The College of Winterhold was more majestic than Talathiel could have ever imagined. Though she was next to useless with the arcane arts, she had managed to deceive her way in with lines taken straight out of a book she had. She would learn, she promised herself, while she enjoyed her unlimited access to some of the most outstanding scholarly resources in all of Tamriel.
Talathiel clutched a book to her chest – The Book of Daedra, to be exact – and made her way to the Arcanaeum. She was taken by the Daedra, the concept of such creatures sending shivers of excitement down her spine. Fascinated by history, she had read of all their exploits, from Molag Bal's humiliating initiatory ceremonies with potential Daughters of Coldharbour to Hermaeus Mora's insanity-bringing tomes and their sinfully enticing tendrils, drawing in even the most willful of intellectuals. She visited their secret shrines and left offerings to those that intrigued her most. It was that, unfortunately, that had landed her on the cart to execution – Skyrim, as it turned out, was much less willing to look over the worship of the Old Gods than Cyrodiil. The Thalmor's presence was overbearing, so the kind Stormcloak had informed her, and thus the policing of religious affiliations was unavoidable. Talathiel hadn't even known who the Thalmor were.
Here, however, she was simply a scholar. Though her affinity for magic was nonexistent, she was granted access to the most complete library in all of Skyrim, and Urag gro-Shub thought her interest in his collection quite flattering, offering to lend her some of his rarer editions so that she may further her knowledge of the Daedra. It was for research purposes, of course, as she assured him many a time. He even had Myths of Sheogorath, a book she'd been searching for since their accidental meeting in Solitude.
Her fellow apprentices knew far more than she, even the Khajiit J'zargo, and none of them felt the need to refrain from reminding her. It was almost amusing how they presumed themselves above her because they knew how to cast apprentice level wards. If only they knew what just three little Dovah words could do when spoken by her tongue…
"Hey, fellow apprentice!" shouted Onmund, the Nordic apprentice who hadn't stopped talking to her since day 1. "What're you reading?"
She held up her book so he could read the title, and he grimaced. "Not a very cheerful topic."
"I don't know, I think it's interesting," she said. "What brings you here?"
"Looking for someone, actually. Have you seen Ancano?"
"Who?" Talathiel asked.
"The arch-mage's advisor. I'm supposed to bring him this." He held up a sealed envelope.
"Uh, no. Sorry."
"Shoot, I have a meeting with the arch-mage pretty soon, and he needs to get this now. Think you can deliver it?"
Talathiel agreed, not commenting on the strangely high number of Skyrim citizens who thought it acceptable to load meaningless tasks onto her shoulders. From delivering ice wraith teeth to alchemists in Windhelm to delivering the Jarl of Solitude a custom-made dress, she was everyone's lackey. Interesting, considering she was the only one who could stop Alduin. One would think that such a title would ward off pleas to improve elves' love lives in Riverwood through lies and debauchery, but alas. She couldn't afford to make any enemies here in the college.
Ancano, as it turned out, lived in the largest room outside of the arch-mage, and was the possessor of a number of rather impressive items. A man, Brynjolf, that she'd met in Riften, had taught her a bit about the ways of the thief, praising her with great excitement when she brought the jewelry of nobles to him whenever visiting Riften. He was happy to fence the goods for her, and always offered to converse over a bottle of hot mead at the Bee and Barb. She would never do anything that might actually get her in trouble, but Ancano wasn't in his room, and the sheer number of black soul gems had her wondering both why he was killing so many humans and whether he would miss a couple. Though her magical abilities were quite poor, her enchanting wasn't. Her bow deserved more than a common soul gem's fire enchantment, did it not? It had been a gift from an Argonian down on the docks of Whiterun, a masterful crafter who she'd helped out.
Talathiel ran her fingertips along the length of the dark crystal, and she could swear she felt the ripple of power tingling at her hands as she did. They lay atop Ancano's enchanting table, pleading for some enchanter to make use of them. She snatched up a few, slipping them quickly into her bag. Her eyes darted about the room, drinking in all the outrageously valuable items that had been left so trustingly out. One ring glistened darkly, and filled her with energy when she slipped it onto her finger. There was a reason this Ancano apparently advised the arch-mage; his enchanting was outstandingly impressive.
She was just admiring an enchanted ring on a shelf when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Shit. She fastened the pocket holding the stolen soul gems with haste, just as a tall Altmer appeared in the doorway.
"Is there a reason for your presence in my quarters?" he asked, his nose crinkled as if he'd smelled something foul.
"Yeah," Talathiel replied quickly, holding out the envelope with the arch-mage's seal on it. "I'm supposed to bring this to you."
He snatched it from her, tearing the envelope and reading the enclosed parchment quickly. A grimace appeared on his face, and he crumpled the paper up, tossing it onto his bedside table.
"Arrogant, this entire college," he sneered. "They presume to hold power over me, who can have their entire operation shut down with a simple raven to the embassy? Despicable."
Talathiel looked down at her feet, waiting for her chance to slip away.
"You, Altmer," he suddenly said. "There aren't many of us here, and those that do study here I am well aware of. Who are you?"
"My name's Talathiel, uh, sir." She wasn't sure how to address him. "I just joined a few days ago."
He smiled thinly. "Your accent gives you away as a native to the Isles. How refreshing. Have you travelled to Skyrim just for the college?"
Talathiel opened her mouth to tell him that she actually knew next to nothing about the schools taught here, that she was in Skyrim because she had grown weary of the political tensions of the Summerset Isles, but at the last moment recognized the crest on the tall mer's robes. It was a symbol she knew well from her home province. He was Thalmor.
"Yes," she stammered, changing her mind at the last moment and feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise at the realization that she went against almost everything that the so-called perfect mer was supposed to go by, with her expertise in swordplay, her disinterest in all things arcane and her dislike for the Aldmeri Dominion. "I'd like to expand on my knowledge of the schools that interest me."
"And what schools would those be?"
"Um." She racked her brain for one that he couldn't ask her to demonstrate. "Restoration magic is my passion. I find the use of wards to be quite rewarding. Savos Aren has a lot to say on the topic, which is why I came here."
Ancano's nose wrinkled at the mention of the name. "Savos Aren would do well to recognize that friendly advice is not something to scoff at."
"You're his advisor, right? I've heard of you," she said. "You're well respected here. I was meaning to come speak with you at some point, actually."
It was a lie, but Talathiel was no stranger to the monstrous god complexes of Thalmor agents, having come from the Summerset Isles. She resented them for their hateful opinions and their racism, but recognized their power and accepted that she would have to garner favor from them should she want any protection whatsoever in the time of growing tension between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks.
Ancano liked this. "Really? You're smarter than most of the arrogant scholars here, then. Accepting the influence of your superiors will serve you well, little one. The rest of this lot will be slaves in the blink of an eye, even the traitorous little Altmer who surround themselves with Nords and sympathize with the rebels."
Talathiel smiled uncomfortably.
"What book is that?" he asked, glancing down at the old tome in her hands.
"Uh, it's The Book of Daedra-"
"Daedra? What reason do you have to be reading of false gods?" Ancano's eyes narrowed. Talathiel bit her tongue to stop herself from snapping at the mer.
"None, really, but they did have a lot to do with the shaping of Tamriel in older eras-"
"The Eight were the creators. Those so-called "old gods" are naught but fuel for heathens and bandits to find some new manner of rebellion. Don't tell me you read the books of Talos the pretender as well?" Ancano's voice was angry.
"No, of course not," she muttered, uncomfortable. "My interest in them is for research purposes, nothing more. I swear."
He raised his brows, but said nothing more. The two held uncomfortable eye contact for what felt like hours, the silence hitched in the air.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I have a class in a few minutes. Could I-"
"Oh, yes. My apologies, apprentice." Ancano stepped out of the doorway, allowing her to pass. "Oh, and one more thing: if you're going to steal my enchanting materials, do me the courtesy of asking first."
Talathiel stiffened. He knew! The bastard smirked as if taking pleasure in her shock, holding out an expectant hand in front of her. She begrudgingly opened her bag and placed the three black soul gems in his waiting hand, her face turning red with embarrassment. She wanted to say something, but couldn't think of anything that would make the situation any better.
"I'll be watching you, little thief," he chuckled, his eyes not leaving her until she had turned the corner, on her way to a class that she had no idea how to participate in.
"Restorative magic," explained Colette Marence, "is an intricate school, the knowledge from which will likely save each of your lives at least once." She raised her hands as a powerful ward surrounded her body, rippling and crackling with energy, while an assistant fired an ice spike at her. It melted before it reached her body.
"J'zargo, you have experience in restoration, don't you? Why don't you show me your favourite spell, and I'll explain to the class how it works."
"J'zargo would be happy to help," said the arrogant cat, who stepped before the class and casted some unknown spell onto the floor, resulting in a green glowing circular rune that hissed as it settled.
"Poison Rune! An advanced spell for an apprentice, I'm impressed."
As Colette rambled on about the interesting facts of the spell – did you know that it's the only restoration spell that actually damages people?! How exciting! – Talathiel was trying to remember how to cast Healing Hands. She'd learned it a while ago, but the intricacies of transmuting magicka to heal herself were lost to her.
"What about you, Talathiel? You're new, why don't you show us what you can do? I know you Altmer excel at this sort of thing." Colette was a Breton, and couldn't stop reminding Talathiel of her elven heritage. She'd had some bad experiences with a certain Altmer writing her notes insulting her school of study, apparently, and as a result had immediately distrusted her.
Oh, she had to demonstrate a restoration spell. Shit. Healing Hands, how were you activated again? If only she hadn't sold her Healing Hands spell tome for eighteen septims at the Riverwood Trader when she'd been ten short of buying a couple bottles of Black-Briar Mead!
"Talathiel? Come on, show us something. Even a low-level ward is fine!"
The judgmental eyes of three expectant students bore into her. She was about to say that she couldn't do anything, that restoration wasn't really her division, when a new figure stepped into the Hall of the Elements, a tall figure with long white hair tied back with a ribbon. Of course, it was Ancano, the one person she really didn't want to learn that she'd lied about her expertise to. His eyebrows rose when he saw her standing before a class, and he leaned against a wall to observe her. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why hadn't she told him that her passion was illusion, conjuration, anything but stupid restoration magic!
"J'zargo can teach Talathiel a restoration spell if she doesn't know any." Everyone was getting impatient, and Ancano looked rather bemused at her helpless expression. Gods damn him.
She could have owned up to her lie, told Ancano that she was simply intimidated by him and hadn't wanted him to know how poor her magic really was. She could have indeed asked the arrogant Khajiit for some restoration lessons. It really wouldn't have been that bad. At least it wouldn't have been as bad as-
"Feim Zii GRON!" she shouted, imitating the hand motions that Colette had made when she'd warded herself. She felt the ripple of draconic power flow through her, and her body grew glossy and opaque. Become Ethereal, that was the name. Feim Zii Gron. 'Fade, spirit, bind,' when translated literally. A spectral shout rendering all attacks useless. Noble Nords remembered these words of the father, reminding them of their duties to live with courage and honor, lest they fade forgotten into darkness. Flashbacks of the ancient, eerie word walls came to her, and she grimaced. Colette's jaw dropped, and the assistant fired an ice spike at her, as he was to do with all who demonstrated wards. Unlike with Colette, whose ward had simply melted the attack, Talathiel simply watched with horror as the spell went through her.
"What the-"
"How did she do that?"
Colette grasped for words. "What- what spell is that?"
Talathiel bit her lip. "It's an ancient one that I learned from a man who works at the Dawnstar museum. I can try to get the name of the book for you."
"Yes, please do," muttered the teacher, eyes narrowed and suspicious. "Well, class, I think that's about it for today. Maybe some of you can ask Talathiel for help, she seems to know an awful lot about this school."
She turned and ran for her living quarters. She couldn't believe she'd used the power of the Thu'um in public! Luckily, nobody in the Hall of the Elements had recognized what she'd done; how could they have? Knowledge of the language of the Dovah was not common, even among mages.
She had almost reached her room when she was grabbed from behind, spun around and shoved into a wall.
"What the fuck was that?"
It was Ancano.
"Oh, it was just a-"
"Please, don't insult me with your horrid attempts at lying. It's embarrassing." He took a step closer to her, practically pinning her against the smooth stone wall. "You are the Dovahkiin?"
"I guess so." Talathiel saw no point in attempting to hide from him what he already knew.
He began to laugh. "How wonderful!"
"I- what? I don't follow." Wasn't he angry with her? He'd seemed pretty angry just a moment ago.
"We've been looking for you for ages, you know, ever since word of your existence became common talk amongst the townsfolk. Those Greybeards aren't exactly secretive, you know." He smirked. "And now you're here!"
"I'm sorry, you were looking for me? Why?"
"You've been seen meddling in the civil war, something that is not in the best interests of the Thalmor. We were going to simply eliminate you where you stood, but I insisted that you should be brought to our embassy to be… questioned. After all, you are Altmer, not some dirty Nord. You should have known better."
Talathiel was speechless. The arrogance of the mer was astounding! If he had any knowledge whatsoever of the Thu'um, he would know that she could easily disintegrate him, wards and all, with a simple shout of Yol Toor Shul.
"I suggest you get off me," she snapped, squirming beneath his iron grip on her shoulders. "I have no quarrel with the Thalmor, and I doubt the Thalmor want quarrel with me."
Ancano looked amused, and before she knew it, her entire body seized up. She couldn't move her lips, let alone shout a draconic phrase to save herself. The paralysis hurt, as if she was being torn to pieces, and any attempts at moving shot waves of pain coursing through her veins.
"Oh, come now. Don't tell me the little dragonborn thief has developed a god complex over her abilities?" He leaned in closer, tightening his grip on her shoulders. "After all, a native of the Isles should know better than to challenge a Thalmor operative, especially one with extensive military training."
He smiled sweetly, and pain shot through her entire body, unforgiving and all encompassing. She wanted to scream, to scream in full-throated horror, but the paralysis stopped her from doing anything at all. By the nine, she would kill this mer, but right then, all she could think about was mercy from the tongues of the flames that were eating her alive.
"What's that? Not so confident anymore, are we?" Ancano laughed mockingly. "Here's what's going to happen, little dragonborn. I'm going to take you to my chambers, and you're going to convince me not to kill you where you stand. If you're good, maybe I'll put in a good word for you and ensure that you get me as your interrogator back at the embassy. Rulindil is ruthless, you know."
He released her from his hold, and she slumped to the ground, angry but alive. She'd been through worse, and nothing got her adrenaline pumping like an arrogant racist who tried to make her feel small. Talathiel was not afraid, though the pain left a shiver in her body. She had braved the depths of Pelagius Septim III's mind, slaughtered draugr and falmer alike, and even held her own against Mora's eldritch abominations on her quest for forbidden knowledge. Her confidence was anything but faded.
"I don't have a choice, so why bother telling me? Stop rambling and do what you will. I don't fear you; you're far from the worst I've encountered." A rush of satisfaction hit her when Ancano's smug expression faltered.
"Oh, I don't intend to be the worst," he replied. "I simply intend to be the last."