"Salt, garlic, and... Where is my taproot? I placed it right here..." Brinyon Peron said, his voice high and squeaky as he removed his goggles. He looked frantically around the room. He could not find his taproot. "No, no, no, no! This will not do! Nothing will be right this way!" He muttered to himself. "How am I to complete this potion?" He continued to look around the room for something else that might suffice.
"Master?" A smooth voice came from the other end of the room. A young Dunmer made her way into the Arch-Mage's quarters.
"Naphala, now is not the best time. I am searching... searching..." He trailed off as his mind went back to his task. He scurried around the room, meticulously searching for anything he could use to complete his potion.
"Master, might I suggest the Jazbay Grapes," The young Dunmer said while glancing at the alchemy station.
"Jazbay Grapes? What use would they be to... I see! Naphala! You are such a help!" The elder Dark Elf exclaimed. He ran to his indoor garden and grabbed a handful of the grapes and rushed over to the table, dropping some in his haste. Naphala picked them up off the ground and placed them slowly next to the pile. She stared at Brinyon for a while, waiting for him to notice her. She gave a slight cough to alert him of her presence.
"Yes, girl?" He asked, his goggles sliding down his nose as he turned. "Darned things, always too big!" He scoffed as he slid them back up over his red eyes.
"Master, you were to give a lecture today... to the students? Remember? The Bretons?" She asked, trying to keep the Arch-Mage's attention. His mind was on his potion. The college had had an influx of enrollment as the Dragonborn, Burz gro Ka had convinced the Breton tribesmen of High Rock to come to the College of Winterhold to help fight the Aldmeri Dominion.
"Can't they... Can't Faralda deal with them? She is exemplary with war-magic." He said, a frown building on his gray-blue face.
"Master, we can't keep the tribesmen waiting. You know how... uncivil they can be," A playful smile grew on her face as she grabbed the Mage's wrinkled hands and dragged him towards the door.
"But... But my grapes... They can't be left out long!" Brinyon said, glancing back over his shoulder at his concoction.
"I can deal with it Master Peron, I know a bit of Alchemy myself." The young woman said.
"Oh alright. Fine. I can't convince you otherwise. Although Faralda WOULD do better than me at this..." He said in one last attempt to sway his secretary.
"It's not about war magic, sir. You are officially welcoming them to the college..." She said, her smile still there. She enjoyed working for the Arch-Mage. It was like working with an old child. A very brilliant, and old child.
"Oh... Welcome? They have been here for a week?" Brinyon said, confused at why he hadn't already welcomed them.
"Yes, and they haven't been properly welcomed because you keep putting it off!" Naphala pushed him out the door and shut it behind her. She heard him knock a few times, but kept the door shut. He would soon leave.
"Greetings guests!" Brinyon looked out at the crowd of people that filled the Hall of Elements. There were even people watching from outside. He had never seen this many people at the College so willing and eager to learn. The Nords of Skyrim seemed to have a deep seeded hate for magic, a fact he found ironic given that the College had been around since the First Era, and was rumored to pre-date the Mages Guild.
"I am glad to welcome you all to the esteemed College of Winterhold. I am your Arch-Mage, Brinyon Peron. We here foster the ideals of magical knowledge and practice. We are aware that you were sent here to prepare for war, however I can not stand by and allow you to only learn such a narrow scope of Magnus's gift to Nirn. You shall all be taught some level of all the schools of magic. And provided we have enough time, and if any of you have the aptitude, you may choose an area of specialty. We will treat you all like any other student, except with the added responsibility of learning war-magic to fight the tyrannical Aldmeri Dominion. And once the war is over, the College will welcome any willing students back with open arms. Please, enjoy your stay here. Now, Master Ervine will give you all your day to day instructions." Arch-Mage Peron stepped aside as thunderous applause erupted in the large hall. He gazed into the crowd with a large grin on his face.
He watched as his second in command gave a speech about the day to day activities the students would partake in. She then dismissed them, and the hall became alive with small talk about the room. Mirabelle made her way to Brinyon. "I haven't seen the hall this full in all my time here" She said to him with a smile. "The circumstances aside, I am very happy."
"You are right to be. You have served this College since you were a student here yourself. If it he not been for the Psijics, you would have been named Savos's successor. I often feel you would have been the better choice." Brinyon said respectfully.
"You are a master of the arcane arts, and deserve the honor more than I, Master Peron. I can admit to skill that surpasses mine. Even when it is from some one younger than me." She said with a laugh. Mirabelle was in her late 60's, though she did not look it. Brinyon was only in his mid 40's, but being a Dark Elf, he had a little more aptitude than his Breton counter-part.
"I have not surpassed you by much! You rival me in many areas, Mirabelle!" He replied with a smile. He respected her for all the work she put into her craft, and the College. If he were the type to marry, he would consider her. But he was too busy with his love of magic to consider a wife. "Well, I must be off! I have an experiment brewing upstairs! Good night to you, Mriabelle." The pair shook hands and Brinyon hastened his way to his quarters. When he opened the doors he found Naphala wearing much less than she had been before.
"Hello, Naphala. How did the potion brew?" He asked, not noticing her wardrobe change.
"It went well. It made a perfectly good magika potion. What were you trying to test?" She said in a smooth voice, advancing towards him. His gaze did not change. He was solely focused on the potion.
"I am starting a new study, girl. A study of numbers. How many grapes did you put in?" His voice quizzical as he looked at her. Still not noticing her change.
"I put 4 in." She said, advancing more. She was rather close to him now.
"Now... I wonder what would happen if I put more grapes in, and less salt." He murmured, his gaze returning to the mixture.
"Why don't I get your grapes?" She said slowly. She walked over and picked more grapes for her Master and brought them to him. When she laid them on the table, she let her hand touch his. He looked at her briefly and put on his goggles as a smile grew on his face.
"I think it won't have an effect because I will keep the garlic the same! By the way, did you find it to warm in here? I can cast a frost spell to cool it off?" He asked, finally noticing she had less clothing than before.
"No, I am fine... I like it... hot." She lingered on the word hot, and let the last consonant pop. She was being as suggestive as she could be.
"Oh... Well Skyrim is not for you my dear!" Brinyon said with a loud laugh as he began mixing another solution. "Now I will have to wait for the compounds to mature... What to do..." His eyes darted around the room as he pondered how to occupy his time.
"Well... We could... talk some?" Naphala said, her voice even smoother than before. It was like the warmth of a fire on a cold winter night.
"Now what use is talking?" the elder mer asked as he walked around the room trying to find some thing useful. Naphala let out a sigh of exasperation. She could not believe at how oblivious the mer was.
"Do you not understand what I am hinting at?" She half yelled, but covered her mouth. She couldn't believe what she had just blurted out. She felt her cheeks burn hot.
"Now what is all that fuss? You were hinting at something? You have a funny way of it..." Brinyon muttered, still searching the room. He hadn't given up yet. He knew there was something that could use his brilliance.
"Oh never mind." The young woman said, defeated, yet relieved. It was for the better. She was a young alchemist, not yet 25. He, an older mage. Her boss. She needed to keep it professional, but she just couldn't suppress her attraction for the Dunmer man. His slender body, his bright red eyes, his snow-white hair that stood up as if expecting another explosion. His confident demeanor, his brilliance. It made her swoon. She embraced him in a hug before she departed his chambers. "Good night, Master Peron." She said with a smile.
"Um... Good night..." Brinyon hugged back, though confused at the affection. He went back to searching for whatever it is he was searching for as Naphala left his chambers. "There it is!" she heard him say as she closed the door.
Brinyon pulled a jar of butterflies off the shelf. He wasn't sure what it was he would do with them, but they were going to play a role in... something. He thought of the hug he had just received from Naphala and her other strange behavior. She was always complaining about it being too hot in his chambers. He for one liked it warm, but she always seemed to enjoy the cold. Had Sheogorath grabbed hold of her mind? He would have to test for it later. He pushed the thought out as he decided what to do with the butterflies. He would have them ingest the magika potion and see what it would do to them.
He stayed up until the late hours of the night. The dark had long since laid her blanket over the land, and Brinyon decided to rest his head. He had a lot to do the next day. He would begin his study of numbers and their powers. He believed he was discovering a magic about them that to this point was unknown. His eyes closed slowly as he began to shut his thoughts off. This was a long and arduous process as his mind was constantly going. Eventually sleep had found him.