Miles from Winterhold, the wind began to blow fiercely. Elara shaded her eyes with her hands to shield them from the pelting of the snow. But to her surprise, she could make out a narrow path in the snow. It was as if an invisible tunnel kept the snow from clouding her vision. She only felt the wind as a force behind her, propelling her forward to the College. She could not have stopped to rest if she wanted. It reminded her of the wind the first day she entered the College.
The wind matched her own sense of urgency and excitement as she neared the school. I stayed away too long, she thought. A final gust pushed her into the courtyard of the College, in time to meet Enthir coming out of the Hall of Elements.
“To what do I owe this delight?” the Bosmer cooed, but Elara caught the initial look of surprise on his face.
Elara wanted nothing of his games and so she handed him the staff. “You know,” she stated, hand open and outstretched.
“No small chit-chat? No other formalities? What happened to the art of conversation among today’s youth? How about we make this more civilized over a bottle of mead?” he tried to put his arm around the petite Breton’s shoulders and steer her to the Hall of Attainment.
“How would you like me to tell Savos Aren that you sold a Grand Staff of Charming to a rather unsavory gentleman?” Elara asked, with eyebrows raised.
Enthir’s shoulders slumped. He knew he was defeated and he reluctantly fished the amulet out of his pocket.
Elara noticed a group of instructors heading towards them. “Enthir, next time I go on a fetching mission for you, feel free to let me know that I will be encountering a group of skilled necromancers. What happened to common courtesy from today’s elders?” she called gaily over her shoulder as she moved towards the Hall of Elements. She stifled a smile as she saw Tolfdir plant himself in front of a squirming Enthir.
She walked into the Hall, feeling disconcerted by the humming and glowing presence of the sphere from Saarthal. “How could I forget about this?” she moaned inwardly. Her eyes moved around the room until she found Onmund. Her heart jumped. It was so good to see a friendly form again. She watched him practice his storm spells for a few moments before she walked over.
Onmund was varying the intensity and duration of the storm bolts bursting from his palm, but felt a subtle change in the energy around him. It was familiar to him, but one that he had almost lost hope of sensing again. He turned abruptly to see Elara smiling, a few feet from him. He took one stride and scooped her up in his arms, swinging her around.
She laughed and as he set her feet back on the ground, she opened his hand and placed the amulet inside. She marveled at how the amulet was larger than her palm, but it was entirely concealed in Onmund’s hand. He looked at her, amazement in his eyes.
“Old Enthir must have a heart after all,” he said, surprised.
“I would not go that far,” Elara replied dryly, but with a twinkle in her eye.
By Mara, he forgot how he liked the sparkle of those blue eyes.
“You must be starving. Let’s go catch up with the others. They have missed you, and forgiven you,” he added as he saw the unspoken question in her eyes. “But there was nothing to forgive, mind you. We all have to follow our path the way the Divines think best.”
They walked towards the door, but Elara caught sight of Ancano slinking behind the orb from Saarthal.
“I will be right there,” she gestured to Onmund to go on ahead without her. He hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave her with the creepy Altmer. He would just wait for her outside the door, he decided, and left.
Elara strode over to Ancano, who pulled himself up to his full height, and looked imperiously down at the Breton.
“What business could you possibly have with me, Breton mongrel?” the Altmer spoke through his teeth, as if breathing around her could possibly contaminate him.
“I found this letter on one of your associates while I was on the road. Unfortunately none of the trio survived, so I thought you might like your letter back, in case it fell into the wrong hands,” she beamed at him, like a child expecting to be praised for a good deed.
Ancano snapped the letter out of her hands, and paled as he gave it a cursory glance. It was an execution order that should have eliminated the pesky Breton standing so innocently in front of him. How could she have traced it to him? Lucky guess, he reasoned, as he crumpled the paper and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Just remember, none of them survived,” Elara repeated mildly, with a slight smile on her lips.
Then she left to have dinner in this strange place that gave her great friends and deadly adversaries.
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