Five days. That had been Fjori's best guess at her anticipated arrival with the ingredients, and he knew she hadn't really sat down to think the estimate through, but he clung to that number, counting down each day as he crawled into bed only to toss and turn restlessly. The old man had stopped eating as of yesterday, and was just barely taking some water and his tonic. He slept nearly constantly, which seemed for the best; he was much more at peace that way even if his ragged breathing still sounded painful. If it wasn't for the possible completion of the White Phial, Quintus would pray to the Divines that they'd just release him from this torment already. Falling out or not, he wouldn't wish Nurelion's current existence on anyone.

It had been three days since Fjori flew from his shop to fetch the Mammoth Tusk Powder and Nevermelting Snow, and Quintus was near his wits' end. Worry for her safety, worry that it wouldn't arrive in time, worry he would mess up and fail with so much riding on him… There was nothing to do except mindlessly fill orders, do chores, and go over his research for the umpteenth time. He had to get the repairs right on the first attempt, and he had to do it quickly.

He was in the middle of balancing the books when he heard the Altmer cough violently above him. Quintus had heard a lot of coughing in the last few months, ranging from an inconvenient clearing of the lungs to a deep-seated rattle that couldn't get loose, but this time it sounded downright sinister, as if he couldn't get any space to draw breath. It didn't stop after a few moments either, unwilling to release its hostage from its clutches. Already on edge, he dropped his quill, grabbed the tonic, and flew up the stairs. Angry at the man or not, it just wasn't in the Imperial's nature to leave another to suffer.

He found the coughing wracking the frail old man's body, and his stomach plummeted in fear. Perhaps he was hearing the death throes two days too soon. "Master!" The young man hurried to his side, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't used that title for nearly a month. Instincts, it seemed, died hard. Finally, golden slits looked up at him, unfocused, but still more than he'd gotten for a long time. "Can you drink?"

"No." His voice was the slightest hint of a rasp that escaped with a cough. When Quintus attempted to hold the flask to his mouth, he stubbornly turned his head away.

Tears prickled at Quintus's eyes. "I know it hurts, Master, and I don't like seeing you this way, but please. I need just a little more time. A few more days…" He paused to roughly wipe his eyes. "There's something I have to do yet before you leave. Something I have to show you. So please, just hang on a bit longer."

He could see Nurleion's body clench, as if trying to restrain itself. His head turned back and his mouth opened slightly, leaving Quintus space to pour the liquid as soon as there was a pause in the coughing. That left the two of them to sit in the silence only broken by wheezing.

"I thought…you didn't want…" Nurelion couldn't muster enough strength to finish, but his apprentice could easily guess where he was going with his statement and shook his head violently.

"I'll prove to you that I'm not useless. Fjori is out there right now trying to get the ultra-rare ingredients I need even though you always doubted her intentions. Then you'll see how wrong you were about both of us. That's why you can't die yet!"

"It…intrigues me," he offered, choking back another weak cough. "But I can't…stop…"

"I know you can't. All I ask is that you try. Not for yourself, because I know if you had a choice you'd slip away in an instant. It's for me, it's all for me. It's selfish, but I need this."

Nurelion's tired eyes stared ahead blankly, and Quintus wondered if he had understood. With a defeated slump, he turned to walk away. He almost missed the faint words uttered behind him. "So be it."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Oh Divines, I hope we aren't too late!" Fjori fretted as the pair all but sprinted to the marketplace of Windhelm. Night was falling, leaving few witnesses to their desperate charge.

"You know there are some things beyond even a Dragonborn's control," Lydia reminded, not unkindly. Since their heart to heart, Lydia had been much more sympathetic about the whole situation, and Fjori appreciated it immensely.

"I know, but if we wouldn't have gotten lost trying to reach Ivarstead from the north and lost that day…that could be the difference maker!"

"Five days is what you predicted. We've made the entire trek from Windhelm to the giants' camp in the Pale to the top of the Throat of the World and back. A person couldn't ask for more, unless of course you've been keeping your ability to teleport a secret." Fjori shook her head as if it had been a serious question. "Look my Thane, you've given everything you had to this task. And even if Nurelion doesn't live to see it, your efforts will make a difference to Quintus."

"Perhaps in a way, yes, but will that be any consolation to him when he loses the chance to prove himself to his master?"

"Don't you think that if Nurelion was a master worth proving himself for, he would have seen Quintus's worth by now?"

Fjori gave pause. It was both comforting and annoying that Lydia spoke true. "You're right. I'll still pray though."

Through the marketplace they hurried, drawing a handful of curious stares from the vendors packing up their stalls for the day. The majority had come to recognize Fjori and Lydia by now, if not from being helped by them in some way, from watching them come and go. And the urgency with which she flung open the door to the White Phial was certainly strange indeed. At this point, she didn't care who saw what or what they thought about it.

"Quintus, I've got them!" she exclaimed, ripping off her satchel and holding it up triumphantly. It was then that she realized he was already set up at the alchemy table, burners flared up on a low setting and instruments scattered around him. The Phial rested on the table, along with the briarheart. Clearly, he had counted on her fulfilling her estimate of time. Quintus had whipped around the instant he'd heard the door fly open, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes just like she had all those weeks ago; this time, however, instead of being dull and lifeless, his eyes were frantic. It surprised her when he didn't react to her entrance with any kind of delight, but rather simply strode over and grabbed the satchel from her, digging out the necessary components without any hesitation and tossing the bag back to its owner.

"I'll thank you for this when I'm done. Nurelion stopped taking liquids last night. He's hanging on by a thread. Please, wait in the back room while I work. I have to get this right, and I just can't focus if…" He grimaced apologetically, but Fjori just nodded in understanding.

"I know you can do it," she encouraged softly. Quintus felt a strong urge to pull the woman into his arms and embrace her for her words, for her actions, for everything really, but there was simply no time for such a frivolity at the current moment. He grunted in acknowledgment and turned to his workspace. The women took the hint and snuck into the back room to wait.

"He's a man possessed," Lydia muttered under her breath once they were out of the room.

"I know what you mean. Gods, I hope it works, or he might snap…" Fjori bit her lip worriedly. Unconsciously, she began to pace the length of the room. "If it is meant to be, I know he'd be the one able to pull it off though. There's no one as better prepared as he is, or as dedicated for that matter."

"I'll bet he's gone over his notes a hundred times in the last five days alone."

Then, they fell into tense silence as they waited. Fjori wasn't willing to say anything about it, but the way he'd been so brusque with her had felt unsettling, for all the concerns Lydia had brought up earlier. Would he still think of her if things worked and he gained renown? Would he turn away from her if they didn't? Where would they stand when the dust settled, and would it prove everything Lydia worried about wrong? She had to physically shake her head as if to shake those thoughts out. This was no time to be selfish.

"Fjori, hand me a restore health potion!" Quintus's urgent voice broke their meditation. Without a second thought she dug around in her satchel for the potion in question and hurried from the room to deliver it with Lydia hot on her heels. Quintus was still bent over his station when she presented the small bottle, but when she looked down she noticed that the White Phial had been patched. Sure, the color was slightly off so one could see where the repair had been made, but it seemed like it did the job, at least to her untrained eye. He took the bottle, finally meeting her eyes. She could see the anxiety in his furrowed brows, and his hand was shaking as it brushed against hers. How had he carried out such a delicate procedure with these trembling hands? "I'll make you a new one, I promise." With that, he somehow managed to dump the liquid into the Phial, sloshed it around a bit (testing to be sure no liquid leaked out?), and tilted his head back as he downed the potion. Even in this intense moment, Fjori couldn't help but watch the gentle bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed it.

When he finished and set the Phial down on the workbench, the alchemist finally became aware of the two pairs of eyes intently studying him. "I'm sorry, I wanted to make sure I was the one to drink from it first in case something went wrong," he hurriedly explained. Then, he looked down at the Phial. "Just to be sure, there is nothing left in here, right?"

Both Fjori and Lydia looked inside as he held the Phial towards them. "Just a tiny drop," Lydia qualified. With a nod, Quintus wedged the stopper in it and set it on the table, shaking his arms out with nervous energy. "In about five minutes, there should be enough to fill the Phial about a centimeter deep. Then we will know whether or not the repairs were successful." Exhaling heavily, he rubbed the back of his neck. "By my calculations it will take twenty four hours for the entire phial to replenish. Even miracles take time, right?"

Fjori didn't know what to say, so she nodded mutely. Quintus caught her gaze again, and reading the hesitation in her eyes, forcibly relaxed the tension in his body. His cold attitude had probably spooked her, and the guilt was quickly creeping in. "I apologize for the rude welcome. I've had my head so wrapped around this project for so long, and I've watched Nurelion go downhill fast these last few days. No matter how this turns out though, you've helped me immeasurably and I'm grateful for your assistance. The ingredients were just what I needed, and this could never have happened without you. I know you put your missions on hold for this, and I just hope…" He ducked his head to study the floor. "I hope I haven't wasted your efforts. Or Nurelion's."

"Quintus, you are NEVER a waste of my time. Whether it works or it doesn't, that won't change." When he looked back up, he saw the doubt melt from her features, replaced by a new tenderness. Was that…directed at him? All he could do was blink lamely, so she grabbed his hands in hers with the strong grip that no doubt came from wielding axes. "And if I may be so bold, your worth is not dependent on Nurelion's assessment of you. You will be just fine taking over the shop, and will probably even discover more amazing things with your research. I believe it completely." She gave his hands a reaffirming squeeze.

"Fjori…"

Lydia, meanwhile, had been growing bored and a bit nauseous at the display between the other two in the room. Sneakily, she inched her way to the worktable. When it went unnoticed, she grabbed the bottle. Had it been five minutes yet? Too bad if it hadn't. She popped the top off the Phial and peered inside. "Hmm, I don't recall there being so much liquid in here before. Second opinion?"

Fjori dropped her hold of Quintus's hands immediately and scrambled to Lydia's side, leaving him to gawk and abandoning their conversation entirely. When she peered inside, her face lit up. "Definitely more liquid in here! As I thought. Third opinion, Master Navale?"

Quintus swallowed and tentatively joined the pair. Of course they wouldn't be messing with him (such a thing would be unthinkably cruel from anyone, much less those two), but still he questioned their testimony, unable to halt all the nagging doubts that sounded suspiciously like Nurelion. Without looking, he took the Phial from Fjori and swirled the contents. There were contents to swirl! His jaw dropped, and finally he looked inside. It was undeniable: there was enough liquid to cover the bottom of the Phial where there had only been a drop or two before. When he looked back up at Fjori's beaming grin, he slowly grew one of his own. "We did it…"

"You did it!" she echoed with enthusiasm. "But this is no time to celebrate! Go show him!"

"Ah, right! Come with me, he needs to know you helped with this!" Clutching the Phial, he turned and scurried up the stairs with both women not far behind. Fjori was bursting with eagerness to see Nurelion's reaction to his apprentice's accomplishment, the way Quintus would beam with pride upon receiving his rightful praise, but still, they kept a respectful distance even as he drew close to the bedside. Nurelion was breathing shallowly now, his golden skin having taken a pallid tone. It struck Fjori that Quintus had every right to be out of sorts with his master in such a condition.

Quintus got down on his knees beside the bed and gently shook his master's shoulder with his free hand. "Master! Master Nurelion, wake up! You have to see this!" Nurelion didn't respond, prompting the young man to shake a bit harder than he would have liked. The old man seemed so frail… "Please, Master, open your eyes, I've done it! The Phial is repaired, and it works now. We've tested it. It holds liquid, and after draining it, we found more inside not long after. It's just as you always described, Master, just like all the legends. Please look!" His pleas grew more desperate as he failed to get a reaction, hope draining from his face. Fjori could feel he heart breaking as she heard the strained edge in his voice. "You need to see it before you die, don't you? It's all you've ever wanted! You spent your whole life focused on it. You gave up everything for it, even moved all the way to this frozen corner of Skyrim from the Summerset Isles! I've worked so hard, given everything I had to fix it for you and hand it over in its original state. You can't die without seeing it!" A fat tear dropped onto the covers, then another. "Please, you have to, you just have to! If you don't open your eyes, what was all this for?"

Slowly, Nurelion's eyes opened just a fraction of a bit. Whether he could actually see the Phial in its completed glory or not they would never know, but everyone in the room heard his final words despite the minimal volume with which they were whispered. "The Phial…it's whole? Then you need…no master. Just keep…her close." The young man's eyes widened at the old man's suggestion, but he continued with great difficulty, attempting to raise his arm from under the blankets to point, but ultimately failing. His eyes closed once more. "Quintus…my boy…top drawer…" He trailed off as his breath left him, head sinking back into the pillow. An eerie stillness overtook him. Nurelion had finally faded away.

"M-Master?" Trembling, Quintus reached under the covers to pull out his arm. The appendage was completely limp, dead weight, and when he felt for the pulse at his wrist, there was none. Part of him felt relief in this moment; Nurelion was no longer suffering. Even though he would never complain about it, caring for the dying man had taken a large chunk of his time and sanity and been a great sacrifice. In a way, they were both free now. That part of him wasn't winning the fight for dominance, however. "Master…" His chin dropped to his chest as he fought the lump in his throat. For all his faults, that was what this alchemist had been to him, and nothing would change that.

In the back of the room, both Fjori and Lydia bowed their heads respectfully. "Quintus, I'm so sorry… But he knew, didn't he? You did everything…"

"Please go fetch the priestess of Arkay," he interrupted in a flat voice. Then, softer, he added "I need to be alone for a while." He remained turned away, leaving Fjori unable to read his face.

"I understand. When should we tell her to come?"

It was hard to think of an answer. It was hard to think of anything. "Give me until sunrise. And on your way out the door, please leave a note in the window saying we are closed until further notice."

"Of course. We'll be back later with Helgird. You do what you need to do." With that said, she took her leave, fighting every urge to go and wrap her arms around him to comfort him. She reasoned he probably just needed to be left alone to grieve, not get smothered by someone who was some kind of unestablished love interest. With Lydia following behind, there was no chance to risk a look back either. This was difficult, but it wasn't about her.

Quintus drew unsteady breaths as he waited to hear the door slam shut. Then and only then did he yield to his curiosity regarding Nurelion's final message: top drawer. His nightstand, no doubt. What it meant he couldn't imagine, but at least it gave him something to focus on besides his departed teacher. Pulling the drawer open, he found a single folded piece of paper along with a quill and half-used bottle of ink. It didn't surprise him that there was nothing else in the drawer; Nurelion was meticulous with organization in everything he did. With trembling hands he reached out and grabbed the paper. To be honest, the thought of opening it was terrifying, though he couldn't put his finger on why. Maybe it was the thought that whatever was written on the paper would make this more difficult.

Finally, he took a deep breath and opened it, revealing an entire letter. The handwriting was shaky, which had probably irritated Nurelion. Doing anything at such a low quality would have. He must have written it near the end even though there was no date. In the deepening gloom of dusk, Quintus struggled to make out the words, so before he dedicated himself to the task, he stood, easing the weight from his aching knees, and moved mechanically to light a candle. It occurred to him that a chair might also help, so he fetched that as well before settling in next to Nurelion's bed and beginning to read.

Quintus,

I wanted to wait longer to write this, to see how things would play out, but I'm afraid I won't be able to hold the pen much longer. Damn illness and frailty…such an inconvenience.

It's been three days since our last conversation, if you could even call those words a conversation. You still look exhausted, but now I hear you when I wake up in the middle of the night, making too much damned noise shuffling through tomes and ruining the dark with the glow of your lamp as you read. I know what you've decided to do, and I know why. I wouldn't be much of a scholar if I couldn't figure out that much.

I may be sleeping quite a bit now, but I could also still hear the conversation you and that mercenary girl had the very same night. I suppose I really should have taken better care of the place so there aren't gaps in the floorboards… It's an interesting turn of events. Will you be able to handle all the implications of her confession? You seem determined, more determined than I've ever seen you, where that Fjori is concerned. I won't stop my suspicions, of course, not when my apprentice's well-being is on the line, but I suppose even this old elf can admit it's brought out all the qualities you've always seemed to lack. It may shock you, but I'd given up on the idea of you ever standing up to me, and the bigger concern was never that she'd use you, but that you'd always let yourself be used no matter the circumstance. This has put my mind at ease.

Seven years ago, I stopped at the university in the Imperial City hoping to find the ideal free labor. When you were presented to me by your professors, I saw in you the perfect obedient worker. You'd do whatever I asked when I asked, eager to please, and even better, were competent in your studies. All I needed was to get to Skyrim, set up shop, then turn you loose once your work was no longer needed. Clearly, that was not how things played out.

The year or two I planned on taking an 'apprentice' grew to three, four…and here we are now. Your innate talent and passion for the craft left me unable to release you. And you were always a quick, observant learner. It goes without saying I'd never taken an apprentice in all my years because they would be too much work, get in the way of my own ambitions. However, I never had to explicitly teach you anything, quite the boon for a self- focused old man like me. By the end, I had to scold my apprentice for neglecting his chores to run his own experiments! The drive of the student is unparalleled. My boy, ending your apprenticeship would have been throwing a rare gem back into the slag heap, and along with my desire to find the White Phial, I grew a secondary motivation practically on a whim: to see you reach your potential and become one of the foremost alchemists of your time.

The only thing standing in the way was the very quality I had initially sought: obedience. An alchemist can give both life and death; ours is not a craft to be taken lightly. The master alchemist will be sought out for all manner of research, and without the backbone to stand against what he finds ethical or immoral, he can cause a great deal of harm. To simply do as you're told would not benefit you, nor would it benefit the world. At last, I have seen the flicker of defiance in your eyes, and though you may not believe it, it means I can rest in peace knowing you are ready.

Once I am gone, the shop is yours. This has been arranged with the steward since I first discovered I'd contracted this cursed illness. The day I'd arrived here, I thought I'd be staying for only a year or two and selling when it was time to move away. Yet another thing that did not go according to plan. So be it. My former apprentice will need a place to continue to practice and support himself, and you already know the shop like the back of your hand anyhow. All the money, stock, and everything within the store will also pass to you. You will find my research notes of particular interest, I imagine, and it's just as well, as few other alchemists could interpret my writings anyhow. Now with these resources, you can take that trip back to Cyrodiil like you always wanted. Also, your charming mercenary will surely fancy a man with financial stability…

Most importantly, Quintus, whether your experiments to repair the Phial work or not, it doesn't matter. Your rite of passage is not the Phial, just as my life's greatest work was never locating it. You were ready to be your own master the day you declared it. As for me, while I may die with the satisfaction of knowing I found the relic at last, I can die in peace without seeing it function. My greatest achievement was not this, it was you.

Blasted hands, this has taken me hours across many days to write in my condition. I've certainly had plenty of time to consider my words… Of course, you know me well enough to understand I could never SAY any of it. Burn it when you're done, or keep it, I don't care. And best of luck with your future career. I have the utmost confidence your name will be found in the annals of alchemical theory by the time you are done.

-Nurelion

P.S. When you are done crying, because I know you will be, get the nerve to kiss Fjori like you mean it. Both of you are horrible at flirting, and if you have truly manned up, you should make your move.

It seemed to take an eternity to finish reading the letter. The tears blinding his eyes made reading awfully difficult. At many points he just had to stop and soak it all in. So much of it was so unlike Nurelion to say that it was hard to comprehend. Sometimes he gave an eye roll at Nurelion's bluntness, sometimes a snort of amusement at his dry comments, and sometimes a long look at the lifeless body lying on the bed as if he'd gone crazy and already remembered the man incorrectly. But by the end, when all was said in written word, there was only unadulterated sobbing as the man crumpled onto the bed and buried his head in his arms. He'd been right, this letter made everything so much harder.