Kinship

A barrage of fire whizzed past him, forcing him to duck. He threw a bolt of lightning in retaliation, but he was not fast enough. With a perfectly timed blizzard of frost, Onmund was down, and his opponent stood over him in triumph.

"What is wrong? You are losing worse than usual," his fellow student quipped with a grin, though he offered Onmund his paw nonetheless. "J'zargo would like to believe he is getting better, but he cannot be sure unless you try to keep up."

Normally, Onmund would have been frustrated, and in turn motivated, by the Khajit's words. He would have gotten up with renewed zeal and shown him just what a Nord was capable of. But not that day.

"I'm sorry, J'zargo. I don't feel too well today." It wasn't entirely a lie. "Maybe you could train with Brelyna? She'll put up a better fight than I can right now."

The Khajit's whiskers twitched in displeasure. Brelyna knew some destruction magic, but she was not nearly as well-versed in the school as the boys. Of course, she was miles ahead of them when it came to Alteration spells, not that J'zargo would ever admit that. "This one will see," he shrugged. "You drink a potion for healing, and one for increasing magicka too. Perhaps then you will have a chance to lose less badly against J'zargo."

Despite himself, Onmund chuckled. "I don't think it's possible to lose more badly than I did today anyway."

He turned to make his leave, but a paw on his upper arm stopped him. Onmund faced the Khajit, who wore an uncharacteristically serious look. "J'zargo jests, but he does not wish to see you harmed. He is sincere when telling you to take a potion."

The Nord smiled at his friend. "Thank you, but I'll be fine. Maybe I should not have let Brelyna practice her spells on me yesterday…"

At that, J'zargo laughed. "You let her cast magic on you? After that time she turned Arniel into an ox? You, my friend, are hopelessly in love."

"I am not!" Onmund protested hotly, though the red on his cheeks betrayed him. Sure, Brelyna's spell had turned him a vibrant green for the better part of three hours, but that could happen to anyone. "I let you throw fireballs at me, and I'm definitely not in love with you!"

"Oh, but you are wrong. Everyone is in love with J'zargo, they just don't know it yet," the Khajit said slyly. "Unfortunately for you, this one does not swing that way, so you'll have to make do with the one of House Telvanni."

"You are impossible," Onmund grumbled, though he could not keep the grin off his face as he said it. "I'm leaving."

"It is the parting that is hardest, I know," J'zargo called after him. By means of response, Onmund used a rather rude hand gesture that would definitely not have sat well with his mother.

Once he was outside the Hall of the Elements, the Nord breathed a sigh of relief. The power radiating off the giant orb Tolfdir had found in Saarthal gave him a headache, which he could feel ebbing away now that there was some distance between him and it. It hadn't been the headache that had him distracted from practice that day, though. Nords did not let something as petty as physical pain get in the way of their goals. Emotional pain, however, that was something most Nords did not deal with nearly as well.

With a heavy sigh, Onmund dusted some snow from a sill of one of the giant glassless windows surrounding the courtyard and sat down, looking out at the Sea of Ghosts below. It was restless, the wind and water swirling fiercely, and Onmund thought it looked much like he felt.

He still didn't quite understand how he could have been so stupid. That amulet had been in his family for generations, and his father had handed it down to him despite his choice of career, because Nords should always honour tradition. Now, Onmund had not always felt like a True Nord, but a Nord he still was, and he did value tradition. That much became clear to him from the way his skin crawled while the mages desecrated the tomb of his Nordic ancestors.

Worst of all, the item he had traded his amulet for was completely useless. He had asked their resident merchant for a book that would teach him a more advanced lightning spell, hoping to get a leg up on J'zargo. Enthir had delivered, and Onmund had the book – but the magic it contained was much too difficult for him at this point in his studies. He had complained, of course, but Enthir had rightfully pointed out that he'd never specified just how much more advanced the spell was supposed to be, and that had been the end of it.

The only way to get it back was to acquire enough coin to buy the amulet, and Enthir had put an incredible price tag on it. Onmund was certain it was not worth that much, at least not to anyone but him, but then he was no expert on pricing merchandise (as Enthir had rather sharply pointed out). The problem was, Onmund did not nearly have enough gold to buy his amulet back, and he had no clue how to scrape together the coin either, at least not without seriously undermining his education.

He truly was at an impasse.

With a groan, he buried his face in his hands. Just when he was wondering if he might pull off breaking into Enthir's room with the help of a well-timed distraction and an invisibility potion, another's voice startled him from his stupor. "You seem rather troubled. Is there anything I could help with?"

His head shot up at the unexpected sound, and Onmund found none other than the Arch-Mage himself standing beside him.

Feeling rather embarrassed at being discovered in such a miserable state, and by Savos Aren no less, Onmund quickly shook his head. "No, sir, everything's fine."

The Dunmer sighed, and to Onmund's horror, sat next to him on the sill. "I realise I have been rather busy these past few weeks, with the Eye of Magnus and Ancano taking up most of my time. I have not been able to get to know our new apprentices as well as I would have liked," Aren told the baffled Nord calmly, "but even I can tell you are an abysmal liar. You are under no obligation to share your worries with me, but I do not appreciate being lied to."

The sternness in his voice took Onmund by surprise. "I'm sorry," he all but blurted out, "I didn't mean…"

He stopped before he could start to ramble, and then he took a deep breath. "I traded Enthir an amulet that belonged to my family," he found himself confessing. "It was a horrible mistake, and I have no idea how to get it back."

"Enthir, again? I swear, that mer is responsible for half this College's problems," Aren lamented. "Though I fail to understand why this amulet is so important."

"It's been in my family for generations. My father handed it down to me."

"Ah, I see. Are you close with your family, then?"

"Not particularly. They never approved of my becoming a mage, rather than a hunter or a farmer," Onmund shrugged, "but they're still my family."

Aren pondered his words for a moment, before asking: "They are your relatives, yes, but are they also your family?"

Was that a riddle? Was he expecting some clever answer? "I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir."

The Arch-Mage stared into the depths of the Sea of Ghosts for a while before elaborating. "Those of the Dark Brotherhood address their fellow members as 'brother' or 'sister', did you know that?"

"… I did not."

"Their deeds may be deplorable, but they understand the concept of true family better than most others. You see, there is a difference between family and relatives. If you're lucky, your relatives are also your family, but sadly, that's not always the case," Aren explained. "You cannot choose your relatives, but you can choose your family. Or rather, let your family choose you."

Onmund listened closely, eyes wide in rapt attention. This was nothing he'd ever considered before, and it was definitely not the Nord way of thinking, but it was a wondrous concept nonetheless.

Aren continued. "The College of Winterhold, the people who dwell here, they are your family now. J'zargo is the brother you strive to surpass, Tolfdir the kindly grandfather who teaches you when your father is too busy, Mirabelle the strict aunt who tries her best to keep you safe," he listed, a smile in his voice. "Brelyna, that cousin twice removed who you've always had this peculiar attraction to."

"I don't – !" Onmund began, cheeks again burning furiously. The Arch Mage just smiled at him, a rather mischievous look in his eyes. Did everyone here know about his feelings?

Desperate for a change of subject, Onmund decided to turn the tables on the Dunmer. "So I have a brother, a grandfather, an aunt, and a... cousin. Then who are you in this incredibly dysfunctional family of mine?"

Aren chuckled. "Me? I'm just the patron who still sits at the head of table even though he should have allowed another to lead the family decades ago."

Now that was food for thought. "You… want to step down as Arch-Mage?"

The mer hummed. "It is high time."

"Why?"

"The College needs change every once in a while, a new leader to recreate the rules. Otherwise we mages will stagnate, and the College with us. I have some centuries ahead of me, if life is kind, but I do not wish to spend all my remaining years as the Arch-Mage. We would end up like the Mages Guild," Aren shook his head. "No, I believe the College would benefit from a younger leader, someone who still has some fresh ideas. Who knows? Perhaps it will be you."

And the Arch-Mage took his leave, leaving a befuddled and strangely pleased apprentice wizard behind.

When Onmund returned to his quarters that evening, he found his amulet on his pillow, and he smiled.

Family, indeed.

A/N: While my favourite faction in Oblivion was the Dark Brotherhood by a landslide, in Skyrim it were the mages who I took a liking to. Onmund, Brelyna, and J'zargo are just the best trio, I love how Tolfdir is still amazed by so many things at his age, and Savos had me at "Sir? How quaint." As I was playing the remaster, this little titbit popped into my head and would not let go until I wrote it, so here you are. I haven't written anything for Skyrim before, so I hope I did the characters justice. Thank you for reading; any feedback is much appreciated!