A/N: I couldn't get all these little scenes out of my head! They just kept growing, and now this is what they've become! This chapter is pretty short, but after our Dragonborn and Champion meet, the chapters will be longer and more exciting. Unlike my other stuff, I won't be updating this too regularly.

Criticism/suggestions are loved and welcomed!

The College of Winterhold

Pathetic.

Grimacing, Sulira wrapped her gloved fingers around the edge of her hood and tugged it closer, so that her snow-covered hands brushed her cheeks. She wanted to be alone, to be up in her quarters where she could continue her own research. Watching these new students try to make a presentation on the importance of wards was painstaking.

"Arch-mage?"

Sulira turned to face the timid voice. A hooded courier stood behind her. "What?"

"There's a message for you." He reached into his pack and pulled out a thin envelope. "Your visitor will be upstairs."

She slipped the envelope open, unsurprised to find it empty. That's how Eros worked. Sulira sighed. The damn thief was probably up in her arch-mage's quarters right now, surveying her books and supplies to decide which ones to steal. "Excuse me," she called haughtily, "I'm afraid I must take my leave." With one last judgmental glare at the novice mages, she spun and pushed her way through the other instructors.

As Sulira marched up the spiraling stairs, the wind outside howled and raged against the College. She shivered involuntarily; a blizzard would make it near impossible to continue with her latest project.

She had barely opened up the door to her quarters when the cool shock of an enchanted blade pressed against her exposed neck. "Eros," she sighed, reaching out to where she knew the thief was perched, "if you ever use that little knife of yours on me, I'm going to kill you."

The dagger retracted and the dark elf stepped from the shadows. "You'd be dead before you could even think about it." Eros' warm, raspy voice held a smile, but her face was hidden beneath a thick hood.

Sulira flicked her eyes over the thief. "You're still working with those scum, I see."

"I wear the uniform, don't I?"

"It means nothing."

"Alright. Stop with all the holier-than-thou shit, Sulira." Eros tugged her hood off, letting the fabric gather at the nape of her neck, and batted away the blonde strands of hair that fell into her eyes. "I came about the dragons."

The arch-mage felt a twitch of anger shoot through her. "I have other duties."

"Bullshit," Eros snapped. "You don't do anything for the College, and you know it. The Greybeards summoned you. You're the Dragonborn. That's your duty." Her fingers drummed on the hilt of one of her daggers, annoyance flashing across her face. "Riften was attacked by a frost dragon. Brynjolf sent me to talk some sense into you."

"Oh?" Sulira sank into a chair, letting her folded hands rest calmly in her lap. "And where did he acquire this newfound sense of responsibility?"

The thief bristled at her words. "It doesn't have to do with responsibility. You know he's just looking for the same thing as every last damn person in Skyrim."

"And what's that?"

"For the Dragonborn to answer her call."

"I am answering my call," Sulira scoffed. "Here, I'll show you." She dug around in the little pack at her waist, searching for the key to the College roof. Her project had been kept a careful secret, but she was almost finished; besides, while Sulira didn't consider herself to have any friends, Eros was the closest thing she'd ever had. Before she headed up to the roof, Sulira grabbed the staff that was propped against the door. "Back before I was the arch-mage," she shouted, her voice barely audible over the howling wind, "the College had acquired an… artifact called the Eye of Magnus."

"I've heard the stories," Eros shouted in response. "What does that have to do with dragons?"

Sulira ignored the question. Her research, in fact, had nothing to do with the dragons, but she wasn't about to admit that to Eros. "According to the Psijic Order, the Staff of Magnus can absorb the tremendous amount of power that the Eye contains. That's how we averted the crisis in the first place." She held up the staff in one hand and used the other to shield her eyes from the snow. "I wanted to recreate the Eye. I've been using the power stored in the staff and combining it with every piece of research done on the Eye to make a replica."

"But what about the dragons?"

"When I'm finished with this, the College will have so much power, you won't have to worry about dragons for a long time."

The Hawke Estate

"Mother?"

"I'm in the study, darling."

Garrett Hawke took a deep breath and clutched Isabela's hand firmly in his own. "Come on," he whispered, tugging her into the front room.

"I don't know why you insist on doing this," the pirate seethed into his ear.

"You're the one who told me I was rude for not introducing anyone to my mother," he shot back.

"But why me? Why not Anders?"

"You're nervous," Garrett teased with a little smile, pausing before the closed study door.

Isabela tried to free her hand from him, but was unsuccessful and settled for placing her other hand on her hip. "I think you're trying to prove something. Make a point. Why else would you make me meet your mother?"

He forced himself to ignore the angry pout on her lips, instead pushing open the door and tugging the reluctant woman after him. "Mother, this is Isabela."

Leandra looked up from her needlework, her eyes carefully searching Garrett and Isabela. She cleared her throat and set the fabric aside. "Well, dear," she smiled, an overly joyous smile spreading over her tired face, "I can't imagine why you've waited so long to introduce us properly. Do have a seat, Isabela. Garrett, come help me bring up something to eat."

"But Orana—"

"Maker, Garrett, you'll work that poor girl to death!" Leandra's voice was still deceptively light and cheery. She motioned for her son to follow her into the cellar, where they kept extra food. Once they were safely away from the study, Leandra whirled on Garrett. "You have some explaining to do, young man."

Garrett sighed and covered his face with one of his hands, dreading the coming conversation. But before he could defend himself—and the many, many nights Isabela had already spent at the estate—Leandra was speaking again.

"I will admit, I thought you'd do better, but I won't deprive you of your happiness." Garret began to say something, but Leandra cut him off with a stern glare. "Don't think I don't know what goes on between you two. I've heard things no mother wants to hear about her son. Do you forget that my bedroom is right next to yours? Maker, child," she ended with a shaky breath. "I didn't ever think I'd be able to marry you off to a noblewoman, but couldn't you have at least chosen someone a bit more… decent? Like Aveline."

The information that she'd just thrown at Garrett made his head spin and his cheeks flush. He searched for something to say, but all he could manage was, "Mother, Aveline's married."

Leandra crossed her arms. "She wasn't always." With that, she spun and left Garrett in the cellar, wondering if he or Isabela would end up more embarrassed at the end of the night.

Groaning, he grabbed some fruit and threw it in a bowl. He decided to take a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, as well. For me, not Isabela. No alcohol for her tonight. As Garrett made his way back up to the study, he began to catch the two women's voices. The conversation seemed innocent enough, from what he could tell.

"Sometimes, though, I really wonder about him," Leandra was saying. "I hope he settles down and marries soon. Is it too much for a woman to ask for some grandchildren?"

Garrett nearly lost the bowl he was carrying, and he was fairly sure he had gone whiter than Aveline.

Isabela, it seemed, held her composure better than Garrett, because she greeted Leandra's words with a loud laugh, marred by an unladylike snort. "Hawke? A father? Can you imagine?"

Before they could get any more carried away, Garrett burst noisily into the study, presenting the fruit with a flourish. "Ladies," he smiled, setting the food on the table between the chairs and carrying the wine to the front room. "Orana," he called to the servant, "be a dear and pour some wine for me and my dear mother. None for Isabela."

"I heard that, Hawke."

Handing the bottle to Orana, Hawke bit back a sharp response and forced himself to admit that any embarrassment was technically his fault. Before he could rejoin the women, the front door of the estate was thrown open, revealing a shaken Circle mage.

"Bethany?" Garrett gasped, wanting to run to his sister but rooted to his spot in shock.

"You have to come," Bethany panted, stumbling forwards and steadying herself with her staff. "Darktown… the clinic. Anders."

Garrett rushed forward, grabbing his sister by the arms and holding her frail body still. "Calm down, Beth. What happened?"

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "Templars," Bethany managed, still breathing heavily.

"Why? Is Anders alright?"

"Not Anders. Dragonborn."