I shan't deny, pulling this chapter off was hard, but I think it worked out fairly well without pulling Ancano too much out of character. So while it's still a shorter chapter than the previous, it is definately getting more interesting now, I hope!
Enjoy your read and day and let me know what you thought!
Skyrim – The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 10
Arenthia was a city in the north-east of Valenwood that was situated on the banks of the Strid River, close to the borders of Cyrodiil and Elsweyr. The multi-cultural city in the Reaper's March was a perfect location for both trade and diplomatic purposes which Taurmillan had indulged in quite frequently, which resulted in the construction of a fine, Altmer-style estate for himself amidst what he thought to be the primitive structures of Khajitti, Bosmer and Imperial influence.
Unorganized rabble…He folded his hands behind his back as he peered over the inner courtyard of his estate where his men practiced their skill in sword and spell. None of these pathetic, inbred humans and beasts could ever hope to possess our people's grace or skill.
He looked at his general; a noble, fellow Mer of high birth, named Thorelas. "All preparations are in order as you desired, Lord Exarch," said the general as he removed his helmet. In comparison, Thorelas was a battle-scarred, broad and strong High Elf, whereas Taurmillan was slender and lithe, clad in exquisite and elaborate silk robes that shimmered in the sun-light that peeked through the dense foliage of Valenwood's trees. Like his father, his gloved hands were adorned with gemmed and enchanted rings. "If you do not mind my bold inquiry, any news yet of your bride to-be?"
"Father made the mistake of crossing me for the last time," said Taurmillan with a scowl. "I take you handled the situation as I desired?"
"But of course, Lord Exarch. The evidence has been planted to direct the Thalmor to the Beautiful. Two birds with one stone I say. The less of that scum to contend with, the better." Thorelas looked at his men as well. He could not wait for the grand part he would soon play in his Lord's plans.
"From what Sylva gathered, the agents my father erroneously sent to dispatch her, were killed. They got caught in some skirmish with those clods of the Empire and those barbarian rebels of Ulfric's. From there, the track goes cold, coupled with vague, typical drunken Nord rumors of dragons," Taurmillan pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Dragons. Preposterous. "The College has been anything but cooperative either on disclosing information about their attendants. I will make sure their Arch-Mage will not make that mistake again when I get there."
"I wish to caution you for Lady Elenwen, however, my Lord." Thorelas glanced sideways at his superior, trying to pinpoint whether he would hear more of it or not. "If she caught wind of your plans…"
"I will take care of her. She will not have a foot to stand on once I set foot in Skyrim and raze that damned College to the ground for their defiance. Once Cirilonde and I are wed, I'll have full access to her father's little businesses and diplomatic ties. We should be able to march freely where we wish to and make conquest of our own, starting with Skyrim."
"And my men will be ready, Lord Exarch." Thorelas placed his fist on his chest, proud of his Lord and eager for the battles to come. First Skyrim, then Morrowind. All would submit to their new Lord of the Dominion. "It has been too long since our people reminded the lesser races of our supremacy on the fields of battle."
"My Lord Exarch."
Taurmillan did not even glance over his shoulder to address the Bosmer. "I hope for your sake that you have good news."
"Have I ever failed to disappoint you, my Lord Exarch?" The Bosmer that stood behind Taurmillan was shrouded in dark attire, her eyes marked with coal and her face lined with traditional, assassin tattoos. She was almost like Taurmillan's shadow, save for the panther-like, green eyes that gave her away as they stood out.
Thorelas needed not be dismissed. He bowed his head to his Lord and left, so he could read the contents of the letter the Bosmer slipped into Taurmillan's grasp.
"Dear Lord Gravia,
I regret to inform you I can currently be of no further assistance as to your inquiry due to unfamiliarity with the past correspondence between you and Arch-Mage Savos Aren. May Arkay preserve his soul, for he has recently passed.
If you wish for the College to be of further assistance with whatever information or aid you require, feel free to respond and we shall be at your disposal where able.
I hope to have informed you adequately.
Regards,
Cirilonde Valanocke, Advisor of the College of Winterhold."
Sylva had not seen such a sincere smile play on her Lord's lips in such a long time it scared her.
"How...unfortunate for the Arch-Mage to have met his end." Taurmillan was disappointed. He wanted to strangle this Savos Aren himself that his agent had to resort to forging correspondence to obtain the information he needed. A tedious waste of his time and resources. "Anything else of use?"
"Oh, my Lord, you will be quite interested…" The Bosmer's lips curled now, baring her canines.
"Hey…Wake up. Why are you shaking? Cirilonde! Hey, you're dreaming. Wake up!" Though he woke with a start, bathed in cold sweat, Ancano saw nothing. His body tingled, no, burned and his mind was hazy and he noticed right away that aside from his lack of vision, he was severed from his connection to the arcane as he made to lunge at the Dark Elf, who caught his hand mid-air when he made to cast, but nothing happened. "Calm down. I don't mean you any harm."
"Why can't I see? What did you do to me?" Ancano wasn't sure where the Dark Elf was, and had he been able to see, Ganir's look of concern would have been must uncharacteristic given his opinion of Ancano.
"We didn't do this to you-,"
"I demand to know what the meaning of this is!" Ancano's keen hearing was perfectly fine and though he could not see, he looked in the direction where Cirilonde's voice had come from, startled when her hands cupped his face. He caught her scent; a subtle hint of jasmine, crushed herbs and paper.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Her voice was soft and her touch tender. "Let me look at you."
"Keep your hands off me, wretch!" He made the move to slap her hands away, but she had already pulled them away as if burned. She had been taken aback, scared of the teal, wicked haze over Ancano's eyes, which was the cause of his blindness. It was as though there were another pair of eyes over Ancano's that stared back at her. "Where is the Arch-Mage?!"
"He's dead." She replied with a furrowed brow, deeply troubled and nodded at Ganir before standing up and walking away. The Dark Elf looked at the Thalmor, who had moved his hands to his pounding, aching head.
"It wasn't entirely your fault, if that's of any comfort." He said to him.
"The Eye…The Midden…I demand an explanation." Ancano's jaw clenched and grew angry when no response came. "Well? Answer me!"
"Tell him, Ciri. He clearly doesn't remember a damned thing." Ganir shook his head in disbelief.
"Do you even remember anything at all besides going into the Midden to see the Augur?" Cirilonde asked.
"The last vivid memory I have is of a certain mongrel stabbing me down." Ancano spat, pointing in the direction where Ganir would be. He was close enough as Ganir stood leaning against the wall near the former Arch-Mage's bed. "Of course I have no recollection. Would I be inquiring otherwise?"
"This mongrel would have done much more, so I suggest you watch your tongue before I reconsider." Ganir growled but refrained from punching the High Elf.
"Ganir, let me…please, no need to antagonize him," Cirilonde had returned to Ancano's side and he smelled the mixture of ingredients. "Go get Master Tolfdir, I'll be fine."
"Not like he can do anything," Ganir snorted as he walked off.
Ancano grit his teeth and made to retort when Cirilonde put her hand on his. "I don't approve, but understand he is angry, and rightfully so." She had resorted to the Altmer tongue. It made her voice sound more graceful, rich and he could distinguish the clear, highborn accent.
It made him wonder who she really was. Whatever had happened, the moment he was stabbed by the Dark Elf, he remembered the pure anguish quite vividly, and it didn't stem from the dagger's enchantments. And yet, here he was, alive and well, no doubt because of her skill in the arts of Restoration.
"If it's rightful, then again, I am still awaiting an explanation." He replied in the same tongue as hers.
"Very well." She told him everything from the moment the Eye of Magnus was brought to the College, which soon held everyone in its grasp, including Ancano, who had begun to act strange, which eventually led to his possession by the Eye. Midway her tale, he clung to his head as a terrible pain began to tear at his scalp, clawing at his brains. As she spoke, memories flashed before his eyes of terrible shrieks, bright lights and the faces of the College's inhabitants. He could see Savos Aren reach for him with a pleading look and though he sounded angry, it was clear the old Dunmer meant to help, but it was too late.
"Don't exert yourself…" She was gentle with him and he wanted to be angry at her for it but he knew that aside from the fact he simply couldn't as he was blind and unable to cast, it wouldn't help his situation either and so, he let her cast her spells. The song-like, melodious incantations slowly but surely took away the pain that beat down on him and soothed his very being. His eyes felt heavy and fell shut as a peaceful warmth came over him.
Cirilonde looked up at Master Tolfdir and Ganir who had entered. "Is he out again?"
"I knew he wouldn't be at his best if he awoke, but it seems the Eye has deprived him of his eyesight and connection to the arcane." Cirilonde swept the silver-white locks from his face. I would be terrified if I awoke blind and severed from my magicka…
"Well, that should make him less of a problem to deal with at least," Ganir said dryly, raising a brow at Cirilonde's glare. "Don't tell me you actually feel sorry for him."
"I do, actually." She gave him a look as if to dare argue it with her. "Magic is a part of us. We are a magical people. To be torn from that after so many years is as though your hands are severed from you. And he is blind. Auri-El knows if it is permanent."
"Ganir is right, though," Tolfdir said, though by his expression it was clear he understood Cirilonde's empathy. "It should make it a lot easier for us to handle Ancano. The last thing we need is an angry Thalmor out for vengeance."
"I don't think he will be out for vengeance, he knows it was his own doing." Cirilonde spoke with more confidence than she felt. He had been more venomous than usual.
"And how are you so sure?" Ganir quipped skeptically. "He seemed rather keen on burning my face right off when he woke up."
Cirilonde shook her head and sighed. "Surely you can comprehend his…pride…arrogance, call it what you will. But he will never admit that he underestimated the Eye and nearly destroyed the College. And again, he woke blind and without magic. Give him time and give me time, which means no snide wise-cracks from you because that's really not helping."
"I won't be around to make them," Ganir fiddled with the golden ring that pierced his ear. "I'm leaving-,"
"You are what?!" Cirilonde's exclamation alarmed Ganir and he immediately raised his hands as her temper flared. How can he even think of leaving right now?! She thought.
"I'm not leaving permanently. Calm down." He laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them, looking into her eyes. The temper had calmed into fear and hurt. "I spoke with Tolfdir about this. He has no problems with it, especially now that we know Ancano isn't as dangerous at the moment, but, after Whiterun…"
"Surely you're not thinking of actually…" Her eyes widened.
"I know I said I didn't want to get involved with any of it, but, it's been gnawing at me," Ganir ran a hand through his hair as he sought for the right words, hoping he made sense to her. "Especially after everything that happened, I just feel like something is calling me still."
Cirilonde sighed again, her eyes glancing from Ancano to the old Nord and Dark Elf before her.
"We should be fine, child." Tolfdir assured her.
"I have no place to decline." She admitted. "You have been adamant about leaving ever since that damned thing appeared and I would be selfish to deny you after all you've done for me and the College, for which we cannot thank you enough." Tolfdir's eyes sparkled as he nodded in agreement. Cirilonde had stood her ground well, but everyone knew that she wouldn't have been able to do it without Ganir's help.
"I will be back, I promise." He held her tight, glad she understood.
"You have a week. I will come looking for you to tear any dragon or Thalmor to shreds." She hugged him back. "You should go. Now."
Ganir indeed wasted no time and after a brief goodbye, he walked down the steps, out to the Courtyard and rode off on Tormagg. Cirilonde watched him from the windows of the Arch-Mage's quarters until he was a mere dot in the distance past Winterhold.
"You worry." Tolfdir, who had stood by her side, looked up at her with an understanding smile. "He's a man in his own right who needs to take care of his business. You couldn't have stopped him even if you wished, but he insisted on your blessing."
"I know, which is exactly why I worry," she looked at Ancano over her shoulder, whose face occasionally contorted into a pained grimace.
"The Masters have succeeded in convincing the Jarl that Winterhold to follow our plan that the College was attacked by rogue mages from Fellglow Keep who sought revenge on the Arch-Mage and Mirabelle for expelling them," Tolfdir continued. "As you suggested, we planted evidence and helped spread rumors accordingly. It's so simple it might just work."
"It should raise no further cause for alarm or interest from the Thalmor and keep them off our back, though I have no idea what they could possibly want with us or from us in the first place. Though…" They both looked at the Staff of Magnus, which lay on the Arch-Mage's desk. "We will have to make sure no one ever finds out about its existence. Surely, even Ancano realizes this."
"After what he's been through. I shan't lie to you, dear, I had my doubts, but I think he does."
"Let us hope I was right, then."
Initially, he had been hesitant to leave the College, but the further he rode, the more at comfort Ganir felt. He had not hated being there, save for the events that transpired, but he had never stayed at one place for too long, and while he was safe, he didn't want to make a habit out of it aside from the fact he could no longer deny the Greybeards' call to come to High Hrothgar.
The Arcaneum had been most useful in providing information, as would be expected. Apparently, the Greybeards were an ancient order of honored monks who sought to live peaceful lives in silence in their monastery near the summit of the Throat of the World, adhering to the Way of the Voice founded by Jurgen Windcaller after the Nord's army defeat at the Battle of Red Mountain.
Now that he was alone, he also had the benefit of being able to travel without having to stop for base necessities such as food or rest, save for the roan Tormagg, but nevertheless, he had arrived in Ivarstead within a day and now stood before the bridge that led up the Seven Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar.
"Never thought I'd go on a pilgrimage," he muttered to himself as he dismounted Tormagg and walked across the bridge, where he stood for a moment to stare up the mountain that stood lonesome in the middle of the land, almost scraping the sky but piercing the clouds. After leaving Tormagg in a farmer's care, he made his way up the steps and the higher he climbed, the more dangerous it became.
The winds were merciless in beating down on him, and if he didn't watch his step, surely would knock him off the slippery steps and possibly send him tumbling to his death…were he mortal, but he wasn't eager to test the stretch of his immortality and pressed on while the words on the etched tablet emblems one by one, were found along the way.
"Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus. Their word was the Voice and they spoke only for True Need, for the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land.
Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus. The Dragons presided over the crawling masses. Men were weak then, and had no Voice.
The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times, unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices, but the Dragons only Shouted them down and broke their hearts.
Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man. Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue.
Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world, proving for all that their Voice was too strong. Although their sacrifices were many-fold.
With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer, founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice, whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World.
The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled. Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation to understand how Strong Voices could fail. Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned. The Seventeen disputants could not shout Him down. Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World. For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar. They blessed and named him Dovahkiin. The Voice is worship. Follow the Inner path. Speak only in True Need."
He stood before the enormous, stone structure that looked more like a Keep than a monastery, but the ancient carvings, tattered banners and weathered stone indicated otherwise. At first, he had thought they were statues, but there stood five men, clad in scaled, grey leather and hooded robes.
The man in the center was tallest, and perhaps the oldest of the five. "So…a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."
The men stared down at him, which gave Ganir the chills, yet, not of discomfort, but of familiarity. The winds seemed to halt to a calm when closing in on the Greybeards, who seemed unmoved by the cold, no doubt used to it. "I'm answering your summons," he finally said.
"Before we allow you to enter our Halls, we will see if you truly have the gift," said the man in the middle again. "So, show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."
Initially, Ganir thought the old monk meant to hear his voice, but then realized he meant the Dragon language he had read about. Though he knew no words save for those spoken by Mirmulnir, he suddenly remembered the word from that strange wall. The very moment that word came to mind, he inhaled, chest humming with energy as it escaped his lips. "Fus."
He had not raised his voice, but the invisible power of the Word sent the snow in a flurry and the robes of the monks fluttered in the wake of it.
They all smiled, glancing at each other. "Dragonborn, it is you." Said the man in the center. "Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"
"You called for me after I killed the dragon in Whiterun," said Ganir. "I don't even know why I'm here, and I've tried to deny it, but I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn."
Arngeir nodded and seemed to understand his reasoning. "We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you. We are honored to welcome you to High Hrothgar and we will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."
"Destiny?" Ganir raised a brow. Surely he wasn't the first Dragonborn from what he had read. Granted, they had achieved great things, but he wasn't about to conquer all of Tamriel.
"It is as obscure to us as it is to you, no doubt," said Arngeir. "We can but show you the Way, but not your destination, though you have already made your first step. You have shown that you are Dragonborn to us. You have the inborn gift. It remains to be seen if you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you.
"Come, and enter."
