Author's note: Sorry for the late chapter; totally forgot about this! To make it up to you, here's the longest chapter. Seriously, it's so long. I'm so sorry.
Read the whole thing if you dare, and enjoy! More coming soon, I'm totally back in the swing of things. Good ol' Herma-Mora is going to play a big part in this story, whoopee!
((Is this against the rules here? I know you can't do PWP but I like to think that this is more of a display of Ancano's cruelty/psychopathy, not pointless smut.))
One more thing, this isn't "romance" at all. I selected that category because anything with sex seems to be filed under it on , but this is definitely not remotely romantic. Might be triggering for victims of sexual assault, I don't know. I'm writing an Ondolemar/Ancano genuine romance, so if you don't like this sort of thing, perhaps you should check that out when I publish it. ^.^
Seriously done rambling now. Enjoy!
Talathiel's paranoia over the proceeding days had, much to her surprise, been rather unnecessary. With every stew she refused — to her growling stomach's chagrin — in case of poisoning, every night she spent with the shabby bookshelf pulled up against the door to prevent it from opening silently while she slept, her over-the-shoulder glances and jumpy demeanour when Ranmir the drunkard put his hand on her arm to ask her for a pint, it seemed that her mistrust only grew worse. That wasn't to say that she was afraid, oh no; she could handle herself, she knew she could. She'd crumbled skeletal dragons and slaughtered entire Imperial patrols with nary a scratch on her body (okay, maybe a few scratches, but the point stood). Despite all that which she had to her name, she still couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of pending doom that racked her body whenever she thought she saw Ancano, whose absence was an entirely different issue.
"Talathiel!" Onmund called to her from the other side of the Arcanaeum, a copy of The Wabbajack in his left hand. "How's it going?"
She'd been half-listening to the kindly old Urag gro-Shub point to photos of different sorts of Khajiit in a very thick, leather-bound book (Did you know that Khajiit ride to battle on other Khajiit?! Urag sure does), all the while grinding her teeth in shameful unease. Even the Nord apprentice had startled her.
"Pretty good, thanks," she replied. "I've been reading more about the Daedric princes. I really think you'd enjoy this one; it's about Hermaeus Mora."
"That stuff kinda scares me, to be honest. They're for real, you know, and if you're not careful they'll interfere with all your business. There're a ton of stories about it! Hey, are you going to the field trip later? I hear it's supposed to be really cool." The boy looked giddy as he bounded over, leaning back on his heels girlishly as he grinned at her.
"Field trip?" Yes, ignore his affection. At least she had someone to curl up with should she feel the need, a security which was shamefully comforting to hold in the back of her head. At least Onmund wouldn't try to abduct, torture and kill her for apparent war crimes.
"Yeah, Tolfdir's taking a bunch of us out to Saarthal. You know, the ruins of that old Nordic capital. One of the first man-made cities in Tamriel. Neat, right?"
"Man-made cities? Is it the oldest of all Tamriel's cities?"
His brow wrinkled. "Er, I- I don't know. It's pretty old, though. It's probably the oldest of any."
"It was of the Merethic Era," Talathiel explained, grinning shamefully at her pedantry. "Some of the first expeditions of the Atmorans, the men who came from the north. That's pretty old, you're right."
"I'm right?"
"Well, only about it being old, not the rest. Do you know anything about the Aldmeri?"
"What, the dominion? You'd have to be living under a rock not to know them, the way they walk around policing our gods." Onmund's muscles clenched, his hands curling and uncurling. "They killed my sister, you know, those damn elv- er, sorry."
"No," she insisted, rolling her eyes, "not the Aldmeri dominion, the Aldmeri race-"
"What was that about the dominion?" asked a low, accented voice from behind her. Talathiel jumped.
"Oh, hello Ancano!" chirped Onmund. "Yeah, we were just talking about the Aldmeri dominion. Did you get the letter I sent you?"
She winced as she turned to look at him. His eyes, a light reddish brown, appeared a furious red under the light of the chandeliers. They glinted with something sinister. "Yes, I did. Talathiel here got it to me right on time."
"We weren't talking about the Thalmor," Talathiel insisted. "I was talking about the Aldmeri race, the old settlers of the Summerset Isles, Onmund just misunderstood me."
Her fellow apprentice cocked his head in confusion at the frantic tone of her voice. Did she really sound so nervous? If he heard it, Ancano certainly did. She cringed; she didn't want him to know how terrifying the last few days had been for her.
"I didn't realize, sorry," Onmund chuckled. "Raised on a farm, you know how it is. Don't know much of history outside of Skyrim."
"That much is apparently clear," Ancano murmured, his gaze fixed on Talathiel, who stared awkwardly back before forcing herself to look at the ground.
"Are you coming to the field trip?" His blissful ignorance made her want to punch him. Fuck your happiness.
"Field trip?" He narrowed his eyes. "Where is that Tolfdir taking you now?"
"Just over to Saarthal. We're gonna look at some artifacts!" He glanced out the window before gasping. "Speaking of which, I've gotta start packing. We leave in just a couple hours! You really should come, Talathiel. J'zargo and me are gonna go to the Frozen Hearth after. No one goes there, so the lady's always really nice. Just don't tell her you're a college member."
Talathiel's heart plummeted as he turned to leave, Ancano's smile churning her stomach. Was this it?
"Wait!" she called.
"What's up?"
"Uh." Talathiel racked her brain for something that would make him stay. "I wanted to lend you a book on ice wraiths I was reading, but it's in my room. I can get it if you want to come with me."
"Oh, that's alright, I'm not really into books if they're not spell tomes. I'd just dog-ear the pages and piss you off. See you at Saarthal!"
By the time Onmund had left down the spiral staircase, Talathiel was pretty sure she was going to hyperventilate. Urag gro-Shub had left to his quarters, and she was completely, utterly alone with Ancano. He took a tantalizing step towards her.
"Stay back!" she snarled, thu'ums that she could use to escape running through her head like the lyrics to The Age of Oppression or The Age of Aggression at just about every tavern she went to. Strun Bah Qo; Storm Call; a shout to the skies, a cry to the clouds. Ven Gar Nos; Cyclone; create a whirlwind and sow chaos among thine enemies.
"You seem on edge, Dovahkiin." He feigned concern, a smirk playing on his lips. "What could be troubling one of such great power?"
"Shut up. They'll know if you take me. I'll scream, I'll fight you. You're a good mage, but I'm a trainee of the Greybeards." She hoped he couldn't tell she was shaking.
He held out his arms as if to prompt her to attack. "Go for it. Please, I'm sure it will work perfectly."
"Shut up!" She reached into her apothecary's satchel, slipped an elven dagger that glinted dangerously with poison into her hand.
"Your words are as moving as they are intimidating," he replied, laughing quietly. "I do not wish to take you by force if I can avoid it. You're not a threat. We just want everyone to learn by example that your behaviour is not tolerated."
"I'm not a child, and you're not an Aedra; I'll behave as I please." She held the dagger out in front of her, hands wavering. "One step closer and I'll cut you."
"Are you truly so incapable, that you must resort to barbaric melee attacks to get your way? You are Altmer. That display at your restoration class was inspired, truly; they may be impressed, but I know the truth. It takes very little skill to harness that which one is born with."
"Fight me and we'll see how petty my skills are when you're frozen solid with my blade at your throat." His smile wavered.
Her death stare was interrupted by Urag gro-Shub, ignorant to the tension that surely enveloped the library, who took his seat at his desk an arm's length away from where Ancano stood. She shoved her knife back in her bag before he could give much thought to it.
"I'll speak to you later, sir," she said through clenched teeth, emphasizing the word sir. "I've got a field trip to prepare for."
She rushed down the spiral staircase to her cramped room, praying to Talos that her hasty getaway didn't make Ancano think she was a coward.
Between nearly dying to a draugr overlord, getting contacted by ghosts with cryptic warnings, and having Tolfdir get all worked up and chirpy about how exciting everything was, Talathiel was starting to really regret going on that damned field trip. It wasn't as if she needed an excuse; both she and Ancano knew each other's intentions. She should have just left, run off into the mountains, or perhaps grabbed a carriage ride down to the safe old city of Whiterun, where she owned a tiny house and was called Thane. By the gods, even Riften would have been more welcoming than the college, and now she had an obligation to stay so that she could communicate with ghosts of the Psijic Order.
"Now, the Arch-Mage needs to be informed of this immediately; he needs to see this for himself. I don't dare leave this unattended. Can you return to the college and inform Savos Aren of this discovery? Please, hurry."
Of course.
"Yeah, I guess," Talathiel replied. "Should, uh, should I tell him about the Psijic thing too?"
"Not of most pressing importance at present, my dear. Now go!"
She hated herself for obeying. Upon approaching the exit — a little crevice that she would squeeze through so she wouldn't have to retrace her steps — she noticed one of the carvings on the stone wall had a faint glow to it.
"Liz Slen Nus," she whispered, running her fingers along the carvings. "Here lies the body of Iglif Ice-Blood, who met his end not in glorious combat, but at the cruel touch of the withering sickness."
She rolled the words around in her mouth, her tongue tingling with a biting cold as she did. "Ice, flesh, statue. Ice form."
She reached into her satchel and removed the small totem in which she stored her dragon souls (as cheesy as it was, it really did help to have something physical when she tried to call upon their strength). Its strength waned just a little bit as she absorbed one. Teach me, nameless dovah. How do I breathe frost like you?
The actual absorption was something that she would never get used to. Her every nerve ending lit up as if ablaze, crackling with power and newly present energy, and somehow she went from not knowing to knowing, no apparent learning in between the two states. It was unsettling, so unsettling, as if the slain dragon's last rite was to take control of her mind, if only for a few moments, and pay its respects to that which was powerful enough to kill a mighty beast like itself. Uncomfortable and yet somehow am honour. Some hunters honoured every part of the elks that they pierced with there arrows; dragons honoured themselves, their last burst of soul-energy just as majestic as they as a race.
On her way back to the college, a highwayman threatened her with a pen knife to her throat. She turned him to ice and beheaded him with the sort of crunch that you would expect of a shattering clay statue. His eyes didn't even have time to widen in surprise.
"Hey, Talathiel!" chirped Faralda, the Altmer gatekeeper that she'd talked her way out of testing her abilities with before she was begrudgingly accepted. Her auburn hair was tied back into two ponytails. "How was Saarthal?"
"It was, uh, pretty weird. I'm actually supposed to talk to the Arch-Mage about that." She scratched the back of her head nervously.
"Weird, eh? Yeah, Ancano was talking about how you guys found something big. He wanted to talk to you about that, actually. He's waiting for you in the main hall."
She supposed Faralda probably saw her grimace. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Have you noticed anything weird about Ancano? He seems rather-"
"Pompous? You're telling me," she scoffed. "He's a self-inflated ass to anyone who isn't him. Did you know he got angry at me for not having been born in the Summerset Isles? As if somehow being a Skyrim native as a high elf is a personal insult towards him. He's ridiculous."
"Yeah, I know, but I'm referring more to suspicious behaviour." She leaned in a bit. "I think he's got ulterior motives for being here."
"I doubt it," Faralda said, shrugging. "All those Thalmor types are arseholes. The Arch-Mage really does want him for counsel, as silly as that is. Told me so himself. I'd just ignore him, that's what I do."
Talathiel nodded absent-mindedly, waved her goodbye, then entered the college through a side door. Waiting for her in the main hall? To Oblivion with that! She headed up to the Arcanaeum, checking around the corner to make sure that Ancano wasn't there. He wasn't. Unfortunately, neither was Savos Aren.
"Hello, apprentice," grumbled Urag gro-Shub. "Here for another of my bestiary books?"
"Not today, Urag," she replied, smiling. She had a soft spot for the Orc. "I'm actually looking for the Arch-Mage."
"Oh, he should be up in his quarters. He usually doesn't like visitors, but knowing you, you wouldn't be looking for anyone to do with magic unless it were important." He laughed heartily, then let out a phlegm-heavy cough.
"Yeah, whatever," she laughed, playfully hitting him on the shoulder. He was the only one that she could stand around these parts. "I'll go see if he's around."
She found him beside his circular herb garden (which she, an admitted alchemy fanatic, was insanely jealous of), reading a book, an intense expression on his screwed-up face. He didn't seem all that happy to see her.
"I'm sorry, I know I'm not really supposed to be here, but Tolfdir wanted me to come find you about this thing that we found in Saarthal. It's important."
He raised his eyebrows, utterly unimpressed. "Well? Spit it out, then. What was it?"
"It was this huge orb, all glowing and crackling with magical energy, in the depths of the ruins. Tolfdir's really excited about it; apparently it has a lot of anomalies about it that he thinks you should take a look at." She had to admit, the entire thing was pretty cool. She was by no stretch of the imagination a mage, but anything that bent the laws of the universe so intensely would capture the attention of bards and warriors alike. Perhaps this would end up making a warlock out of her yet.
"That sounds nice," he replied flatly. "You should talk to old Urag about it. He'll know what to do."
"Seriously? You're not the least bit concerned?"
"No. If it were something deadly, you'd be dead already, and if it were urgent I'd have heard of it. It's not like it's the jagged crown, for gods' sake. Now get out of here, I'm busy."
She wanted to tell him about the Psijic Order and the dangerous prophecy that she'd been told of, but somehow she just didn't feel the need. He'd likely brush it off as fanciful nothing. Why had she even bothered to come back? Talathiel felt foolish; she was putting herself in danger simply by being here. Screw telling Urag about it, she wouldn't get the poor Orc involved with this nonsense. She was going to leave. But where would she go? Surely Ancano had alerted the Thalmor of her presence before, and now that she'd all but threatened him with violence, there was no way she would be left alive if she was found. Whiterun was out of the question, and she didn't own property elsewhere.
The jingle in her satchel as she made her way down the stairs reminded her that she was, for all intents and purposes, rather wealthy. Okay, she could be better off (she wasted far too much money on unnecessary things), but last she'd counted she had 683 gold pieces to her name. That would pay for two months' time at an inn, if not more. She could live a nomadic life for a while, drifting from place to place, making money on the side as a bard — or, more likely, a thief — until the damned war was over and the Thalmor were driven out of the province.
I'll stay the night at The Frozen Hearth, then I'll make my way south in that man's carriage. I'm still in good standing with Brynjolf down in Riften, I'm sure he'd let me stay a while at the cistern after everything that's happened. Perhaps I'll end up buying property there. The Thalmor would be foolish to send patrols to that keep at all, let alone the city of crime itself. By Oblivion, I've barely stayed alive myself with all the mistrust for Altmer they harbour.
She'd grabbed her valuables before going off to Saarthal, so she hadn't any need to stay much longer. The aurora was beautiful that 5th of First Seed, and Talathiel's thoughts began to drift of Hermaeus Mora, whose summoning day it was. She entertained the thought, for a moment, of attempting to summon the daedra for whom she carried out tasks. She was his champion, after all; would he not grant her aid to help her live? She was sure that he, from wherever he sat looking down upon the world, be it one of his spiralling eldritch towers of books which drive man insane or simply from his omnipotent being, would hate the Thalmor just as she did. He hated anyone who was too arrogant, anyone who hid things from him, and the Thalmor killed those who worshipped daedra.
What an interesting turn of events it would be. She'd been hesitant, for the complete loss of free will as a concept sent pangs of discomfort through her, to contact the daedra again, though maintaining fanciful thoughts of whimsy as she read books on the subject, doing everything in her power to make contact with daedric princes alike. She still had the Wabbajack in her home in Whiterun, propped up behind her bed. She still heard whispers sometimes, whispers which she knew not the implications of, in the voice of Sheogorath, which she was sure were madness but was beginning to believe were not. As legend told, the whispers in the heads of mad men were information from Sheogorath himself. She was not the champion of Sheogorath, though. She was the champion of Hermaeus Mora, lord of forbidden knowledge, whose shadowy tendrils drained life and knowledge both from those who dared disobey him.
How did one summon Hermaeus again? She wasn't quite sure how to summon him in a conventional way, but there were others ways, ways she was not entirely inclined to delve into unless absolutely necessary. The weight of Epistolary Acumen, the black book, suddenly felt agonizingly heavy.
Talathiel reached the inn with her thoughts, paid the innkeeper 10 gold for the room, then another 10 to keep quiet should someone come looking for her. The door, much to her relief, had a working lock, though a tiny voice inside her told her that wouldn't be enough to keep out those who wished her harm.
It mattered not. She put her dagger under her pillow and promptly fell asleep. Talking to ghosts was exhausting.
"Well done, my champion. Your journey towards enlightenment has again led you here, as I knew it would."
"W-what?"
Talathiel clambered up from where she'd moments ago been laying in bed, a spike of pain shooting through her hands, a thick and dense black sludge clinging to it with what looked to be tiny tendrils.
"You wished to call upon my aid, and here you are. I am not Sanguine, requesting offerings of sex or alcohol for my counsel, nor am I Molag Bal, forcing violence into your hands for a moment of my time. I am all-knowing, all-seeing and will speak to you when it suits me, so say I, Hermaeus Mora, master of the tides of fate."
"I didn't actually- wow. I was just going to go to you in Solstheim should my situation grow more dire, and yet here you are. Am I not dreaming?" She was standing now, flanked by two seekers whose breaths made frost crystals on the back of her neck. One of them stroked her back with a repulsive, clawed hand, while the other examined her, scrutinizing.
"Dreams, too, are my realm. All things of the mind are malleable, especially when you owe me your life, little champion."
"Does that mean you can help me?"
The voice chuckled. It was deep and soothing, yet left a buzzing sound in her ear. "What is it you desire?"
"I need to get rid of the Thalmor."
"What would you have me do about them? You already fight for the little rebels, you already win your battles. You can manipulate the minds of dragons, summon fire wyrms to do your bidding, you can use the sword of my name and corrupt your enemies. To come to me for such a small task is not becoming of a champion."
"It's not a small task. It's kind of complicated. They are powerful, the Thalmor, and apt at countering that which I wield."
"Then wield something else."
The answer was so simple that it made Talathiel feel small and silly. "What would you have me wield, my lord?"
Another chuckle. "Flattery always was becoming of you."
Tendrils shot from the ground, grabbing her by the legs, the arms, the waist, the neck, and she was wrenched skyward, a plaything in the infinite realm of the daedra. It didn't feel like a dream. She knew he liked to do things like this, to show his power, but it didn't stop it from scaring her. Her head was pounding and the blood was pooling everywhere that the tentacles twisted a little too tightly. She was held up to the mass of eyes that opened in the sky, the great maw of which dripped black sludge from its vicious teeth. Hermaeus didn't usually have a mouth; this was new. She cringed when it opened to speak.
"Do you wish me to help you learn? Is that what you want?" A smaller tentacle ruptured from the one wrapped around her neck, stroking her cheek, leaving behind unfathomable substances. "You walk the path of the serpent, and are undeniably good with what you do. Your poisons are enticing, your every arrow dipped in wondrous paralysis. But there are two other paths, little champion, which you have utterly neglected. I see your reasoning; you hate your people, the Altmer, and distance yourself from them through swordplay to contrast their wicked spells. It is this that holds you back, so say I."
"What would you have me study?" Talathiel asked, choking on her tongue a little as the grip around her throat tightened further. "What difference would it make?"
"You are already skilled with the thu'um, this we both know. Your honeyed words are prominent in your tongue and that of the dovah. You flatter me with nearly the same aptitude you use to incinerate your enemies with your shouts. You are not becoming of a champion of Hermaeus Mora, Gardener of Men, Master of the Tides of Fate, Lord of Knowledge, if you are only skilled at one school. You come to me to ask for guidance; learn the ways of your people, learn to cast runes, to muffle your step, to manipulate the emotions of your enemies using magicka; I will make you a mage to be reckoned with, should you succeed. I have tomes that would explode your little mind, should their words grace you. You will summon dragon priests of the past, should I will it."
She was back on the ground now, and he appeared before her in a slightly more human form, though to call it human was still a stretch. The thing had six legs, reptilian in nature, and while its torso was man, its tail was not, and from its almost-human mouth flickered a long, vicious tongue. Its eyes were many, and fully black.
"Where do I go to learn these arcane arts, then? What must I do?"
If the thing could sigh, she was sure it would have, as the answer struck her. "N-no! Please! They're there, the Thalmor, they'll try to kill me…"
"You are my champion, and I wish you to expand your mind. If this is impossible for you, I will drive you mad and puncture your soul with my essence right here, elf. You dare come to my realm asking for answers, rejecting what I have to say?" The thing crawled up her side, wrapping its tail around her like an anaconda around prey. It licked her face. It was Hermaeus Mora, but its voice was wrong, less audible and more horrific. "It pleases me to toy with you, little champion, but do not think to test me. You bring me great amusement, and in your travels have served me well, but I have grown bored of cutthroats and arrows shot into temples. I will aid you if it please me, though I sincerely hope, for your sake, that I won't have to."
"I'm sorry," Talathiel gasped, the tail cutting off her air. "Please, don't kill me, I will do as you bid-"
"How else would you have yourself escape a dream of this sort?" he purred. "Think of this as my first and only favour to you. The one who you hate, he is coming to look for you. In your head, I will place an incantation; you will put it before your door, and you will run. You will return to the college while the elf is incapacitated, and you will learn until you are an expert. Or, until you are dead. Should that be the case, I'm sure you'll do fine learning here with me in your undeath, so all of my champions do. I like you, little one, don't think for a second that I don't. Trust me and let me kill you."
Talathiel could say no more as tendrils were forced down her throat, the steel grip around her neck tightened to the point that she could not see, her world disintegrating into a puddle of white flashes of light. It was with fantasies of powerful magic wielded by her hands that she died, and was reborn into her bed.
"Dear gods," she shrieked, gasping for air, her hands clambering for the tentacles that were no longer there. Had it just been a dream?
Meht hekem quam iya oht seht cess payem, tayem hekem.
It had not been. The words, and their daedric lettering, were burned into her mind until they were all she could think, see, or hear. Mora's first and only favour. She knew not what they did, but she drew them out in front of the shabby inn door with charcoal, the harsh edges of the symbols trailing in a circle. When she was done, somehow she knew to breathe life in it through her hands. It's just like using dragon souls; imagine it as a physical and you may use it as such. Energy through divination, that is what magic is. The runes are of the daedric realms, so why not the energy? She felt like she was being skewered by Mora's tentacles, and yet it was not an unpleasant feeling, maintaining the euphoria but not the pain, and the rune glowed bright auburn.
She went to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing the door to wait. She didn't know what the rune did, but whatever it did, Hermaeus Mora had told her that it would trap Ancano for long enough that she would be able to escape. She'd steal a horse and ride back to the college, and never leave the side of anyone until she knew magic. It was a ridiculous thought, but Ancano didn't seem to want anyone else to know the extent of her powers, and from what she'd seen, he wouldn't attack her in front of anyone. He would probably lose his job if he did, like a justicar wearing an Amulet of Talos.
She braided her long hair so that it snaked down over her right shoulder, tied it off with a little scrap of leather in the side table, pondered the abnormal length of her fingers when compared to a man's. Onmund, she thought, would stay by my side, if I let him. The thought of manipulating a man to save her skin struck her as cruel, but truly, how much worse would it be than allowing the Thalmor to live? Should Mora give her what he said he would — the ancient spells that would make her invincible — she could end the war, and no hastily gulped down potions would be necessary.
It's what's right, Talathiel thought. I was born to end those damned racists. An Altmer among Stormcloaks, now that's material worthy of a song. Jarl Ulfric would like that. Perhaps I'll have someone at the Bard's College write me one. I am a woman, after all, and would not not make a better song to use my feminine persuasions, so oft viewed as weak, to take down a tyrant? To slaughter a band of racists? To end a war?
Talathiel admitted to herself, as she stretched out her legs in front of her, that a majority of her enthusiasm came not from the thought of ending the war, but from dreams of power. She shook her head of that. She was the champion of Hermaeus Mora, for gods' sake. She lived for what suited her, not for what suited others. In this case, what suited others just happened to suit her as well.
I won't start pondering morals when there's a goddamn war going on, a war that I can end, I mean, who would question my motives so long as the outcome is-
A shout echoed from the tavern.
"I know she's here, where is she?" asked an angry Summerset native. I swear on my life, Mora, if this doesn't work…
It took under a minute to pick the lock, embarrassingly enough. It was as if life was in slow-motion as Ancano burst down the door, teeth bared in a twisted grin, flaming eyes glinting with sadistic anticipation, suddenly shifting to shock and even fear as he was suddenly encased in hardened ash.
She sat staring at the Thalmor try to struggle free for one, two, three seconds, before she forced herself to get up and run. Run! She shouted a "thank you" over her shoulder as other patrons came to watch, amused, as the immobilized elf screamed furiously, muffled by paralyzing ash. It would stop him from taking damage, surely, that hardened case of magical black, but it was certainly what she needed. Her ankle screamed in pain as she landed wrong after vaulting over a fence, making her way to the stable, but she ignored it. It was close, so close, and she thought she could hear furious screaming behind her.
"Hello, miss, you looking to buy a- HEY!"
She yanked herself atop the horse, crying out as her ankle was further jostled, and she wished more than ever that she hadn't sold that damned healing hands tome.
"I'm sorry! I'll pay for it later, I swear!" she cried out behind her, making her way, with all her might, for the college.
It took about ten minutes for Ancano to burst into her room. His eyes narrowed when he saw Onmund sitting beside her, looking over her shoulder as she wrote.
"Hello, Ancano! I'm just showing Talathiel some apprentice-level destruction spells. Can you believe she can't even do fireball yet? Ha, ha! Just kidding, I'm glad you're learning."
Talathiel grimaced almost as much as Ancano, though she in that moment wouldn't have traded the other's presence for the world.
"Why'd you come back?" growled Ancano. "Why on earth would you come back here?"
"I want to learn," she replied, forcing her voice steady. "I was just getting some fresh air. You didn't think I'd left the college, did you?"
His eyes widened at her tone, and she knew she'd likely pay for that later.
"Onmund, please give Talathiel and I a moment alone. I have something private to discuss with her."
He started to get up, but Talathiel grabbed his arm. "No, it's fine. You can stay."
"He can't, actually," Ancano corrected, yanking him out of her reach and pushing him out the door. "Sorry, apprentice; this is of the utmost importance. You can speak to your friend later."
"Um, okay. 'Bye, Talathiel," he called, waving. The door was shut, and she was left tense on the bed, gripping the sheets with all her might. She was pretty sure she could hear her blood pumping, her heart beat so vigorously.
"You can't hurt me here, they'll know," she stammered, clambering her way against the head of the bed as if the distance meant everything. "And I'm sorry for hurting you, I just wanted to come back. I- I want to learn, to be like you."
She held her breath. Did he buy it? Her fear, unfortunately, was real, but the best lies all contained a heaping spoonful of truth.
"I feel awful, okay?" she continued, when she saw that he was not speaking. "I know that I'm a failure, I know that I'm letting down my people- gods, I miss the Summerset Isles so much, and I can't even honour them by practicing our craft. I've just never been good at magic, and my siblings all were, it's just been hard-"
"Shut up."
For some reason, his words shocked him. She wanted to say something snarky about how he'd shunned her for saying the same, but decided against it when she saw the look in his eyes. He didn't believe her.
"I don't know what your motives are for coming back here, and frankly, I don't care. All that I know is that you assaulted a Thalmor agent, you are wanted for crimes against the empire and the dominion alike, and I have you right here, stuck in the same building as me. I'll find out why you're here eventually, but for now, I don't intend on doing anything but take advantage of it."
"Fine, I lied," she snarled. "Of all the things I've done, I somehow don't think it matters. I do want to learn magic, though, though it's not for love for your kind, which I am nothing like, and with any hope will stay separate from. You can't take advantage of shit while I'm under this roof."
"One raven to the embassy and you'll be taken with the sort of force that even the thu'um won't counter. I'm of high standing in the dominion, and I will make sure of it that you will not be granted a swift death. I will ensure that you are tortured until you're too old to remember what it is you're being tortured for." His eyes were cold, dead, and his voice was harder than she'd ever heard it. While the manner of her escape had been inevitable, she realized now that humiliating a Thalmor publicly was probably the worst thing that anyone could do to them. At least her harsh words earlier had been private, the hint of hesitation in his eyes when she drew her blade unseen.
Her mouth opened, then closed. He was smarter than she thought. He knew that she was here for some reason unbeknownst to anyone but herself, and he was well aware of the awkward position that put her in. Had he bought her lie, perhaps things would have been different. He would have seen her as someone to pity, perhaps overlooked her studies to ensure that she was truly working towards what she said she would, but what was about to happen would never have been necessary. She would be a reformed elf. He would have let her live with the expectation that she would join his forces, give him the power of the Dovahkiin. There is no shame in justice, no morality to consider when the ends are just. The means matter not.
Flattery always was becoming of you.
"Let me stay," she whispered, stepping to the ground and silently thanking Onmund for healing her ankle.
He scoffed. "Do you truly believe that you will-"
Suddenly, he was the one at a loss for words. She approached him quietly, tentatively, acknowledging that what she was about to do was demeaning, relinquishing of control. "Let me stay. Please."
She traced the collar of his Thalmor robes, and to her surprise, he did not push her away. She ran the tips of her fingers down his chest, looking up at him and, for the first time, noticing that he was a great deal taller than her.
"I know you don't know why, and you probably know that I can't tell you why, but I will tell you one thing," she murmured softly, leaning into him. "I want to study here very, very badly, and I'm willing to do something you want in exchange. A deal, if you will."
"You are not so enticing to me that I would let you slip through my fingers for a cheap lay," he sneered. "Do you think yourself the first to offer this to me in exchange for freedom? I used to be a justicar, you know. I arrested wanton, Thalmor-worshipping women — and men! — who wanted to give themselves to me in exchange for a way out. Do you know what I did?"
He grabbed her by the throat, and she almost laughed at the fact that she'd been strangled by two entities today, but the grip was too tight, and she did not.
"I fucked them, and then I killed them. Sometimes I killed them while I was fucking them, just for a bit of amusement, the looks on their faces when they realized that they were dying while in the process of relinquishing their dignity." He pushed her against the wall, grinding himself into her, a bemused expression on his face as she gasped for air, his hands moving from her throat to her hair.
I can't say that I didn't expect this.
"You like doing that, don't you?" she asked gently, carefully reaching down to stroke Ancano through his pants, stomach churning with a mixture of disgust and thrill. She'd never done something like this before. "Tormenting people, making their faces fall like you were talking about before. It brings you pleasure. You say you killed them while you fucked them for mere amusement, but it was more than that, wasn't it? You needed to."
She bit her lip in what she thought was an endearing display of desire. "I know that you've got far too much self-control for me to whore myself out to escape my fate. I'm offering you me, not just my cunt."
His eyes looked cloudy, the way they were narrowed, though this time she didn't think it was out of annoyance. He looked intrigued. He uncurled his hands from her hair and slid them down to her breasts, kneading them as if trying them out.
"No bullshit," she continued. "I won't cry out at sensual slaps like the girls that like to do this. I do not want to do this… but that's what you want, isn't it? You know I can't do anything else, you know I'm not actually consenting, not of my own free will. You control me, and so long as I remain alive, you will continue to control me so long as you permit me my life."
Ancano said nothing. He pushed down on her shoulders, and she was confused at first, before she realized he wanted her to get on her knees. He spread his legs to permit her room between them, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he unbuttoned his trousers, gesturing towards his half-erect cock. An undistinguishable look was present on his face. Is it working?
She licked his length before taking him in, bobbing her head a little. She'd fucked before, but this was new territory. Her eyes were screwed up as she gagged a little, taking him in her throat a little further and cupping his testicles gently. He permitted it for a few moments, before he grabbed her by the hair, more violently than before, and slammed her head back against the wall, forcing his cock all the way down her throat until her nose touched his white-blonde pubic hair, a sensation that would tickle if she wasn't so uncomfortable. Somehow, she managed to breathe through her nose, clenching all her muscles as she attempted to keep down the bile that threatened to flood her nasal passages. He didn't thrust in or out like she'd assumed he would, instead holding his cock where it was, tilting his head to the side and staring down at her as if waiting for her to vomit just as she had nearly done moments before. When he didn't get much of a reaction, her eyes closed tightly and her hands balled into fists, her entire body shaking in an attempt at self-control, he began to thrust, never fully withdrawing himself from her throat. He simply rammed the head of his cock against the back of her throat again and again and again, until eventually she spasmed, prompting him to hold her head where it was, pinching her nose shut with long and cruel fingers.
It was the worst feeling she'd ever experienced, it was being choked but a hundred times worse, the vomit burning her nostrils with acid and a vicious pressure when they couldn't get out. She writhed and thrashed in an attempt to get the bile out of her nose, her mouth, to have some air, just for a second. This was worse than poison, worse than being shot in the knee when she was 7, worse than falling off a cliff and nearly drowning in the rapids below. It almost rivalled Hermaeus Mora's black waters of Apocrypha. She would take a thousand twisted ankles a thousand times a day over one more moment of the burning, the quiet laughter, the hand so tight in her hair that she couldn't fathom getting away. And it just kept building; as the pressure got worse, so did the acid, the horrible feeling of being choked from the inside. If water was capable of malice, it would feel like this.
Though it should have been obvious before, the realization struck her with embarrassing strength: he wanted her to vomit. She forced her eyes open, looking up at him as tears and mucus poured down her golden skin, anything to tell him that he understood. Either he wanted her to suffer or he wanted her to die, and she prayed to all the Aedra and Daedra she knew that his desire was the latter.
Suddenly, his fingers were gone, and he wrenched his cock out of her mouth, just in time for her to vomit all over her knees and floor. She coughed and gasped and heaved, sobbing despite herself, wiping the mucus from her mouth and nose, blowing as hard as she could out of her nose to void it of the burning.
"That's rather repulsive," Ancano remarked pleasantly, slipping his feet out from his shoes and contorting his body so he wouldn't have to step on any of the mess. "Come here."
Talathiel forced herself to stand, shaking and crying as she made her way towards him, making an effort not to slip in her own bile. She slipped off her skirt without being asked; it was ruined anyways.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone light as he pulled her onto the bed by her arm. "I'm impressed that you only got it on your lower half. I don't know a woman that would have been able to display that much control. Must be an Altmer thing."
"Please, can I have a moment," she wheezed, doubling over and coughing until her lungs cried out for her to stop.
"What if I told you 'no'? You'd be fucked, then, wouldn't you? You've already taken one." He laughed to himself as if he'd just told the funniest joke in Tamriel. "I'll heal you when this is done, so don't for a moment think that attempts at minimizing bodily harm are reason to shy away."
She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, the one that wasn't soiled. She tried to steady, more than anything, her mind, her racing thoughts that told her this was not worth it, that she had to stop. Hermaeus Mora didn't just mean for me to learn to cast spells, making me come back here, she realized. He wanted me to do this, to find a way to manipulate him. That's what I'm doing, isn't it? That's what this is. Making him think he has the upper hand. I'm ultimately in control.
"P-please," she cried, making her voice high and breathy (which really wasn't a stretch, and the best lies have a heaping spoonful of truth, remember), "mercy. I'll do anything else, but don't make me do that again."
He smiled. This time, he believed her.
"Lay back, little dovahkiin, and close your eyes. This'll only hurt a moment."
She did as he said, bracing herself for the worst. A sudden, stinging pain spread on her arm, and she realized that he was cutting her. It was awful, and made her cry out, but it really wasn't that bad, considering what she'd just done. Perhaps the worst truly was done with, but then, she didn't want to jinx it. She was almost astonished by her sage demeanour, but it was as if something had connected in her brain. She was okay. She was okay. Hermaeus wanted her to learn the arcane arts, to endure Ancano's cruelty, yes, she knew all that. But perhaps that wasn't it; perhaps he also wanted her to reach a point of pain wherein everything was tranquil? She heard that the Greybeards could do that, bring their minds to a calm place so that no pain even registered. It simply didn't matter. They called it meditation, and they were masterful. Perhaps she could be too. She felt a pleasant feeling in her mind that told her she was on to something. Mora? Are you really watching this? Know that I am in control.
"I've coated this blade in some nasty poison. You'll feel it in a little while, but don't worry about it now."
She let him cut her up, none of the cuts too deep, keeping her eyes closed and letting her mind drift elsewhere. There would be pain, this she knew, but somehow the anticipation wasn't as bad as she was sure he thought it would be. If anything, it made it better. She knew that agony was coming, but she could handle it if she had to.
"You can open your eyes," he said, and she did. The amount of blood did startle her, but it was nothing she hadn't experienced before, in some battle of sorts. Ancient Nord steel didn't fuck around, nor did draugr.
He lay back, now, and motioned for her to sit up, gesturing towards his crotch. "Fuck yourself on it, and don't stop until I tell you."
Ah. He was going to make her continue keeping her composure while the poison set in. She bit her tongue and positioned herself above him, guiding his cock into her with her hands. Sex was never as graceful as the songs said, and without the lubricant of arousal, it was even worse. She attempted to sit on it, but it was tricky, surprisingly so, and she grimaced. Talathiel spat on her hand and wiped it on his cock, at which point it did in fact work. He seemed pleased that it had been difficult, and she was sure her discomfort was prominent on her face as she forced herself to sit down all the way, settling on his narrow hips before moving herself up and down.
"Ahh, that's good," he sighed, not making any sort of move to participate as she worked. Her wounds were beginning to tingle, and she tensed up nervously, prompting him to groan in pleasure. She tried very hard not to spit on him, and was almost proud of herself when she succeeded.
It took a few minutes for the poison to really set in, and when it did, she had to clamp her hand onto her mouth to stop herself from waking the whole college. It was agony, pure and horrid, but not as bad as what Mora subjected her to whenever she was (un)lucky enough to find herself in Apocrypha. There was no fear of dying from this, and somehow she was in a good enough headspace that the knowledge of her safety made the torture less terrifying. In truth, she was much more afraid of the Thalmor interrogators than Ancano. They were notoriously cruel, driving needles under fingernails with hammars, flaying skin and leaving the wounds to fester, psychologically ruining victims by forcing them to mutilate themselves or their family members. Ancano couldn't mutilate her past what his healing could achieve. She was going to be okay.
The rest of the night went by slowly, so slowly. Aside from being forced to lick up the cooling puddle of filth on the floor while he pushed her face into it, fucking her all the while, it was fairly standard abuse. He beat her up a little, slashed her tongue open (though he healed that one fairly quickly; she was pretty sure that he hadn't intended for so much blood to come out), fucked every orifice that would allow for it before finally having her hold her mouth open to swallow his cum.
Hermaeus, do you see me now? Sex is nothing to me. I use this man's god complex against him, for my own benefit and for yours. I do not submit to anyone but you; this is child's play, an act.
If the whole situation hadn't been so unpleasant, Talathiel would have been amused by the fact that the worst of it all had been him kissing her at the end. It was astonishing more than anything, but it soon became clear that it was being done only because she didn't want it to be. He kissed her hard, and when she didn't kiss back at first, he sent a storm spell through her body that made her feel like her blood had boiled in her veins. It was the kissing back that was the hardest. She used her tongue and nibbled his lip like a girl in love, but there was no exploring of his body, no relishing in the closeness, so it was just gross, the exchanging of saliva.
He left as the sun began to rise, with a mocking salute and a promise to see her tomorrow. Talathiel was almost impressed by his conjuration abilities when he managed to conjure himself some new pants. She supposed he expected her to clean up the mess they'd made as well, his trousers and shoes included.
He did.