Author's Note: the character of Masa is agender, hence the use of they/their pronouns. Also this story is kind of a slow build, so if it feels like it's not going to get anywhere... you'll just have to trust me.
It was always cold in Whistling Mine. Kureeth listened to the wind for a few heartbeats before opening his eyes, trying to build a picture of what the day would be like. He just had to get through one more day of work, then he could see Falin again. He heard then the sound of someone else moving around in their miner's camp. He determined them as Masa, from the light but sure quality of the footsteps. The glow from last night's resurrected fire flickered across his eyelids, and Kureeth opened his eyes.
"Morning," said Masa. Smooth-voiced as ever, the Dunmer was crouched next to the fire, toasting a cluster of apples. Their long braid was already coiled up under a fur hat, against the cold. They had learned quickly enough, over the month that Kureeth had been working there, that the large Argonian was not one for conversation. So Masa took no offense from Kureeth's lack of a response as he rose and pulled on all the extra layers of fur he owned. Never enough to be warm, not as far north into Winterhold as they were.
When the apples were done, Masa tossed one towards Kureeth. He caught it with both hands and crunched his teeth through the skin, relishing the intense heat. The miners were well-fed—the owner, Astene, saw to that—but the fare was never exactly fit for a Jarl's table. The pair ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before the newest miner started awake: Ursula.
Kureeth had felt a moment of selfish joy when Ursula had wandered in out of the snow a week prior. A new worker meant he wasn't the newest anymore, meant that less attention would be paid to him, meant that he could slide closer to becoming part of the landscape. Ursula ran a hand through her short red hair and approached the fire. Her furs were grey and thick, but well-travelled. A Nord, but if she'd mentioned where she hailed from, Kureeth had not heard. He was certainly not about to pry.
"Thanks," she said, when Masa tossed over her apple. She bounced the hot fruit from one hand to the other in quick motions. She was not of great height—indeed, she barely reached Kureeth's shoulder—but he had noticed a solidity to her movements that indicated that she would not simply be bowled over. Skittish, but steadfast, had been his assessment, despite the slight contradiction in terms it entailed.
"What today?" Ursula asked Masa, for they were the overseer. They tugged away a loose hair and did not smile.
"Same as always," they said. "Mine the iron. Smelt the iron. Stack the iron."
"I ain't smelted yet," said Ursula, not looking up.
"And you won't today," replied Masa. "I haven't got anyone to spare to show you how."
"You could hire more—"
"Take it up with Astene, next time you're in Winterhold," said Masa, cutting her off. "I just make do with what I'm given."
Their face now creased with a frown, the overseer clapped their hands twice. The other miners awoke and came to the fire with varying degrees of swearing against the cold.
Angrenor, wounded veteran of the Civil War. His work was slower than the others', and Kureeth guessed he had been hired out of pity more than anything else. Ingarth, another Nord, with a shaggy dark hair and beard. His quick eyes made Kureeth uneasy, but so far he had neither done nor said anything untoward. Last up was Relbray, a Dunmer who talked more than the rest of them put together. His words and hands were fast, but not too fast for Kureeth to follow.
Masa tossed each of the newly risen miners an apple, then rummaged around for some bread. Fresh enough, but hard. Food rarely went off in the Mine, or indeed in all of Winterhold, the extreme cold halting the natural decay. Kureeth tucked his chunk of bread inside his furs. Later in the day, his body heat would have defrosted it enough to eat.
"Ingarth, you're on the smelter," said Masa. "There's plenty left from yesterday that needs doing. The rest of you know where your veins are. Get to work."
The rest of the day passed in repetitions. Kureeth mined the ore, his pickaxe cracking against the walls of Whistling Mine. Every now and then, Masa would come by, their arms folded close around them, to check on Kureeth's progress. The Dunmer was hard to read, but Kureeth was fairly certain that in Masa's case, no comment was a positive outcome.
The repetitions continued and Kureeth's muscles ached through every fibre. As the day drew closer to its end, Masa appeared again.
"Go tell Ingarth to bring in what's left," they said. "He can finish up tomorrow."
Kureeth gratefully leaned his pickaxe against the side of the mine. But this, unfortunately, was a situation in which he could not avoid speaking.
"Tomorrow is our day off," he said.
Masa's lips curled into a snarl. "Don't know why Astene couldn't have had you on rolling shifts. Stupid to let the mine lay empty for a whole day."
Kureeth was silent, waiting. Masa frowned. "Well get out there and tell him anyway," they said eventually.
Kureeth trod through the mine, trying to prepare himself for the weather outside. He began to feel the wind as he approached the entrance and hunched in on himself. The bitter gusts whipped at him as he emerged into the white snow of Winterhold. Immediately the chill was almost more than he could bear. Several years now that he'd spent in Skyrim, and still he could not get used to the cold.
A windbreak had been set up, by order of the Archmage, but it was specifically for the guard posted there. The wooden structure jutted from the snow next to the road, and the guard inside—Kureeth had not yet gotten a handle on their names—gave him a wave. Kureeth returned it, and ducked into the tiny structure that surrounded the mine's smelter.
Astene had commissioned it almost immediately after taking over the mine, some three years prior, recognising the impossibility of working for long hours in the freezing wind. The room was simple, however, a basic square that gave enough room to work the smelter and stack ore, but barely more than that. With two people, especially one of Kureeth's large frame, the place quickly became cramped.
Kureeth felt the sweat forming under his furs as soon as he entered the smelting building. Ingarth stood shirtless and shovelling, though he halted immediately upon Kureeth's entrance.
"Can't tell whether it's day or night in here," said the Nord. He spat on the side of the smelter and it vanished with a quick sizzle. "I coulda been in here for weeks, far as I know."
"Day's done," said Kureeth.
Ingarth grinned. "And tomorrow's our day off, praise the Nine. Got any big plans?"
Kureeth shrugged and watched Ingarth wipe off the worst of the sweat with a rag, then don his furs, warmed next to the smelter.
"Me, I'm planning to get blind drunk," said Ingarth. He braced himself for opening the door. "You're more'n welcome to join."
Kureeth shook his head in what he hoped was a respectful manner. He and his wife Falin had greater plans for their gold than losing it to drink.
There was no breakfast the next morning. Instead, when Kureeth awoke, Masa had left small pouches of gold in a circle around the dead fire. Kureeth took his and bundled his other possessions into a small sack. His gloves had been wearing thin—and in Whistling Mine, that was a shortcut to frostbite.
As he was packing, Relbray awoke. The Dunmer snatched at his own pay and counted it out with a sneer.
"Fucking Masa," he said. "You know he's getting paid more than twice as much as us? And what's he doing to earn it?" He stood and looked hungrily for a moment at the other gold pouches. Then he looked at Kureeth and sighed. "You know Masa and Astene go way back? Before even the last fool to own this place pissed off."
Kureeth had not known that, but he couldn't figure how Relbray did either. He was certainly not the sort that either Masa or Astene would confide in. He heaved his bulk towards the mine opening and Relbray fell into step with him.
"Heading into Winterhold, then? Might keep you company if you don't mind?" asked Relbray. Kureeth grunted an affirmative.
He heard movement behind them and turned to see Ursula catching up with them.
"Sure," said Relbray. "Let's make an expedition of it, then."
Ursula flinched a little and positioned herself on Kureeth's other side as the trio stepped into the snow. Relbray swore at the wind.
"Better get this over with then," he said.
"If it weren't for the wind . . ." said Ursula.
Relbray laughed. "Trust me, this place will still freeze your nose off even when it's deadly still." They started walking along the northward path but it wasn't long before Relbray spoke again. "Doesn't your tail get cold, Kureeth? Or are those scales keeping all the heat in?"
"No," said Kureeth.
"To which question?" asked Relbray.
"Both," said Kureeth.
"Are those burn marks on it?" asked Ursula. "If—if you don't mind me asking."
"Long story," said Kureeth. Another life, with memories of hot blood and billowing fire. He kept walking.
Ursula faded away with a mumble as soon as they reached the town of Winterhold. Relbray stomped into The Frozen Hearth without a farewell. Kureeth, for his part, trod his way to Birna's Oddments, in search of new gloves. His chest tensed a little as he considered just how much a good pair would cost.
Birna greeted him pleasantly despite a tiredness around her eyes. Kureeth stood on the other side of the counter and murmured, "I need some new gloves."
Birna rummaged in a cupboard, muttering almost to herself. "For that size, you'd need—no, not those, don't know why I even have those. Try these, or these." She placed two pairs on the counter. Large and thick, though Kureeth's coin purse was feeling lighter by the second.
The second pair fit, and Kureeth handed over the purse. Birna counted out the gold with practised finger movements while he tried not to develop a sweat under his furs. He flinched a little when Birna spoke.
"It's not enough, even with the old gloves."
Kureeth dug into his sack and pulled out his old iron gauntlets. Broken and repaired a dozen times over, he was half convinced they could have lasted until the end of this era and through into the next. A reminder of the days he and Falin had spent running security for one of Ri'saad's Khajiiti caravans. He kept down a sigh and slid them across the counter.
Birna turned them over a few times, a small smile struggling around the edges of her mouth. Eventually, she lowered them with some reverence and slid one gold piece back towards Kureeth.
"That covers it," she said. "People have a thing for gear that's been proven."
Kureeth tucked away the single gold piece and knew that he'd be grateful for his warm fingers, even if his dream of a house seemed further rather than closer with each day. Once back in the snow, he made tracks towards the College, to see his wife.
Falin's first priority, after embracing her husband, was to get him a good meal. In the room that served as the College's refectory, she slid across another plate and filled him in on recent happenings.
". . . and Kara came through last week—some strange hooded woman with her—asking to borrow the Elder Scroll! I didn't know we had one, I imagine the Dragonborn must have left it here for safekeeping before she left to . . . wherever. Vash—sorry, the Archmage—took the two of them up to his chambers. Onmund told me later that the armour they were wearing was from the Dawnguard. What could a bunch of vampire-hunters want with an Elder Scroll?"
The pair's dynamic was such that Falin never expected any verbal answer to her questions. Kureeth just took another bite of meat, and kept listening.
"And there's a new student," said Falin, angling her voice a bit lower. "Says her name is Emelia, up from Cyrodiil. But there's something a bit odd about her. Too pale, maybe."
Falin caught Kureeth's look and raised her palms out. "I know, I know, I'm not exactly bronzed myself, and Winterhold's certainly no place to get a tan, but . . . you remember Antario?"
Kureeth nodded. An Altmer associate of theirs, who had travelled alongside them with the Dragonborn, during their fight against the Thalmor. An ex-Thalmor agent himself, Antario had lived, and probably would continue to live, a life of tension. Every time he woke up in the night, he would expect an assassin looming over his bed.
"That kinda tension," continued Falin, tucking her hood back to reveal her small Bosmer ears, "it does something to you. I wouldn't be surprised it Emelia was running from her own demons."
Kureeth frowned and thought of Ursula. Something to mention later on, perhaps, when he had something more concrete to offer. Though he wouldn't seek answers that weren't his to find.
"And you shouldn't feel bad about your pay," said Falin. "I talked to the Jarl's steward, Malur. He said we only need three hundred to get a plot of land, being Winterhold residents already." She tapped gently at Kureeth's side. "We've got half that already. I'm going to start learning enchanting from Sergius, going out on contracts with him. That should bring in a fair share of coin."
Kureeth grunted, trying to encapsulate his feelings of disappointment tinged with the optimism that Falin never failed to inspire in him.
"How is the mine?" she asked.
"Cold," he said. "And nobody gets along."
Falin slid a little closer to him. "You know I'd get you something here, but they have a thing about non-mages."
Kureeth shrugged. Work was work. He would take the one evening and night he would spend with Falin, take it and keep it close to his scales for the next week. That alone would keep him warmer than any expensive gloves could manage.