Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder sprees, injuries, manipulating people into hating the Thalmor 2k17. Bit of a fragmented chapter.

Let's play 'Catch the (3) Harry Potter references'!

Last time…

Then we all hear a 'click' from the other side and freeze, J'zargo taking a few steps away from the door until he's next to Onmund again. We all stare apprehensively, my hand resting on my axe again when something rummages behind the door…

Chapter 25 - Containment

…Only for it to open and reveal a Synod mage with a sour disposition and a face that belongs on an ass. I bite the inside of my cheek harshly to avoid snickering inappropriately – or perhaps to muffle another grunt of pain, it's a coin toss at this point - at the face Onmund pulls as the man goes on to accuse the Winterhold students of not being the corpse we encountered all the way back at the entrance.

Allowing the apprentice mages who wanted to come here in the first place to deal with the irate researcher, I take a few moments to observe Marcurio – I daresay I haven't seen him this haggard before. He must have ran into a spot of trouble getting those items he brought over.

I don't miss the glances he sends my way, either. I suppose I should be glad he's at least a little bit concerned for my well-being. The gnarly, annoyingly scratchy voice of the Synod mage breaks through my mental fog.

"Fine, you two, fine. Come in then."

Our ragged group follows the Synod researcher through a seemingly endless corridor – though that could be my leg talking. We reach what looks like a huge… armillary sphere, I believe it's called. I can't help the smile on my face when I see the awe written all over my mage companions, filled with a sense of pride.

See what my people could create?

The researchers drones on about the sphere, and the Synod and their secret research and the focusing crystal J'zargo is still holding and something about gathering starlight.

Gathering starlight. Sounds poetic, if impossible.

"It's really just an armillary sphere, meant to show a map of the stars, or a map in general." I mumble under my breath for only Marcurio to hear, who gives me a surprised look.

"I thought you had no idea what could be down here." He whispers back, and I shrug absently, not answering that question when watching Onmund and J'zargo set to trying to solve the puzzle that is the activation sequence is far better entertainment.

After we've all stumbled up yet another ramp, surrounding the sphere and allowing a clear view of the many mirrors on the walls and ceiling and, really, all around the room.

Forget Falmer. Forget Alduin. Stairs and uphill ramps are my new greatest enemies. I mentally grouch, shifting my weight off my sore knee as much as possible when standing up and feeling a little light-headed.

I let them play with their new toy for a while, instead keeping an eye on Paratus – something about him rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's the crazed look in his eyes. Maybe it's just his face.

My expression hardens even as I start reading the 'Dwemer Inquiries' series to brush up on my reading skills after failing so spectacularly to read the research notes we found earlier. When he outlives his usefulness, I'll have to make sure I… linger a bit. Just to talk. When I finish reading the book and turn my hand to trying 'Dwemer History and Culture', the two apprentices still haven't figured out the puzzle.

So I just glance down at the mirrors, trying to find a pattern but not right away seeing one, and then turning back to Dwemer History and Culture – What? What's this? A 'fearsome warrior race' with 'profane mechanisms', 'capable of bending the laws of nature to their will' and 'tainted by bla-bla religious practices'?

…

I snicker softly, but then I really start to think about my people and their actions throughout the periods of history I can still remember, as well as what they were doing while I was around.

We did wage plenty of wars, both with other Dwemer and races of Man and elf, and we DID have more advanced weaponry than most others had at the time, such as the ballistae. I suppose we were quite war-happy with all those specialised Animunculi even Ma loved to equip with as many deadly weapons as possible.

…And the scholars researched plenty of things they shouldn't have… And sending human or elf sacrifices to Xrib, Sait'iss and even Arknurlaf during her Fall Celebrations…Uhm… Well, I don't know. I think the Nords would balk at the idea, but… Being chosen as sacrifice is a great honour. Even though some of the Dwemer preferred animal sacrifices.

"This is surprisingly accurate." I muse, deciding on a whim to keep the book for myself, stuffing it in my knapsack whilst the researcher is occupied with the Oculory mechanisms.

Every race has their downsides. Like the Bosmer and their Meat Mandate… though I suppose that's not as high on the list of 'bad things' compared to how I know most of the people in this time I know will react to hearing of some of the experiments and practises my people performed… Or how we basically committed mass genocide several times.

Right. Time to change this mental subject or I might actually start falling back into the 'other races are primitive'- mind-set Marcurio got so pissed about.

…Even though my people ARE still more advanced than anything the other races could dream of, technologically speaking… Not talking about the magic or other parts of the contemporary culture, just the pure technological knowledge, that is.

"Have you figured it out yet?" I call down at the two apprentices who are now engaged in a heated discussion. I'm growing quite bored. Marcurio is leisurely walking around the room, prodding a mirror here and moving a small item there.

"We've been using Flames and Frostbite spells to move those," Onmund gestures at the ceiling, where beams of light are now quite differently rearranged from how they were previously, "But we aren't sure what we should do next. I suggested the pedestals, but J'zargo said that something like that would be too easy." I give the prissy Khajit an amused look.

"Try the pedestals anyway." I suggest, now seeing the patterns in the lights. "Try to align them… so they all point at the centre. We're trying to focus the light, after all." Onmund nods happily and sets to work right away whilst J'zargo hisses at me. "This one thinks you haven't been trying anything, sell-sword."

A laugh passes my lips before I can stop it, further annoying the apprentice. "I'm not running around solving puzzles on this leg… Besides, Onmund's already figured it out."

It's a map.

Wow. How incredibly surprising. How could I ever have seen this coming? A mental voice sounding much like Marcurio drones dully in the back of my mind.

A glowing, detailed map of what appears to be the entire northern half of Tamriel shows up on the wall. I let out a low whistle, and after a few moments hesitation because of my leg, I hobble over to get a better view of the projection.

Paratus exclaims over it with enthusiasm, but I can see his happiness fade away like snow before the sun, being replaced by a deep frown. "Something is interfering – something at your damned college!" he snaps at the apprentices, having correctly guessed that Marcurio and I have little to do with that place.

Onmund caves and tells the man about the Eye of Magnus, and how they're here only to figure out the location of the Staff that comes with it. J'zargo, severely disapproving of Paratus with his tail sweeping agitatedly, helps Onmund get some breathing opportunities with clipped, harsh answers and snide comments.

…

The two leave back through the corridor, heading for the door we passed on our way there, once they have a new goal – 'Labyrinthian'. Sounds ominous. I don't like what my moral codes are telling me, either.

Marcurio sighs, swiftly falling into step with my far slower pace.

While we follow after them as quickly as my limp – even with support from the staff – allows through a final hallway before we leave Mzulft forever, time stops. \

My mind draws a blank.

…It. It just. Stopped.

Time stopped?

Huh?

I really have no other explanation. The colours all around me and Onmund turn grey, faded like old fabric, and Marcurio and J'zargo are unmoving. As much as statues, and it's honestly creeping me out.

It's like the edges of my vision are playing tricks on me when I move my head to look at Onmund in utter confusion.

"What's happening?" I ask as calmly as possible, seeing how unfazed the student looks.

When he stares at me in surprise and opens his mouth, presumably to explain, or at least exclaim in shock, he's rudely interrupted by another mage appearing from thin air.

Appearing. Out of literally nowhere.

Count me concerned.

I curse, loudly, in Dwemeris, stumbling back from the hooded figure with widening eyes. Teleportation AND stopping time? Who IS this guy? The mage observes me for a few moments. I'm assessing whether drawing my axes would be appreciated.

Somehow, I muse, I don't think it will be.

"We had thought you would be the one to help save Winterhold, Dragonborn, but it seems your identity has made your involvement as we predicted impossible. The Dwemer were and did many things, terrible things, at times, yes… But great things nonetheless."

"Regardless, magical inclination has never been your people's strong suit." I shrug non-committedly as the stranger – a stalker, more like - continues:

"Nevertheless, your involvement is still vital to the success of this mission. But, I am wasting precious time and energy." He turns to Onmund, wide purple robes swirling about his sticky figure. "Winterhold is in grave danger. You must make haste, and go there, lest the college will be lost to even us, forever."

Onmund, innocent, proud little Nord, inexperienced Onmund, frowns determinedly, a glint of steel in his blue eyes, clenching glove-clad fists at his sides.

"We'll go there right away."

Even so, he's still a boy. I can't see the darkness in his gaze that I, or Marcurio for that matter, both hold from seeing the worst the world has to offer … Yet.

If only I was capable enough, STRONG enough, to keep it that way. To keep that light from dimming.

The mage nods solemnly in return, once, and colour bleeds back into the world - though not without a parting wave of magic aimed at my injured kneecap. I stand frozen, only capable of gaping like a fish at the sudden and complete lack of any pain or aches whatsoever, as well as the encounter I – we, just had.

Once I come back to my sense, I level a mild glare at Onmund. "I think you owe me a small explanation whilst we're on our way to Winterhold." The blonde Nord at least has the decency to rub the back of his head sheepishly. "Well… okay. I guess."

I press the staff of Firebolt back into a surprised J'zargo's hands, before taking a few experimental steps, only feeling a dull ache though the limp is still there and likely will be for a while. My lips twitch into a small, childish grin.

Okay, colour me impressed then, weird stalker-mage.

"Oh, Fjaldi, by the way, you also have a new scar on your ear – a burn scar, I think you managed to nearly scorch the tip off there, it's quite an angry red." Marcurio remarks casually as we finally walk out of Mzulft, ending up at a remote lookout somewhere on a mountainside.

A freaking mountainside.

Suddenly, my everlasting gratefulness to the strange time-stopping stalker-wizard shoots up into the sky and beyond the stars, with such ferocity that I let out a relieved 'whoosh' of air, sinking to the stone.

Thank the gods for that man. I don't trust him as far as I could throw a dragon, but I'm grateful nonetheless. If my knee was still in agony…

I shudder just thinking about the consequences.

The fresh air and gentle breeze, warm for this time of the year, make it impossible to get annoyed at having some new scars to mar my skin, though. And accompanied with an overwhelming sense of relief and holy shit we could have died and never doing that again mixing and mashing up inside my chest like a knot, there's really only one thing I have to say, laughing breathlessly:

"Thank the gods, we're ALIVE!"

I follow with a loud whoop of joy, throwing my arms up in the air, still cackling and soon echoed by J'zargo and Onmund, who laugh along even as we descend, slowly and carefully, Marcurio steadily supporting me all the way down even though he seems the most exhausted out of the whole group.

I'll make sure he gets rest, and soon. I vow to myself, worried at his sullen silence.

…

"This one is never setting a foot in a Dwemer ruin again." The Khajit mage vows solemnly, and the sentiment is echoed by Onmund even as Marcurio and I exchange wry looks.

"I will be running through Dwemer ruins again, if only for the sake of pest control." I mutter darkly, thinking about the Falmer I've seen so far, mentally comparing them with the Snowmer I knew.

That transformation can't be ALL my people's fault. After the Dwemer vanished, they could have gone back above the ground and rebuild their temples and cities, or something.

We do make haste for Winterhold, not stopping when evening falls, and paying a confused carriage owner at Windhelm twice the usual fee to get to Winterhold as quickly as possible.

Once the cart sets off, I can barely hold back a cry of pain. My side throbs fiercely – right, I've been stabbed. Sithis' balls – at the impact of old, creaking wooden wheels against uneven cobblestone.

Tentatively, gingerly, I lean against Marcurio, who sits next to me, at my uninjured left side. The apprentices sit opposite us, muscles too taut for them to relax even a smidgen, J'zargo's mood greatly influenced by Onmund's pursed lips and tired, squinty-eyed look of worry as the blonde Nord wobbles dangerously on his spot.

After a few minutes, the cat sighs, and with a careful glance at the carriage driver, reaches with his claw behind Onmund, coaxing the Nord to rest his head on J'zargo's lap. The blonde manages a faint smile, and after threading their fingers together fondly, the Khajit mage turns to us.

"You all rest. This one will stay on guard for now."

At any other time, I'd have refused. Now?

Now I simply give him a thankful grimace, closing my eyes and leaning against Marcurio more heavily, his shoulder the perfect pillow compared to the hard, unforgiving wood beneath me.

A few seconds of tense silence later, I hear a deep yawn, and I feel a foreign weight on the top of my head, my favourite Imperial leaning on me in return. My grimace turns a little fonder, my expression a little softer, if sadder.

I have to be more careful. I wouldn't want to fall in too deep.

…

We ride through the dusk, and when we arrive in the downtrodden city, night has already fallen. At least three out of four members of our little group managed to doze off a little.

Marcurio, and the apprentices to a lesser degree, seem in a state of disquiet – what can they sense?

Why can't I sense it? Magic can be so anno…

I swallow the thought when the carriage drops us off and I feel no pain from my knee when I hit the snowbanks.

Nevermind.

Crossing the sorry excuse of a bridge with clear skies, no wind, and bright sunlight is quite different from doing the same in the dead of night, frosty gales whipping about us.

"Sir! We've found the location of the-"

"I have no time to talk right now." The Dunmer, who must be the Arch-mage if his fancy robes and air of authority are any indication, yells over the mess inside the college. "That blasted Thalmor, Ancano, has taken control of the Eye!"

I deadpan. There's a mess and there's Thalmor involved. Why am I not surprised?

There's a barrier blocking the way to the magical orb, and I can see an Altmer in typical Thalmor robes standing beyond it, seemingly talking to the Eye. Talking to a magical object. This guy's insane.

Mirabelle is talking to Ancano, or at least attempting to, since the elf isn't exactly listening to reason. Onmund and J'zargo jump to help immediately, this time getting a proper reaction out of the Mer: "You two pathetic insects stay out of this!"

"Ancano, stop this insanity!" the Arch-mage calls out, firing spells at the barrier alongside his Master Wizard and the two students. I urge Marcurio to stay at a distance. "This is not our fight until he hurts them." The imperial doesn't need to ask to know who 'them' are, and sticks close to my injured side. I still haven't had a bath – it's a miracle he can stand the smell and dried blood all over me.

If we had walked in during daytime, the reactions of the villagers would have been absolute hilarity. Ancano spots our movements, minor as they are, and scowls. "And who are you? Don't tell me, the mercenaries Ervine hired?" I look him in the eye blankly, plastering my deadliest glare onto my face without faking even a smidgen of the threat. Being covered in blood and gore, dressed in full armour, I suppose I might look even more fearsome, since the Altmer falters. It's enough for the barrier to be broken, and the Arch-mage approaches the Thalmor with a spell in each hand. "Now, Ancano, we're going to-"

…

A deafening explosion shakes the very foundations of the college, blowing me backwards against the wall with my ears ringing and my vision pure, undiluted white for a few moments. My side flares up in agony, and I let my body sink to the icy floor to catch my breath as my vision slowly returns, the light leaving spots dancing before my eyes. It takes even longer for the painful ringing to fade, and for me to take a good look at the situation. Marcurio is out cold next to me, having limply flopped onto the ground from the magical backlash.

Onmund is barely conscious, but J'zargo is already getting back onto his feet, albeit shakily. Mirabelle is nowhere to be seen. What just happened? Then I spot the Master Wizard, her breaths shallow and rattling. I stumble over to her, fumbling with a healing potion which she accepts with an agonised grimace. "The… Arch-Mage… Savos Aren… go find him, quickly!" Onmund is scrambling to his feet, but Marcurio still isn't. I give Mirabelle a short glance. "Watch my friend while I'm gone."

"Onmund! J'zargo!" They turn to me, and the Nord winces as if sympathising with my current state of pain and misery. I want to go to sleep. But I must endure. I'm not letting these – these CHILDREN go out there alone where their teachers fail to help them. "We must find Savos Aren. Now. Can you move?" They nod in unison, falling into step with me without missing another beat as we walk out into the courtyard.

What in Oblivion are those?

Ten minutes later, I'm again engaged in battle, this time herding magical anomalies away from terrified townsfolk and killing said anomalies as I please – there's plenty of them to go around.

My mind is racing, even as I hack away at yet another enemy, J'zargo at my back whereas Onmund has teamed up with Faralda.

The Arch-Mage was the leader of the college. Now he's dead. Mirabelle is taking over, I suppose, but that means that no faculty members will be available to find the Staff of Magnus, or at least accompany the students there.

It will likely be up to them to find the staff. And when that happens, I'll join in once more.

My mouth twists into a snarl. "I want a Sithis damned bath and one night of sleep, is that too much to ask?" J'zargo chuckles as he fires off another attack. "J'zargo agrees with you, friend, but we must first eliminate this threat. Then J'zargo will sleep for days." I want to say 'me too', but I doubt I'll have such luxury.

"Why magical anomalies?!" The Khajit cries out in dismay a while later, slamming his staff into the ground and brutally roasting another one of the bastards even as I pounce on the one sneaking up behind his back.

"Why could the damn orb not have spat out butterflies?"

A bark of laughter escapes me at the unexpected comment, and I'm obviously not the only one who finds it funny, as Faralda starts to laugh.

"Because they're foul, loathsome, evil little cockroaches! That's why!" She yells over the chaos.

Laughing during a fight is generally a bad idea for a damn good few reasons, though, and the girl pays the price with a hard hit to the shoulder that would have killed her, if not for Onmund's timely intervention.

It takes a while of hacking, and slashing, and ducking to avoid friendly fire, before everything calms down again. I send J'zargo and Onmund off to Mirabelle, staying in the village myself and speaking to some of the villagers, inquiring to their health.

"You know what the worst thing is?" I grouch to the jarl's Steward as I hand him a healing potion for his ankle, "It's not even the mages' fault! It's that Talos damned Thalmor that's using their research to try and get us all killed."

Of course, it would be just me for there to be a secondary motive.

Let the man fill in the blanks. Plant the idea, and let it sprout. It's not even lies this time.

At the very least it will prevent the College's name from being tarnished any further.

After finishing up with my rounds, I go back to the college, now thoroughly exhausted and barely on my feet when I nearly fall face-first into the courtyard. "So, any updates?" I ask the duo I'd gotten to know a little better over the course of this week. J'zargo called me 'his friend'.

I… like being friends with people here.

Odd, flies through my mind, since… before, only Mellte would be regular company.

"Mirabelle gave us some items to use in Labyrinthian, which the Arch-Mage gave to her." Onmund says, before looking at his Khajit companion a little peeved. "Also, J'zargo is staying here to help the college contain the Eye as much as possible. So only I will be going to Labyrinthian… Unless, well, would you… help? I mean… We would have certainly died in Mzulft without you and I really, well…"

I lightly poke his forehead. "I'll come. Once Marcurio is back on his feet and I've gotten a chance to clean up and rest."

The teen – a boy, really, just a boy compared to what I've seen, what I've done – pouts. I summarily ignore the sharp pang of hurt in my chest. "But I…"

I let out a deep sigh, giving him a tired grin. "The Staff will still be there when we get there, trust me. Right now, we all need to sleep. Can Marcurio and I stay here for the night? I'll sleep on the ground if I have to as long as I get a tub with warm water and a bit of soap, and I'm not hauling an unconscious mage over that disaster you folks call a bridge."

"That can be arranged."

An elderly man states, walking up to us. "You must be the one that accompanied my students to Mzulft! Just as well, the hired mercenaries are still being held up. I'm Tolfdir, a teacher at this college. We can get your friend to bed, and I'm sure Onmund will love to help you get rid of… all that stuff you're covered in." He crinkles his nose slightly, looking me up and down.

"I'd rather you took off your armour before going anywhere near the carpets and blankets, though."

I'm already unclipping the latches holding my bracers stuck to my arms. Easy enough. Cold. But easy enough.

A/N: Yes, I like Harry Potter. What I like more is my brand new PS4! I will have to start my Skyrim game all over, but meh, now I can RP as Fjaldi, going to Markarth straight out of Helgen since I've no mods yet, and, well, following the story as I typed it so far. Might give me new ideas!