Author's Note: Pieces of this were formerly found in Chapter 11 until I added a side conflict. Here they are now presented with more content on said side conflict. I promise, next chapter we'll get a healthy dose of that romance :)

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"So, according to that Septimus guy, the only way to get into the tower where they've got the Elder Scroll is to go through an underground cavern. And this cube thing is supposed to unlock this lift to get us down there. All I can say is, it had better not be a long hike. It's already taken us an entire day to cut through those…" She paused to shudder. "…Falmer. Having to give all those bodies a proper burial didn't exactly speed up the process either."

"What about these two?" Lydia nudged the fresh corpse of the expedition leader whose entire team had been slaughtered by the terrors lurking in these ruins not long before their arrival. Right when they'd stumbled upon these last two survivors, his second in command had finally had enough of his insanity and offed him before turning on the pair and being similarly cut down. Better fate than what their comrades had endured at least.

Fjori scowled. "I suppose even though it is all this guy's fault for being a self-centered moron and endangering his team, we should be the better people here. A quick burial for the pair, then we'll take the shortcut back to the surface for the night. Tomorrow we finish the job." Eying the woman's body, she reached down and grabbed the shield still clutched in the Redguard's left hand, inspecting it carefully. The spikes on the outside were stained with dried blood, but she didn't seem to care. "That's a nice shield though. I've never seen a design like this. She won't miss it."

"I thought we were the better people here," Lydia quipped, already dragging the Imperial man's body away from the lift. "Let's just get going. I'm tired."

"Agreed." Fjori followed suite with the woman's corpse. "But you will notice, neither of us are sick even after all the contact with those Dwemer monstrosities."

"True. Dear Quintus might be on to something with his latest creation." Lydia tossed the corpse unceremoniously near a rocky outcropping.

"Dear Quintus is brilliant. I still have a hard time believing he's willing to accept all this…baggage…that comes with me."

"To be fair, it would seem he wasn't aware of all of the baggage until this morning," Lydia observed, watching as Fjori dropped the second corpse next to the first. "Also, for all we know, the potion may still kill us; it hasn't even been a whole day."

A shadow crossed Fjori's face. "You don't think he'll change his mind about me, do you?"

"Divines, Fjori, and you tell ME I have trust issues! The boy is smitten! I thought he would never stop fawning over you this morning!"

In the dim light, even Lydia could see Fjori blush. It wasn't the thought of his immense concern for her safety, but rather the memory of his bold kiss the day before that did it. If only she could dismiss the nagging voice that said he wouldn't do it again after finding out about her mission. Asking him to love someone who was tasked with saving the world from a mythic beast even her ancestors couldn't defeat was asking for a lot. "You're right, he's given me no reason to doubt him. I just…it's complicated. I'm complicated. Now, stand back."

Lydia quickly took several steps away from the bodies. "What are you-"

"FUS!" Fjori aimed her shout at the rock wall, sending a small avalanche tumbling down to cover the bodies. Once the dust settled, she cleared her throat. "All done."

"You could have caused this whole cave to collapse on top of us!" Lydia accused, eying the remaining parts of the rock wall warily.

"No, that was my weak version. Now, let's get out of here. I need some air."

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"Ufff, thank the divines. I needed some air!" he moaned to himself as he began the long walk home through brazier-lit streets. In the end, his visit to the Palace of Kings had been more than a waste of time, it had turned into threats from all sides. Some were more thinly veiled than others, but regardless he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just escaped a pit of vipers. Was Ulfric serious about using his alchemical skills for their war effort? What exactly would that mean? Healing potions were one thing, as he'd told the Jarl, but if he was called upon to make poisons, or to buff up the warriors to aid in their killing, it would go against everything he believed alchemy should be used for. Heck, he would probably get into trouble for healing anyone, regardless of affiliation.

Not only was he dead-set against war in general, but he couldn't even say for sure who was in the wrong or the right in this conflict, much less feel passionately enough about the cause to join. And why should he, considering he wasn't even from Skyrim? What right did he have to involve himself in such controversial affairs of a province that was not his own, not truly? This didn't seem to matter to Ulfric. In the Jarl's mind, if he lived in his city, he had a debt to pay his adopted home whether he agreed or not. Being an outsider only made him more vulnerable to such demands.

And then the horrible thought finally crossed his mind: how would Fjori react to this news? She was a very Nordic Nord, from a very traditional part of the region. It would make sense if she subscribed to the Stormcloak idea that they should govern themselves and shed the Empire. Hadn't she even been on a mission for one of Ulfric's supporters when he first met her? Damn it, not only did he not know her in her role as Dragonborn, but he didn't even know her political leanings. She may very well just dump him if he refused to serve the Stormcloak rebellion. Divines, why were people so vexing? Why couldn't he just keep to himself and his books and…

He had to mentally slap himself as he realized he was turning into Nurelion. The whole point had been that he didn't WANT to end up like Nurelion. To keep his mind under control, he spent the entire rest of the way home praying to each of the Divines that Ulfric would be preoccupied with more pressing things and forget the alchemist whose name he surely would not even bother to remember. Then, he went through again and prayed for Fjori's safe return. No matter which side she took, he couldn't bear the thought of her not coming back.

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"All right, it did what it was supposed to do! Finally, something going according to plan…" Fjori marveled as a spiral staircase dropped down from the floor tiles, and all thanks to the artifact they'd received to place in the podium.

"Let's just hope the tower is not nearly as big as this place," Lydia muttered, trailing her Thane as the pair began their descent.

What they found was not at all what they'd expected.

Lydia thought she would cry tears of bitter agony when she saw the enormous expanse that unfolded before her eyes. This was no cave; this was an entire province underground! Neither woman could see the opposite end, even with the towering glowing mushrooms lighting the dark. The sound of rushing water could be heard, some subterranean river. Remnants of Dwemer buildings and machinery were strewn across run-down pathways, still visible even after the passing of ages. Suffice it to say, the entrance to the tower was nowhere to be seen. "Shor have mercy…"

When she turned to gage Fjori's reaction, she was more than a little surprised to see her standing tall, fists clenched and a look of determination on her face. No, she wasn't blind, her eyes were darting around the space taking it all in. For someone with as little patience as she had, this was rather out of character. "Where do we even start, my Thane?"

Fjori pointed to a small dwelling a dozen yards away or so. "We establish a home base in case we can't find where we need to go right away. We know the path is cleared this way, so we won't want to stray too far until we can get oriented. Then, we'll use landmarks and hug the walls of the cavern until we find the tower we need, simple as that."

"Aren't you gung-ho…" Lydia remarked dryly.

"The sooner we get this scroll, the sooner we get to go back to Windhelm. Then I'll be able to kill this Alduin, and I can live the rest of my life the way I want. No point in delaying things now that I have an end-game."

The conversation was interrupted by a chorus of angry hisses. Or rasps. Or possibly better described as the breathing of someone with seriously congested lungs. It came from below their platform, and no matter how it was described, it was clearly hostile. Both women drew weapons in a split-second, ready to stand against the horde. "Get out of my way, Falmer creeps! I hate you, now die!" With a fierce roar, Fjori charged. No, nothing was going to get in the way of the future she now knew she wanted to have.

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It was the second day since she'd left. He knew she probably wouldn't make it back that day. She'd have to go slow, he reasoned, the place was very dangerous. Before he could get too wrapped up in his worries, he received a timely distraction.

This visitor to the shop, unlike all his others, arrived wearing the long indigo robes of a mage, with a cowl pulled over his head to hide his features. Either he was a traveler trying to get to the college at Winterhold, or he was the one mage that lived in the city. In either case, hiding his face seemed like a useless thing to do when his attire stood out so much.

"Good morning sir. How may I help you?" Quintus inquired politely, doing his best not to look like he was scrutinizing the customer.

"You…must be Quintus Navale, am I correct?" the old man articulated. Each word was crisp and clear and carefully chosen.

"Yes…" he cautiously affirmed. That was a first. No one ever came looking for him specifically, just the things he could make.

The mage reached up with gaunt, bony hands to lower his cowl, revealing a head of long gray hair and a matching beard. Deep creases around his dark eyes further betrayed his age. "Wuunferth. Court mage to Ulfric Stormcloak."

So, as luck would have it, it WAS the one mage that lived in the city. Quintus could feel his stomach instantly turning to knots. Had Ulfric already sent for him? It must have shown on his face, because the old man before him chuckled in amusement and gave a dismissive wave.

"Don't worry, I don't come representing the Jarl, I come on my own behalf. I heard you and the Jarl met yesterday."

"Y-yes sir. It sounded like he knew of Nurelion, but not of me. We were…introduced." His smile was forced, and even he knew it was a miserable attempt at misdirection.

"Ah, Nurelion. Yes, Jarl Ulfric had given him a thorough interview before allowing an Altmer to set up shop in his city. He consulted with me as to the validity of his work. IWe needed an apothecary, and in the end, he decided the old man was harmless enough, far more worried about his own research than any kind of politics."

"That does sound like Nurelion."

"Between you and me, boy," the wizard leaned closer to the counter, "he recognized that Nurelion was neither a foe nor an asset. Master alchemist that he was, his research did nothing that could help Ulfric unless it actually bore fruit. And even if it had, you and I both know Nurelion would not be the type to willingly comply. You, however…" Quintus swallowed nervously as the mage seemed to appraise him, causing Wuunferth to chuckle once more. "Not only has he realized you succeeded where your master failed, but-"

"Nurelion would have been able to fix the Phial if he hadn't gotten sick!" Quintus interjected doggedly. "It is wrong to think I have any more skill than he had!"

"But it is convenience," Wuunferth shrugged. "Assuming your skills were in fact comparable, Ulfric sees that he might be able to bend you to his will and therefore thinks of you more highly. You know how it is, when there is something people can't get, they tend to think less of it."

Quintus opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Wuunferth didn't get to be court wizard in a city so suspicious of magic by being anything but devoted to Ulfric. Wuunferth seemed to read his mind, however. "I am aware you wish to stay uninvolved like your master before you. Purely an academic. While you will need to increase your resolve if you ever hope to stand your ground, I will be sure to keep Ulfric's attentions away from you as best I can for as long as I can. After all, if he has me, he doesn't need you nearly as much."

"Thank you!" Quintus breathed. Then, he seemed to reconsider. "I mean, without offending. I didn't mean…"

"This wasn't the reason I came, however. I heard you were at the palace looking for research material. The guard didn't know this of course, but we have no volumes on alchemical theory in our libraries. I'm certain you were aware of this, being the very intelligent practitioner that you are and Nurelion's disciple. So, answer me this: what kind of book were you seeking?"

"I need to know more about the Dragonborn of Nord culture." Was this a trap? Was there some angle he wasn't seeing that would make him regret confessing this later?

"Ah. We would have plenty of information on that. But that seems like a strange topic for an Imperial alchemist. I wonder what brought up such curiosity that you would drag yourself to the palace in search of answers…"

"Current events. You know, if the world is supposedly going to end, I'd like to know more about what we're dealing with. Call it the scholar in me." Quintus did his best to sound cool and detached, though he had his doubts it came across that way.

"I see. Still seems like a bit of a stretch." Wuunferth suddenly stepped back and eyed the young man critically. "And would it have anything to do with a run-in with the Dragonborn?"

"I've met her, yes. And she is an enigma." It was hard to look the man known as "Undying" in the eye, but he used all his resolve to hold his gaze.

Wuunferth continued to study him for several seconds before reaching into the satchel he bore. "I can see there is little more information you are willing to give, and I will respect that. Just be aware that I had all of this figured out before I even asked. I simply wanted to gage your honesty." He withdrew a worn book. The black leather cover was inlaid with the symbol of the Empire. "If you are short on time, as you will be, this is the one volume I would recommend you read. Written by a prior at Weynon in Cyrodiil, an ordained devout of Talos and an expert on all lore of Dragonborns. Should be to your taste. I will be back tomorrow to pick it up and return it to the palace library to spare you the pain of another…encounter."

You could have knocked Quintus over with a feather, which only seemed to please the mage. His eyes traveled from the old man to the book, back to the old man and back to the book. "But how did you-?!"

"Ulfric may be too busy to keep his ear to the ground, but when I step out to pick up materials, I hear the rumors. A young woman seen coming and going from your shop, each time longer than the next. I know she is the Dragonborn, because I met her as well. You wish to understand her destiny, and it seems a harmless thing to grant."

"But you…why?" Even as he took the book, the questions spun in his mind.

Wuunferth pulled his cowl back over his head and turned to the door. "Let's say that I owe Fjori. I know how many in the city talk about me, but she gave me a chance to defend my honor instead of having me thrown in jail during the Butcher incident, and it is much appreciated. That is why I brought the book, not just for your sake, but also for hers, so she can have someone who understands. A Nord always pays back a debt. As for the other matter, I hear the people talk about you. They say only good things. That is why the sway with Ulfric."

"I can't thank you enough, sir!" By this time, Quintus was clutching the book to his chest. "This means so much to me."

Wuunferth held up his hand. "I can't promise how long you have. You need to start considering carefully what you will do if I can't dissuade him." When he heard no response, he opened the door. "I hope you are quick reader. I'll be back tomorrow." Then, just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he was gone.

That left Quintus entirely unsure of how he felt as he stood there with mouth agape. He was thrilled to finally have some answers about Fjori after being so certain he would never get them. He was shocked by the generosity of a man he had believed to be entirely emotionless. He was terrified by the warning the old man had left him. Sleep would not come easy this night, so it was a good thing he had plenty of reading to do to keep him occupied.

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Three days. At least, it might have been three days; without emerging for any extended periods of time from the sunless depths, it was impossible to know for sure. She was giving her best guess given the amount of rations they had consumed since departing Windhelm, and the supplies were rapidly dwindling between the two people. Even Fjori's initial vigor had dampened significantly as they pressed ahead further and further in search of the tower they sought. There were so many buildings, an entire abandoned city she knew any historian would drool over, but none of those doors led to any above-ground towers. A few had looked promising, but the lifts couldn't be accessed from their side. Others were functional, but took them to the frozen wilderness of Skyrim. Shortcuts for later, but not helpful at the current moment.

Fjori had been drawing a crude map with charcoal to track where they'd been as they wandered, and by her estimations they were nearing the final, unexplored corner of the cavern. There was one more lift to try, and when it was activated, the partners were equally overjoyed to see a new section of Dwemer ruins instead of the outside world. Never would either have imagined they could feel that way…

Up the stairs, and to an impressive observatory. Fjori, true to her fashion, smashed a bunch of buttons after placing another cube from Septimus into its receptacle. After countless attempts, the mechanisms did as they were designed to do, allowing a hidden container to descend from the ceiling. It opened, revealing a huge scroll. Fjori literally fell to the ground and thanked the entire pantheon of gods, while Lydia internalized all her prayers of gratitude with equal fervor. There was even a convenient lift out, though it took a long time for their eyes to adjust to the blinding white of the snow on the mountainside.

"I hate Dwemer ruins!" Fjori declared to no one in particular. "Never again!"

"Agreed."

"We'll return these cubes to Septimus some other time. Right now, I think I've earned my reward. Haven't I, Lydia?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress her smile. "You did very well and were very focused my Thane. Yes, I think we can stop by Windhelm before returning to High Hrothgar."

"It's been five days!" Fjori exclaimed, beginning to scamper down the trail to the main road. "He must be worried sick, don't you think?"

"Yes, my Thane. I'll pick up the pace so we can make it by nightfall."

"Great! Let's go!"

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By the third day, he began to wonder why it was taking so long, only interrupted by Wuunferth's brief appearance to collect his tome. Bad conditions on the roads to and from? Stopping at an inn to rest? Trying to ignore the worry, he organized and reviewed the notes he had taken after staying up all night to read the book cover to cover. It had indeed been an enlightening read, highlighting the contrast of Imperial beliefs and the much older Nordic traditions of Dragonborns. Of course, it was also troubling when he started to replace the phrase "Last Dragonborn" with Fjori's name… The prophecies were ominous at best. Despite everything on his mind, he finally fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

By the fourth and fifth days, his imagination began to devise all manner of horrible ways she could have been killed, from dwarven centurions to Alduin the World-Eater himself, and no amount of distraction could stop these thoughts. He was finding it hard to eat. He was becoming obsessive with his chores, filling orders, reading books…anything to get his mind off of her. Customers were beginning to ask if he was sick, and he'd said yes, just because it was easier than trying to explain.

The sun was setting, the close to the fifth day. He went to lock up for the night, but had an impossible time turning the bolt. What if… With a frustrated growl, he turned and walked away. Let some bandit break in! So be it! Up the stairs he went to prepare some vegetable soup. As if he was going to be eating any of it… He stared at the simmering pot as it cooked, berating himself for the thousandth time. Fjori was the last Dragonborn. If he was going to care about her, this was how it was going to be. This apparently wasn't even the most dangerous thing she would have to do. Knowing that didn't make it hurt any less though.

Suddenly, there was a ding from the door downstairs. "It's unlocked!" A woman's voice, but not just any woman…

"Fjori?!" He nearly overturned his chair in his mad scramble to get downstairs, then nearly tripped over his own feet as he flew. There she was, filthy and exhausted-looking, but alive and standing in his store alongside Lydia. "Fjori! Lydia!"

He wasted no time and clearly didn't care about making a scene in front of the housecarl. Flinging his arms around her he kissed her, using every trick he had picked up from her the last time she'd instigated. Her response was equally fervent. All of it was relief on both ends: he was relieved she was alive, and she was relieved that the truth of her role hadn't changed anything after all.