Dear Master,

Have you ever been to Winterhold?

Your servant,

Alzena


"Why if it isn't…Alzena," Draugr announced, as I fanned my sleeves over the inn's fire. The ink splotch from that day in the library stood out against the damp cloth. He gave me a mock stern look. "Shouldn't you be in lessons right now?

"They let me out early," I said.

"Just as well you came down here. Need to put more meat on you apprentices' bones, they do. Don't tell me what you want – I already know. Coming right up."

I sank into a chair. Exhausted did not even begin to describe how I felt. I thought that maybe if I closed my eyes, I would wake up and find myself in my bed-roll at the College – or, even better, at the Academy – and find out that all this had all been a dream.

A man draped in enormous plate armor jangled over, distracting me from my reverie. I wondered how he could even walk with all that metal hanging off him.

"Nice staff you got there." His voice came out from behind a steel helmet, and a glinting battle-axe was strapped across his back. "Who'd you get it off of?"

His voice sent a cold shiver down me, as if a demon had scraped its claws against the bare stone floor. I wanted to get up and move, but I was afraid of being rude.

His friend – similarly attired – came over and smacked him on the shoulder, resulting in a resounding thump. "Thorig's beard," the man muttered. As the two of them broke into some heated discussion, I gratefully escaped to a table in the corner, and set Sheogorath's staff out of sight.

Soon, Daugr returned with a clay mug of steaming cider. "All out of sweetrolls," he apologized. "Boiled cream treat, instead?"

"No, thanks," I said, as I dug through my meagre supply of coins. I had no idea how I was going to refill my purse. Maybe someone would need a copyist in Windhelm.

The warm mug soothed my hands, which were raw and red from the cold. I breathed in the steam as it drifted up to my face – but all I could smell was taproot.

I put the mug down.

Suddenly, I remembered why I was there in the first place. Waking over to the counter, I asked, "Daugr, do you know a mage named Nelacar?"

"That I do," he said, wiping the counter down.

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"What do you want with him?"

"I…I…I just wanted to ask him a question." Tears threatened to slide from my eyes yet again that day.

Grumbling, Daugr dropped the towel and rapped on a door. "Nelacar," he shouted, "there's a young lady here to see you."

"I'm too old for young ladies," a muffled voice came out. The innkeep knocked again, and again. Suddenly, the door opened.

Daugr's hands went to his face. He stood there, shaking his head. "This," he muttered, "this is why people have a problem with your College, Nelacar."

"It was a minor miscalculation." Now that I could hear it in full, the voice was resonant, like a fine flute crafted of reed. "I've already corrected it for future experiments."

Nelecar placed his hand on the inkeeper's shoulder, and then strode into the common room. His gaze rested upon the armored men – there were actually a few of them, now sitting around a table, helmets off – and then he came towards me.

A shyness overcame me, as if I were gazing up at a prince from a far-off land. I had never seen anyone so exquisite. He was utterly beautiful – if such a word could be used for a man. It was as if a divine artisan had chiselled out his high cheekbones, his delicate brow – and had set gems in as eyes. An intricately embroidered leather wrap rested on his shoulders, and I drew in a breath as I recognized on it the runes of ancient Aldmeris.

He did, however, smell strongly of nimroot.

Sitting up straight, I frantically tried to smooth my robes. They were still damp, and speckled with sand.

"Things must be very bad indeed if the archmage could not come himself." His voice was warm and rich.

"I'm not from the College," I blurted out – and cursed myself for my impertinence.

"The Jarl?" he mused. "We agreed there would be no more questions."

I wanted more than anything else to go back to the College, bathe, borrow the clothes-iron, and try this conversation again.

He must have sensed my discomfort, because he took a seat across from me and rested his palms on the table, absently caressing it as if it were a living thing.

"So, if I may be so blunt," he continued, "why have you summoned me from my alembic?"

"I'm looking for the shrine of Azura," I blurted out artlessly.

His muscles tensed. I might not have noticed before, but my time controlling demons and beasts had given me a much more subtle sense of how creatures moved. I marvelled at how my sight had sharpened.

"I am neither a guide," he said slowly, "nor a map. And I don't like doing business with Azura's faithful."

Steel boots clanked by.

"No," I insisted, "by the Eight – Aedra – gods, no, you have it all wrong." My tutor's voice echoed in my head. Do not be fooled. All the daedra want is your soul. Once they get it, they will never give it back. They will take you to Oblivion with them – forever.

Nelacar nodded solemnly. "We respect the Ancestors," he agreed, perhaps a little too loudly. Had his voice not been so elegant, I would have thought it held a hint of insincerity. "So, pray tell then, if you are not a pilgrim, and you are not from the College, who sent you to me? I hope this is not sort of twisted joke."

"G-…G-…one of the mages at the College." I couldn't bring myself to say his name

"I thought you said you weren't with the College."

"I…," I stammered, "I mean I'm not a student. I was just working there."

"Odd," said Nelacar. I wanted to sink into the floor. "They've always been so clannish."

"They sure are," I agreed.

His lips twitched – almost, into a smile – and my hopes of finding the shrine were reborn.

I didn't want to ask, but, somehow, I couldn't stop myself. "You used to work at the College?"

"Gods, years ago."

"Did you know someone named Ilianata?"

"Ilianata…Ilianata," he repeated. "I apologize, the lives of the lesser races are so short. Our memories of you easily fade." Suddenly, his face changed. "Oh, yes. Phinis Gestor's…apprentice. Tragic, it was. Moreso for him."

He regarded me thoughtfully. "If I recall correctly, she looked a fair bit like you. Same green eyes, brown hair. Underfed."

The taste of taproot filled my mouth.

"Daugr," Nelacar called out. The innkeeper hastened over. "The usual, please."

"Coming right up," said Daugr. Moments later, he set onto the table a thin glass of deeply scented wine, and a delicate plate of veined cheese.

Nelacar held the cheese out to me. "No, thank you," I said.

Slowly, he sipped his wine. "If I may be so bold," he said, "you have opened a distasteful locked box. I hope you have sound reason."

I looked down at my hands. I felt ashamed.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it before.

"Sir," I said, my heart racing, "back when you were at the College…was there anyone from Cyrodiil?"

He picked up a piece of cheese. "This one is quite rare," he said. "Aged, in the caves off the coast. Are you sure you don't wish to try it?"

I shook my head.

"The loss is yours." He bit into it, and then set the rest down onto the plate.

"What were we talking about?" he asked again.

"Did you know anyone – "

"Yes, yes…Cyrodiil…yes. We don't get many visitors from Cyrodiil – as you can imagine."

I could. By the Eight, I definitely could. I stayed quite, hoping he would say more.

He took another sip of wine. "A bright lad, a promising mage. Perhaps about your age – if I may be so bold. The ages of the lesser races are always difficult to gauge. The archmage offered him a job, but his mind was elsewhere. He was fascinated by the daedra, would talk of nothing else. He, and Phinis, and I – we used to hike up to " – he looked askance at the armored men – "the Lady. Bitter cold, it was. Exhilarating. And, deeply unwise."

His hand rested on another piece of cheese. "I think that tyrant in the library might still have some of his notes."

My Master's book weighed on my mind.

"I really need to find Azura," I pleaded. I sounded like a child. I didn't care.

Nelacar sighed. "Persistent, aren't you?" He lowered his voice. "Follow the road towards Windhelm, and you won't miss it – I guarantee that much."

The name engraved itself in my mind. Windhelm. Windhelm.

"Although," he continued, "you might wish you did. The daedra are evil. We're nothing to them. Pawns to move around, praise, and punish as they see fit." He looked down at his half-empty glass. "It's all coming back to haunt me."

Abruptly, he rose. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I left some spriggan sap distilling, and I'd hate for it to dry out."

He left. I didn't want to go out into the cold, but I figured I should leave too. Winterhold was a small town, and it was only a matter of time before someone told the innkeep that I'd been expelled from the College.

I wanted to say farewell to Daugr, but he was busy with the armored men, unloading giant platters of meats and pastries.

Anyway, it didn't really matter – it wasn't as if I would ever see him again.

And so, pulling the fur cloak tightly around me, I headed onto the road towards Windhelm.


Author notes:

I actually watched a YouTube video on Altmer (for those who don't know, Nelacar is an Altmer or a High Elf) before writing this. Without being stereotypical (since, surely, not all Altmer are the same), I tried to inject a little more Altmer into Nelacar. I changed around some of the dialogue, because I doubted Nelacar would think that someone as young and bedraggled as Alzena was really sent by the College or the Jarl to interrogate him. In-game, I imagined him as jaded and bitter, but when I looked closer at his picture, I thought he looked...exquisite. That completely changed my mental image of him.

Thanks for the reviews!

Gaiden1974 - A legitimate question! Truthfully, when I played through the College of Winterhold, I didn't pay any attention to Mirabelle's race, but I when looked her up on the game Wiki, I thought her picture looked grey (and even with a glint of red in her eyes).

Jackrabbit55 - Glad to hear it - that means that I'm doing my job here right! As for the updating...well, that's what the lunch hour at work is for. ;) (Colleagues are, hopefully, not reading this...)