The next week and a half felt like limbo. A rift had formed between master and student, and neither side had anything to say about it. Nurelion, for his part, had worsened greatly and become bedridden, a fact Quintus considered a form of spiting him, as if to say he'd lost all hope to go on living. All the same, he silently brought up the tonic and three meals a day, emptied the chamber pot, and continued doing all his other tasks in addition to Nurelion's in the store. He didn't speak a word besides what his job called for, nor did he even take the Phial out from its place in the box under the bed, right on top of the halved savings that had started this whole falling out. There was enough to do now that he was trying to carry the weight of two people, and he found himself thankful for it. By remaining overwhelmingly busy, he didn't have to think about the problem too much.
Despite his best efforts at avoidance, there were still odd moments when he was mindlessly preparing food or sweeping the shop where thoughts plagued him. Mostly, he reminisced about his time as a young student of alchemy back in Cyrodiil. Even as a boy he'd shown great intellectual potential, preferring to study the plants and insects around his home in the Elven Garden District rather than play ball in the alleyways. Instead of having adventures, he could be found at home devouring books many adults wouldn't even bother to pick up. While boys his age had been more interested in heading to the Arena District to watch fights, he'd take trips to the Arboretum accompanied only by his trusty notebook. He knew his unusual behavior worried his parents, but they'd seen fit to send him away to the university where he could thrive with other like-minded individuals. Even amongst peers with similar interests, he'd been touted as the brightest student in his class, intensely studious and passionate about mastering the craft.
The course of his life took a drastic turn the day Nurelion arrived at the university. Back then, he'd looked much more imposing, the disease not having laid waste to his body yet. Quintus could still remember the sight of him as he strode through the gates, holding himself as if he were the very Emperor. In Quintus's eyes, he may as well have been. He had a dignified look that came with age, confidence, and the natural height that marked him as an Altmer. Even if he hadn't known about Nurelion's exploits (he'd read several treatises written by the man in his spare time), he'd have known intuitively that this elf had vast years of knowledge to offer. To be able to tap into that knowledge…
As it turned out, he was given that chance. Nurelion was traveling from the Summerset Isles to Skyrim for a research project and had stopped at the university to request an able assistant (or, as he came to understand years later, semi-intelligent slave labor). The dean of the university had recommended him without hesitation, summoning the teenager to his side for presentation. He must have been satisfactory to the persnickety old elf, because Nurelion had looked him over with those haughty golden eyes, then told him to take only his most important possessions and follow. Young and easily impressed, he had dropped everything and followed the famed alchemist with stars in his eyes.
Until now, he'd never questioned his decision to pick up and leave Cyrodiil, his family, and everything he knew to study under this celebrated master. He had always accepted that being an apprentice to a great alchemist would be difficult and thankless, but would be worthwhile in the end. The knowledge would more than make up for the pains. Suddenly, for the first time, he began to wonder how things would have been different if he'd declined the offer. Would he have been awarded a prominent position at the university had he stayed behind? Perhaps earned funding to start his own research after graduating at the head of his class? It was useless to think about. Seven years of his life he would never get back, and in the end, what would he have to show for it? Some knowledge, yes, but no real friends, a master who didn't trust him, and…
Especially at night as he tried to fall asleep, he thought about Fjori's cheerful voice and carefree air. He saw her with the spiderwebs in her hair as she tried her best to make potions. He saw her with wide gray eyes (or were they green with a hint of blue?) studying his face to read his intentions. Maybe his favorite vision was of Fjori being dragged out of the shop with that goofy grin on her face, as if him saying her name was the best thing she'd heard all day. Her saying his name had certainly been a highlight. But would she come back? Had Nurelion's insulting behavior scared her away? And apparently she was a thane, a person of great importance in Skyrim, so why would she even spare him a second thought?
It made him feel almost sick when he contemplated it. Since joining Nurelion, he'd been too busy to consider how lonely he actually was, and now that Fjori's entrance into his life had made the truth painfully evident, he knew his biggest regret was pushing relationships to the side. In that way, this wasn't the life he'd envisioned for himself all those years ago at all. In that way he was feeling bitter regret.
What kept him going in those days he didn't know. Probably habit mixed with his sense of duty and a lack of any better ideas.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
"How convenient that Delphine's dragon mound was so close to Windhelm!" Fjori beamed as she and her loyal housecarl entered the city gates once more.
"It feels like we've hardly been gone," Lydia rolled her eyes.
"It's been like…ten days! And we've been doing so much, I don't even know how you can say that, Lydia! We hiked to Darkwater Crossing, then on to Ivarstead and High Hrothgar, killed a dragon, learned about the thu'um, got attacked by cultists…and that was only the first four days! Made it all the way to Morthal and Ustengrav and…"
"With all due respect, my Thane, I was there, I remember what we all did. It was just a figure of speech!"
"Oh." She barely batted an eye before continuing, undaunted. "Well, better than your incessant mocking considering our first stop here in town."
Lydia gave an exasperated sigh as they turned onto the thoroughfare leading to the marketplace. "Let me guess, instead of selling off our extra equipment first to unburden ourselves, you'll insist on delivering that note from the Darkwater miners to a certain 'earnest' alchemist."
Fjori grinned. "You got it! Hopefully that grumpy old elf has mellowed a bit since last time."
"You say that so optimistically, as if he didn't hurt your feelings last time."
"Eh, things worked out in the end, didn't they?"
"Only because Quintus felt sorry for you and gave you his hard-earned money."
The Dragonborn mellowed a bit at that memory. "Yeah. It would have been a really crappy day if he wouldn't have done that. But he did, and now I'll pay him back." She didn't find it prudent to mention that because of how Nurelion had reacted, she had gotten a chance to get to know Quintus better, which was probably the real victory.
"Pay him back with what? You just purchased a house in Whiterun to stash your stuff and house that orphan you found begging in the park! While your kindness is most admirable, you don't exactly have the money to spare at this point."
Fjori paused for a moment, considering this fact. Finally she shrugged. "I suppose you are right. We'll just have to come back another time then! What a shame." The smile returned to her face and she continued her quick pace in the direction of the White Phial. Clearly, nothing was going to ruin her bright mood, not even all these dour-looking people speaking in hushed whispers that…
"Wait, my Thane." Lydia grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side of the street.
"What's wrong?"
"Look around. Something's not right." At her urging, both women scanned the marketplace. It didn't take much perception to realize the air was tense. The typically boisterous area had been muted, reduced to dull mutters as customers huddled in small groups. People's eyes darted around nervously. They reminded Fjori of spooked deer keeping watch for hidden wolves, bracing themselves for an attack from the undergrowth after smelling the danger in the air. More than one person turned their gaze past the alchemy shop where a pair of armed city guards kept vigil, blocking the path down to the Temple of Arkay.
"We weren't even gone that long, but it would seem we've missed something big and rather unfortunate," Fjori muttered. "Someone died, you think?"
"And not in a natural way, I'm guessing," Lydia frowned. "We need to be on our guard."
"I won't even argue with you. Maybe Quintus knows what's going on." The pair resumed their trek to the shop, continuing to keep their eyes peeled and ears open.
"You really think he'll know? I don't get the feeling he gets out very much."
"He runs a shop! I bet he hears everyone's gossip whether he wants to or not! Besides, he's got to…"
"Shh!" Lydia hissed, cutting off her Thane just in time to hear a nearby solitary woman bemoan 'another one'. And as they passed the smith, a pair of men murmured sullenly about 'Susana up at Candlehearth'. That name seemed vaguely familiar to Fjori. Wasn't that the open-minded young tavern girl who had served her during her last stay? Unlike so many in the city, she had questioned the prejudice against the Dunmer in the Grey Quarter, even advocated visiting their corner club for a good drink. A flare of pain knotted in her stomach at the memory. Swallowing down the anxiety, Fjori stood before the White Phial's door and pushed it open without any of last time's hesitation.
Much to her surprise, it was not Nurelion at work behind the counter, but Quintus himself looking up from his accounting upon hearing the ding of the bell. His eyes widened in surprise, identifying the pair in an instant, but Fjori was taken aback by his own appearance. It was his eyes, she decided. She hadn't ever risked a long look at them before, but she was fairly certain he hadn't had those dark circles under them, and those green orbs hadn't been so dull and lifeless ten days ago. The energy seemed to be drained from him, shoulders sagging as if weighed down. It was a stark contrast to the way he had been scurrying around doing his chores earlier! Also, her parting memory of him had been with a warm smile on his face; now he wore a tired frown. What the hell had happened since she'd taken her leave?
"You're back!" he stared in disbelief.
"Are you okay?" she asked at the exact same moment.
Lydia stepped in the resulting awkward silence. "We have a delivery for you from Darkwater Crossing. You have the letter, right my Thane?" Clearly, she wasn't going to mess around with Fjori's titles after the revelation last time, if nothing else reinforcing the idea for the alchemist. He, however, was too distracted by the sight of Fjori to even listen to the housecarl.
"Yeah. The miners out there need some potions to help with the ore dust. Interestingly enough, they gave me your name, not Nurelion's. Said you were the one that bought the dragontongue and jazbay grapes that they collect and bring to the city every once in a while. I have the request with me, but…" she removed her bag to dig out the letter, "seriously, are you okay? Does this have something to do with everyone else in town?"
"What do you mean, 'everyone else in town'?" Quintus squinted. Admittedly, he hadn't been paying very much attention lately. He hoped it wasn't something very obvious that he should know…
Fjori paused her task, focusing on the man before her. "When we got here, everything was so somber, but kept real hush-hush. We heard something about 'another one' and 'Susana'…"
Now Quintus's face blanched. "Gods, not again…"
"Again? Wait, was she killed? Has this happened before?"
The young man just shook his head, dazed. "I haven't talked to anyone yet today, so I haven't heard about this Susana. But I can tell you that there has been someone we call the Butcher on the loose. He's killed two other young women already."
"How do they know the deaths were connected?" Lydia wondered.
"He's called the Butcher for a reason. Both bodies were…rather mutilated. Nothing was stolen from them either."
"Friga Shatter-Shield…" Fjori breathed in horror. "Is that what happened to her? When I met Tobjorn he mentioned something about losing a daughter unexpectedly…"
Quintus nodded gravely. "Yeah. It's no wonder her family is so torn up. It's one thing to lose your daughter or sister, but to lose them in such a sinister way… And now there's a third?"
"It would seems so. But don't they have any leads yet?" Lydia folded her arms and frowned. "This Butcher seems like a real menace. And attacking the daughter of one of the city's most respected clans!"
"Two, actually. The other victim was a Cruel-Sea." The young man sighed heavily. "They're too busy with the war effort. That's what they tell you any time they are asked. Believe me, Viola Giordano has made it very clear that something needs to be done, but it gets brushed off due to lack of personnel."
When Lydia's eyes darted to her master, she noted the increasingly familiar glint of resolution in her gaze. However, this time she couldn't hardly fault her for wanting to get involved. "We will keep that in mind. Thank you for the tip."
"Yeah. But if that wasn't the reason you look so down, then why…" FJori looked around again, and suddenly it occurred to her. "Is Nurelion okay? Shouldn't he be out here?"
Quintus had hoped she'd forget her original question, but apparently once she got something on her mind there was no stopping her. Still, it felt good that she'd been paying attention to him, so he could hardly be vexed. "Nurelion has taken a turn for the worse, I'm afraid. He now spends most of his days I bed." He nearly added the detail about everything deteriorating right after her last visit, but thought better of it. Fjori didn't need to feel any guilt about this. She probably would if he was reading her correctly.
"I'm so sorry, Quintus," she said quietly. "And you've been taking care of everything all by yourself, haven't you?"
"That's what an apprentice does." He couldn't keep all the sourness from his tone.
"That doesn't make it easy, especially not when it goes unnoticed. I…" She paused, wondering if she should admit what she was thinking, if it was even in her place to say. But when she saw just how exhausted he looked, she couldn't help herself. "I wish there was something I could do to help."
Finally, his frown broke, albeit slightly. "You've already done so much."
"You did bring him a letter," Lydia reminded pointedly.
"Oh, right. Here, let me get that…" Finally, the mercenary pulled the letter from her bag and set it on the counter. When Quintus moved to find a tip for delivery, she quickly protested. "I owe you, so don't even think about giving me anything. I was nearby anyhow."
He could have argued, but honestly, he didn't have the energy for it. "All right. I'll make sure this order gets filled. Thank you for bringing it to me." His hands grasping the paper from hers held no magic, not this time. It was his spark that was gone, she finally realized. He could be tired, but that wouldn't explain the vibe she was getting from him. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but didn't wish to in front of Lydia, and she didn't know if those questions would be appropriate for whatever relationship this was.
Before the resulting silence became too unbearable, Lydia cleared her throat. "I suppose you will want to mix up some ingredients before we leave?"
Fjori just shook her head. "No. We've got work to do, and it can't wait. Let's go."
As she turned for the door, Quintus spoke with a sudden urgency. "Are you staying in Windhelm?"
The young woman looked back at him curiously. "Yes. Why?"
His mouth suddenly went dry. For one thing, his funk was ruining everything about the fact that Fjori had actually returned so soon, and he was beyond frustrated with himself because of it. Whatever shaky ground they had established was going to crumble because he could not even find it in himself to be sociable or look interested. That, he was not willing to share. The other reason, however, seemed innocent enough. "Please make sure you don't go out at night. You're exactly the type of target the Butcher likes."
A curtain descended over her features. Was she…disappointed by this response? "I'm a mercenary," she reminded him sharply. "I walk around in a suit of armor. He'd be an idiot to try anything."
And now it felt as if he'd insulted her somehow. Gods, could this get any worse? "I didn't mean any insult, I just…" Didn't want anything to happen to her? Was worried about her safety? "Don't want him to claim another life."
She narrowed her eyes, and while it could be at the thought of the Butcher, he had to wonder if it was actually directed at him for his failed attempts to show concern. "He won't. Because I'll be the one claiming his." Fjori spun around in a huff and left the shop, letting the door slam shut behind her. Quintus nearly face-palmed and swore, but realized just in time that Lydia was still present.
"You'll make sure she's careful, right?" he requested wearily.
"Mmmm-hmm. And you'll make sure you keep working on your pick-up lines, right?" She knew she'd gotten him good when a fierce flush blossomed across his cheeks. "Don't worry about it, we'll be back before leaving town. Things will be better once everything has settled down around here." With a dismissive wave, the warrior followed her Thane out the door. That just left Quintus furiously contemplating how much the housecarl saw in his actions, and then just what Fjori had said about him to her follower.
And at that moment, because this depressing comedy of errors was apparently far from over, those wonderings were interrupted by a vicious bout of coughing from upstairs. Right. Tonic time again. In the last week and a half, the frequency of Nurelion's doses had doubled in relation to his weakened state. Quintus pinched the bridge of his nose and asked the gods to give him strength before reaching for the ever-familiar bottle.
Up the stairs he went, and right to Nurelion's bedside as he poured out the proper quantity of the deep red liquid into a spoon; the old man was no longer strong enough to take it directly from the bottle. He had to wait for a pause in Nurelion's hacking before administering the dosage, and then afterwards blotted the stray drops from his beard. Satisfied his job was done, he began to walk away when he heard the old man's voice rasp. "It was…that mercenary again…wasn't it?"
"Yes," was all the answer he gave, determined not to start anything. The plan failed at his next words.
"Wanted more money or…free recipes, I suppose…"
The frustration and resentment Quintus had held within him for the last ten days, festering silently without an outlet, began to finally bubble over. "No. Ran an errand for me and refused payment for her service. Also, was considerate enough to ask me if I was feeling okay because I look and feel like garbage! Not that you've ever bothered to notice."
"Struggling to take care of everything, are you boy? Getting overwhelmed because you can't keep your distance from the problem? I knew that bleeding heart of yours would be your downfall." His eyes opened halfway, but even still he managed a condescending glare.
Quintus Navale had always considered himself a man of peace, one to talk things out instead of getting into petty fights. Today, however, everything seemed to go wrong, and something inside him snapped. "Keep my distance from the problem? So you think I should leave you here to rot then? Because the problem is not me, it is YOU! You are a bitter old man who is realizing he built his life around a thing, and now he won't even have that much to comfort him on his deathbed!"
"Why you brat…" But despite the edge in his tone, Quintus knew he'd hit the nail on the head as even his sickly complexion paled. That should have been enough, but the dam had broken and there was no holding back the flood of words now.
"I gave up everything for you, left behind everyone I knew to follow you to this frozen wasteland and then spent the next seven years trying to be just like you. Well, you know what? I finally realized that I don't want to be like you! I don't want to end up alone. I'd rather have a bleeding heart and someone who cares about me than a stone cold heart and a stupid magical Phial. And if being your apprentice means I can't do nice things for the people around me, then I don't want to be your apprentice!" Somewhere during that monologue the spoon he'd been holding went flying across the room, not that he gave a damn at the current moment. Afraid of falling apart in front of Nurelion, knowing there would be no stopping the tears this time, he ran from the room and back down the stairs. It felt like he'd just been in this position not that long ago, and in truth he had. This time, though, he didn't even bother to hide his tumultuous emotions. It was too late for that.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
The New Gnisis Corner Club was a worn out building crammed between several tenements. The only thing that marked it as a tavern was a unique banner out front. Perhaps the Dunmer were trying to liven up the Grey Quarter, which was truly gray upon gray from all the stone. Still, while the banners offered some vibrant color, they were as ragged and run-down as everything else in this part of the city. At first the area was hard to find, but once Fjori realized she had to go in the downwards direction, she followed the narrow alleys, with Lydia having to go behind so as not to take up the entire path. Most of the inhabitants of the Grey Quarter were out working, but the few wandering around gave them looks that were suspicious at best, malicious at worst. The red eyes didn't help.
"My Thane, what are we doing here?" Lydia begged, finally sidling up next to Fjori as they stood before the front door. Fjori hadn't said a word after she stormed away from the scene of the murder. From there, she had marched straight into the heart of the slums to this sketchy establishment.
"Getting a drink," she growled, pushing open the door. Before Lydia could question this logic, she disappeared inside.
The interior of the Corner Club made the outside look luxurious. Despite the rumors that it was a hopping place at night, tables and chairs were sparse. Noticeable drafts blew the faded and frayed banners that also hung on the inside. There were holes in the walls separating the rooms, and if someone tried to cover the holes in the floorboards with a rug, they couldn't cover nearly everything. A few lanterns guttered, throwing eerie shadows across the space. If Fjori was being honest with herself, she half expect a skooma dealer to sneak up behind her and offer her some of his wares.
By far the least inviting part of the Corner Club was the proprietor. "We're closed," he declared gruffly, standing up at full height behind the bar as if to appear more intimidating.
"I know it's kind of an unconventional time for a drink, but I really need one. I'll pay you twice the regular price if you'd serve me," Fjori offered, sinking into a rickety chair that creaked under her weight. Perhaps these were not built for Nords in full armor…
"A drink in the middle of the morning?" he scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you have work to do or something?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm in the middle of a murder investigation. That's why I need a drink. Badly."
"The Butcher again?"
She nodded in the affirmative.
"Who cares. If he starts killing the Dunmer, then maybe I will. It's not like the Nords have ever cared about what happens to us down here."
"Ambarys!" a new voice hissed. A second Dunmer slid around the corner. Fjori could see even in the dim light the way his eyes appraised the weapon at her waist. "Just serve the woman. It's really no problem."
Ambarys folded his arms defiantly. "If she wants a drink, she can head up to Candlehearth Hall. No law in the land says I have to serve her."
Lydia watched as Fjori began to unfasten her gauntlets and set them on the table, as if declaring her stay. Divines, she was going to cause trouble at this rate! "My Thane, perhaps we should…"
"You know why I came here instead of Candlehearth Hall?" she asked calmly, staring into the flickering flame of the lantern. "A serving girl up there told me that if I wanted a real drink, this was the place to come. She said she couldn't understand why people have anything against the Dunmer when they don't even know them. And now, now she is dead. I want a drink, the strongest one you have, one that will burn all the way down. Show me you serve the good stuff like she said. I want to honor her by taking her suggestion at the very least. Hopefully I'll be able to do one better and kill her murderer too, but this will be a start." She turned her gaze back to the bartender. "So, what is the strongest alcohol you've got? I'll take a shot of whatever it is."
There was a pause. "You'd want the Sujamma then," the newcomer advised, stepping up to the bar. "That will be ten-"
"Twenty," the one called Ambarys amended quickly. "The woman said she'd pay double the usual."
"Really Ambarys?"
"He's right. I'll pay twenty." Fjori turned back to Lydia who was still standing uncomfortably in the background. "You want anything?"
"No, my Thane, I think it would be best to retain my wits."
"Suit yourself." Fjori turned to the two workers. "Can I get anything for you?"
"No," the more reserved Dunmer declined politely.
"Yes," Ambarys challenged. "The same as you. That will be forty septims."
His friend looked mortified, and Lydia wanted to exclaim that her Thane didn't have the money to be throwing around like this, but Fjori pulled out her purse. "All right then. Here you go."
Ambarys smirked as he began to pull out the short glasses. His accomplice came to collect the money, still looking very apologetic. "Thank you for your business, Miss."
"Fjori." She extended her hand, fully aware that never in her life had she shaken hands with a Dunmer. She knew it was silly, but part of her wondered if his blue-gray skin felt any different.
Turns out it didn't. "Malthyr. If you need anything else, please let us know." He stepped aside as Ambarys delivered the glass.
"We'll see how you handle Sujamma."
Fjori quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed." She grasped the glass and raised it, but before she brought it to her lips, she murmured "May you find your way to peace in Aethereus, Susana. I swear I will get your revenge." Then, she tossed back the drink. Malthyr hadn't lied; the Sujamma was exactly what she'd needed, and it did indeed burn, same as the anger inside of her after seeing the corpse of the young girl bloodying the snow. When she'd swallowed it down, savoring the sensation, she noticed that Ambarys was watching her intently. "You could light that stuff on fire. Perfect. What about your shot?"
Finally, the aggressive elf seemed to relax somewhat. "Indeed." She watched as he went back to his bar, took up the glass he'd poured himself, and downed it just as quickly. "It's a good beverage to pair with anger, I've found."
"Hmm. I hope I don't need it too often then. Perhaps next time, something for more social occasions."
"When you catch the bastard, come back and get some Matze," Malthyr offered.
"You have my thanks. I know this whole thing was a bit unorthodox, so if you ever need anything, let me know. I owe you a debt for helping me out." Fjori rose. "Until next time." She nodded respectfully, grabbed her gauntlets, and departed the two very amused Dunmer. Lydia scurried out the door after her after giving her own nod.
She found Fjori leaning against the supports of the building, the chill of the stone not bothering her in the least. She was staring into space, and Lydia couldn't begin to guess what was on her mind. "Are you okay, my Thane?"
"As a mercenary, I've only ever done retrieval jobs. It's not that I didn't want to rescue people, I just never wanted that responsibility. There's so much on the line if you screw up. But I'm the Dragonborn now, you know? I'm going to have to save the entire freaking world at some point, at least that's what Delphine would have me believe. I suppose I may as well start with finding this Butcher. I just…I'm afraid that if I fail, there will be more Susanas."
You could have knocked Lydia over with a feather. She had never seen Fjori so sober despite the vicious alcohol she'd just consumed. For the first time since she'd been assigned to her, Fjori's deepest emotions were spilling out. It was, in a strange way, an honor to witness it. She got the feeling few did. "There will be if you do nothing. There is nothing worse you can do than nothing." She put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let's get started. We'll go talk to Jorleif and see what leads he's got for us."
"Right. No use fighting the hero gig."
