Marieka's friends at the College of Winterhold introduce her to the library for the first time.


The Smell of Old Books

The students stood before the great doors of the Arcanaeum, before Onmund stepped in front of the group suddenly.

"Now, Marieka," he began. "Urag is the librarian here. He is—"

"A hard arse!" Brelyna interrupted.

"I was going to say challenging," Onmund said.

"J'zargo believes the Orsimer is temperamental."

Everyone looked at Marieka.

"Okay. I get it. He's difficult."

"Just don't…touch anything," the Nord mage warned her.

"Don't touch anything?" she said incredulously. "But…it's a library."

"Don't say we didn't warn you," Brelyna groaned.

With that, Marieka pushed past her fellow apprentices and opened the door. Her eyes widened considerably at the sheer size of the room and the sight of so many books. She stood in awe in the doorway for a few moments while she took in all of the new surroundings. This was a moment she would not soon forget; the moment she realized just how much knowledge was about to be at her disposal.

At least, until Urag gro-Shub's booming voice echoed across the hall dispelling the moment of pure joy instantaneously.

"Don't even think about touching any of these books," he bellowed.

Marieka glanced sideways at Onmund.

"I told you," he whispered gruffly.

With a sigh, she mustered up enough courage to approach the Orc to confront him.

"Marieka! What are you—?" Brelyna murmured.

Ignoring the hushed warnings from her friends, she continued on. When she reached the desk he stood behind, she cleared her throat timidly and waited. He peered up from the book he was reading and his brow furrowed, sending his face into an immediate scowl.

"Who are you?" he asked. "More importantly, why are you bothering me?"

"My name…is Marieka," she stuttered. "I'm a new apprentice."

"I should hope so," he growled. "No one is allowed in the Arcanaeum from outside of the College."

"Of course," she replied. "I had a question for you. About the books."

"Well, quit stalling and ask."

She gulped. "I…well, I mean…the books. Why can't we…touch any of them?"

He leaned forward over the desk and sneered at her. "Because they are my books and I don't want your grubby little fingers getting all over them."

"But we need to do research for a class. Some history and—" she protested before he quickly cut her off.

"All the more reason not to let you touch them. You'll be in a hurry and will probably rip the pages or some other nonsense," he growled. "You can only look at books in here under my supervision. And I don't have time to supervise you right now."

She frowned. Her shoulders fell, conveying her disappointment in the outcome of the exchange to her friends behind her.

As she turned around slowly, she mumbled to herself. "Too bad. I miss the smell of old books. I was really looking forward to that experience."

The old Orc looked up from his book once more, his eyes widening slightly.

"Like the smell of a warm hearth on a cold night," he said.

"Or the smell of earth and grass between your toes in the spring," she added, slowly turning back to face him.

"Like soft leather and fresh pine and years of sunshine filtered in through an old dirty window on to its shelves."

"Like the smell of a good friend."

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Marieka."

"Well, Marieka. Perhaps we can work something out."