Sharp pain knifed Elara’s side as she navigated the slick, snow covered bridge to the college. Tolfdir sent her in haste to Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage, to report their discovery of the ominous glowing sphere in the bowels of Saarthal. She discovered Aren in the courtyard, deep in thought.
“Well, I must gather the other mages and go to Tolfdir directly. Thank you for your speed. Please rest in the warmth of the Hall of Attainment. I will take it from here.” Aren moved swiftly to fetch the rest of the mages. Elara’s head was swirling with the events of the day: the discovery of the sphere, the battles with the draugrs, the spectral appearance of a member of the Psiijic Order, and the glowing runes that caused her to black out.
“I demand that you tell me what happened at Saarthal.” A tall, thin black-robed Altmer slunk out of the shadows and blocked Elara’s path. She raised an eyebrow and moved to walk around him.
He raised his hand to stop her. “I am Ancano, the Thalmor representative to the College of Winterhold. “ When he saw her narrow her eyes, he added superciliously, “I serve as advisor to the Arch Mage and he consults me on everything.”
“Well, I think you would prefer to hear the report directly from the Arch Mage himself, instead of a novice from the college,” Elara replied sweetly.
Elara continued to walk to the dormitory and did not turn around when Ancano said coolly, “I will be watching you.” The way he said it made a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the harsh wind.
The next chapter can be found here.
----------------------
Elara trudged wearily to her room in the Hall of Attainment. Sounds of laughter and the clink of bottles drifted from the second floor.
“J’zargo now likes two things Nord—the College of Winterhold and mead.”
Elara smiled at the thought of the three merry mages, but could not summon the energy to join them. She was bone tired and had too much on her mind to be social. She plopped on her bed, kicking her boots off. Within moments, she was asleep.
Her dreams since the escape from Helgen all centered on her home in High Rock, a
small farm outside of Jehanna in the Western Reach. She was seven years old, climbing the apple tree in front of her house. In their garden, she saw her father gently drop his hoe, and tiptoe up behind her mother. He tickled her around the waist, then swept her off her feet and twirled her around. The music of their laughter drifted through the branches of the apple tree, but Elara was distracted by a rumbling that shook her to the ground.
She stood up to find herself facing a glossy black dragon. Her parents rushed over, but she shrugged them off, and walked slowly to the dragon, entranced. The forbidding creature snorted smoke, but lowered its head. Elara reached out to stroke its snout, and it almost purred. Then the dragon reared back its head, opened its jaws, and--
Elara sat up straight in bed, sweating and panting. She looked around and realized with relief that she was at the college.
Onmund stood uncertainly in the entrance to her room. “Are you all right? I was just helping J’Zargo back to his room next door. He, ah, thoroughly enjoyed the mead this evening.” He chuckled. “It is like milk for us Nords though. I thought,” he paused, not sure if he should mention what he heard.
“Did I..?” Elara asked hesitantly, embarrassed that she had drawn attention to herself again. Onmund nodded. She looked at the chair near her bed and the Nord sat down. He was fairly tall, even for a Nord, so he tried to minimize his height by leaning forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. She looked frightened, like a hare being hunted by a wolf and finding no place to hide. He gave her a strong, steady gaze, and smiled encouragingly.
Elara contemplated the friendly Nord, not sure if she should trust him. Yet there was something about his eyes, kind, but touched by sadness at the corners. It was something she recognized, the battle against despair, and before she knew it, she pulled her legs to her chest, hugged them closer, and began.
“I was dreaming about a dragon devouring my parents. I have had that dream ever since I entered Skyrim, in fact.” Her first night in Skyrim was spent in jail and so the dreams began, without variation. Her mind wandered to the dragon and her near execution at Helgen. She was ashamed and still confused by the whole thing. She knew she had killed an Imperial soldier in Bruma, but she could not remember how. She had been sitting at a small table in the corner of Olav’s Tap and Tack, munching on a little bread and cheese and warily watching a bristly Imperial soldier progressively become drunk and more obnoxious with his two companions. The old soldier had grabbed the barmaid by the waist and tried to kiss her. Elara, acting on impulse, walked over to the soldier, shaking with anger.
“Look boys, I guess I am irresistible to all the women in this place,” the soldier boasted to the other drunken soldiers as he appraised Elara.
“I think you need to step outside,” she said in a low voice, barely controlling her fury.
“Oh, are you jealous? There’s enough of old Fabius to go around.” The soldier unceremoniously dropped the barmaid, who looked at Elara gratefully, and then scurried to the back room. Elara heard the bolt fall on the opposite side of the door.
Elara led the man outside, and his fellow soldiers followed.
“Hope you don’t mind a little party? I know how you Bretons like a man in uniform,” he slurred, reaching for Elara while the other two soldiers slammed her back into the side of the inn, holding her arms. She had hoped to deflect his interest from the poor girl, yet she realized she was now the intended prey. Her mind wandered helplessly to the dagger stowed in her boot. Yet as the soldier moved closer with his lecherous grin, Elara felt something rise from the pit of her stomach. It felt like a large exhalation, and then the world went black.
She woke up in the snowy street, staring into the dead eyes of Fabius. She panicked and ran, hoping to sneak into Skyrim before she was found. As luck would have it, she ran straight into an Imperial ambush as she was crossing the border. Fabius’s companions were there, and identified her as his murderer. She still thought it strange that the two soldiers kept their distance and never met her eyes.
Elara shuddered at the memory. The sound of Onmund clearing his throat brought her back to the present. No, she could never tell anyone about that.
“I am sorry. I lost myself for a bit.” Elara took a deep breath, reorganized her thoughts, and continued.
“My mother died about a year ago. She was a priestess of Kynareth, but fell in love with a Nord she was healing at the temple. She was dismissed from temple service, and where once her status as a priestess was a source of pride to her family, she was now a disgrace. You were right, most Bretons begin magical training at a young age, but with my family status, no school would have taken me. ”
“I think I can understand a little about being a disgrace to one’s family,” Onmund murmured.
“My father is the Nord she healed. He had been crossing the mountains from Skyrim to High Rock and received mortal wounds from a bear while rescuing a mother and her child.” Elara felt something stick in her throat and could not go any further. She did not know how to tell anyone about the night her father had been kidnapped and not been seen since.
Onmund nodded sympathetically. “As the eldest in the family, I was expected to be a warrior or a hunter or a farmer. Magic is not an acceptable pursuit for a Nord, as you can tell by the many Nords here at the college.” Onmund smiled. “My father and younger brothers never hesitated to let me know how ‘unnatural’ they thought I was. But I would just spend all my time in the forest, listening for the magic and trying to refine it. I realized that I would never receive my father’s approval to attend the College, so I spent years working odd jobs, in between chores on the farm and studying magic on my own to save enough gold for the trip.”
All Elara wanted was family, and here Onmund was telling her it was a relief to be free from them. Yet his family treated him like an outsider, just like she and her family had been treated by the other Bretons in the Western Reach.
Onmund stood up and stretched. “Well, we better try to get some sleep. We have an early lecture on Conjuration by Phinis, and he does have a way of droning on. Brelyna will be happy, though. She loves Atronachs.” His smile touched his eyes. “I wish you better dreams.”
He made it to the doorway and turned around. He felt a strange urge to smooth her tousled hair, but shook the idea out of his head. “You are still a mystery, Elara of High Rock.”
Elara responded, “And you are unlike any Nord that I have met in Skyrim.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” he laughed heartily.
“And….thank you for listening,” she smiled shyly.
Her smile reminded him of the stars sparkling in the night sky that he used to gaze at for hours in his youth. He shook his head at the surprising thoughts again popping in his head. “I must be tired,” he muttered to himself.
Elara watched him walk to his room across the circular common room of the Hall. With a lighter heart, she snuggled under the covers and fell fast asleep.
Sharp pain knifed Elara’s side as she navigated the slick, snow covered bridge to the college. Tolfdir sent her in haste to Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage, to report their discovery of the ominous glowing sphere in the bowels of Saarthal. She discovered Aren in the courtyard, deep in thought.
“Well, I must gather the other mages and go to Tolfdir directly. Thank you for your speed. Please rest in the warmth of the Hall of Attainment. I will take it from here.” Aren moved swiftly to fetch the rest of the mages. Elara’s head was swirling with the events of the day: the discovery of the sphere, the battles with the draugrs, the spectral appearance of a member of the Psiijic Order, and the glowing runes that caused her to black out.
“I demand that you tell me what happened at Saarthal.” A tall, thin black-robed Altmer slunk out of the shadows and blocked Elara’s path. She raised an eyebrow and moved to walk around him.
He raised his hand to stop her. “I am Ancano, the Thalmor representative to the College of Winterhold. “ When he saw her narrow her eyes, he added superciliously, “I serve as advisor to the Arch Mage and he consults me on everything.”
“Well, I think you would prefer to hear the report directly from the Arch Mage himself, instead of a novice from the college,” Elara replied sweetly.
Elara continued to walk to the dormitory and did not turn around when Ancano said coolly, “I will be watching you.” The way he said it made a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the harsh wind.
The next chapter can be found here.
----------------------
Elara trudged wearily to her room in the Hall of Attainment. Sounds of laughter and the clink of bottles drifted from the second floor.
“J’zargo now likes two things Nord—the College of Winterhold and mead.”
Elara smiled at the thought of the three merry mages, but could not summon the energy to join them. She was bone tired and had too much on her mind to be social. She plopped on her bed, kicking her boots off. Within moments, she was asleep.
Her dreams since the escape from Helgen all centered on her home in High Rock, a
small farm outside of Jehanna in the Western Reach. She was seven years old, climbing the apple tree in front of her house. In their garden, she saw her father gently drop his hoe, and tiptoe up behind her mother. He tickled her around the waist, then swept her off her feet and twirled her around. The music of their laughter drifted through the branches of the apple tree, but Elara was distracted by a rumbling that shook her to the ground.
She stood up to find herself facing a glossy black dragon. Her parents rushed over, but she shrugged them off, and walked slowly to the dragon, entranced. The forbidding creature snorted smoke, but lowered its head. Elara reached out to stroke its snout, and it almost purred. Then the dragon reared back its head, opened its jaws, and--
Elara sat up straight in bed, sweating and panting. She looked around and realized with relief that she was at the college.
Onmund stood uncertainly in the entrance to her room. “Are you all right? I was just helping J’Zargo back to his room next door. He, ah, thoroughly enjoyed the mead this evening.” He chuckled. “It is like milk for us Nords though. I thought,” he paused, not sure if he should mention what he heard.
“Did I..?” Elara asked hesitantly, embarrassed that she had drawn attention to herself again. Onmund nodded. She looked at the chair near her bed and the Nord sat down. He was fairly tall, even for a Nord, so he tried to minimize his height by leaning forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. She looked frightened, like a hare being hunted by a wolf and finding no place to hide. He gave her a strong, steady gaze, and smiled encouragingly.
Elara contemplated the friendly Nord, not sure if she should trust him. Yet there was something about his eyes, kind, but touched by sadness at the corners. It was something she recognized, the battle against despair, and before she knew it, she pulled her legs to her chest, hugged them closer, and began.
“I was dreaming about a dragon devouring my parents. I have had that dream ever since I entered Skyrim, in fact.” Her first night in Skyrim was spent in jail and so the dreams began, without variation. Her mind wandered to the dragon and her near execution at Helgen. She was ashamed and still confused by the whole thing. She knew she had killed an Imperial soldier in Bruma, but she could not remember how. She had been sitting at a small table in the corner of Olav’s Tap and Tack, munching on a little bread and cheese and warily watching a bristly Imperial soldier progressively become drunk and more obnoxious with his two companions. The old soldier had grabbed the barmaid by the waist and tried to kiss her. Elara, acting on impulse, walked over to the soldier, shaking with anger.
“Look boys, I guess I am irresistible to all the women in this place,” the soldier boasted to the other drunken soldiers as he appraised Elara.
“I think you need to step outside,” she said in a low voice, barely controlling her fury.
“Oh, are you jealous? There’s enough of old Fabius to go around.” The soldier unceremoniously dropped the barmaid, who looked at Elara gratefully, and then scurried to the back room. Elara heard the bolt fall on the opposite side of the door.
Elara led the man outside, and his fellow soldiers followed.
“Hope you don’t mind a little party? I know how you Bretons like a man in uniform,” he slurred, reaching for Elara while the other two soldiers slammed her back into the side of the inn, holding her arms. She had hoped to deflect his interest from the poor girl, yet she realized she was now the intended prey. Her mind wandered helplessly to the dagger stowed in her boot. Yet as the soldier moved closer with his lecherous grin, Elara felt something rise from the pit of her stomach. It felt like a large exhalation, and then the world went black.
She woke up in the snowy street, staring into the dead eyes of Fabius. She panicked and ran, hoping to sneak into Skyrim before she was found. As luck would have it, she ran straight into an Imperial ambush as she was crossing the border. Fabius’s companions were there, and identified her as his murderer. She still thought it strange that the two soldiers kept their distance and never met her eyes.
Elara shuddered at the memory. The sound of Onmund clearing his throat brought her back to the present. No, she could never tell anyone about that.
“I am sorry. I lost myself for a bit.” Elara took a deep breath, reorganized her thoughts, and continued.
“My mother died about a year ago. She was a priestess of Kynareth, but fell in love with a Nord she was healing at the temple. She was dismissed from temple service, and where once her status as a priestess was a source of pride to her family, she was now a disgrace. You were right, most Bretons begin magical training at a young age, but with my family status, no school would have taken me. ”
“I think I can understand a little about being a disgrace to one’s family,” Onmund murmured.
“My father is the Nord she healed. He had been crossing the mountains from Skyrim to High Rock and received mortal wounds from a bear while rescuing a mother and her child.” Elara felt something stick in her throat and could not go any further. She did not know how to tell anyone about the night her father had been kidnapped and not been seen since.
Onmund nodded sympathetically. “As the eldest in the family, I was expected to be a warrior or a hunter or a farmer. Magic is not an acceptable pursuit for a Nord, as you can tell by the many Nords here at the college.” Onmund smiled. “My father and younger brothers never hesitated to let me know how ‘unnatural’ they thought I was. But I would just spend all my time in the forest, listening for the magic and trying to refine it. I realized that I would never receive my father’s approval to attend the College, so I spent years working odd jobs, in between chores on the farm and studying magic on my own to save enough gold for the trip.”
All Elara wanted was family, and here Onmund was telling her it was a relief to be free from them. Yet his family treated him like an outsider, just like she and her family had been treated by the other Bretons in the Western Reach.
Onmund stood up and stretched. “Well, we better try to get some sleep. We have an early lecture on Conjuration by Phinis, and he does have a way of droning on. Brelyna will be happy, though. She loves Atronachs.” His smile touched his eyes. “I wish you better dreams.”
He made it to the doorway and turned around. He felt a strange urge to smooth her tousled hair, but shook the idea out of his head. “You are still a mystery, Elara of High Rock.”
Elara responded, “And you are unlike any Nord that I have met in Skyrim.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” he laughed heartily.
“And….thank you for listening,” she smiled shyly.
Her smile reminded him of the stars sparkling in the night sky that he used to gaze at for hours in his youth. He shook his head at the surprising thoughts again popping in his head. “I must be tired,” he muttered to himself.
Elara watched him walk to his room across the circular common room of the Hall. With a lighter heart, she snuggled under the covers and fell fast asleep.
