A/n: Thank you everyone for your support! This fandom is so friendly. I am feeling quite a bit better, our house has a contract on it, my dad's surgery went well, etc. And we have just found a new house. Realtalk though: it's tough to write when you don't know when you'll have to leave the house for a showing. But this is going to be for the better, ultimately :)
Corrections are the usual
"It shames my race that we must be judged by the works of such lack-wit blunderers" -Yagrum Bagarn
"Mehra, I need you in my quarters for an emergency meeting."
She grunted and stretched in bed. What could possibly be wrong that Master Aren wanted her up in the middle of the night?
"Mehra, please," he whispered. "This dagger – it's dwemer, but it's like nothing I've ever seen. Arniel has disappeared."
Mehra shot up in bed, wide awake at the mention of a strange dwemer dagger. Master Aren stood at the foot of her bed, and behind him stood Masters Irvine and Tolfdir, a grave look on their faces. Silently, Master Aren drew a dagger tucked from his cloak and placed it on the bed in front of her.
"Keening," she breathed.
In the corner, Neloth shifted in his chair, but her gaze was drawn to the piece of her past that went missing so many centuries ago.
It was an odd dagger, even for a Dwemer design. The blade itself appeared to be a clear soul gem of some sort – perhaps even simple quartz – and its surrounding hilt was a strange, mechanical combination of screws, spikes, and Dwemer geometry. At the end of the hilt was a crescent moon shape – likely a sinister callback to the Dwemer blasphemy against creation for which the tool was intended.
Master Aren recoiled in shock. "T-this -this is Keening?"
"Well, yes," Neloth drawled, "she did just say that."
He visibly shook himself and crossed his arms. "I – yes. Of course. Master Neloth, I would appreciate your expert input on this situation as well, if you wouldn't mind. Our student seems to have left behind a strange warped soul gem. Would you mind examining it?"
"Couldn't see why not," he shrugged. "It isn't as if I really sleep."
"My sincere apologies, Master," Master Aren replied. "I wouldn't have asked if it weren't important. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need to become well-rested again."
Mehra chuckled and slid out of the bed. "No; he quite literally doesn't sleep. At least, not from what I've seen."
He'd been reading by candlelight spell from the moment she turned in for bed, and was in the same position when she awoke.
"Quite a skill," Master Irvine murmured. "We shall meet you in the Arch-Mage's quarters when you're ready; best to not wake the students with further chatter."
With that, they left the room and ascended the stairs, leaving Mehra to stare at the dagger in front of her. Incredible that it just showed up like that. Still incredible was the fact that one of the students at the College managed to track it down and somehow went missing in some kind of experiment. If it had to do with Keening, then it could only be bad news.
To be fair, Keening wasn't the same after the Heart was destroyed; when the Heart broke, so did the enchantment that caused a mortal wound on whomever touched it with their bare hands.
Mehra shook her head and sighed. "Vivec had a gauntlet enchanted so that one could handle this thing. I'd liken it to, hm – an oven mitt."
Sliding out of bed, she picked the dagger up and put it next to the Blade of Woe. Neloth stood and gave her a strange side-eye, but made no comment about her sleeping with a dagger strapped to her side.
"An oven mitt?" he grumbled.
Mehra slipped into her boots and sat on the bed to tie them.
"To keep Keening from killing people when they touch it," she said. "It doesn't anymore; that stopped once the Heart was gone."
Neloth pursed his lips. "Would be an interesting study, were the dagger not fatal. Perhaps, the heartstones–"
"Gonna have to call a 'no' on that one for the time being," Mehra sighed. "That sounds unbelievably dangerous, and dammit, I'm too selfish to lose you."
The words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Smirking, Neloth motioned toward the foyer, and the stairs that led upward to the Arch-Mage's quarters.
"Selfishness is an excellent trait of our House," he murmured. "I suppose you fit in better than most outsiders."
Grateful that he dropped it, Mehra stood with a sigh and led him through the silent student quarters to ascend the stairs. They arrived at the Arch-Mage's quarters to find Masters Aren, Ervine, and Tolfdir standing around a table, staring at a grand soul gem that sat in the center. Each appeared mistrustful of it – if there were such a thing.
Neloth approached the table, his expression unimpressed. "That thing is useless," he frowned.
"There are scorch marks on it," Master Ervine said. "It also has a few nicks in the side."
Mehra frowned. "Nicks?"
She stopped next to Neloth and peered down at the gem. Sure enough, it was chipped, as if someone had beaten on it with –
Mehra swore, drew Keening from her side, and lined it up with one of the deeper grooves on the gem. Sure enough, it fit into the missing part of the soul gem.
The Masters of the College of Winterhold drew a collective breath.
"I have seen apprentices do stupid things," Neloth murmured, "but this is, by far, the most idiotic I have ever seen. Suppose he will be learning Dwemeris wherever he has gone, hm?"
Master Aren put his head in his hands. "One of our brightest students. It's always the smart ones – always too smart and too eager."
"A good kid, too," Tolfdir mumbled. "Such a shame."
Neloth peered down at the warped soul gem on the table. "I shall take that, if you have no use for it. Perhaps it will resonate with the heart stones. I certainly won't be fool enough to strike it with the dagger or other such nonsense."
"Probably a good idea," Master Irvine said. "And I believe that someone here must have helped him in this endeavor. Unfortunately, after this kind of a disappearance, it's any guess as to who it was; I doubt they'll come forward."
Mehra pursed her lips as Neloth grabbed the soul gem from the table. She wouldn't blame Arniel's accomplice for not coming forward, for many reasons.
She stood quietly as they worked out a quick plan as to what to say on the matter. The official announcement from the College would be that Arniel Gane would no longer be attending Winterhold due to a dangerous experiment. There wasn't much more that could be said, apart from that.
With the meeting over, Mehra accompanied Neloth back down the stairs, slowly lagging behind him until he disappeared around the corner. She reached the floor they stayed on and found him waiting for her in the archway just before the foyer.
Strange. Neloth didn't wait for anyone. Or at least, she didn't think he was the type to.
"You were awfully silent through that," he observed.
Mehra shook her head and sighed again. She felt old.
"That was disturbing," she admitted. "It's my fault that–"
"Categorically false."
She threw her hands in the air. "What if this dagger is – I don't know – like the Staff of Magnus? What if it wanted to find me here?"
"That has nothing to do with the kid deciding to experiment with it and soul gems, and you know it," Neloth chided.
Her shoulders slumped. There was nothing she could have done to stop it. "Yeah."
"Go to bed."
Nodding, Mehra shuffled across the foyer and into her room, with Neloth following close behind. These sorts of things happened, but it didn't mean that she was fine with it. In fact, it would be a long time before she accepted Arniel's grim fate. The Augur of Dunlain may have information on the matter, but to what end? A rescue operation was hopeless; Mehra knew it more than anyone.
Doing anything with Kagrenac's tools was a fool's errand.
Without a word, Mehra sat on her bed, tugged her boots off, and burrowed under the covers. She closed her eyes against the soft light of Neloth's spell and the quiet sound of him turning a page every so often. At least she wasn't alone, this time.
The thought brought her some comfort and sent her back to sleep, but the familiar weight of the reclaimed dagger at her side kept her somewhat on edge.
She dreamed she was at a banquet, floating on a blackened void. The atmosphere there was still, as if someone had cast a spell which froze time. It was dark and difficult to make out the guests in the hazy, green lighting in the banquet hall, but as her eyes adjusted to the light, she made out the person on her left:
Erich: mortal, just as she'd remembered him. Even his hair was shorter.
He was frozen in time, the same as the strange green flame on the candle on the table in front of him. Warily, Mehra glanced to her right and saw Neloth.
Nope; also frozen.
She glanced out in the distance of the void and noticed a yellow-green light through a haze of clouds. Slowly, a strange world that looked like it could be hers took form. The banquet was on an icy island in the middle of the sea north of Winterhold. When Mehra glanced around, she saw the familiar landmark of Ysgramor's burial site in the distance, and further back, the College and the ruined town of Winterhold. Everything about it, however, felt off, as if it were all false.
When she looked back at the banquet table, she saw more people: Master Aren, Brelyna, Talvas, Tolfdir, Master Ervine, Aryon, Vivec, Almalexia–
Everyone was dead.
Erich shifted next to her, causing her to jerk in fright. His skin was pallid, and a strange network of black lines branched across his face and neck. Were those his veins? What was that?
Slowly, he turned his gaze toward her – black eyes, dark circles under them. He opened his mouth to speak but began to choke on something.
Mehra watched in horror as it happened to everyone else. Frantic, she tried to move to help them– Erich, Neloth, Brelyna, Talvas : Could she save anyone? – but sat unmoving as a strange paralysis overtook her.
Black blood spilled from their mouths, and the first tentacle emerged from Erich's mouth. The black, slimy thing wriggled toward her as he leaned in to her helpless, paralyzed body. He lifted his hand to the side of her face and stared in curiosity, as if he was seeing her for the first time.
"Fascinating. I'll find you soon enough."
A tentacle wrapped around her ankle.
Mehra screamed.
"Dagon's toenails! What in Oblivion?!"
She sat up in bed, her heart hammering in her chest. Neloth dropped his book, stood, and crouched next to her bed, peering into her eyes and preparing a powerful calm spell in his hand. Quickly, he cast it on her without asking, giving her instant relief from her panic.
"I've never had one like that before," she whispered.
Her voice was hoarse from screaming.
Footsteps padded across the foyer and Brelyna appeared in the doorway.
"Another nightmare?" she asked.
Mehra nodded.
The clock tower above them struck the middle of the hour.
"I'll be alright," Mehra insisted. "You can go back to bed."
Brelyna gave her a look that said she wasn't buying it, but left as she was told. Mehra supposed that had Neloth not been there, it would have been different.
Onmund's groggy voice drifted across the foyer. "You alright, Mehra?"
"Yeah," she sighed.
Oh, everyone knew. This was embarrassing.
"Need any water?" he asked.
"No, thanks."
She didn't want anyone else to be troubled over her. Sighing, Mehra swung her legs out of bed and stepped into her boots, with Neloth watching her every movement.
"I'm going to take a walk," she mumbled.
He cast a quick glance back to the chair in the corner and the book which he'd been reading for several hours, then looked back to her.
"I shall accompany you, then," he shrugged.
Mehra opened her mouth to tell him that he didn't have to trouble himself, but closed it as she realized that there was no talking him out of it. That, and she couldn't help but admit that this time–
This time, she actually wanted someone with her during one of her post-nightmare walks.
She stood and turned to the doorway. "Let's go before more people show up," Mehra murmured.
Neloth gave her a simple nod in reply, following her out of the room and into the stairwell. Silently, they made their way through the College and out onto the upper walkway that led to the Arcanaeum and Arch-Mage's quarters.
The first breath of fresh air made her feel lighter immediately. Still, Mehra didn't like the idea of being in a place where she could be so easily found. She turned, eyed the bell tower above them, and prepared to cast levitate. A hand on her arm stopped her.
"That is a bit excessive," Neloth said. "Need I remind you there is a rather large, loud bell up there?"
Mehra narrowed her eyes at the tower. "Do you know 'muffle'?"
"Excessive," he emphasized. "One cannot physically run from their dreams."
"But I'd feel better," she grumbled.
"Would you? Truly?"
She closed her eyes. Sighing, Mehra slowly shook her head.
No, she wouldn't feel better if she were here or on top of the bell tower. But she was used to people indulging her eccentricities.
Mehra opened her eyes and sat on the wall that lined the walkway. It was the strangest nightmare she had in a long time; in fact, it didn't follow the pattern of any others she had before. Usually, she dreamed of her past life and the things that went wrong in it. Or, she'd dream of Dagoth Ur. At the worst of times, her nightmares were a message sent directly from Dagoth Ur himself, something she didn't care to repeat, given how terrifying they were.
Come to think of it, this dream felt somewhat like the dreams Dagoth Ur sent to her. Mehra wasn't sure if that meant that her mind was getting creative, or if someone was trying to contact her.
"I think it's the dagger," she concluded. "It reminded me of that time, and those nightmares Dagoth Ur liked to send to me. Don't know why my mind decided to come up with tentacles, of all things, but that's the best explanation I have."
Neloth nodded. "A sound reason as any. Is this common?"
She shook her head. "Only when I have something to remind me of what happened in my past life, or when I got involved in the prophecy."
"Then I believe you have your answer," he intoned.
Mehra nodded in agreement, but still, she couldn't get the images of people she knew with blackened eyes out of her mind. And those tentacles were so strange; she never saw with or dealt with those before. They were huge, like those of a fabled sea monster.
"What time is it, by the way?" she asked. "Were you keeping track?"
"I believe you awoke around half-past three," Neloth replied. "You weren't asleep for long."
Devil's hour.
Mehra shook the intrusive thought from her mind. Daedra didn't bother her much, so why would they now?
"I don't think I'm going to be able to get much more sleep," Mehra grumbled. "Might as well sit around and watch the sunrise in a few hours."
"As you wish," Neloth shrugged.
She felt a bit foolish, if she were honest with herself. Pursing her lips, Mehra turned to the door they came from.
"If you want to go back inside to read–"
"I will stay here," he said, quietly mumbling something to himself about 'disturbing shrieks'.
She crossed her arms and hunched over. "I'm sorry to bother you, at least."
"I am merely surprised that I can be bothered in the first place," he admitted.
Mehra laughed. "That makes two of us, I suppose. After some of the stuff I've seen, you'd think a nightmare wouldn't get me like that. At my age, it's embarrassing."
"Agreed on nearly the same principle," Neloth grumbled.
She wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but found herself too tired to ask. Letting out a deep breath, Mehra slid off the wall and sat down on the walkway to lean back against the wall. She tucked her knees in to her chest, bargaining with herself that she'd close her eyes for just a minute.
"If you wanted a sunrise, you're about to miss it."
Mehra jerked awake and blinked out at the horizon. Sure enough, a pale dot of yellow sunlight shined off the far edge of the water, barely illuminating the landscape. Her body had different plans when she closed her eyes to rest, and thankfully, none of them involved another nightmare.
The silhouette of the massive statue that marked Azura's shrine stood out against the dark mountains, and Mehra pointed in its direction.
"That'll face the sunrise," she said, "and the sunset at her back. Very thoughtful."
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched her sore legs out in front of her. "How long was I out, anyway?"
"Inconsequential," Neloth said.
Mehra eyed the book in his hand. She must have been out for a long time, for the sun to be rising and for him to be reading.
"Did you get some reading done?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. Aren brought it."
She wasn't sure what to say in reply to that. Mehra hadn't expected him to keep watch over her as she slept, if that was indeed what he did.
She had her doubts. Surely, there were more important things Neloth could be doing.
Unsure of what else to say, Mehra stayed silent as the sun rose over Winterhold and the College began to awaken. She was glad that they'd be leaving that day for Whiterun; between the nightmare and what happened with Arniel, Mehra felt a bit uneasy staying at the College.
And Whiterun always felt right to her, even when she faced some sort of difficulty there.
Eventually, Master Ervine found them outside and asked them if they wanted to have their breakfast there, rather than in the crowded College. They agreed, and as they ate in a companionable silence, Mehra couldn't help but wonder if the same offer would have been extended had she not had Neloth with her.
She still maintained that she wasn't any more important than anyone else, but things were a bit strange, now. After all, she saved the College from destruction, and she was now known to them as a Third Era Telvanni Master. The Companions knew even more about her. And soon, she'd become known throughout Whiterun Hold, and possibly all of Skyrim as a powerful wizard.
It didn't matter if she was ready for it nor not; Mehra figured this was a good thing, even if she made herself uncomfortable for the time being. This was something she had to do for herself.
She turned her gaze down to the town of Winterhold and frowned. A tall person in dark conjurer's robes walked down the bridge that led to the College, their golden skin evident even at a distance. Assuming this was the Thalmor delegate, Mehra stood, stretched, and quickly excused herself by letting Neloth know what she thought was going on.
Her determination to protect the College brought her down to the main foyer quickly. She arrived to see the heads of the College standing at the entrance and talking to none other than Ondolemar, the head of the Justiciars. His snobbery – in particular toward Erich – left quite an impression on her at the Embassy party.
She caught his gaze from across the room, and Mehra couldn't help but notice the appreciative once-over he gave her. Figuring she ought to talk to him before he approached her and got Neloth involved, Mehra steeled herself and made her way across the hall to where Ondolemar stood with Masters Ervine and Aren, and Ancano.
Mehra didn't have to turn to see Neloth behind her; she felt him stalking along behind her.
Ondolemar peered at her street clothes with disdain, then turned his gaze back to Neloth.
"I see you're with a different man this time," he drawled.
Ancano visibly bristled next to him. He knew what Mehra was capable of, and knew who Neloth was.
"Oh, sorry," Mehra smiled. "I didn't realize the plus one on the invite to your incredibly boring party meant 'leave your friend at home'."
Ondolemar smirked. "You're a nobody. How did you even get in?"
"You'll hear about me soon enough," she shrugged.
Master Aren stepped forward with a sigh. "She's Telvanni, for starters."
Neloth stopped behind her and shook his head, barely hiding a smirk as Ondolemar sneered at him.
"Last I heard," Ondolemar snorted, "House Telvanni's best exports were what – mucksponge?"
Neloth narrowed his eyes. "Angry, thousands of years old wizards, actually."
"And, you are?"
"Neloth, you insipid brat," he spat. "I've lived through three instances of your Aldmeri Dominion, and this third one is, by far, the most droll."
Ondolemar recoiled as if struck, but quickly composed himself and offered his hand.
"Oh," he smiled, "Master Enchanter Neloth? It is a pleasure."
Neloth glared down at the offered hand and crossed his arms. "You are much too late for pleasantries," he scowled. "Take your underling and go back to the nursery you call an Embassy, child."
Mehra slapped a hand over her mouth in a horrible attempt at holding in her laughter. That was better than any comeback she could have ever come up with, given Neloth's reputation.
Master Aren stepped forward with a sigh. "I believe Winterhold has had enough of the Dominion's hospitality – if it could even be called such. Please, leave, before you further insult our esteemed guest."
Ondolemar inclined his head in a modest show of respect. "Of course, Arch-Mage," he said. "Master Neloth, you have my sincerest apologies; we are used to enemies everywhere, and it is a struggle at times."
"Denied," Neloth scowled. "You know nothing of struggle, boy."
"Also acknowledged," he said. "Your Lordship must know, however: I have seen this woman with another man – a Nord barbarian man."
Mehra fought the urge to wince. She hadn't had an opportunity to talk to Neloth about Erich in detail.
"That is none of your concern," Neloth frowned. "You simply do not know everything as you believe you do."
Ondolemar nodded. "Fair enough, Master."
He gave Master Aren a nod. "Thank you for your hospitality, Master Aren. The Dominion will certainly keep in touch in matters of research. We shall be on our way."
"Safe travels to you both," Master Aren replied.
With that, the two Thalmor turned and left the College through the open door. As soon as they were out of sight, Master Aren visibly deflated.
"Please, don't keep in touch," he mumbled. "Ever."
"What if an accident happened to them on their way back?"
Mehra turned to see Brelyna behind them, glaring in the direction to which Ancano and Ondolemar disappeared.
Master Aren frowned at her and Brelyna put her hands up in defense.
"A little accident," she clarified. "Like – Stormcloaks knowing their identity."
"Always make it look like an accident," Neloth chuckled. "Bright girl, really."
Mehra shook her head. "I think the cosmic scheme will get them in the end; we hardly have to do anything."
"No," Neloth frowned, "the very existence of the vile, cowardly Gothren as Archmagister for centuries proves that there is no cosmic scheme."
"I think we both know what happened to him," she countered.
Neloth laughed. "Not good enough for the likes of him."
Mehra shrugged. She wasn't going to keep arguing the point. Apparently, Neloth had some sort of grudge against Gothren, and she wasn't about to get involved in it when the man was over two hundred years dead.
"You'd know more on that than I would, of course," she admitted.
The clock tower chimed the turn of the hour far above them, and Mehra sighed.
"Time to get going, I suppose," she said. "I'll get my armor on and we'll head out."
Mehra turned and took the stairs upward. Gathering each piece of her armor, she strapped it on then stuffed whatever was out of her bag inside. Mehra stopped at the sight of Azura's Star in her bag – such a wonderful gift – and whispered a quick prayer of thanks as she reached in to brush her fingers across the crystal.
Mehra closed the bag and secured its ties. With her things packed, she shouldered her bag, grabbed the bag Neloth brought, then headed back down to the foyer.
Master Aren stood at the door with Master Ervine and Tolfdir. As Mehra handed Neloth's bag over, Master Aren stepped forward.
"Safe travels to you both," he said. "If there is anything we can do to assist you, you need only but ask."
"And the same to you," Mehra replied. "I'll be back when I can."
After finishing her goodbyes, she headed out of the College with Neloth at her side. As they made their way to the small tavern that they'd rest in overnight, she pondered the possibility of a future teaching destruction classes at the College.
The whole thing seemed so strangely domestic. Mehra wondered if she'd ever have a future like that.
Then again, if she failed against Alduin, she wouldn't have any future, nor would the rest of the world.
A glance over to Neloth steeled her resolve to set things right.
Above all else, she'd die trying to make sure he had a future in this dreadful, wonderful world, along with everyone else she cherished.
As Ancano put more distance between himself and the College, the less loyalty he found to the bawdy woman whom dared to treat him as an inferior.
In fact, he had no loyalty to her whatsoever. He merely defended himself by offering her a conversation so willingly.
From the conversation, however, he gleaned a bit of information about her. Mehra claimed to be an old wizard who made terrible decisions when she was younger. Whether this was the case or not remained to be seen, but her compassion seemed genuine.
That compassion would surely be her downfall. The wizard who accompanied her was certainly a dangerous sort.
Ondolemar was silent as they walked through Winterhold, past the various town guards and odd occasional Stormcloak stationed on the road nearby. When they were out of sight of the ruined city, Ondolemar glanced back to the speck of the College behind them and shook his head.
"Strange to see that woman there as well," he mused. "I imagine there was a favor of some sort done so she could get into Lady Elenwen's party – the Dunmer woman; tall one. I suppose Neloth – if that was truly Neloth – will be having a conversation with her on her infidelity. A man of his standing must save face, after all."
Ancano nodded slowly. He wasn't surprised to find that she was sleeping around, but to have the gall to step out on an esteemed wizard was truly something else.
"I overheard her speaking about the man she accompanied, Sir," he said. "That is the one from Solstheim. I certainly believe him to be Neloth, given his known residence. I did not know that Telvanni spying would come so far west, and certainly not in the form of one of Ysgramor's Companions, of all things. But she does wear the cape, Sir."
Lord Ondolemar shook his head. "It is obvious, Justiciar. The woman wears his cape; it was a lascivious and rather overt gift. She certainly is no Telvanni Master."
Ancano wasn't convinced that the answer was so simple. He saw her power firsthand. Still, the cape was rather large, as if it would fit Neloth more properly.
Gods above! That was the famous enchanter, Neloth – or, infamous, depending on how one looked at it. His temper was as legendary as his work, and seeing his superior thrashed by him gave Ancano a terrible case of secondhand embarrassment.
"Of course, Sir," he replied. "A gift makes sense. She is a loose woman, as many Dunmer are. She speaks openly with the young Dunmer at the College about her dalliances – a terrible influence on a young mind."
Ondolemar shook his head. "It is as Dunmer are. Their alchemical makeup is tainted from the Daedra. With the influence of Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah, it is no wonder that they can barely contain such lustful urges. And that is why we do what we do, Ancano; we must ensure that Aldmeri purity remains free of such formidable influence. What happened to the ancient Chimer was no accident and was a direct result of their devil-worship and overt sin. And, the future generations have paid for it dearly."
"That they have, Sir," Ancano nodded. "Were it not for the lower birthrate of Mer-kind, they would surely breed like rats."
Ondolemar turned his gaze to the sky and sighed. "It is unfortunate. But, once we rid them of the overly permissive Empire, we can begin to free them from their heathenism. I am certain this will be the next step in the Dominion's plans."
"Not taking Skyrim, Sir?"
"You've lived here for some years," Ondolemar frowned. "Are they worth taking?"
Ancano pursed his lips. "A conundrum, to be sure. There are relics of the Eight here. And our work, under your leadership, has brought light to a backward people. There is a hierarchy to the creatures of Tamriel – I know this from the evidence I have seen firsthand – but they are all created by great Akatosh and the rest of the Eight. They are beloved by them, even in their simplicity and darkness."
Ondolemar chuckled.
"You are quite idealistic, Ancano," he said. "And true that we must liberate these heathens from their worship of a human. We must also lift the superstitions on magic and bring the light of knowledge to them, whatever parts of it they can retain, that is."
Ancano nodded in agreement. "I suppose there are occasional ones who have above average intelligence. Master Tolfdir of Winterhold is a bit of a tottering fool, but he does have Mastery of Alteration. Against his credit, however, his skills include no conjuration whatsoever."
"Too idealistic and superstitious," Ondolemar laughed. "Of course, Mastery of Alteration is certainly impressive. Your report, however, stated that he is in his low two hundreds in age, correct?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Thus we see Mer superiority," he said. "A great human mage lives as long as a Mer commoner of any race."
Ancano pursed his lips. "The Bretons, however –"
"They are chief among the human races," Ondolemar said. "And it is no wonder; their makeup includes Mer. The Redguards are also an admirable race of humans, for their architecture and immense self-discipline. Imperials are corrupt and arrogant with less talent. And the Nords, of course, are the least of these."
Ondolemar shook his head and scowled. "There was one Nord whom accompanied that loose woman to the Embassy party. A strange man with premature white hair, and height which was more in line with one of our kind. Wore his hair all the way down his back like some sort of dandy – longer than his cloak. The slimy thing must have been trained by her; he was devilishly charming to all of the guests. I presume they disappeared early to paw at each other. Senseless for a pretty young girl to waste time on a short-lived, ignorant, and superstitious kind."
Ancano nearly tripped over his own feet. It couldn't be! She said she had the opportunity to speak with some Gods before, but he never thought that there was such a connection.
She lied to him! She knew the one in the mirror!
"You appear incensed, Ancano."
He shook the thoughts from his mind and sighed.
"That sort of thing is unfortunate," he said. "I may have seen that man before, outside Winterhold with her. What were the color of his eyes, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Hazel – a bit more gold-toned than typical."
Hell and damnation!
"Yes, quite incensed," Ondolemar laughed. "Why so angry?"
Ancano sucked in a breath. "A pity for such a relation to happen. The Nord ought to stick to his own kind."
He turned his gaze toward the gray storm clouds on the horizon.
Gods above! God of the Storm! A thousand apologies! He had to lie to save face.
The storm? What an odd thought.
"And now you look perplexed," Ondolemar observed. "Please, do not tell me that you are so easy to read all the time."
Ancano shook his head. "No, Sir. I am simply a bit weary from all the inter-politics of that College. Of course, I would wager that your person skills are among the highest in the Dominion, thus your ease of reading my expression. A question for you, though: Which God is the God of the Storm?"
Ondolemar narrowed his eyes and stared off at the distant road ahead.
"Sheogorath," he answered. "I am surprised that you do not know this. Thunderstorms belong to him. When heretics summon their heathen Gods on the required day, they are all advised to avoid doing so if there is a thunderstorm on said day. Those who do not heed this are likely to summon Sheogorath. He is one of the most dangerous of the Daedric Princes."
Ancano swallowed. This was trouble.
"Even the false gods of the late Tribunal of Morrowind forbade his worship," Ondolemar continued. "He is on par with Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal, and, to a lesser extent, the weaker Malacath. I feel I must remind you: Sheogorath brought the moon to Vivec City and ultimately caused the Red Year. The blood of millions is on his hands. Now, why do you ask?"
"There were many storms recently outside the College," he replied. "I wondered if it had to do with the approaching summer, or if there was something more nefarious afoot."
Ondolemar nodded slowly and seemed to consider this thoroughly. For a brief moment, Ancano wondered if he'd been caught in a falsehood. But, what he said certainly wasn't a falsehood and was, in fact, quite logical.
"Unfortunately, it isn't so simple," Ondolemar concluded. "Sheogorath works in subtleties. He even takes form as a wealthy gentleman with a cane in order to lure mortals into a false sense of security. So, the short answer is thus: there is no telling what those storms mean."
Ancano swallowed. The man in the mirror was certainly Sheogorath, then. Still troubling was the fact that this woman knew him personally and dallied about with him – whether it was unknowingly or willingly, he wasn't quite sure.
Given their conversation, he had the suspicion that she knew exactly what she was doing. This was why she pitied him so.
Sheogorath was a horrible evil. He attempted to contact Ancano through his dreams, perhaps because Ancano had a glimpse at the inner workings of the universe through the Eye. No mortal was meant to do such a thing; it could very well drive someone insane to do so.
But Ancano – Ancano wasn't insane. Though he fell to the temptation of the Eye, he was no ordinary mortal. He had decades of mental training through the most secretive order of the Aldmeri Dominion.
He had to cleanse this taint from his person.
He had to do it all on his own; if the Dominion found out, he'd be tortured – possibly executed.
Terrified for his future, Ancano formed a plan for how he would ward this evil from his mind.
Their journey brought them through a rocky mountain pass toward a small tavern in the middle of nowhere at the southern end of the chain of mountains that surrounded Winterhold. Neloth listened as Mehra insisted for the dozenth time that she knew where they were going.
It sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. Neloth didn't care either way; he knew how to cast dozens of spells that would be useful if their journey took longer than expected.
He sighed as they passed by yet another snowberry bush. The sun began its descent over the horizon some time ago; Mehra voiced her concerns about walking in the dark, to the point of being obsessive. While Neloth did have a reputation for wanting things to be "just so", he knew that travels – especially by foot – weren't an exact science.
Frustrated by the repeated false assurances, Neloth changed the subject.
"The Justiciar," he said, "you spoke with him yesterday, I believe. Whatever for?"
She shook her head and trained her eyes on the road. "Just wanted to see if there were any lasting effects of the Eye. Unfortunately for him, there will be."
"How so?"
"Bad omens," she frowned. "Being visited by Sheogorath in his dreams – kissed by Sheogorath, even. He didn't know who the 'God in the mirror' was. Maybe that's for the best."
Unsurprising, really. Anyone fool enough to mess with an ancient artifact of unknown origins was fool enough to not remember the Daedra. And those who forgot themselves around Daedric Princes tended to be reminded in rather excruciating ways.
"He's a poor Inquisitor if he doesn't know the meaning of 'Sheogorath-kissed'," Neloth snorted.
"Do you think he was already crazy from the Eye?" she asked. "Or do you think he was chosen instead?"
"Anyone's guess," Neloth shrugged. "I wouldn't involve myself in that sort of thing, even if you do know the one behind it all."
Pursuing answers of that sort often led down a dangerous path.
Mehra sighed and turned her gaze to the cloudy sky, likely fretting about the setting sun and the appearance of rain on the horizon. If the Justiciar was indeed touched by Sheogorath, then the storm very well may be following him.
"I suppose you're right," she admitted. "It's tough for me not to ask, though. Maybe I'm too permissive with him; I really don't know."
Neloth stayed silent on the matter. That was her business, not his. He hoped, however, that she kept enough wits about her to not equate the human she once knew with the immortal, dangerous being he became.
Just as twilight began to take hold, they caught sight of a thatched roof through a group of tall, dark pines. A trail led down through the jagged mountains across the road from the small inn, which sat adjacent to a small pond. The inn wasn't much to look at, but one couldn't expect much in such a remote location.
Mehra motioned toward the inn and stepped onto the path that led around to the front door.
"Here?" Neloth mused. "It is – common."
"Better than the ground," Mehra quipped.
He shrugged. "Quite. I am certain, however, that I have had either at some point in my lifetime. Details are hazy."
It was always hazy with the older details in his life. While he was used to finery, expensive linens, and private lodgings, there was a time so very long ago in which material luxury was foreign to him.
They took the short stairs up to the tiny tavern, with Neloth motioning for Mehra to proceed in front of him. Her common airs would benefit them in dealing with average people; he was too far removed from such things to be of use.
She opened the door. A gust of warm air that smelled of roasted meat and vegetables billowed outside, inviting them in.
"Ah, it's you again!" a voice called. "Welcome, lass."
Neloth followed her into the tavern and stayed some distance behind. The patrons therein gave him a wary look; from a second's glance, his station as a wizard was plainly obvious. He occupied himself with taking note of his surroundings as Mehra approached the owner to acquire their lodgings.
There wasn't much of interest, here. It was a log tavern with a worn, pine floor. Still, from the scattered tables about, it appeared to be fastidiously clean. Feeling an ache in his feet – odd sensation – Neloth took a seat at one of the tables nearby and waited for Mehra to conclude her business.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the innkeeper wince and shake his head. "I'm sorry, but it's a single bed. I don't know if your father– "
"He's not my father," Mehra corrected, her voice quiet.
Neloth shoved his hands into the pockets of his cloak, sighed, and stared up at the rafters. He ought to have expected that. If they were humans, they'd appear some twenty or so years apart in age. They would both fool other mer, even.
Willing himself to not eavesdrop further on the conversation, Neloth stared at the wall in front of him and waited until Mehra turned away from the bar at the back of the room. She made her way over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down next to him with a sigh.
"Everything has been arranged," she said. "It's a single bed, but I know you don't sleep anyway."
Neloth nodded. That was – somewhat correct, at least.
Mehra unstrapped her helm from her head and breathed a contented sigh. The thing looked heavy and warm – excessive, like many things she wore.
The innkeeper brought over two bowls of stew and set them in front of them. Grateful that it wasn't too much different than what he could find on Solstheim – native Morrowind food was a bit hard to come by – Neloth began to eat without complaint.
It tasted wholly average. When one lived thousands of years of life, nearly every meal tasted familiar, unless it was unsatisfactory.
They ate in silence and kept to themselves as an occasional patron entered the inn. As soon as they were finished with eating, Neloth wanted to retire to wherever they had their evening lodgings so as to avoid unnecessary and trivial conversation.
A set of heavy footsteps approaching the table made Neloth purse his lips. Of course, it wasn't to be. He supposed that a wizard in finery was a quite a sight in these parts.
Well, Mehra would deal with it; she had a way with these people.
"Excuse me, sir," a man said.
What? Him? Whatever for?
Neloth drew in a breath and turned to see a Nord male – commoner – standing to his side, an apologetic look on his face.
Well, he supposed the person was polite, at the very least. Neloth motioned for the man to speak, dreading what would happen after giving this one permission to approach him.
"This may come off very forward," the man sighed, "but maybe you'd understand. I'm at a loss. My wife died years ago, and my daughter is old enough where she is going to need to have 'the talk'. Any advice?"
What in Oblivion? Seriously? Again?
He was not traveling with his daughter! In fact, the truth was stranger than fiction, in their case.
Neloth sighed and put his his head in his hands. This was exactly why he didn't bother with leaving his tower. A quick glance over to his traveling companion told him that Mehra fought to hold in her laughter. Shaking his head, Neloth turned to level the man with the stare that left many apprentices and servants scurrying out of the room as quickly as possible.
"All of my children died before they were old enough to know such things," he replied. "The oldest was eight."
Eight? Seven? Something like that. As always, the details from many centuries ago – thousands of years, in this case – were hazy at best.
The Nord's eyes widened in shock. "I am so sorry," he stammered. "I understand loss. Forgive me, sir."
With that, he gave a short bow – not part of Nord culture, but Neloth's status was quite obvious – and scuttled away as quickly as possible.
Mehra stared at the wall and chewed on her lip in thought. Clearly, she didn't know how to process that information, nor did she know what to say in regards to it. But it happened so long ago; truthfully, he hadn't thought of it in hundreds of years.
"I wish people wouldn't assume that I'm your daughter," she mumbled. "It's like they don't get past the skin and eyes. We don't look a thing alike."
"They never do," Neloth groused. "Be glad that you do not have parents either, orphan. Such attachments can be quite inconvenient."
"Avoiding pain?"
Hell, she was sharp.
"It's what animals do, isn't it?" he asked.
Neloth stared down at the floor. Between the nightmare and this, the trip was becoming rather unpleasant. He hoped that once they reached Whiterun, things would turn out better.
Mehra had a private home there, and privacy was exactly what he needed.
Lydia turned another page in her book, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. This reading was strange, but she supposed if her Thane was a – a heathen – then she ought to get to know what that entailed.
It made some sense, why someone would worship one of the Acceptable Blasphemies. But, to worship three of them? Two of which were based off of deceit, malice, traps, and treachery?
Lydia wasn't so sure about that. According to this book, Boethiah and Mephala appeared to play with their worshipers, rather than care for them. She supposed that Azura was decent, but even then, this book told her that she often taught hard lessons to her followers –
Hard lessons like being imprisoned for two hundred years, likely.
Of course, the product of said imprisonment was her Thane, a woman of virtue and strength.
Regardless of the outcome, Lydia did not want to get swept up into this daedric blasphemy. She'd support her Thane, of course, but she would distance herself from any religious ceremonies, objects, and incantations that involved the invocation of daedra. Hopefully, they'd have an agreement over that. Lydia didn't want to cause any trouble.
And hopefully, Mehra's daedric patrons would understand this and not bring trouble upon either of them.
She turned her gaze back down to the book to continue her reading, but paused at the sound of a knock at the front door. A glance out the window revealed that it was dark outside. Lydia wondered who it could be, this late at night. Hopefully, there wasn't trouble in the city; Mehra was gone and wouldn't be back for another two or so days.
Frowning, she marked her place in the book, closed it, stood, and trudged over to the door. As soon as she opened it, her mood brightened.
Aela.
"Oh, hello," Lydia smiled.
"Hey."
The smell of ale drifted across the space between them; Aela had been drinking – heavily.
"Is something the matter?" Lydia asked, noting the woman's red-tinged cheeks.
"Want to go hunting?" Aela said. "Tomorrow. This weekend. Soon. I – I didn't think of a day, actually. Sorry."
Lydia chuckled. "That's quite alright. I would love to. Pardon, but is this exclusive?"
"Just you and me," she replied.
"I'd like it that way," Lydia smiled. "And I'm very flattered you'd ask. My Thane will be back with company soon, and I suspect that they may want the house to themselves. Should I find you at Jorrvaskr when that time arrives?"
Aela nodded. "Yes, perfect."
Lydia noticed that she looked relieved, and found it strange that Aela was so worried.
Oh, was that what the alcohol was for?
Surely not!
Aela bit her lip and looked down at the ground. "Good. I'll see you then, then."
She watched Aela wince at the awkward sentence and nodded politely.
"Will do," Lydia replied. "I can't wait. I hope you have a good night."
"Thanks. You too."
With that, she stepped back into the house and closed the door with a quiet click. Lydia backed against the door, her face flushing.
The Harbinger of the Companions wanted to take her on a – a –
Well, it was something. 'Date' was a strange word to apply to it. Still, Lydia was just a Housecarl, and Aela was –
The most rugged, capable, and beautiful woman she'd ever seen.
Lydia sucked in a breath. She'd have to detail clean her armor.
She turned her gaze to the book she'd been reading, then to the pile of armor neatly stacked in the corner of the room.
Armor first, book second.