Elara's Song, Chapter Seven

• Posted by Kynareth September 19, 2012 - 894 views

  “[And then] Perrif spoke to the Handmaiden again, eyes to the Heavens which had not known kindness since the beginning of elven rule, and she spoke as a mortal, whose kindle is beloved by the Gods for its strength—in weakness, a humility that can burn with metaphor and yet break [easily and] always, always doomed to end in death (and this is why those who let their souls burn anyway are beloved of the Dragon and His Kin), and she said: “And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom.”

  The Song of Pelinal, Volume 2

   

  “The College of Winterhold extends a warm welcome to you all for the first ever Alchemical Symposium.  Thank you all for journeying so far to be able to share your knowledge and experience with each other, the greatest alchemists in this land.  Please let either Tolfdir or myself know if we can do anything to make your time here more pleasant.  We will discuss our agenda over dinner tonight.  So please rest and relax until then.”  The Arch Mage watched with bright eyes as her guests wandered towards the door, ready to visit their quarters in the Hall of Attainment.

  Elara felt a presence on her left side.  “Thank you for your concern, Arcadia, but I am confident that I have not contracted ataxia.”  A low familiar chuckle greeted her instead.  “Bothela!”

  “Yes, child, it is me.  That Imperial up to her old tricks, eh?”  Then Bothela looked at her friend more closely and exclaimed, “By the Nine you look like troll spittle.”

  Elara laughed, “Well, it is no simple task managing mages and organizing this meeting of strong-minded alchemists.  Just a lack of proper sleep I suppose.”

  “And where is Onmund?  I expected him to carry my bags.”  Bothela’s keen eyes did not miss the tightening of the younger woman’s features.

  “Attending to personal matters.  I am sure we will hear from him soon.”

  Before Bothela could question further and share her news about their visitor to Markarth, a breathless J’zargo dashed into the Hall.

  “Dragons.  Two… circling the town,” he panted. Elara caught the flash of excitement in the feline’s eyes.

  “Bothela, prepare our alchemists for healing duty.  Frost, fire, puncture wounds, broken bones, all of it.  We have only two healers adequately trained in Restoration for the worst cases.  J’zargo, you may lead the way, if you think you are ready?” Elara smiled playfully, running to the door.

  “J’zargo was born to fight dragons,” he grinned back, and Elara was glad to have him by her side.  He had proved to be adept at handling the Eye of Magnus disturbances, along with anything they encountered along the way.  They traversed the icy bridge quickly, followed by Faralda and Drevis.

  A blood and elder dragon.  Elara sighed.  A quick scan of the area showed that the Winterhold guards were mostly burnt or injured, the townspeople taking them away from the battle.  She noticed the Jarl was bent over near Birna’s Oddments, with a small crowd surrounding them.  A sole archer remained left to fight the two dragons.

  Shouting instructions, the four mages split apart, peppering the dragons with a variety of destruction spells, tearing apart scales with their magic, rolling and sliding in the snow to avoid the blasts of elements and thu’um spewing forth from their open maws.

  The archer fell back at the arrival of the mages, but carefully watched the pattern of battle and provided the appropriate distraction of arrows when needed.  Elara checked on Drevis and Faralda but was alarmed when she could not locate the Illusion Master.   He reappeared at the blood dragon’s right flank, and blasted the surprised beast with flames.

  “Nice move, Drevis,” Elara exclaimed, “but focus more on endurance than strategy.  We have to outlast them to defeat them.”  The Dunmer mage nodded and set a ward to deflect an incoming blast.

  Elara refocused her attention on the elder dragon and marveled at J’zargo’s quick reflexes and lithesome movements.  A scale deflected an unlucky arrow and pierced the Khajiit through his left shoulder, forcing him to one knee.   Elara saw the dragon’s jaw descend for the finishing blow.

  “WULD NAH KEST!” she bellowed, her thu’um propelling her forward, and with the remainder of her magicka, torched the inside of the beast’s gaping jaw, firebolts disappearing down its gullet.  Exhausted, Elara fell on the snow beside J’zargo and watched the tremendous head descend on top of them before she lost consciousness.

  ----------

  Hushed voices.  Soft hands.  For a moment she had the sensation she was weightless, then the pain in her body slammed her awake.  She took a deep breath before she opened her eyes to a nimbus of concerned faces around her.

  “J’zargo?” she managed feebly, closing her eyes against the bright light.

  “J’zargo is alive and would have destroyed the scaled beast if a certain Breton had not interfered.”

  Elara laughed weakly, happy to hear the Khajiit sounding so spry, and to her surprise, he laughed too.  She opened her eyes again to the worried faces of Bothela, Tolfdir, and Colette, the Master of the Restoration School.

  “I am sorry Arch Mage,” Colette apologized, “but I have healed you to the best of my ability.  It seems this connection you have with the dragons has changed something in your physiology that I do not understand.”  She looked away, and Elara became self-conscious, aware that there were now witnesses from the College to her strange absorption of dragon souls.  Onmund had been the only other.  Arch monster, he said.  She pulled the quilt closer, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

  “Your ability is considerable, Colette, and I appreciate all you have done,” Elara reassured.  “I can tend to the rest.”

  “Here, drink this,” Bothela commanded, pressing a glass to Elara’s lips before she had time to ask what it was.  Warmth spread to her fingertips and Elara smiled gratefully.  Health potion.  She would take care of more healing later, then reluctantly rest.  Still so much to do.

  Tolfdir cleared his throat.  “Elara, the Jarl is waiting outside to speak with you.”

  Elara stifled a sigh.  She wanted to remove the College from the shadows of Skyrim and had begun with this Symposium.   As its public face, she had to be ready at all times, even when she just wanted to sleep.  She composed her face into a peaceful smile and nodded her head.

  The Jarl of Winterhold swept into the room and kneeled by the side of her bed.  “Arch Mage, I am so sorry to intrude on your convalescence, but I have to express my most profound gratitude to your alchemists and healers and mage warriors.  Winterhold would be ablaze right now, its occupants hunted by those foul beasts.  You efforts saved my son,” the Jarl choked out, “who had been slashed by a mere flick of the beast’s tale.  I…I…,” he stammered and was silent, gratefully grasping the hand Elara offered.

  After a moment’s silence, the Jarl raised his head, fully collected.  “It is much for an old Nord like me to acknowledge the error of his ways, but I have reconsidered your offer of partnership and I will lend my considerable will to see you succeed in your efforts to establish schools throughout Skyrim.”  Everyone but Tolfdir gasped.

  Elara smiled.  “Thankfully tragedy was averted today and I am sorry that you had to experience this to change your mind.  I am not sorry that you changed your mind, however, and I trust you understand what this would mean to Skyrim.”

  The Jarl stood, suddenly aware of Elara’s pallor and trembling hands.  “When you have recovered, we will have many plans to make.”  With a bow, he left quickly, while the remainder turned their shocked faces towards Elara. 

  Tolfdir beamed at the Arch Mage.  “We only needed one.”

  Elara nodded slowly, realizing it happened more quickly than she thought possible.

  “A school?  Many schools?” Colette questioned.

  “Strip away a Nord’s suspicion and superstition and what will they have left?”  Bothela questioned sharply.

  “A chance,” Elara remonstrated.  “A chance to not fall victim to base pandering and see no other option but to follow a despotic leader.  To allow a people to open their minds to other races, other perspectives and feel like a true partner, instead of fodder to fight in Imperial wars.  A chance to understand what they fear.”  Her voice cracked as she spoke, but she fell back on her pillows, fatigue overtaking her.

  “All right dearie,” Bothela patted her shoulder.  “Forgive us for questioning you when you are not well.  It is simply brilliant, and we are not used to brilliance in this dull land.”  Through an unspoken assent the group filed out, Tolfdir bringing up the rear.

  “You know, I think he will be pleased when he finds out,” Tolfdir glanced at her from the door.

  “I am not doing it for him,” Elara retorted, as Onmund was the last person she wanted to talk about.  Tolfdir shut the door on her blazing eyes, and overcome, she buried her head in the pillows to hide the tears that she could no longer fight.  She could not be sure of anything regarding Onmund.

  ----------

  Hours later Elara woke and performed the last few healing spells she needed to speed her recovery.  She held little hope that she would ever feel rested again.  Besides, dragon dreams haunted her sleep and she did not relish returning to those.

  A stack of correspondence sat on the table next to her bed.  She ignored the heavy hand of Ulfric Stormcloak, whose recent petitions troubled her, along with the strong slanted handwriting of General Tullius, leader of the Imperial forces in Skyrim.  Everyone wants a piece of the Dragonborn, she thought bitterly, trying to forget the one who wanted nothing to do with her.  Underneath the letters was an enormous package.  Intrigued, she picked up the attached parchment.

  To the newly established Arch Mage, Elara Rammligr,

  As first emissary of the Aldmeri Dominion to Cyrodiil and temporary emissary to Skyrim, allow me to congratulate you on your new position.  We are deeply troubled by the recent behavior of our representative, Ancano, and wish to reassure you that the Dominion desires peaceable and amicable relations with such an illustrious institution as the College of Winterhold and hope to encourage a free exchange of knowledge and ideas between the interests we both represent.

  I believe a recent misunderstanding between our interests resulted in an unfortunate loss of life at a recent embassy party outside of Solitude. Elenwen, the Thalmor emissary to Skyrim¸ is preoccupied with repairing that damage, which is why I am writing you instead of her.  If I am incorrect in my intelligence, please feel free to explain the situation from your perspective, as these are only my suppositions and not the official position of the Dominion.

  As proof of my goodwill, please accept these books from my personal collection for your renowned library.  I would be honored if the Arch Mage would read them first, and choose to correspond with me regarding their contents.

  A fellow seeker in understanding the mysteries of the Grey Maybe,

  Toranir, First Emissary of the Aldmeri Dominion to Cyrodiil

   

  Elara reddened at the reference to the incident at the Embassy, but admired its honesty and perspicacity.  Then she opened the package and found richly bound editions of The Monomyth, The Changed Ones, The Arcturian Heresy, The Old Ways, The Song of Pelinal, Varieties of Faith in the Empire, Sithis, Brief History of the Empire, and The Oblivion Crisis.

  She was intrigued by the mix of titles, and refusing to sleep, she settled in to read the first one.  Book by book she devoured their content, finding slips of paper in between pages, posing questions that found her grabbing parchment and quill to answer and explore with additional questions.  Energy replaced weariness and before she knew it, she had composed a letter to her Thalmor correspondent, the impetus of ideas overtaking her natural guilt over the embassy incident that would have prevented her from responding.  Perhaps she could establish a peace with the Thalmor, and Toranir seemed more amenable to that as opposed to Elenwen.  As Arch-Mage, I owe it to the College to maintain peace, she reasoned, even though the presence of the Thalmor made her feel out of control.   As a Dragonborn…her mind wandered.  Embracing that destiny utterly frightened her. 

  Stop thinking and do something before you make yourself sick, she commanded, so she stretched and tossed her legs over the edge of the bed, standing up slowly.  She walked the circular room, hand upon the wall to help her gain strength.  She had much to plan for with a visit to all of the Jarls, and to see Delphine again.  The dragons in Skyrim were her responsibility, and she wanted to do all she could to prevent a worse disaster than what happened that day in Winterhold. 

  You always have a choice.  Her father’s words came back to her again, soothing in their simplicity.  Maybe he saw a way she could defeat the dragons and not become one of them.  Elara shuddered.  Maybe I have already made my choice?  If she managed to save Skyrim from the dragons, who would be around to save Skyrim from her?