nisil was taken aback, initially unsure of how to respond.
Movement from within the camp caught Nisil's eye, and as he examined the men he noted the prevalence of limps, bandages, and slings amongst them.
"No, I'm sorry…" Nisil felt helpless, and as his eyes led him into the tents where he saw numerous bedridden wounded.
He could not help but step forth, nearer the barricade, as he peered in further. The soldier did not stop him as he rested his hands upon it and gazed on in silence.
He could hear coughing and slight moaning carried on the wind.
He looked into their forlorn, pitiful faces that sought any salvation.
"…I'm so sorry."
"And how many of these have ya got lad?" the old alchemist asked.
"Four, sir."
The man nodded, examining the viscosity of his creations under a lens. Nisil fought the urge to look around the shop again for the woman he had met weeks ago.
The old man nodded, pursing his lips. Nisil suppressed a smile and hoped it was a pleased nod.
"Well, young man," Elgrim spoke at length, "I would like a demonstration."
"Absolutely, sir," Nisil said quickly, and downed the unstopped vial without hesitation.
"Tenacity, my boy, I appreciate it!" Elgrim laughed and clapped his wrinkled, arthritic hands together.
Nisil shouldered his pack and opened the door for him.
The two alchemists walked onto the walkway beside the Riften Canal. Dryside and the market bustled above them as small fishing vessels occupied Dockside to their rear.
While Nisil hastily loaded his pack with loose cobbles scattered about, the rumbling din of the city above seemed distant. Barely able to heft his pack to his shoulders, he nevertheless found it incredibly easy to walk whilst wearing it.
He smiled to match the old man's grin.
Although he hated the idea of gloating, Nisil balanced on one leg and hopped around to put the potion's effectiveness on full display.
Elgrim immediately voiced his approval as Nisil unloaded his pack with glee before following the old Maester back inside.
"Well, my boy… a Stalwart Steed potion is not difficult to produce, by any means," Elgrim cleared his throat and paused. "Just Scaly Pholiota and River Betty cured, ground, and distilled."
Nisil's smile faded immediately as his stomach turned to knots.
"But one of high quality is difficult," Elgrim finished, "Who taught you?"
His heart leapt and fell once more. Surely this conversation would kill him, he thought.
"I lived in Windhelm for many years… and worked for Maester Rolff…" Nisil was immediately caught off guard by the raucous laughter that emanated from Elgrim's frail form.
Bellowing, Elgrim gave Nisil pause for several tense moments.
"Son… Son…" Elgrim's words were fraught with wheezing and giggling.
"I know you aren't telling me the truth. That…" He was beset with another fit of laughter. "That pitiful excuse for an alchemist should cut his losses and go make Skooma."
Nisil grinned broadly.
Elgrim's laughter subsided and he wrestled control of the conversation once more. "You taught yourself, lad. That you did."
Nisil hung his head, smiling. "You put up with that roaring drunk, and let me guess, you would do your chores and preparations respectfully. Over time, you started experimenting and reading late at night, when he was out drinking, or passed out. You taught yourself lad, don' you be too humble to realize it."
Nisil thanked him for his kind words.
"But don' ye let it go to yer head!" Elgrim slapped the counter for emphasis.
"You've got a talent you've worked hard fer, that's true, but you haven't had much but a failed brewer to teach you. You need discipline; you need a good Maester to show you the way."
Nisil held his breath. Had he impressed Elgrim enough to become his apprentice? That certainly was not his goal walking in, but he would happily accept. He was nearly overcome with joy at the proposition.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind was it dashed.
"It won't be me, lad. I already have an apprentice that makes my life difficult enough," Elgrim began muttering to himself, "Wastin' all my ingredients and going off with her own experiments."
Nisil's heart sank, any hopes for formal training dashed.
"Don't take it personal lad, Ingun was here first and Black-Briars always have a way of getting what they want."
A chill went down Nisil's spine as he put the pieces together.
"Nevermind, boy, let's get you yer gold."
Nisil nodded as Elgrim went through his coin purse and ledger. After receiving his payment, Nisil thanked him for his time and turned to depart. Before he stepped out to the canal, Elgrim bid him stop.
"Tell ya what, lad," Elgrim began, hobbling over to his bookshelf. "Take this and read it through, you'll like the history and some of the recipes of old."
Elgrim handed it to him, "bring something from this next time and feel free to experiment, even if it fails."
Nisil made to ask for direction, but Elgrim cut him short.
"Whatever strikes your fancy, boy."