A/N: In which Onmund's magic comes in handy, and he feels a bit more competent to be the Dragonborn's companion.
Chapter Twenty One | Thunderbolt
Something between them was altered, somehow, after that evening. Neither of them could pinpoint what it was, exactly, but there was something changed in the dynamic between them. Something that felt sweet in all this darkness. When Onmund awake the next morning to find Rannve huddled against him in his bedroll, he knew that he would never be able to sleep by himself without remembering the warmth of her body pressed to his. When she rolled over with a loud yawn and elbowed him in the ribs, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, half-awake as she glanced at him through bleary eyes. Her dashing smirk was clearly visible despite her face being partially hidden with the fur blanket, and it did something to him that he would not admit out loud.
"You snore, did you know that?" he asked, stretching his arms over his head and glowering halfheartedly over at her. Halfhearted, because it was rather difficult to conjure any true negativity when she was sighing out as she rested against his shoulder.
How in Mara's name did this happen? Not that he was complaining, mind you. He could have done with the hard press of her armor against his arm, but to be honest, he doubted it mattered all that much. Especially when Rannve wrinkled her nose at him and drawled, "I do not," in a petulant voice.
He chuckled at her tone and amended, "You do a little bit."
She didn't seem to appreciate the comment because after a moment, she pushed herself into a sitting position with a snarky, "Well I guess you'll just have to deal with it then, considering that we'll be spending many more nights huddled up together like this." Then, wagging her eyebrows callously at him, she smirked triumphantly when his cheeks took on the slightest tinge of a blush.
Grumbling to himself, Onmund sat up and mumbled, "You always have to have the last word."
She just laughed and began rolling up the bedroll that she hadn't bothered using last night, as she seemed to have favored Onmund's instead. Honestly, that hadn't been her plan. She must have fallen asleep while she was reading the journal, because when she had woken up next, the two of them were entangled rather snugly and Onmund had pulled the fur blanket over them to stave off the cold. And, well – he was so warm and his shoulder made such a great pillow that Rannve had promptly fallen back asleep without bothering to do anything about the situation.
"Here," she said, tossing him a bit of dried fruit as she riffled through her pack and began tying the bedroll back into place. He caught it with surprising finesse and watched.
As he chewed, he asked, "How long d'you think it'll take us to actually get to Blackreach? I'm sure it's much deeper down."
The question made her tilt her head thoughtfully. "…I've no idea. I mean, I've only heard stories about the place, which isn't much to go on."
He hummed in agreement, thinking back to the stories that she was referring to. His father used to spin them tales before the hearth in the evenings, telling them of the heroes of old and their daring adventures. Blackreach had been one of those tales, of course. The place was a legend in its own right, lost to time and turned to myth. The tales of the dwarven market that spanned the underground labyrinth below three cities was an incredulous one, and he wasn't sure how much of it was exaggerated for the purpose of a good bedtime story.
"You grew up on those stories too, then?" he asked as he rolled his own bedroll up. The remnants of warmth made him wish he could return to it – preferably with her – but he knew that they should get a move on. No use lingering in this cold tunnel and wasting time. He didn't much like the thought of spending more time than necessary in this place, for the very air seemed stale and dangerous.
She glanced over at him with a smile. "Oh yes. I wanted to be just like Gormlaith Golden-Hilt when I was a girl."
The words made him smile as he tried to imagine what sort of child Rannve was. Probably impatient. Actually now that he thought about it, he could see her as a bully. It was probably just as well that he hadn't known her back then, because she probably would've teased him to no end. Chuckling at the thought, he asked, "Why Gormlaith?"
She shrugged, standing up and swinging her pack over her shoulders. In a breezy voice, she replied, "She killed four dragons in one day with only a sword. I thought she was the most courageous person to ever walk Tamriel." Then, pausing, she added with a smirk, "Course, her track record could never hold a candle to mine."
Rolling his eyes at her arrogant tone, Onmund argued, "You have not killed four dragons in one day. Don't be vain."
She just raised her eyebrows at him. "How do you know that? Are you an expert on all my adventures?"
The question made him pause. He was slightly horrified at the blush that crept over his cheeks – and even more horrified at the way Rannve snorted out a laugh that she was clearly trying to bite down.
With a teasing look in her eye, she drawled, "You are an expert, aren't you? You're obsessed with the Dragonborn stories. Don't deny it!"
He spluttered for a moment before finally exclaiming, "I'm not obsessed! I just find them fascinating – and I'm not an expert in your adventures, I just…" he trailed off, then muttered, "…I just like to keep up with…current events." He grimaced.
She pursed her lips to fend off the shit-eating grin that was currently threatening to take over her features and snickered, "You're a stalker, Onmund."
The word made him glare at her. She honestly didn't think that a person could blush so deeply as he was blushing now.
"I am not a stalker – "
"Oh relax, I'm only teasing," she told him, deciding to take pity on his poor, adorable blushing face. And then, pausing, she backtracked and wondered why his face was suddenly adorable. Of all the ways to describe him, that wasn't a word she would have thought to use.
He glowered at her and heaved his pack off the ground with a muttered, "You'll be the death of me…"
She only chuckled and said, "Talos forbid! If anyone will claim your life, it'll be one of the Falmer that we're about to come across."
He did not appreciate her words, but instead of drawing attention to that – something he figured would only amuse Rannve even more – he wondered, "About to? As in…soon?"
The question sounded as childish as it felt, but it couldn't be helped. Onmund was rather hoping that they'd be able to avoid the Falmer in their entirely. The mere thought of those creatures sent shivers through him. Tales of their pale, puckered faces and unseeing eyes made him cringe whenever he'd heard of them. He'd never actually seen one himself, having never had an inclination (or a death wish) to venture down into a Dwemer ruin before. He'd heard plenty about them from the odd adventurer who would come to Winterhold seeking shelter, and several of his professors who had been to various excavations sights and had stories of the once great race of elves.
Rannve sent him a wry look as they loitered for a moment by their camp. She decided not to tell him that the Falmer were the least of their concerns. To be honest, she was far more worried about coming across a Centurion than fighting off a horde of Falmer. Judging by the look in Onmund's eyes though, the thought of the Falmer was more than a little disturbing to him.
She patted herself down, ensuring that her quiver was strapped solidly at her back and that her bow was within drawing distance. "I expect we'll make good time today. The Falmer usually live deeper down, but they often send scouts up to ensure that no one stumbles upon them. We'll probably come across one or two of them."
Onmund pursed his mouth at the thought and sighed, "I guess we can't very well sneak past them, could we?" The question was hopelessly construed, as if he knew that asking it was pointless.
She shrugged. "No offense, Onmund, but you aren't exactly a sneak thief."
He nodded glumly in agreement and she smiled. "We should move as quietly as we can though – which means no talking. The Falmer have keen senses. We don't want them hearing our approach before we notice them."
The warning did little to quell his displeasure, but he only nodded and began following Rannve as she stepped away from their makeshift camp. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at it, knowing that their future camps would not be nearly as protected the further they delved. But, shaking those thoughts away before they could cement in his mind, Onmund hurried to fall into step beside Rannve, doing his best to mirror her silent walk.
In his College robes, his footfalls were fairly silent. He didn't usually favor sneaking over blundering his way through life – which he happened to be fairly good at – but he could manage it when necessary. He had a great many skills that Rannve did not know of, but he intended on proving them all to her by the end of their quest.
What he did not understand was how she managed to stay so quiet. She was wearing steel armor that dripped over her shoulders in plates and scraped against each other whenever she moved. Or should have, at least.
"Are you wearing enchanted armor?" he blurted in a whisper, much to Rannve's surprise, for she had previously told him not to talk unless it was necessary.
She turned to him, pausing in the center of the hallway to gape at his odd, seemingly random question, and hissed, "I told you not – "
"I know, I know, I'm just curious," he cut in with a shrug. It was true. He was curious about everything when it came to her, regardless of the subject or the timing.
She rolled her eyes swiftly and murmured, "Yes. Fortify sneak. Now would you stop asking me questions all the time?" She muttered something about aggravating students and plunged forward.
Onmund chuckled and followed. It was a little amusing, he thought. Rannve seemed to have the typical Nord tendency for distrusting magic. He had seen it clearly back at the College during classes and when they met up to study together and do homework. And yet, she was fairly talented with certain spells. She could cast a decent ward, she knew the basics of destruction, and apparently she wore enchanted armor. For a typically distrustful Nord, Rannve was a bit of an exception.
He rather liked the thought, seeing as he was an exception, too. There weren't very many Nords at the College of Winterhold. They didn't have the same aptitude for magic as some other races did, and on top of that, they were culturally suspicious of anything 'unnatural'. He supposed that Rannve and him did have some similarities after all, and the thought warmed him.
As they journeyed into the depths of the Dwemer city of Alftand, the ice gradually began to disappear. No longer were the walls and floors encased with it. The longer they walked, the more the ruin started looking like an actual ruin, and not some glacial cavern in the middle of nowhere. Not only that, but Onmund began to notice unmistakable signs of life. It was both fascinating as well as disarming, especially because he knew which creatures cohabited the deep bowels of the earth. Despite seeing signs of their presence, though, there was no sight of any Falmer. Onmund was relieved for this, at first, until he figured out the reasons behind their absence.
They were traversing through a dark hall when he heard a strange mechanical sound up ahead. Beyond the hall, he could just make out the sight of a large cavern that opened up. It was flooded with light, no doubt a result of the mysterious dwarven lanterns that flickered from their mounts on the walls. From what Onmund could see, the chamber ahead was awash with the faint blue light. In the thorough darkness they were currently in, it was bright enough to make him squint.
So far, they had only had to deal with a few errant dwarven spiders. Onmund had begun to wonder why Dwemer ruins were widely heralded as extremely dangerous, because to be honest, the two of them had very little trouble getting this far down. While he doubted he could have managed this by himself, Rannve's know-how made the journey feel like a walk in the park. She clearly knew what she was doing – which was why she forcibly grabbed the back of Onmund's robes before he could step inside the bright chamber ahead of them.
"Wha – " he started, only to have Rannve thrust a hand over his mouth with a glare. He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, but remained silent. There was something in her eyes that prompted him. A certain wariness that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
What was it? More spiders – perhaps a whole horde of them? Or maybe a Falmer, at last? He pulled her hand off of him and turned to peer into the chamber, sweeping his eyes around the stone room for whatever danger lurked there, but found nothing. He frowned and glanced over at Rannve, half temped to ask her why she was unsheathing her sword when there didn't appear to be any enemies for which to use it. He didn't have to, though. Rannve made a shushing gesture with her finger and mouthed, "Lightening," at him as quietly as she could.
He swallowed tightly and nodded, watching as she began creeping silently into the chamber with her sword raised in a defensive stance. He remained where he was. As long as he wasn't too far away, he could utilize several destruction spells to aid her in…whatever it was she needed aid with. He honestly wasn't sure, until of course the strange mechanism in the wall opened up and spat out a hulking bronze frame. After that, he had a pretty good idea into what they were getting into. Any good scholar could identify the Dwemer automatons, and the dwarven sphere that rolled into existence was unmistakable, even though he had never before laid eyes upon a working one.
Rannve had, though. Or at least, it certainly looked like she had. Unlike the manner in which she had fought with the Khajiit the day before, she did not hesitate at all as she side swept the automaton's coming blow and dodged its array of attacks. As for Onmund…well, it wasn't as though he was really hesitating. The thing was fast, and Rannve was spinning around it even faster, and he didn't want to accidentally strike her with a chain lightening spell. That would be a nightmare –
"Onmund, on your left!" Rannve suddenly shouted, her voice loud as it echoed through the chamber. Onmund jumped in surprise, and then jumped again when he realized what she was trying to tell him. There were two automatons – and the other one was heading right for him!
He didn't know where it came from, but he didn't wait around to think too far into its sudden appearance. He barely managed to throw himself out of the way of its sword. Even as he landed in a heap by the wall, he didn't even have time to raise his hands and cast a spell before the thing was on him again, and he narrowly avoided being skewered by its weapon as the mechanical creature thrust it where his head had been seconds earlier.
It was the strangest thing, the way he hurled himself up and rolled his shoulders back, facing the automaton with an expression far more courageous than he truly felt. And yet – something inside of him seemed to shift, then. A certain layer of himself that he had never known existed before this moment seemed to unfurl. Adrenaline mingled with the fear that had coursed through him mere seconds ago, and all but erased it entirely.
He could hear the sound of Rannve's sword against metal and the depth of his own breath as he inhaled sharply. He could see the automaton lifting its weapon again, only a few feet in front of him, and –
He didn't know what force of will came over him, but before he knew what he was doing, Onmund was summoning a lightening bolt that was stronger and fiercer than any other he had ever conjured, and hurled it at the creature's chest with a strength that surprised him. Lightening bolted from his fingertips; a continuous stream of power that coursed into the automaton so thoroughly that, as it fell to the ground in a heap of mismatched parts, he rather thought he smelt smoldering metal. Unlike the last time he had used his magic to take down an enemy, Onmund felt no shred of remorse now. No – this time, he found himself grinning at his handiwork, for he had never cast such a powerful spell before.
"Nice work," Rannve said a moment later, having finished off the other automaton. She kicked the frame to the side as she approached him, sheathing her sword with strangely admiring eyes, as if she appreciated his spell as much as he did. The sight did funny things to him, and he laughed. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, and he found the situation oddly amusing as a result.
A compliment from the Dragonborn was something that would have made him die happy at any normal moment, but for some reason, he could only think about how Rannve had complimented him. His mind did not seem to connect the two together at this point in time, for he did not see her as the Dragonborn now. It was only Rannve, and she was grinning at him with eyes that shone.
"You just said something nice to me," he pointed out a moment later, voice teasing. He couldn't seem to keep his smile from his face as he looked between her and he automaton he had singlehandedly defeated. All by himself! What would his family think of him now? He bet his parents would keel over at the realization that going to the College hadn't been a waste of time. After all, if he hadn't gone to the College, he never would have fallen in with the legendary heroine standing in front of him.
Rannve chuckled at him. "Well, you finally did something right for a change. I give credit where it's due," she shrugged, teasing him right back, and gestured forward. "Let's keep going. I'd say we should start looking for a decent place to bunker down for a few hours. Fighting always makes me hungry."
The nonchalance of her words made him amused. Waving his hand towards the deep dark of Alftand – a place that suddenly didn't seem so very frightening to him – Onmund said, "After you."
She gave him a wry smirk and together they continued forward.
"You know, you're not so bad at this after all," she told him as they headed to the end of the chamber. "We'll see how you fare against a Falmer. They're a bit more intelligent than an automaton."
He just scoffed at her and replied, "Did you see that lightning bolt I cast? Stop being so critical – you were just complimenting me and now you're all but taking it back!"
She chuckled and said, "I'm just saying that you shouldn't get too cocky is all."
It must have been the adrenaline, because Onmund boldly muttered, "That's your job." And, realizing what he had just said, he hastily amended, "I mean – well, actually it is kind of true." He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
Rannve just rolled her eyes and snorted, "Mages…" and disappeared into the darkness ahead of him.