To Dust

by fortunesque

After a two-hundred year prison sentence in Akavir, a living legend returns to Tamriel only to find it in chaos. Haunted by the memories of her proud people and her past cruelty, will she be able to remember her forgotten skills in time to stop Alduin from destroying the world? (Contains Morrowind and Oblivion tie-ins)

34. Chapter 33

On my extended absence: I've had health issues that we thought would need surgery (turned out to be my chronic conditions mimicking severe carpal tunnel perfectly), family members have been scheduled to go into surgery, the flu moving through our household, and we are getting our house ready to sell. All this on top of winter being my worst months for my fibro, plus having to readjust my meds due to horrendous side effects, and having to find a new doctor because apparently mine doesn't think fibromyalgia is a debilitating condition. I've had very little time, pain threshold, or energy to sit and write. If I disappear for a while like this again, you can check my tumblr (fortunesque) for news if you're so inclined. Or you can log in and send me a message here (I can't reply to people who aren't logged in, obviously...). I promise though that I am doing my best to update as quickly as I can, which I know isn't very fast sometimes. The past few months have just been a crazy ride.

And, sorry for the long note, but I figured this situation warranted one. I hope you all are doing fabulously :)

PS: I put a tiny, raggedy harbor in Winterhold. I figure any settlement on the coast would have a harbor or docks of some sort. There are even pc mods that expand the game to include some stuff like this. It just makes sense.

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Corrections are spelling and grammar

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The secret does seem to be hard work, yes, but it's also a kind of blind passion, an inspiration.

---

The incident made him pray again for the first time in centuries. Funny how it turned out that way, really:

Going into Labyrinthian made him forget about the Tribunal. Going back into it to face his demons brought him to reconcile Azura and her justice and mercy – something he never thought he'd ever end up considering in his life. He grew up being told that the worship of Azura was heresy.

Savos had a few books on order from Morrowind, actually. He wasn't about to throw himself headlong into daedric worship, but he felt drawn to seek knowledge about it, at least.

After all, Azura sent the Nerevarine to Winterhold, after some fashion.

He'd have to see what Mirabelle thought of all of this, eventually. She was too irked at the moment about the sudden appearance and disappearance of that Brotherhood assassin around the time that Mehra entered the College to fight Ancano.

Savos followed quickly after Mirabelle once Ancano was dealt with. It appeared that she wasn't ready to accept that the cloaked assassin simply disappeared, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

So he watched as Mirabelle asked Brelyna about the man, wincing when he found out that he was Mehra's ex, and that he took it upon himself to stalk her to the College to ensure that she was safe. Given that he was said to be an insane mage – in Brelyna's words – Savos felt that he ought to at least ask Mehra about the matter.

Mehra stonewalled him. The best she would tell him was that the assassin would protect her, and not intentionally harm those she cared for. Other than that, she said that she refused to speak any more on the matter.

He had a feeling that it had to do with insanity, that fork she said she had, cabbage, and cheese.

Perhaps, the assassin was a high-ranked priest of Sheogorath. Savos couldn't really say; both Sheogorath worshipers and the Dark Brotherhood were secretive in their practices, for good reason.

Like Mirabelle, he didn't like dropping the matter, but they certainly had no say in it. The only other alternative was researching Sheogorath and the Dark Brotherhood, and Savos knew that doing such a thing would only lead to ruin. He much preferred to read about Azura, who actually had a positive record to her name.

Savos marked his place in his book and sighed. He couldn't concentrate on his reading until Ancano was out of there for good. From the moment he awoke, he was cooperative and agreed to have a letter written to his superiors about leaving the College. They mutually agreed that it was in Ancano's and the College's best interests to make the split as amicable as possible – false pretenses though it was.

The last thing he wanted was another Thalmor representative sent to the College to harass his apprentices, and the Nerevarine herself. Gods! Ancano was lucky that she didn't kick his teeth in for the things he said to her.

The clock tower chimed above him, signaling the turn of the hour, and the time at which Mirabelle and Tolfdir were to meet him for a short conference. If things were to shape up around the College, Savos needed their help.

In less than a minute, he heard two sets of footsteps echoing up the stairwell below. Voices followed soon after, Mirabelle's youthful voice contrasting sharply with Tolfdir's old, withered one.

Tolfdir was much too old for such a young wizard, but that was the price one paid for never, ever indulging in secret and dark arts. As the Arch-Mage, Savos watched Tolfdir grow from being a very green apprentice to a Master Wizard overseeing classes of his own.

Much happened in those two hundred or so years. He remembered Tolfdir desperately trying to get information for his cousin, eventually gaining Savos' approval for an interview. But, when the time came, said cousin disappeared from the province without a trace.

The broken-hearted Tolfdir wrote home every so often asking for news of said cousin, but nothing panned out. Eventually, they had matters of closing Oblivion gates to attend to.

It got too close to home for Tolfdir. Oblivion opened up outside his Aunt and Uncle's farm; by the time the College arrived, Tolfdir's family were dead and the land had been salted with Void Salts. Still, dozens of dead daedra littered the ground outside the tiny farm, riddled with wounds from a wood-axe and a scythe. The untrained farmers fought until their last breath. It seemed that Mehrunes Dagon sent an unstoppable force to the farm, intentionally.

Hell had a grudge against Tolfdir's family. They never found out why, and it vexed Savos more than it ought to have. Tolfdir was always a good student and made sure he was beyond reproach; in fact, he didn't bother with conjuration.

What did Oblivion have against those people?

Dreams of Labyrinthian were replaced with helping Tolfdir scrape the remains of Jorik and Ilse Heartfire from the walls of a tiny farmhouse. Still other times, he dreamed that they arrived in time to save them, his mind's eye conjuring what he figured they may have looked like, given the remains were so mutilated. Other times, he dreamed that Tolfdir's missing cousin had returned home, only to die at the hands of the daedra.

Even two hundred years later, Tolfdir confessed to occasional nightmares of that time. Savos couldn't blame him; it was a horrifying scene.

"Savos, you've got a long stare there."

He sighed as Tolfdir crossed the foyer with Mirabelle by his side. Pushing back his chair, Savos stood and walked over to meet them.

"I've got a lot on my mind, Tolfdir," he admitted. "The three of us need to have a chat about a few things – things that absolutely cannot leave this room."

Mirabelle frowned. "Things that might have to do with why an apprentice is connected to the Black Hand?"

He shook his head and pointed toward a set of chairs circled around a nearby table.

"Oh, so we're going to have to sit to hear this one?" Tolfdir chuckled.

Savos pulled a seat out from the table for Mirabelle, then grabbed one of his own. Sighing, he put his head in his hands.

"Yes, Tolfdir," he said, "I can hardly believe what I'm about to say."

He looked up at Mirabelle, who sat back with her arms crossed.

"Well, any word on that assassin?" she frowned.

"I'd advise against further questioning," Savos replied. "She's a Telvanni Master from the late Third Era."

"So, you're saying she may have known the Nerevarine?" Mirabelle asked.

Savos winced. He wasn't really prepared to answer that one.

"Savos."

He looked up to see her glowering. Still, worse than that was Tolfdir and his coy smile.

"Now I know the Arch-Mage surely wouldn't be keeping information from his trusted advisers," Tolfdir said. "I cannot imagine how we would go on, with such a rift in the leadership, especially after old Tolfdir told the College to trust the Arch-Mage and his judgment–"

"Alright, fine," he hissed. "But you absolutely cannot share this, and you cannot let Mehra know that I told you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Certainly."

Savos drew a deep breath. He glanced back at the stairwell and wished for a door on the damned thing. Cursing his own policy, he figured he ought to get it over with.

"Mehra is the Nerevarine," he said. "That's why she came here; she was imprisoned in Akavir for two centuries and needed to retrain her skills. As Dragonborn, she is the only one who can stop the plans of Alduin, the leader of the dragons said to bring the end times."

He waited as his words sunk in, but neither reacted.

"She needs an Elder Scroll," Savos continued. "That's what this meeting is about; I need your discrete help in tracking down where in the world to find one."

"Certainly!" Tolfdir beamed. "I always maintained that Mehra was an extraordinary young lady. It turns out I was partially correct – er, she's not so young, I suppose."

Mirabelle shook her head. "That sounds so," she murmured, "so far-fetched."

He understood that. Truthfully, had he not felt the power in the Moon-and-Star, he wouldn't have believed it, either. But it was true.

"I know," Savos said. "But that Moon-and-Star ring she wears is most certainly of daedric persuasion. Legend says that Kagrenac created it, and Azura herself blessed it. The ring looks Dwemer, yet has that very specific daedric 'feel' to it. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that she is who she claims to be."

She sighed and gave him a smile. "I trust you, Savos; now more than ever."

Tolfdir cleared his throat. "I do as well, but not – not quite like that. I'm a bit old for private liaisons."

Mirabelle visibly paled and Savos sucked in a breath. Well, of course Tolfdir knew; he was the most person-savvy person he'd ever met. It was only a matter of time before he caught on.

Likely, he knew that they were attracted to each other before they even figured it out.

"Please, not a word about that to anyone else," Savos said.

"So many secrets," Tolfdir smiled. "Of course I'm not telling anyone; I do my best to be a man of my word."

"I trust you, Tolfdir," Savos said.

Mirabelle nodded in agreement. "I believe we all trust each other, else this meeting wouldn't have been called. Now; an Elder Scroll shall be quite a challenge. Still, it is not as if we are searching for the Oghma Infinium, so I believe that if anyone can do it, it's the three of us."

"Shall we wager on it?" Tolfdir chuckled.

Savos sighed and stared out the stained glass window in the foyer. The mountains beyond the College were still and quiet, and the sun had disappeared altogether.

"We are wagering," he murmured. "We're wagering our lives, at this point."

Thunder sounded in the distance – another spring storm coming off of the ocean, it seemed. Ever since the Eye had been taken care of, thunderstorms happened daily. Savos wouldn't have thought anything of it before the incident, but –

Perhaps, it was an omen of some sort.

Thunder rumbled again, and briefly, he was tempted at the notion of cabbage and cheese. He was a very powerful wizard; a Daedric Prince would heed his summons.

No, that was trouble. He was better off waiting for the storms to end entirely, and bring an offering of glow dust up the mountain.

Still, he couldn't help but ponder the meaning of the thunderstorms.

---

They made roost on a deserted island to the northeast of Keizaal, within the ash-fall area of the great volcano to the southeast. It was as good of a place as any; the ash screened them from prying eyes of the joor, as well as giving them warmth from the cold north. Most of them weren't fo dov, and the fo dov didn't mind the warmth much in the least.

The ash still made the lot of them sneeze. That volcano was bad news. Odahviing called it thousands of years ago and stayed out of the ash as best he could; he didn't want to get rot under his scales, vibrant red and feminine though they were.

He watched as Alduin wallowed in the ash like a pig. Alduin hunched down in the ash and wriggled until he buried himself up to his nostrils in the sulfuric waste. A few of the others watched this and imitated him like sheep.

Odahviing stayed perched on his rock above the ash. He didn't want to touch the mess.

He turned his gaze to the sky as Nahagliiv circled above. Their revived ally was back from scouting; surely, he had news from the mainland.

Nahagliiv drifted downward and settled down into the ash, kicking a plume of it up into the air. Odahviing shielded his face with his wing. Idiot.

Alduin lifted his head from the ash and regarded the newcomer with his glowing red eyes. "Drem yol lok. How goes the pathetic little dovahkiin?"

Nahagliiv let out a loud sigh. "She wears Mirmulnir."

Alduin sat up. "Wears him?"

"His skull, his hide, his bones," Nahagliiv explained. "He is her armor, now. I sensed her lah; given I was scouting, I did not want to test that along with her rumored thu'um. If we had priests, they would perhaps know rumor of the strength of her magical power as well. Seemed well above average, however."

How fortunate for him, then, to be all over a joor in death. Mirmulnir had an obsession with watching the joor mating – best he was gone; it was borderline bestiality. Odahviing always found him particularly distasteful and didn't like that he had Alduin's ear so often.

Alduin growled in frustration and turned toward Solstheim. The mere mention of priests was a sore spot with him; Miraak was back, somehow, and he made his bed with Hermaeus Mora in order to escape his duties to Alduin and the other dov.

Sending scouts to the island was a disaster. They never came back, presumed dead or worse by Miraak's hands. Alduin didn't understand it. In the old times, Miraak was his prized priest. Didn't he give Miraak riches? Status? Power? Females to rut atop his altar of conquest?

But Odahviing knew exactly what Miraak wanted: freedom. Unfortunately for him, being under Hermaeus Mora was a losing prospect; he specifically captured mortals and put them in a library hedge-maze full of unreadable books for an eternity. The Daedra Lord must have seduced Miraak with the promise of much power.

"Fascinating that she is fahliil," Nahagliiv mused. "and one of the dark ones, at that."

"I have not seen a fahliil dovahkiin," Alduin agreed. "Didn't think they were possible."

Dunmer, they were called. And foolishly, Alduin didn't even make an attempt to ally with the dovahkiin; his conquering would be easier with such a person on his side. Perhaps, a fahliil dovahkiin would approve of an elven uprising against the human overlords who kept them under thumb for centuries. Alduin could have been that great, shining beacon of hope for the proud, colonized Dunmer people. He could raise an army of mages and spearmen and teach them to speak in fire!

But, no; Alduin was simple – always simple.

They really had no idea what a dovahkiin of elven origin was capable of, given there was no precedent for such things. Her kind was also known to associate with the daedra. She could have extremely powerful allies. Alduin was a fool if he thought he could crush the little one so easily.

Alduin turned his head in Odahviing's direction and smirked.

"Odahviing," he called, "My pretty cousin. You are quiet lately."

The dov present snickered at him and Odahviing fought the urge to growl.

"I am wondering what we ought to do with Paarthurnax," he lied.

Alduin laughed and shifted down into the ash. "That idiot isn't even a fo dov and he's roosting on the tallest mountain on the continent," he scoffed. "Probably fat and half-blind now. Let us subjugate the joor he so loves and let him watch helpless as we do it."

"Yes, of course, cousin," Odahviing replied.

"I am right and you know it, pretty cousin."

Odahviing ignored the derogatory descriptor. He didn't believe Alduin's boast for a second. Even if Paarthurnax wasn't in fighting shape, he could teach the joor same as he did last time. And if he taught the dovahkiin a thing or two –

Odahviing watched as Alduin buried his head in the ash. If Paarthurnax taught the dovahkiin, then it would serve Alduin right if the little joor became his downfall.

---

Her stomach clenched in anxiety as the ship tied up at the harbor. She was well over two weeks late picking Neloth up, and Mehra knew that he hated to be kept waiting.

More importantly, she hated to worry anyone at Tel Mithryn.

The sight of Redoran guards running down the dock toward the Councilor's manor brought her out of her thoughts. Mehra shifted her pack on her back and turned to the captain of the ship.

"Got an important shipment, Gjalund?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing to run to the Councilor about. I ain't seen them types run before; usually they seem to haste without moving fast. Oddest thing."

Mehra laughed and grabbed his hand as he helped her up onto the dock.

"Well," she said, "I guarantee that if a crime happened, they'd appear out of damned nowhere. Even these country Redoran have excellent training."

Gjalund stared off into town in confusion and Mehra followed his line of sight. A pair of men in expensive clothes walked side by side toward the dock, followed by the priest of the Temple. Accompanying them were half a dozen guards, each one ranked, judging by the markings on their bonemold armor.

"I usually deal with the Second Councilor," Gjalund murmured, "not the actual Councilor. And here both are coming up to the dock."

Mehra pursed her lips. "I did clear out the ash creatures from the temple the last time I was here," she mused. "Perhaps this is a 'thank-you' party."

"With armed guards?"

"Yep," she nodded. "Redoran are about that. Ha! Maybe they'll try to induct me into the House. But I'm from House Telvanni, their rival house."

"Perhaps they're kicking you out, then," Gjalund shrugged.

Mehra swore under her breath. It wouldn't be the first time. If they did try to kick her out, well –

She wished she had Erich with her at a time like this. He could likely not only talk them into letting her stay, but giving her some form of made up benefits.

"Well, look sharp," Gjalund mumbled, "they're definitely looking at you and not me."

The company stopped in front of her and she sucked in a breath. They had her cornered. Of the group, she only recognized Othreloth from the Temple behind the Councilors, and Second Councilor Arano in the front.

The man next to Councilor Arano stepped forward. He was short, fit, and well-groomed, with coppery hair shaved on each side of his head and left long in the center. Like any proper Councilor, he wore the best finery he could get – yet practical clothing, much in Redoran style. He brought a hand up to rub his goatee in thought and stared at her as if trying to figure her out.

"I am Councilor Lleril Morvayn," he said, "serving on the Redoran Council in matters involving the House and Morrowind at large. My Second here says that you know Master Neloth to the east."

"I do."

"Othreloth says you may have some history," Councilor Morvayn said.

"We do."

He quickly glanced at her hand and her heart stopped. He noticed the Moon-and-Star.

This was not the kind of visit she wanted. Ever.

He reached into his breast pocket and Mehra caught a glimpse of something that shone brightly in the sun.

"I have something for you," he said. "It is my hope that will aid you in your coming quest. The fighting spirit of House Redoran will be behind you, always. And you are always welcome in my home."

"And mine as well," Councilor Arano nodded.

Councilor Morvayn stepped forward and pressed something into her hand, then quickly stepped back. Opening her hand, Mehra peered down to see House Redoran's Ring of the Hortator.

It was an exquisite ring of white gold, inlaid with a golden seal in the shape of a warrior wearing bonemold armor with a crested helm that resembled one of the old Temple Ordinators.

"If you need it re-sized–"

"Nah," Mehra shrugged. "I'm sure it'll fit one of these fingers, hm?"

She eyed the ring and slid it onto the middle finger of her left hand, next to the Moon-and-Star which occupied her index finger. The fit was about as close to perfect as she'd get without being a nitpicker; it wouldn't fly off in combat, and that was the important part.

Immediately, she felt the ring's heavy enchantment take effect. It made her body itself tougher and able to withstand more injury than without the ring. A health fortification enchantment of this magnitude was difficult to create, and she wondered how the magically-challenged Redoran were able to create such a thing.

It was likely that the old Temple provided the service. They wouldn't have asked Telvanni for help; not now, and certainly never in the past.

"Look, right next to Mother's ring, even," she smiled. "Thank you, Councilor."

Mehra held her hand up for them to see their ring next to the Moon-and-Star on her hand. She supposed it was fortunate for her that the fabled ring fit on her largest finger – the perks of being large for a Dunmer woman. Nobody dared to scold her for wearing her signet on the wrong finger, regardless.

"A most pleasing sight," Councilor Morvayn replied. "Now, we will leave you to your business. If there is anything you require of us, you need only but ask."

She gave them a nod. "And likewise, Councilors. If you come across trouble in town, please send word to my residence in Whiterun. Tell the Courier to send correspondence to the Thane of Whiterun; it is my title. I'm – uh – well, I'm not the quickest, given I'm not home half the time, but, the offer does stand nonetheless."

"We are a quiet town, but your offer is appreciated," the Councilor replied. "Thank you. We wish you strength in all your battles."

Mehra thanked him and the others present, then made her way down the dock. As she wandered through the small town, she thought about what being discovered would mean going forward. Even if people in Skyrim started knowing who she was, she supposed it wouldn't make too much of a difference until she ran into another Mer, in particular, one of her own kind.

The people in Raven Rock stared at her as usual, and if they knew her true identity, she couldn't rightfully say. Mehra supposed that if they knew, they'd be a bit more open in their staring than usual.

She sighed as she gave the guards at the bulwark a quick nod and passed through out onto the road that led east. It was only a matter of time before she was discovered; it was foolish to think she could hide forever.

And if she were honest with herself, Mehra knew that it was somewhat selfish to hunker down and hide.

It seemed that the past year was full of constant moments of self-reckoning.

Mehra swung her pack from her back and propped it up on a nearby rock as she fished through it to find her scarf. Her hand brushed by Sanguine's token and by Azura's Star, the alternating odd sensations sending a chill up her arm. Finding the scarf at the bottom of her bag, she pulled it out of the bag, folded it, and began to wind it around her nose and mouth.

It wasn't much – just a cheap, threadbare scrap of linen that was probably once part of a Nord's pants – but it did its job well enough, and it was brown to match Telvanni color.

With her face as protected against the ash as much as she could on a budget, Mehra shouldered her bag and continued down the road. Each step brought the sinking feeling that soon, the whole of Morrowind would be knocking on her door, asking for her help in their troubles.

She couldn't do it. Mehra was a fighter, a mage, and a mediocre assassin. She wasn't an architect, economist, trader, or farmer – things that Morrowind actually needed.

The shadow of Tel Mithryn came into view on the horizon and she drew in a shuddering breath.

"It's fine," Mehra whispered. "It's fine. Everything is fine."

Flashes of light illuminated the ground in the distance – purple; the color of a conjuration spell. As she drew closer, Mehra saw Talvas outside the tower practicing his spells, his face dutifully covered. He perked up immediately at the sight of her and waved to her.

She smiled despite her sour mood and picked up her pace to meet him on the path leading up to the tower.

"Mehra!" Talvas smiled. "I'm glad you made it. You alright?"

Mehra sighed and shook her head. "It's – fine. Everything is fine. It will be, at least."

"Sounds rough," he replied. "You've got some strong shoulders. I hope – well, I hope we're able to give you a break once in a while here."

"You are," she said. "I don't know what I'd do without Tel Mithryn, honestly."

Talvas motioned toward the tower and escorted her to the door.

"Well, I'll take the liberty to speak on his behalf," he said, "but we're all happy to have you here, Neloth included. If I didn't know him better, I'd almost accuse him of being cheerful when you visit."

Mehra snorted as he opened the door for her. "Well, I don't know if that's something he'd want to be found guilty of."

"Certainly not," Talvas mumbled.

Together, they made their way to the top of the tower. As soon as Mehra's feet touched the floor, Neloth looked up from his reading, sat back, and crossed his arms.

"This will be good," he drawled. "The note was vague."

Mehra laughed and slung her pack down from her shoulders. "Well, hello to you, too, sunshine."

She saw Talvas flinch out of the corner of her eye. Had Neloth really been that surly while she was gone?

Well, this was Neloth, and she was very much late.

"It was actually very important," Mehra said. "A Thalmor agent got tangled up with a magical artifact and attempted to destroy the College. Scratch that; he tried to destroy the world."

"I presume that's what the new staff is about?" Neloth asked, motioning toward the new addition strapped to her back.

Mehra nodded. "The Staff of Magnus? Yeah. It's out of charge, though."

His eyes widened in shock and he sat up. "The actual – ?"

She nodded again. "The actual, real Staff of Magnus. Guess it likes me, choosing me a second time like it did."

Neloth sighed and sat back in his chair.

"And I presume you put everything in order?"

"Had some unlikely help, actually," she said.

Mehra leaned down, fished around in her bag, and withdrew Sanguine's token.

"The guy put up a barrier that I couldn't dispel," she said, "so I threw this at it."

Neloth narrowed his eyes, stood, and stepped forward to examine the rose. He reached toward it, then thought better of it and dropped his hand.

"That artifact wouldn't have dispelled a magical barrier," he sighed. "It's a conjuring token."

Mehra stared down at the rose. So, Sanguine was watching and waiting for the right moment.

"I'm not explaining how I got this," she mumbled.

Neloth backed away and shook his head. "Please don't. But, why Sanguine?"

"He's on good terms with Sheogorath right now," she said. "Now that I think of it, he must have done it as a favor for him, so that Sheogorath could keep his mortal disguise around the College. It was bad enough that a Brotherhood Assassin showed up outside to keep watch. That's my best guess."

"Be cautious with these things," Neloth frowned. "And let's recharge that staff. Damn if you aren't going to end up using my best soul gems, regardless."

He motioned toward the enchanting room while Talvas looked on in awe at the staff. Wordlessly, Mehra drew it from the sling on her back and walked with Neloth toward the enchanters at the far end of the tower.

Neloth gathered an assortment of filled grand soul gems and brought them over to the enchanter. Without delay, he began the process of recharging the staff, going through three gems before removing the staff from the enchanter and examining it.

With a bit of polishing and care, the Staff of Magnus looked magnificent once again. Mehra worked on it on the voyage to Solstheim, using polishing oils and cloths that she bought from Winterhold. She had a bit of laundry hanging around in her bag from the process, but it was well worth it to see the staff back in good shape, and to see the look on Neloth's face as he looked at it.

"I polished it on the way over," Mehra said. "The undead Dragon Priest who had it let it get in a despicable state."

Neloth nodded. "The staff deserves better; you care for your equipment."

"I do my best."

"You know how to maintain a sword?" she asked.

"Of course," Neloth snorted. "I am not a slob."

He drew the ebony dagger at his side and held it out. Leaning in, Mehra examined it to see that it was in flawless condition from handle to tip, and the blade glistened with just the right amount of oil.

"The best offense is doing maintenance yourself," he said.

"Absolutely agreed," she nodded. "Anyone else could get it wrong. Not that ebony and daedric items rust, but it's still important. What do you think this is made of?"

Neloth pursed his lips, sheathed the dagger, and took another look at the Staff of Magnus.

"Difficult to say," he murmured. "If the legends are true, it is of the Dawn Era and predates even Ehlnofey. Gold may be present, as it is the most stable of the metals. That is the only guess I can provide without damaging a priceless artifact."

Mehra shrugged. "Regular polishing cloths worked well enough. I suppose it'll have to remain a mystery."

Neloth handed the staff back to her and sighed. In the next second, he leaned in to stare at her with narrowed eyes.

"What's this circlet?" he frowned.

"A gift from the Arch-Mage of Winterhold."

He narrowed his eyes further. "A gift."

Was he jealous? Goodness sake, Master Aren reminded her of Aryon, more than anyone.

"He's seeing his Master Wizard-Second," she sighed. "And nobody knows about that but me, alright? So keep that secret when we show up there, along with my true identity. I'm a Telvanni Wizard, for all they know. Master Aren knows my secret, but he's the only one."

Neloth visibly relaxed and shrugged. "Fine. Now, I suppose you want your Robe of the Hortator to match that new Redoran ring you have?"

Mehra blinked in shock. He noticed that?

"I shall take that as a yes," he groused.

She shook herself. "I – yeah," she murmured. "You just have this stuff laying around?"

"Why wouldn't I? I'm rich, aren't I? Am I not also a Councilor?" he shrugged.

He stepped out of the enchanting room and shouted for Talvas. Giving him an elaborate set of directions of where the item was located in storage, Neloth dismissed him quickly without telling him exactly what he was looking for, other than 'item A256B'.

Talvas shuffled across the tower toward the levitation portal with his head down, obviously used to getting such terrible directions.

She shook her head and turned to Neloth. "Got your bag ready?" she asked.

Because if he didn't, it'd be an excellent time to help him figure it out, since he never left the house.

"Yes," he grumbled. "I am not entirely ignorant."

Mehra held her hands up in defense. "Alright, I just wanted to make sure. And I've got the food we'll need. Oh, how much do I owe you for those soul gems?"

Neloth blinked in confusion. "Nothing. I'm rich."

"Really?"

He made such a big stink about it to begin with that she figured she'd owe him for the ones they just used. Maybe, it was a case of 'your tower; your responsibility' rather than a matter of money.

The front door to the tower closed, and the levitation portal activated. In the next second, Varona drifted to the top with a tray of tea in her hands.

"Varona, tell the girl how rich I am," Neloth drawled.

She sighed deeply and put the tray down on a nearby table.

"He's a billionaire," she said.

Neloth nodded in agreement. "So you see why repaying me is useless, yes? Once you become likewise, then you can –"

He paused and motioned for Varona to come closer. Reluctantly, she shuffled over, furrowing her brow in confusion as Neloth leaned down to murmur an order to her.

"An excellent idea, Master," Varona said.

Neloth drew back with a scowl. "You have no idea what I'm planning to do with it. Now, shoo!"

Varona shrugged and left the main floor, a wry grin on her face. Mere minutes later, a door closed and opened, and voices drifted up to the top of the tower. Neloth glanced in the direction of the noise with narrowed eyes.

"Irritating at times," he grumbled, "but a damned good steward of my belongings. Talvas would have mucked it up."

Mehra bit back a laugh. It certainly seemed like Varona to be on top of these sorts of things.

The pair drifted to the top of the levitation portal. Ever the gentleman, Talvas carried the items for Varona, crossed the tower, and handed them to Neloth.

"Well, Hortator," Neloth said, "come get your robe."

Mehra pursed her lips as he opened the first package. "I'm not a robes person."

He rolled his eyes. "Then just take the silk stole and turn it into something disgusting like a belt. Gods, but you make a poor mage."

Mehra narrowed her eyes and eyed the stole from the robe. Maybe, she'd do that, just to spite him. Fighting to hide a smirk, she grabbed the stole, then tied it around her waist exactly as he said. While the stole wasn't as heavily enchanted as the robe itself, it was still enchanted to give her a modest boost to her magicka reserves.

"You come up with the best ideas, Neloth," she smiled.

"Wonderful," he drawled. "Well, perhaps you will wear the next one as intended."

Neloth tore open the package and handed her a folded piece of brown silk embroidered in gold. This, too, had a fortify magicka enchantment on it, and the item's threads shimmered with the powerful enchantment.

"Please, just look like a Master somewhat for once," he frowned.

"Oh, my heart," Mehra sighed. "I am devastated to find out that you find me so – so – un-masterly."

She unfolded the cloth and held back a gasp. It was a beautiful half-cape of gold and brown, with a cowl-neck and a pointed back lined in golden fringe. The cape was covered in House Telvanni's swirled designs – reminiscent of magic and the tendrils of the mushrooms in which they lived. If anyone knew of House Telvanni and saw her wearing this, they'd certainly know that she was one of them.

Mehra let out a breath. She never had something so beautiful and meaningful before in her life.

"You know I was just being sassy with you, right?" she said.

Neloth sighed deeply. "Of course. You wouldn't be you if you weren't."

Mehra took in the cape again. "This is so – so – I've never had such a nice –"

She didn't even know what to say.

Neloth crossed the space between them, grabbed the cape, and began to remove the medal that Whiterun gave her.

"Well, let's put it on, hm?" he said. "Clip the medal onto it like it ought to be. You are a Telvanni Master, yes?

Mehra stared on in bewilderment as he unclipped the medal and tossed the cape over her shoulders.

"I – yeah."

"Eloquent," he said. "Varona, what about this front part? Do – whatever young people would do to it; I don't know."

Varona stepped forward to pick at the cape and arrange it on her shoulders. Humming to herself, she arranged it to hang from Mehra's left shoulder and stepped back to take a look.

"Foppish," Neloth grumbled.

Varona rolled her eyes and Mehra chuckled under her breath. Centering the cape on Mehra's shoulders, Varona fluffed the cowl neck and picked at it until it looked a certain way, then carefully leaned in to clip Whiterun's symbol of office to the front center of the cape.

"I think that will do it," she smiled. "You look lovely, Madame."

Neloth peered at Mehra with narrowed eyes for a moment, then nodded.

"Proper, at least," he groused. "Now, we leave in the morning, correct?"

Mehra nodded. "The Northern Maiden will be leaving tomorrow morning for Winterhold. Don't expect the city or harbor to be impressive; they had a huge disaster that wiped out the city a hundred or so years ago and they still haven't recovered."

"The state of their city is of no concern to me," he shrugged.

Good; then they wouldn't have any issues, hopefully. Mehra spent the extra coin to have Gjalund take them directly to Winterhold instead of Windhelm, and she figured it would be worth it. The last thing she needed was Neloth to see the Gray Quarter, nor experience Windhelm's particular brand of hospitality toward Dunmer.

The rest of the day was spent in discussion of the Eye of Magnus, the Staff that helped quell its power, and theories behind the Eye's origin. Even with a book of forgotten runes at their fingertips, none of the characters that Mehra saw on the orb were close to anything that made it through history.

She supposed it would have to remain a mystery – for better or for worse. It seemed that the Psijics had pure intentions and Mehra would have to trust her instincts on that.

She didn't like having to do that, uncanny dragonborn instincts aside. Mehra preferred to deal in facts rather than feelings, and it seemed as if recently, her instincts were all she had to go off of.

Neloth understood that. He, too, dealt in facts. The core of his research revolved around parsing out what was fact among a slew of possibilities.

As they gathered their bags the next day for their trip to the mainland, Mehra found herself once again grateful that she found the courage to contact Neloth, then return to his tower once she relearned some of her skills.

He could help her build a magnificent tower, yes; but it was much more than that. Despite his gruffness, Neloth was an excellent person with which she could discuss her strategy against Alduin candidly.

And he always had some valuable insight. He wasn't necessarily comforting all the time, but truth held more weight to her than anything else.

She owed it to him to give him the best trip away from his tower possible. Perhaps the hero-worship of the apprentices of Winterhold would charm him; she couldn't rightfully say.

They said their goodbyes to Tel Mithryn – with Mehra doing most of the talking – and headed down the road toward Raven Rock.

Neloth's footsteps were strangely quiet on the road – quiet like those of Aela or Athis – and his posture was straight as his gaze flickered around the area to look for signs of danger.

It wasn't the behavior she expected of a wizard; Master Aren certainly didn't act as such. It reminded her more of a soldier or a spellsword.

Mehra drew in a breath and stared off toward the horizon. His body was covered in scars that one wouldn't expect on a wealthy wizard. Who was this man, really? How many lives had he led? Where had he come from, so many thousands of years ago?

After three thousand years of life, did Neloth even remember some of these things?

Mehra found herself afraid to know, after the things she learned about Erich.

They traveled on in a companionable silence, reaching the harbor town around the time the market opened up. At the sight of them on the road, one of the guards posted at the bulwark left his post and ran into town.

Mehra sighed. "Again with this."

"Being important is tedious, isn't it?" Neloth frowned.

She laughed and shifted her pack on her back.

"That wasn't a jest," he shrugged.

Mehra shook her head. He was always the serious one.

Together, they crossed into town, ignoring the stares sent their way. She wasn't sure if it was due to Neloth's presence, or if her identity was spread around town, but they certainly did seem to be paying much more attention to her. Everywhere she glanced, people stopped in their business to stare openly at the two of them.

She found herself not particularly wanting to know if the people of Raven Rock knew who she was.

Aside from the stares and the odd whisper or two, the walk through town was uneventful until they rounded the edge of the bulwark to stand at the entrance to the harbor.

The Redoran Councilors stood in the middle of the main dock, blocking the way to the her throat, Mehra leaned over to Neloth and quietly pointed them out to him.

"Oh, I am well aware of that," he shrugged, not giving a care as to the volume of his voice.

"As I recall," Neloth continued, "the Morvayn family had a big disgrace over an invasion of ash creatures. The blighted things trashed the manor and killed the Councilor under the city guards' very noses. Third Era Redoran were particularly dull and dim-witted– almost as bad as they are now."

Mehra fought the urge to wince and hoped desperately that Councilor Morvayn hadn't heard what Neloth said.

They crossed the dock to where Councilors Morvayn and Arano waited in front of the ship. The Councilors gave them a nod as they drew closer, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Councilor Arano's warm smile. Neloth's insult apparently hadn't traveled down the dock.

Gjalund eyed them warily from his position on the deck of the ship, but kept to himself. He was well aware of who Neloth was; she wanted him to be prepared ahead of time for what kind of person he'd be dealing with.

"Master Neloth," Councilor Morvayn said, "it is rare that we see you in town. And Miss–"

"Master Dreloth, to you," Neloth corrected. "Older than you."

Hm. Surname that she never used aside, he remembered that she preferred being referred to as 'Master' rather than 'Mistress'.

Councilor Morvayn pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course, Master Neloth; my apologies to Madame. I understand her desire to maintain anonymity. This town will not make war with you, Masters. We wish for a united Morrowind, as do the rest of the Redoran Council."

Neloth nodded mutely, but Mehra could tell that the whole thing bored him terribly.

"We simply came to wish you safe travels," the Councilor explained. "Especially with Skyrim as it is. Azura keep you both, Councilor."

Councilor Morvayn stepped aside to allow them onto the ship.

"It is 'Mage Lord'," Neloth frowned, "or 'Master'. I am more than a mere Councilor."

"Of course; we do much more than attend the Council as well. There is a whole settlement here which needs oversight. I shall let you get on your way, then."

Mehra sucked in a breath as Neloth boarded the ship without looking back. Quickly, she mumbled a hasty 'thank-you' and followed behind, doing her best to ignore both Councilors' pitying looks.

For better or worse, she chose to take this trip with Neloth.

She just hoped that his posturing stopped once they got out of Redoran territory.

---

The tower was quiet without the sounds of ambient grumbling and muttered curses. Talvas did his best in the days following Neloth's departure to do chores throughout the tower which he felt to be useful – organize the soul gems, create a list of books that were currently downstairs in case some got lost, sort out the staff room, polish the half-dozen enchanters throughout the tower.

He sighed and trudged across the tower to the alchemy station and shelves. While Neloth was typically organized, this area of Neloth's tower was left a mess before he left – likely intentionally so that Talvas would have to clean it up.

Talvas glanced around the area at bottles and ingredients strewn all around the nearby tables and shelves and frowned.

"I don't have to, really," he mumbled.

The stench of the unwashed alchemist's stand drifted across the room, causing him to sigh again.

"No, I have to," Talvas grumbled. "That'll stink up the whole tower and I'll hear about it."

Determined to get it over with, he disappeared around the corner to grab a pitcher of water and approached the putrid stand. On top of it lay a small, leather satchel of ingredients.

"Couldn't even put this away?" he huffed.

That was quite unlike Neloth. Perhaps, whatever he was brewing was done in haste. Didn't he pack his bags in time, though?

Hm. Come to think of it, he had his bag packed a few days in advance. So this wasn't something done hastily.

Perhaps, it was a secret. But, what could Neloth seriously be hiding as a potion, of all things? Figuring he ought to get his curiosity dealt with, he pried open the bag and peered inside.

Talvas nearly screamed when he saw the ingredients in the satchel and dropped it outright. There were enough lavender flowers, garlic cloves, and wormwood leaves to power a brothel. He knew exactly what Neloth was brewing before he left to go to Skyrim with Mehra.

"Something the matter, Talvas?"

He jumped at the sound of Varona's voice. Gently, he grabbed the satchel of horrors and put it on the shelf as precisely as he possibly could.

"There is nothing to see over here," he announced.

Varona quirked an eyebrow. "You just figured out that they're having sex, didn't you?"

Talvas swallowed and Varona laughed out loud.

"Honestly, Talvas," she chided, "a pretty young thing – Nerevarine aside – comes up to the tower, and suddenly he's giving her 'private lessons'. You didn't suspect anything?"

He shook his head. "I was a bit jealous, to be honest."

Varona's expression melted into a look of pity. She stepped forward and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. "Not jealous anymore, I hope?"

"Nope."

"Now, what was he brewing over there?"

Talvas cringed. "Fortify stamina. And by 'fortify stamina', I mean enough to run a lap around the island without being winded."

"That's got to be an exaggeration," Varona laughed.

"It isn't."

She cringed and glanced back at the alchemy table. "I saw him pack about four green potions."

"I doubt anyone would drink all of them at once," Talvas said. "Or at least, I hope they wouldn't."

"Poor girl's going to have a hole poked right through her," Varona grumbled.

Talvas slammed his eyes shut, trying desperately to will away the mental image. "Please don't. It's like thinking about my parents – no, my grandparents – having sex."

"Well, would you rather be kicked out of your own bed again, or have them go far away on a vacation to have their little affair?"

"What affair?"

Talvas turned to see Ulves at the top of the levitation portal with a lunch tray in his hands. He didn't like getting into Master Neloth's personal affairs, but he supposed that telling the cook was better than having him find out by accident.

"Well," he sighed, "it appears that something has been going on. Now we can't start spreading this around beyond us here, because this is very delicate information, and if anyone in the House finds out–"

"Neloth's banging the Nerevarine," Varona drawled.

Ulves nearly dropped the tray. Wide-eyed, he scuttled over to the table and placed the tray down where it would be safe. "That pretty girl?" he awed. "You're kidding."

Varona crossed her arms and huffed. "I'm a bit put-out that you're both questioning me on this," she said. "Of course they're having sex, the same as he did with Ildari."

"Oh. That's why Ildari didn't give me the time of day."

"I noticed you had an interest," Varona said. "Regardless, both situations – especially Ildari – would cause a lot of trouble with the House if they were discovered."

"Why have those two beautiful women gone for him, though?" Ulves mused. "Ildari had money and status. Mehra could get anything she wanted, and is powerful as well. I'll tell you one thing; it's not his charming personality."

Varona chuckled and nodded in agreement as they sat down at the table for lunch. While Talvas agreed with what they said, it didn't leave much room for anything else. He swallowed and stared back at the alchemist's stand.

"Do you think it's just about sex?" he mumbled.

"What do you mean?" Ulves asked.

Talvas glanced back at the apothecary satchel. The amount of ingredients were a bit ridiculous. Perhaps it was for walking as well.

"I mean, do they really need a reason?" he shrugged. "Maybe it's just something that happens. Not that I'm the type, but, you know, sometimes people just like to blow off a bit of steam."

Varona put her head in her hands and sighed. "Mehra arrives excited and leaves tired and smiling. That tells me more than I ever cared to know about the old man."

She grumbled into her arms without looking up. "Stamina potions."

"Actually," Talvas said, "the stamina potions are a completely new thing."

Ulves shook his head and took the lid off the lunch tray. "So the old man's a good lay," he shrugged, "good for him. I suppose when you're that old, you know your way around a woman quite well, with all that practice."

Talvas didn't want to think about that – ever. Shaking his head, he grabbed a portion of saltrice, a slice of herring, and a pile of spinach. The idea of Neloth and Mehra getting along in a friendship capacity was strange enough to him to begin with.

Despite the prospect of having some of the year's first homegrown steamed greens after a long winter, Talvas picked at his lunch. Varona was right; when he thought about it, things added up.

"There were rumors about him in the city," he murmured, "rumors that he kept only female servants, accepted female apprentices more readily, exclusively had women as his mouths. There was even a rumor that he used to kidnap Redoran councilors' daughters for gods-know-what. I didn't believe it then, but now –"

"Oh, let the man get his jollies," Varona scowled. "He's nasty but he's not that kind of nasty and you know it."

"I'm not saying he's nasty," Talvas protested, "just that he's different than I thought. And maybe there was some truth to those rumors. Again – not that I'd ever think him to be capable of doing the unthinkable to a woman."

"Oh, hello Elynea," Varona smiled, "I was hoping you'd join us."

Talvas looked up to watch a scowling Elynea cross the tower and sit down at the table with a grumbling flop.

"I hope they're being smart," she groused. "I'm a mycologist, not a doctor, dammit!"

"Pardon?"

"I know what he's doing with that girl," Elynea frowned, "the same as he did with Ildari. I refuse to do any medical procedures again; they shall have to find an actual physician."

Talvas stared down at his plate in disinterest. So, Neloth got his previous apprentice pregnant, they presumably had Elynea take care of it, then Ildari died in an experiment later. It couldn't be a coincidence. His appetite disappeared.

"I think I have most of the story," she said. "It's not a good one. I'm leaving it at that."

"Well," Varona mumbled, "you started talking about it, so now you have to finish."

"I certainly will not!" Elynea hissed.

Ulves chewed on his food and pointed a fork in Talvas' direction. "Well, Mr. 'House rules', how about a bit of insight?"

Talvas picked at the pile of spinach on his plate. Speculating over a dead woman's affair with his Master was in very poor taste.

"I agree with Elynea," he sighed. "I didn't know this woman. All I've got now is an urge to make an offering for her spirit."

"That's old history anyway," Varona shrugged. "And besides; Ildari was a cactus of a woman – and she wasn't religious, Talvas. And for the last time: she consented to the experiment. Consented!"

Ulves nodded, making a comment about not speaking ill of the dead while Elynea stared at her meal as if it had committed a grave sin.

Talvas closed his eyes. She consented to the experiment? Either she wasn't informed properly of the procedure, then, or she had enough trust or – something – in Neloth that she'd be fine.

Could it have been that she'd fallen for him somehow? Neloth, of all people?

Dammit, he was speculating.

Shaking his head, he opted to get on with eating as much of his meal as he could, ignoring his lost appetite.

"So," Ulves mused, "I wonder who seduced whom in these recent developments?"

"After she gave him the staff," Varona said, "he kicked the lot of us out. So I imagine that he had intentions toward her and did the seducing."

"I didn't think the old man had it in him."

"Quit calling him old," Elynea snapped. "He damn well knows what he's doing. Quit acting as if he's some tottering old fool."

Ulves held his hands up in defense. "I'm well aware of that now. But how old is he, I wonder?"

Talvas swallowed a bite of food and put his fork down. "He's used the word 'Resdayn' by accident instead of 'Morrowind', so you tell me."

"Hm" he mused, "but, do you think they're – a thing, perhaps?"

No, that was too much.

Talvas pushed his chair back from the table and shook his head. "They're colleagues, Ulves. You're not supposed to have professional-political affairs. I'm going to go practice my summon spell now. I don't want to continue this conversation; I feel it's improper. Sorry."

He went over to the corner and dug through his knapsack to find his face covering.

"I'm done with hiding the messed linens, by the way," Varona said. "Cleaning's your job, Ulves."

Oh, yuck. He didn't even want to know about that one.

"I thought you were supposed to take care of his affairs, though," Ulves protested.

She crossed her arms and scowled. "If he wants me to help with something, then he will tell me. I hid it for the benefit of everyone else, as well as his. Now that we all know and we're all adults, that's the end of it for me."

Talvas wrapped the covering around his face, approached the levitation portal, and drifted down to the foyer, leaving the sounds of the bickering servants behind. He desperately needed to go outside to have a think, and suspected he wouldn't be doing much casting.

What if it was somehow true? What if Ildari fell for Neloth, and he used that as advantage to obtain her consent for an incredibly dangerous experiment? Was he doing the same to Mehra, somehow?

Did that kind of thing even cross his mind, though? Neloth often claimed that he'd moved beyond what he called 'petty attachments'.

Talvas narrowed his eyes and stared beyond the tower out toward the sea. Despite Neloth's best efforts, petty attachments were all around him. He had a feeling that Neloth's cavalier attitude about thinking he didn't need anyone would catch up with him eventually.

---

Brelyna sat out in the courtyard in front of the College, catching up on her conjuration reading while the weather was still nice. It was one of her weaker schools of magic, but she felt as if she was picking it up rather quickly.

Least of all of her skills was enchanting. She had to work on that one; it was useful, and Telvanni were known to be excellent enchanters. It wouldn't do to be poor at it.

House Telvanni were known to excel at all magic. While she couldn't master everything quickly, it would do her well to be as well-rounded as possible as she searched for a husband.

Brelyna sighed and turned the page of her book. Thinking about these things while trying to study was making it near impossible for her to retain anything. She really needed to –

"Mehra's back."

She looked up from her book to see Onmund standing in front of her with dejected look on his face.

"There's a man with her," he mumbled. "They're wearing matching colors. That's a done deal, isn't it?"

Brelyna frowned, marked her place in her book, and shut it. "That white-haired Nord again?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "this is a Dunmer, and his beard is quite dark, from what I can tell. They're coming up the bridge now."

What in Tamriel?

She abandoned her books to rush over to the archway that led to the entrance of the College. As she peered down at the stone bridges that led up to the College, she made out two figures on the lower bridge making their way up.

One was Mehra, with an odd addition to her armor – a brown and gold cape, the design of which she couldn't quite make out. But given the unmistakable dress of the person to Mehra's right – Telvanni robes; Master rank – she was certain that Mehra wore Telvanni colors of some form.

The man next to Mehra was tall and thin, with broad shoulders. He wore his hair tightly-cropped, and had a long, dark beard, just as Onmund said. From his height and rank alone, Brelyna would have remembered him had she seen him in Sadrith Mora before.

"You know this man?" Onmund asked.

Brelyna shook her head. "I don't," she replied. "Shouldn't be surprising, though, given he's a Telvanni Master."

"A-a what?"

As the pair drew closer, the aura of magical power coming from them silenced her altogether.

How hadn't she noticed it before? Mehra's power was incredible – perhaps even more than Master Aren's. And the Telvanni Master next to her was dizzyingly powerful.

"Did the Eye awaken something in Mehra?" Onmund whispered.

She didn't know. Maybe, they were all idiots for not noticing her earlier.

Brelyna remembered to breathe when Mehra gave her a wave from the landing below. The man next to Mehra did no such thing, but she didn't expect pleasantries from a Telvanni Master, even if the newer ones were kinder than the old ones.

He was a classically handsome Dunmer – high, hollow cheek bones; a strong brow; a broad, flat nose; small, creaseless eyes; large lips, and a strong jaw from which grew a long, charcoal beard. And for a Dunmer, he was quite tall.

Aside from his unique wizard robes, he carried a staff on his back, the likes of which appeared to be carved out of dragon bone. And, given the type of work Mehra did – dragon slaying – it was rather easy to figure where he got the staff from.

They stopped in front of her and Mehra gave her a cheerful grin.

"Hey Brelyna," she said. "We're here for supplies, but I'm so glad you're around. This is Master Neloth. Neloth, this is Brelyna Maryon."

Neloth?

It was true?

Quickly, she shook herself and bowed her head. "It is a privilege, great Master," she said. "I am but a mere Mouth; this is a most fortunate meeting."

Thank the gods – she didn't care which ones – that she hadn't written to the Council. She could have accidentally exposed Master Neloth's affair!

"You're a Mouth at age twenty?" Mehra awed.

Brelyna gasped and eyed the cape on Mehra's shoulders.

No, it couldn't be, could it?

"And what's with you wearing Master stuff at age, uh, twenty-whatever?" she asked.

"Do not act casual with a Master Wizard, Mouth," Neloth frowned.

Mehra shook her head. "She's my friend," she said.

"Improper," he grumbled, "but not out of the ordinary for the new you, I suppose. It does become rather difficult to find peers when you're of a certain age. Not many Third Era types around these days; they were lean times when Oblivion opened up."

Brelyna watched as Mehra sighed, closed her eyes, and nodded.

"Brelyna," she said, "we need to have a private talk later."

Brelyna snorted and crossed her arms. "I guess so."

She peered with narrowed eyes at the strange new silken stole tied around Mehra's waist and read the runes stitched into it.

Mage. Protector. General. Warlord. Leader. Unity.

What in Azura's name was this? Those words–

"Mehra! Good to see that you have returned."

She jumped at the sound of Master Aren's voice. Turning, she watched as Mehra stepped forward to introduce her company – the great Master Neloth himself – to Master Aren.

Brelyna and Onmund were all but forgotten in the Arch-Mage's eagerness to usher their esteemed guest into the College. Voices disappeared into the open front door of the College, and with them, the opulent amount of silk and golden-threaded fabric of two Telvanni Masters. Within a minute, the courtyard was silent again.

"That guy is rich," Onmund mumbled.

She snapped out of her stupor and turned to her classmate. "Unsurprising. I wonder, though, if he promoted her to Master rank. Is that even proper? I suppose when you're that ancient, you can do what you want. He's the oldest surviving member of House Telvanni, as far as I know."

"Incredible," he awed. "Well, I guess if they're an item, I'm not even mad. Good job – both of them."

Brelyna laughed. She could definitely agree with that statement.

"You're not upset?" she asked.

Onmund sighed and turned to look at the open door to the College. "Didn't say that," he mumbled. "I'm sad, but that's different. I can't be mad if I never made my feelings known, I guess."

She nodded in agreement.

"Don't let her know about the interest I had, alright?" he said. "I don't want to make things awkward. And I certainly wouldn't want to cross that guy if he got jealous or something."

Brelyna shuddered. "I wouldn't either," she admitted. "He is very powerful. Come to think of it, Mehra always seems so wise when she talks with me. I didn't think anything of it; just thought of her as an older sister or something, but now I wonder. Did she ever mention her age to you?"

"Never."

"It doesn't make sense at all," she frowned. "Master Neloth mentioned something about the Third Era, but I don't really know what he was talking about."

Onmund shrugged and shouldered his bag. "I'm not going to pry into however old she is. But, you're friends with her. I'll see you around, alright?"

"Yeah," she murmured, "I'll see you later."

She frowned as she watched Onmund make his way across the courtyard and into the living quarters. This was strange – stranger than Mehra single-handedly saving the College from Ancano's orb-madness. She was grateful for the opportunity to meet Master Neloth, of course, but the whole thing was strange in how they were so casual with each other. It was strange that Mehra wore a cape that denoted her as a Master when months ago, she was in introduction level classes. Stranger still was the belt she wore and the words embroidered on it.

Was she a high-ranked House Telvanni mole from the mainland, sent to keep an eye on Winterhold? Did the House catch wind of the Eye of Magnus in Saarthal, so they sent someone to investigate?

Oh! That had to be it!

Well, that made a lot of sense. It even explained the Brotherhood ex; since the Morag Tong was no longer in business, the House would have to get their shady business done through alternative means. A connection like that would be useful, though she did question falling for such a person.

Brelyna unintentionally befriended someone very high up in the House. If nothing else, it would get her in her parents' good graces again. And, if she got even a small consideration for marriage, they'd be ecstatic.

After thinking about it for a bit, she put in for her parents to request details on Neloth's apprentice, Talvas. Mehra put her up to it, in a way, and now that she knew the extent of Mehra's connections, it made her immensely grateful that her friend thought so highly of her to suggest such a match in the first place.

Brelyna couldn't wait to get Mehra alone so they could talk about what was going on. She wanted to know exactly who Mehra was. She wanted to ask details about Talvas. She wanted to ask if it would be possible for Mehra to put in a good word so that Neloth could encourage his apprentice to at least consider her. Mehra wouldn't have said anything in the first place had she not thought Talvas worthy of her. Brelyna was certain of this.

That was, if they were still actually friends.

Brelyna sucked in a breath and stared out through the courtyard window and out toward sea where Red Mountain loomed far on the horizon. She found it difficult to believe that all of those heartfelt conversations could be based on lies. For too long, she lived in worry that someone would undermine her work or find some way to stab her in the back when she trusted them.

Was Mehra going to be another one of those people? Was she just another power-obsessed Telvanni mage?

Her heart sank as she gathered her things, put her pack on her back, and shuffled across the courtyard to go to her quarters. There was only one other person in the entire world than Mehra whom she trusted with her secrets, and she was far away in Sadrith Mora.

Scared of the inevitable rejection, Brelyna sat down in a chair next to her bed and attempted to continue her studies. Her stomach turned into knots with each passing second until the anxiety became nearly unbearable. It would be a long time before Mehra had a chance to come back to talk to her; they had to give Neloth a tour of the College, and he'd most certainly want to look at the wide array of enchanting equipment they offered, as well as the vast library.

"Are you alright?"

She looked up from her book to see a concerned Mehra in the doorway and swallowed the knot in her stomach.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"You look upset," Mehra said. "Did someone say something to you? Ancano?"

Brelyna shook her head and shut her book.

"Nervous?"

She nodded quietly.

"I'll always listen if you need it," Mehra said. "I don't care about rank stuff. I – I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you up front, but I was worried about getting outed. I've lied to too many of the friends I've made and it makes me absolutely sick. I've got to tell you what I can, for now, and probably more later when the time is right. But first, let me know what's going on."

Brelyna gave her a sad smile. "I think the matter will resolve itself just fine. You are always so kind to me."

Always.

She had a good friend in Mehra, and Brelyna didn't even care about whatever Mehra's power and rank meant for her.

"Alright," Mehra smiled. "Well, I'm sure you gathered that I haven't been entirely honest with you. I want to apologize for that first of all. I am a two hundred and thirty three year old Telvanni Master, forgotten to time. While I was off the continent, it appears that chaos took hold, and I intend to put an end to it for the sake of everyone.

Brelyna blinked in shock. Two hundred and thirty three? By Azura, she was remarkably well preserved! And Neloth himself was shockingly youthful for being so ancient. Telvanni ingenuity truly knew no bounds!

"By chaos, do you mean the dragons?" Brelyna frowned.

Mehra nodded, a grave look on her face.

"After what I know you did to save the College," Brelyna said, "I have no doubt that you can figure something out. The Staff of Magnus has chosen you. A dragon thinks he can fly away from a mortal, but we have fire, frost, and shock. And Gods help him when he gets struck by a Telvanni Master, because there will be no mercy for him in this life."

"Ah, refreshing youthful anger and bravado. Oh, how I've missed it."

She turned to see Master Neloth standing in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His expression was a strange mixture of boredom and amusement, and she counted her blessings in that she apparently hadn't displeased him.

"I don't know," Neloth grumbled. "How are they versus magic?"

Mehra winced. "I could get better with that. I've, uh, stabbed them to death a few times."

Neloth frowned and jabbed his finger toward the door. "Redoran is in that direction, girl."

"I'm still training," she protested.

"We are always training," he drawled. "Always. If you cease in your studies, you are not a wizard; you're a mere priest."

Mehra crossed her arms. "Well, I heard that Martin Septim was–"

"Expelled from the Mages' Guild in his youth?" Neloth interrupted. "Not that that's any of – my – business what one wants to do with blood magic."

"Turned out to be useful, too," she quipped. "Imagine that."

"As are most things, with the proper application."

"Oh, I know," Mehra smirked. "You're so good at proper application."

Neloth returned her smirk and shifted on his feet. "That is why I am a Master."

Brelyna tugged on the collar of her robe and watched as they stared each other down with narrowed eyes and the same smug smirk.

Was – was it getting hot in there?

She supposed that even Telvanni Masters – old and ancient alike – had the same mortal needs as everyone else. But seeing it – the – the flirting – before her very eyes was the strangest thing she could have ever imagined.

"You are scaring the kid," Neloth drawled.

Mehra rolled her eyes. "I am not," she huffed. "Brelyna knows a lot about me. Including you."

Brelyna backed away and held her hands up in defense as Neloth leveled a glare in her direction. "It was nothing but flattering things, I assure you, Master."

Extremely graphic flattering things, but flattering things nonetheless.

"Good," he groused. "Now, we are best on our way. Watch out for that Thalmor one – he's a bit touched in the head. Don't have to even see him to know it; I heard the story and it was enough. I mean it, Mouth."

"I – yes, Master."

Ancano, insane?

Well, if Master Neloth said it, then it had to be true. From knowing that, Brelyna knew she'd think twice before touching anything that could possibly be dangerous or unknown magic. It wasn't worth losing her mind over, after all.

She watched as they headed toward the stairs, Neloth's gaze lingering on Mehra when she wasn't looking.

Goodness, maybe he really did like her.

---

God walked while he slept. He was there – inside the Hall. He was there – outside in the courtyard, waiting to pounce if the Chosen One failed.

God walked while he slept, and eventually, walked away entirely. Ancano missed seeing him in the flesh– both of them. But he had their attention, for better or worse. He felt god watching him, his presence a strange, hair-raising yet comforting force.

Ancano thought – he felt – well, he wasn't sure, really. The night after the incident, he dreamed of a man in black robes, somewhat taller than he, and much larger. Only, the man wasn't really a man; he saw gold-toned hazel eyes with strange, slit pupils underneath that black cloak. But the figure was shrouded in shadow; he never saw much apart from the eerie eyes.

The next night, he saw the same creature dressed in exquisite finery – a pair of white breeches, brown, gold-toed riding boots, a ruffled cream tunic, and a tailored, gold embroidered green and purple vest. He wore a sloppy braid tied off with a green bow, and his clawed fingers were lined with various sparkling rings.

The Supreme Being had the face of one of the Nord barbarians. Clearly, he stood in mockery of the Dominion and of the Eight at large.

Was – was it the one who was meant to be Talos? Dragonborn eyes?

No; it couldn't be. This presence was alarming. Still, more troubling was the question of why he saw it.

Last night, he saw him up close in his dream. God was on the other side of the mirror, pulled him in, and kissed him.

Ancano woke immediately after. It wasn't until some time later that he realized he'd been mumbling to himself in gibberish for an inestimable amount of time after the dream. After taking a few deep breaths and piecing it together, he was only certain of one thing: the kiss wasn't a kiss of passion, and was, perhaps, a symbol of some sort of blessing.

Were these dreams direct contact from this being? Was it a vision because Ancano experienced something a mortal wasn't meant to experience?

God – no, no; the devil – didn't speak to him, and it irked him terribly. He absolutely knew that speaking to such a being would only bring ruin, but he was different, now.

And he had a feeling that only that being understood him in his entirety. Still, he was not safe. Why – why did Ancano want to talk to this monster?

He – he was a bit addled from the Eye. That had to be it. He just needed some rest and some good meals and a bit more conditioning and he'd be back in prime shape again. If this got back to his superiors, they'd attempt to torture the taint out of him.

And the stain on his mind was much too deep to ever come out.

He drew in a shuddering breath and opened his eyes slowly at the sound of footsteps entering the Arcanaeum. After the incident, it was all he could do to hide from the prying eyes of the students at the College; he purposefully picked a solitary table in one of the library's most dusty corners.

A new voice joined the typical visitors to the library. It was of a higher timbre, an almost withered sound – Ancano didn't have to see the man to know that he was a hawkish sort, and most certainly a Mer of high standing.

Withered voice, but the footsteps accompanying it were soft and measured – not those of a feeble individual. Necromancy likely.

He heard the Arch-Mage's average, clumsy footsteps accompanying the sound of two others – the unmistakable sound of shifting armor, the sound of soft footsteps.

It sounded as if two non-mages accompanied the Arch-Mage, but that didn't seem possible. Ancano knew well from his training that a wizard who was old enough could have lived multiple lives.

When they rounded the corner of the wall of the library, he picked up a wealth of information at the very second he spotted them – an almost overwhelming amount of information.

He saw the Telvanni Master first. It was difficult not to, with his commanding aura, resplendent robes, and posture. The Master Wizard walked with his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the Arcanaeum – an odd military posture for one of his kind to adopt.

Come to think of it, Mehra – infernal girl – was doing likewise.

She had a new cape in the decoration of House Telvanni, and he realized with a start that he'd been out-spied. While he was busy berating her for her so-called lover on Solstheim, she was actually doing Telvanni Council business! And this man – he didn't even know who this Master Wizard was, but he didn't like the looks of him. He was much too powerful.

Ancano didn't understand. He was an elite agent of the Aldmeri Dominion! House Telvanni was in ruins – utter chaos! Surely he couldn't have been bested by such backward people whom defiled the dead and profaned the Eight with their disgusting Daedric rituals.

Gods above, the woman even had Daedric runes stitched onto the sash tied about her waist. Was heresy so powerful?

He pursed his lips as she approached him with what he assumed to be a pitying smile. As she made her way over to his table, a thought crossed his mind that he wasn't entirely sure was his own:

She was the Messenger; this wasn't her fault.

Yes, yes. He couldn't stay cross with her for defending her College. Oh, what a fool he'd been!

"Have you come to gloat?" he frowned.

She shook her head and, much to his annoyance, pulled a chair out from the table to sit down next to him.

"Wanted to check on you," she replied. "That Eye was bad news, even for someone with good mental strength. I don't think any mortal could handle it. You doing alright?"

His frown deepened. "Why do you care?"

"Because I heard you're getting picked up tomorrow," she shrugged. "And I know how important appearances are. You're probably going to be reassigned to peeling potatoes, eh?"

His face fell. "I will be executed for such a colossal failure."

Mehra scowled and crossed her arms. "Oh, no they won't. How much have you told them? Anything about the Eye?"

Ancano sighed. "I could not get any letters out without great risk, so nothing much since I arrived, and nothing on the Eye. Other than Estormo, nobody knew."

Mehra pursed her lips and nodded. "The Psijics took it."

"Well, yes, they–"

"While you were asleep, even," she said. "How were you to be awake at all times? Impossible."

His jaw dropped. "I – I cannot lie about it!"

"Were you trained to lie?"

Ancano nodded.

"Good!" Mehra chirped. "Then you'll lie to them excellently."

"Why are you helping me?" he frowned. "I've been nothing but dreadful to you this entire time, not to mention the Eye possessing me with power."

"You remind me of me when I was young," she shrugged. "I got a second chance; I'd be a hypocrite to not give someone else a similar turn."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Two hundred thirty three, I think," Mehra said. "Counting's a bit fuzzy."

So, she was a Telvanni spy. It all made sense, now. Of course, with this area being out of Thalmor jurisdiction, and with Morrowind being an entire province of its own, they couldn't fight a war on two, possibly three fronts.

Besides that, if he did get into trouble, he could use this information as leverage in a bargain for his life. Ancano had a feeling that the Dominion wouldn't be so kind to him.

That was, if he didn't have divine interference on his behalf. What was that? What were those dreams?

He eyed the daedric runes on Mehra's belt and the daedric sword at her side. If these dreams were of Oblivion, then she may know, given she seemed to be head-first into heathenism.

Pursing his lips, Ancano leaned in to her. "You know him, don't you?" he murmured.

She blinked in confusion. "Who?"

He sighed in frustration. He had hoped that she would have understood immediately.

"God," he clarified. "The – the one in the mirror."

Mehra sat back and put her hand on her chin in thought. After a moment, she sat up.

"There are a few of them who use mirrors in their teachings," she replied. "But, I may know of whom you speak. I've had the privilege of speaking to a few Gods. It is awe-inspiring."

"He says nothing to me," Ancano frowned.

She pursed her lips. "Do you really want him to? I heard you call yourself 'god' when we fought. I don't know if you remember that."

Ancano recoiled in horror. He couldn't recall saying such a heinous thing! But surely, being attached to the Eye would have made him think something along those lines.

"I suppose the next time he appears to me in my dreams," he said, "I ought to apologize. That was wholly improper."

"If your instincts tell you that it's appropriate, then definitely do it," she shrugged. "I – I need a bit more to go off of. If you can give me a description, I might be able to give more specific advice."

He closed his eyes. "Three visions," he recalled. "A robed figure in black. I see only his eyes: hazel, with reptilian pupils. In the second vision, he is dressed as a wealthy gentleman: a giant Nord with the same eyes, white hair. He has claws. In the third, he is on the other side of a mirror, and he pulls me in and kisses me – not as an actual kiss; I don't think it meant anything that what a mortal would mean by a kiss."

Ancano opened his eyes to look up at her. The sadness and pity she displayed plain for him to see churned his stomach. What did it mean? A bad omen?

How dare she find him an object of pity! He wasn't some mud-stained orphan or shifty-eyed beggar.

"Apologizing is a good idea," she said. "Don't grovel. Ask for kindness and gentleness on the next part of your life journey, as it may be difficult. You are correct; the kiss is a symbolic gesture of being touched by this particular god – irrevocably. I don't know if that means you are simply claimed, or if you were just 'gifted' in a certain way."

"Are you a mystic, then?" Ancano asked.

"Um, kind of," she lied.

One of the worst lies he ever heard, truthfully. So that meant she knew the god who appeared in his dreams, and he wasn't necessarily benevolent.

Ancano nodded quietly. He ought to have paid more attention during his Modern Heresy courses rather than holding so much disdain.

"Try to take some personal time, if they let you do that," she suggested.

He scowled. "I don't need –"

"Ah, remember how old I am?" Mehra smiled. "Take some time to go out into nature and relax. Spend some time meditating; clear your mind of thoughts and just exist for a while. Believe me; it'll do you a lot of good. That Eye artificially loaded you up on a bunch of stuff mortals weren't meant to endure."

Ancano put his head in his hands. "And this is why I have had a visit from a god of questionable motive," he grumbled.

She crossed her arms and sighed deeply. Staring down at her boots, she ground her toe into the tile below in nervousness.

"Well, I'm not going to lie to you about that," Mehra said. "You're correct. I don't see why else you'd get such a visit. Since I doubt you can avoid him, you should be cautious with him."

He nodded quietly.

He was doomed, wasn't he?

"Perhaps, a leave of absence is warranted," Ancano admitted. "But it is doubtful if they will grant me one, and perhaps foolish of me to request such a thing after failing my mission. Surely you must understand this."

"I do," she sighed. "and it's a shame. Obviously, if it's unsafe to request such a thing, protect yourself. None of my connections will be of help to you, unfortunately, though I do offer whatever I can."

Ancano nodded again, unwilling to ask her why she offered such a thing. She was a fool to offer aid to someone who attempted to kill her, and a bigger fool to act as if he hadn't done anything.

She took her leave of him with social pleasantries typical of a commoner – mannerly, but rife with informality and clumsiness. As Ancano watched Mehra leave, he narrowed his eyes.

He couldn't quite figure her out. Her mannerisms gave off an air of a military sort, her speech was that of a commoner, yet her skill set said she was a high-class wizard and fighter. And to top it off, she was a crass as a common bar-whore. Was she still putting on a ruse for him?

That had to be it. He was certain that this woman couldn't be a mere commoner, now that he saw her with this Telvanni Master and knew of her power firsthand. That, and she wore high ranking symbols of House Telvanni. But, since when did Telvanni have spellswords? Was she a Redoran convert?

Well, that was plausible.

Why would she offer her aid? Did she want to get inside his head? Perhaps she waited for the moment to strike- to get him to trust her, and then once his guard was down, take him down once and for all. What if she employed spies?

Ancano closed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head. No, no. She could have killed him already.

Did she regret not doing it? That didn't make sense but –

His mind was muddled. Damn Eye.

He was even making small talk with her.

Yes, he was certainly addled.

Ancano needed to get out of Winterhold and get on with his next assignment so he could put this all behind him.