Chapter 20

A Long Awaited Letter

Serlas was sitting in his private office at his oak writing desk reviewing a large stack of paperwork. The office had once been the original Arch-Mage's living quarters, but since he already had his own private living quarters in one of the towers, he'd decided to convert the entirety of the room into an enormous office space, alchemy laboratory, and library.

There was a small flourishing garden with a variety of alchemical ingredients growing in the center of the room and he'd added at least three new alchemy tables for mixing potions. His area of focus had been attempting to perfect Qetesh's incredible healing and stamina elixir and trying to find a way to make it heal magicka as well. Every alchemy table was covered in ingredients and bottles, and the shelves were full of his potions, some already tested and failed while others were left to ferment.

The walls had been heavily lined with bookcases and filled with a plethora of tomes, manuscripts, almanacs and encyclopedias that he'd mailed for from the Imperial Library. Most of them contained research into Skyrim's province as well as the history of the Dwarves and everything he could get his hands on when it came to the Elder Scrolls, the Dwemer Ruins, and the dragons.

When he was not trying to perfect Qetesh's Best he was otherwise absorbed in book after book trying to learn everything he possibly could about his daughter's tragic destiny. His only regret was that he did not have access to the ancient book Esbern had given her months ago. This did not stop him, however, as he'd read Dragon Language: Myth no More a hundred times over and the back room, which had once been his old friend's sleeping space was now adorned with chalkboards which were filled with the scratchy markings of Dovahzuul. He hadn't had much in the way of practicing speaking it, but he felt he could read and write it well enough and found it incredibly useful for deciphering transcriptions of Skyrim's Word Walls.

His entire study was a sprawling mess of papers, books, quills, inkpots, and empty bottles of Cyrodilic Brandy. The parchment papers rolled, unrolled and crumpled were absolutely covered on all sides in the nonsensical gibberish of his own mind. Some of it was in Cyrodilic and other parts were in Aldmeris and a fair chunk was even in Dovahzuul. All of it was his way of trying to piece together the connections between the ruins and the whereabouts of the Elder Scroll of Dragon.

Anyone from the outside looking in at this spectacle of disarray or who even took one look at him would think he was an absolute madman. Serlas was a mess. His hair had become a dried out skeever's nest which stuck out in places, he was looking thinner and paler than usual and he had heavy bags under his eyes, both from a lack of sleep and the poor drinking habits he'd picked up. He'd started self-medicating as a way to cope with the whispers of the supposed death of his daughter. But he refused to believe it for a second, knowing she was still out there somewhere, chasing her destiny. So he carried on, doing everything he possibly could to help her while he waited for news from Bishop who'd sworn up and down that he would find her.

And oh how he ached to hear that news. Every day his mental state seemed to get just a fraction worse than before, although the awful cold he'd been battling for the last month certainly didn't help either. His nose was stuffy, his head felt like it was full of pressure and his throat was rather sore. There wasn't much the College nurses could do for him though. With his age and his stress levels so high even the most potent potions couldn't stave off the worst symptoms. He gave a raspy cough and snatched up a handkerchief to blow his nose with, doing his best not to soil the paperwork in front of him.

Then he heard a knock on his door and he called out through the cloth with a congested voice, "Come in."

Mirabelle Ervine stepped inside with a platter of tea and a bowl of food hovering beside her, while she clutched a set of books in her arms, "Good afternoon Arch-Mage. I brought you some hot tea with lemon and horker stew, courtesy of Sakesi and Neer-Na."

Serlas wiped at his nose and gave her a weak smile, "Ah thank you, Mirabelle," he waved a hand to one side of his desk magically forcing a pile of crumpled documents to fall into the waste bin at the side, clearing a space, "You may set it there."

She sent the platter forward to land on his desk and glanced at the ground where most of the papers had missed the waste bin and frowned. "Arch-Mage you really must allow the chambermaids to tidy up for you."

Serlas started pouring himself a hot cup of tea when he said, "I'd rather they didn't. I know it looks messy, but I assure you I have a very organized system that I cannot have tampered with in any way, it would set me back on months of work."

Mirabelle stared, scrutinizing him as he took several sips of his tea. He started sniffling again and quickly grabbed his handkerchief and blew his stuffy nose into it. The old rag was well used at that point so he attempted to toss it into the nearby bin and missed it entirely. It landed amongst the endless piles of books and crumpled papers on the floor around his large desk. She scoffed loudly, as she watched the cloth flop down and said sarcastically, "Organized indeed. Amidst all your snotty tissues and this other nonsensical gibberish," she waved a hand over the piles and piles of parchment laying everywhere, "Arch-Mage this is not good, you really must get this room cleaned up for the students you'll be interviewing and, speaking of, have you even started looking over those packets like I asked?"

He didn't seem to hear her as he honed in on his tea and took a deep drink of it before smacking his lips and said, "Aaahh, I do owe Sakesi and Neer-Na my gratitude. This tea is doing wonders for my sore throat."

"Sir," she was practically glaring at him now, holding her books in one arm against her chest while she placed her other hand on her hip.

He shot her a wry smirk and said, "It is Ser-las as I've already told you many times Mirabelle."

She sighed loudly, shaking her head exasperated as she waved a hand over the mess on the floor, lighting up the bits of crumpled trash and tissues with magic and forced them to fly into the wastebasket.

He chuckled and pat a large stack of packets on his desk, "And yes, I have indeed begun looking over the admissions papers, just as you asked," then he took a weary breath, sighing, "I suppose it would be preferable if we actually had some students attending this next semester."

"Yes. It would," she huffed, "With how well we've been doing lately and with the city growing as it has been we've had hundreds of students from all over submitting their transcripts to us." She mindlessly set her books aside on a table and started to tidy up the place with her magic, categorizing a set of almanacs back onto the shelves, setting up right several tipped over potions bottles and stuffing ingredients back into jars. She was careful not to touch his paper piles, oddly sorted as they were on the tables and desks in the room, knowing that it would upset him severely if she moved them.

"It really has helped hasn't it?" Serlas remarked clearing his throat a bit before blowing his nose again, "With Winterhold rebuilt and growing it seems our little College has become a keen point of interest for every mage, scholar and tourist within a hundred-mile radius," then he laughed as he slipped a packet from the top of the stack, looking it over, "Why I even keep coming across old students of mine from the Arcane University looking to transfer here. Heh... Gunther Arrow-Knee. I remember him. Spindly legged fellow, his area of interest; Conjuration. Not one of my better students but my, did he have a wealth of fantastical stories to tell. You know he once told me that his grandfather used to be an adventurer of sorts. That is until he took an arrow to the knee."

Mirabelle paused as she was sliding Dwemer Inquiries Volume III onto a shelf and looked back at him, knitting her brows together, "You're being facetious again, aren't you?"

"Oh no, I'm quite serious," he said deadpan, "It's how they earned the family name. You know how Nords are, mind you, I believe those stories he told were meant to try and distract from his inept magical ability but, regardless, both he and his tall tales were amusing, to say the least."

Serlas grinned at her and Mirabelle gave a dry laugh before turning back to work on tidying up the room. The two of them had grown quite close over the last six months and although she insisted on calling him Arch-Mage or Master Thoraminh, their relationship was one of two old friends. Although they hadn't spoken much before the passing of his closest friend Savos Aren, he had been acquainted with Mirabelle ever since her student years at the College and had seen her rise through the ranks until she was hired on as a Destruction professor and eventually saw her achieve status as a Master Wizard.

The two of them had gotten to know one another much better when she almost died over a year ago, nearly succumbing to her injuries that fateful day when Justiciar Ancano went mad with power and murdered Savos Aren in an effort to take control of the Eye of Magnus.

She'd made the mistake of trying to rescue Savos and was severely wounded in the process. At the time Serlas not only managed to heal her and get her out of harm's way, but he was able to call forth one of his most powerful and dangerous spells in order to stop the Justiciar. Afterward, he helped several members of the Psijic Order take the Eye of Magnus away from there, hoping he'd never see it again.

He'd suffered the loss of many people in his lifetime, but he never expected to lose the man he'd considered his best friend so soon in his life, in fact, he had hoped that for once someone else would outlive him, but it seemed that had not been in the cards for him, at least as far as the gods were concerned.

He could not understand why the divines chose to place him, of all people, so close to so many heroes all his life but felt that surely there must have been a reason for it. He did his best to try and live up to what he could only assume was expected of him, doing everything he could to help them all, from the Nerevarine of Morrowind, to the Hero of the Kvatch and now for his only daughter, the Dragonborn.

Mirabelle, on the other hand, had been checking in with Serlas nearly every day since he'd started working there. She'd been slowly watching him spiral downward in his own grief and doing what she could to keep him on track with his College responsibilities, as well as keeping his mental health from steadily declining as it was. She was skeptical of the idea that the Dragonborn was really alive out there somewhere, but knew it would kill the old elf to ever try and suggest he comes to terms with the truth. So instead she humored him when he carried on and on with his theoretical diatribes about the whereabouts of his daughter and the Elder Scroll.

She really did care for him though and he only continued to garner her respect as the new Arch-Mage after seeing what he'd done for their lonely College. Admissions requests had never been higher and their relations with the local townsfolk had gotten much better since Serlas had personally started investing in rebuilding Winterhold and working to revive it from being just a poor provincial town, and turning it into a busy, sprawling city with proper homesteads and businesses.

The small town of Winterhold truly had become its own incredible cityscape and Serlas had even convinced the Jarl to allow the use of magic to not only build parts of it but to also protect it from the never-ending snowstorm. With the city shielded from the biting cold, more and more people had become interested in living there and with the influx of apprentice mages and scholars the world over coming to see the newly revived city and College, business was booming for them.

The once bigoted Nords, haters of everything magic, began to welcome magic users with open arms and while they were initially concerned about unruly student mages misusing their powers, Serlas assured them he would implement strict rules disallowing the use of malicious or dangerous magic off of campus grounds. He hired several professional Witchhunters to patrol the city and act as the eyes and ears of the College, keeping tabs on students that broke the rules and threatened them with expulsion.

In fact, he'd already had to expel one student who thought he was above the rules. The highly renowned Destruction student Darren had used his ice magic one too many times to make the Frozen Hearth's tavern floors slippery, causing the barmaids to slip and fall, giving him and his fellows a chance to ogle their undergarments and laugh at their expense. What he thought was an amusing prank ultimately caused serious injury to the tavern's bard, breaking her wrist in a bad fall and Serlas was forced to act, expelling him and banning him from the city itself.

But despite these many distractions he made for himself by throwing himself into the community and his work, he had been doing terribly over the last few months. The whisperings from the staff and students about the Dragonborn's death were starting to eat away at his already fragile psyche. He'd held it together for so long by diving into his research to keep his mind busy, but it just wasn't enough so he turned to the brandy, drinking heavily each night to try and forget the fact that his daughter hadn't bothered to write him and hoping against all hope it was because she was fearful that it would be intercepted by the Thalmor or even worse, the Dark Brotherhood.

"So are you going to admit him?"

Serlas snapped out of it mumbling, "Hm?"

Mirabelle was standing by his desk again, reheating his bowl of stew with a spell and repeated herself, "I asked you if you're going to invite him to study here, this Gunther fellow?"

Serlas glanced down at the paperwork for a moment realizing that he'd been mindlessly rereading the same paragraph on the page over and over again for the last five minutes while he got lost in his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, setting the packet aside and said, "Yes I might as well. I always did enjoy his stories."

"But you said he wasn't a very good student," Mirabelle noted.

"Then all the more we can teach him," he replied candidly before muttering, "I can't imagine his being here will make any difference for anyone either way..."

"What was that Arch-Mage?" Mirabelle walked over to him and set the bowl of stew in front of him.

Serlas stared at it and gave a heavy sigh, "I said it doesn't matter. What difference does it make? What difference does any of this make?"

She gave him a concerned look, knitting her brows together and he leaned back in his leather chair, rubbing a hand over his face. Serlas had been more and more short-tempered as of late both due to his drinking and weak health. He was also starting to feel incredibly helpless in regards to his daughter's journey and that was something he wasn't used to. He raised his voice then, and said loudly, "None of it will matter if she can't find the godsdamned Elder Scroll! The World Eater is upon us and the fabric of the world is falling apart as we speak! I could admit every single one of these students or reject them all and none of it would matter!"

"Sir," Mirabelle whispered, putting a hand to his shoulder, to try and calm him.

"NO!" He shouted, smacking her hand away and leaping out of his seat. He rattled his desk, causing the stew to tip over and spill everywhere, staining the documents, "This is useless Mirabelle! All of it! And I'll be damned if I sit here and pretend like I give a skeever's rump about any of this idle busywork! Do you understand? It's pointless rubbish if she can't find the Scroll," he brushed past her and started throwing his hands out every which way, recreating the mess she'd just cleaned up by flinging books from shelves and tossing ingredients all over the alchemy tables with his magic alone, "I told you I have a system, yet you insist on throwing out months of work in favor of cleanliness. Well, cleanliness has no purpose or place in a world that no longer exists!"

"Master Thoraminh, I do apologize, I made sure not to move the important documents. I just thought it might help a bit if...," she mumbled the rest, uselessly trying to defend herself as he knocked over the wastebasket and scattered papers back over every available desk surface.

Then he grabbed one large tome off a side table that had been earmarked in hundreds of places, making it thicker just from the folds alone, but he flipped the book open where a single tasseled bookmark held his place and pressed a finger to the page reading it out loud, "One final imagining before your mind closes from the shock of ever-knowing. You are now a flame burning bright within a vast emptiness. In time you see your brothers and sisters, burnings of their own in the distance and along your side. A sea of pinpoints, a constellation of memories. Each burns bright, then flickers. Then two more take its place but not forever lest the void fills with rancid light that sucks the thought."

"Arch-Mage, I-"

"Don't you see!? It makes perfect sense! Rona has the power of fire, a great wall of golden fire. She is the burning flame in the vast emptiness. She sees her ancestors, the Maidens of Dragon Flame, the Dragonborn of old, burnings of their own in the distance for they too have their own fires. They stand alongside her, guiding her within this sea of pinpoints and constellations of memories and therein lies the answer. But if she does not find the answer then the void will fill it all – don't you see?"

"I... I don't understand," Mirabelle stammered.

Serlas cast the book aside, making it float as he paced across the room and snatched up a piece of charcoal from a cup, "If she does not find the answer then the Void will take us all. The Void of Sithis. It is exactly what the Dread Father wants. For all of humanity to vanish. He is after all the epitome of misanthropy. The Brotherhood has been hunting her down since they discovered that she's their Listener. Even now Sithis hunts for her, seeking to use her and thwart her destiny for his own gain."

"Arch-Mage," Mirabelle said tentatively, "You're exhausted and feverish, please you need to rest. I will look over the admissions papers you needn't concern yourself with it-"

"BUT IT DOES NOT MATTER MIRABELLE!" He roared and started pacing around the room, trying to reorganize his mess but seemingly only making it worse as he went, "I have already told you! All of this is pointless! And I know what you and the rest of them think, don't think I haven't overheard the gossip and rumors. You think she's dead and gone, but I know better," he declared throwing a finger up as he stopped in front of a desk pressed between two bookcases and started poring over a huge map of Skyrim laid out on it.

He started rambling again, "She's so much like my late wife and they're not even related, would you believe it – but I could swear they're identical in their thinking at times. She's gone off and left us, those of us who care most for her, who can actually help her, thinking she must go alone. It's rather shortsighted of her, but she really believes she's doing what's right, but I know... It's one of these three here," he took the charcoal, swiping a circle around three Dwemer ruins on the map.

He jabbed a finger at the center of the three, "Right here underneath them is where it lies: Fal'Zhardum Din. Do you know what that means?" He asked glancing back at her. Mirabelle, however, seemed speechless, mouth agape, as he went on his tirade and he didn't bother waiting for her reply, instead answering immediately, "It is Dwemeris for Blackreach, an ancient and forgotten city of the Dwarves that lies right beneath our very feet. But there is no easy way in. The only way inside is with the Attunement Sphere and do you know where that Sphere is?"

Mirabelle nervously shook her head and Serlas jut a finger towards one of the snow-covered windows of his study and stated, "It is right out there inside a Dwarven lockbox. Or, if Septimus is to be believed, then perhaps the Heart of Lorkhan lies within. Either way, it will lead us to something which can unlock the way and defeat Alduin. But therein lies another problem! It won't open! Septimus said he needed blood from every Mer so I gave him mine and I collected some from the staff and the students. I even crawled into the depths of an old mine and sought out the Falmer to take theirs. But nothing! It still will not open! The next piece to her puzzle is locked in that box and I cannot find any way to open it!"

He raised his voice so much that he started hacking and coughing harshly, throwing a fist to his mouth and grabbing at his chest before he slumped down onto the floor next to a pile of encyclopedias. Mirabelle rushed to his side holding her healing hands out at the ready, "Serlas!"

He continued to cough against his fist and when he pulled it away Mirabelle was extremely alarmed to see blood and insisted, "We need to get you to the infirmary immediately!"

He shook his head and wheezed, "No. It's fine. I'm fine. It's just irritation from coughing so much. It's nothing really..."

"Serlas," she put a hand to his shoulder, looking extremely worried for him. In that moment he started to truly appreciate her companionship more than ever, realizing just how much he put her through, making her worry for his health like he was.

He grasped her hand into his and knit his brows together, saying, "I apologize for my outburst Mirabelle. That was... careless of me... but my mind has been racing so much as of late and..."

"It's alright, I understand," she said as she pressed a hand to his cheek and then his forehead. It felt cool to the touch, which was pleasant but made his fever all too apparent, "We really need to go to the infirmary."

He nodded his head, "I know, I know. I will... just let me catch my breath first," he took a deep raspy breath, trying to calm his nerves and she sat down beside him, still holding his hand firmly in hers, trying to soothe him.

"You really believe she's still out there somewhere?" Mirabelle asked him quietly.

"Of course I do," Serlas said unfaltering, "I'm her father. I have to believe she's still out there."

There was a heavy pause between them before Mirabelle sheepishly asked, "You were married before?"

Serlas looked over at her and said, "I see my fever has been speaking for me."

She smiled at him and he couldn't help but feel an ache in his heart. Maybe all Breton women shared that same smile, he wasn't sure, but he felt he could trust her and so he told her the truth, speaking the words out loud for the first time since he told his daughter about her.

"Her name was Beatrice and like my daughter she was rather bull-headed, set in her ways and ever determined to save the world around her, even if that meant leaving those who cared for her behind."

"Dare I ask what Era you met her in?"

Serlas gave a light laugh and said, "The Third Era of course. We met during the Oblivion Crisis."

"During?" She smirked, "That must have been a very memorable first date."

"Considering we met just outside an Oblivion Gate, I'd say yes, it certainly was."

Mirabelle laughed and shook her head before taking a breath. She gently squeezed his hand and asked, "Were you like this when she left too? The sleepless nights and the drinking?"

He looked downcast and said, "It wasn't this bad. Beatrice was at least kind enough to send me regular correspondence so I knew she was still alive..."

Mirabelle looked up into his face and was sure he was holding back his anguish. She let go of his hand and wrapped an arm around his thin waist, leaning into his side and said, "I promise I won't tell anyone if you cry."

Serlas managed to breathe out a laugh at her remark and made to speak when there was a loud rap on his study door and the voice of their Destruction professor Faralda carried through. She sounded frantic, "Master Thoraminh? Could I have a word? It's urgent, please."

He cleared his throat, though still sounding congested said, "Just a moment."

Serlas pushed himself up and offered a hand to Mirabelle, helping her to her feet. She quickly went about casting spells to once again tidy up the room and Serlas did his best to compose himself, blowing his nose again and waving away the spilled stew on his desk, making it vanish entirely. He stood in front of his desk with his hands clasped together, maintaining some form of professionalism and said, "You may come in."

Faralda immediately entered the room with two students and a Khajiit Serlas did not recognize trailing behind her.

"I apologize for interrupting you Master Arch-Mage but I thought you would want to see this," she said passing him the newsletter, "Brelyna and Onmund brought it up from town."

"Everyone's talking about it!" Brelyna could hardly contain her excitement.

"Professor Tolfdir is already discussing bringing teams out to Whiterun to study them!" Onmund declared.

Serlas looked curiously between them and Mirabelle stood beside him, crossing her arms over and said, "Whatever are you two going on about? To study what?"

"Just!" Faralda shouted crossly over both Brelyna and Onmund, glaring at them both until they closed their yaps, "Just... read it," she breathed, motioning to the newsletter.

Serlas looked down at the headline and the second he read it his knees went weak and he grabbed at a nearby wooden chair, steadying himself as Mirabelle gasped, "Arch-Mage!"

But he waved her off, stating he was alright and quickly started to scan the article.

THE DRAGONBORN LIVES

Hundreds of dragons attacked Whiterun on the 22nd of Evening Star, 4E 202. Reports indicate that the Dragonborn, also known as the Lady Rona Lightfoot, who was once rumored to be deceased, was both seen and heard around Whiterun aiding the Companions Guild in the evacuation of the city. She was last seen riding off on the back of a tame bronze dragon as hundreds of stallion sized orange wyrms chased after her. Citizens speculate that the Dragonborn was intentionally leading the dragons away from the city. Meanwhile, dozens of mysterious portals remain hovering around Whiterun. The dragons were said to have come from them, but upon trying to see within them, there is only fog. Several curious onlookers attempted to enter the strange portals to no avail and merely passed right through them with no harm to their person. Story continued on page 3. Interview with Ahlam Chillfurrow on the tragic death of her husband Nazeem Chillfurrow on page 10...

Serlas immediately looked up at the professor and her two students and asked desperately, "Is this true? Is there more?"

Faralda nodded to Brelyna who'd been biting her tongue, trying not to interrupt. With the go-ahead from her superior, the young Dunmer woman quickly spoke up saying, "They left some things out of the article because of the Stormcloaks. According to my aunt Jenassa who was just outside Whiterun hunting at the time, she saw the little dragons flying around shouting at the soldiers. It sent them all into a frenzy and they all turned on each other. But Ulfric Stormcloak doesn't want the Imperials to know how many troops they lost or that it was his own men killing each other in a blaze of madness, so he made sure it wasn't included in the newsletter."

Serlas took a deep, painful breath through his scratchy throat and clarified, "My daughter. Did they see where she went on this dragon? North, south? East, west? Where did she go?"

Brelyna looked unsure but Onmund said, "People said they saw them flying east or southeast, towards the geyser fields."

"Arch-Mage you're not seriously thinking of going after her in your condition-," Mirabelle immediately began to argue when Faralda spoke up again, "Sir, there's one more thing you should know."

Mirabelle stopped mid-sentence and Faralda nodded her head to the mysterious striped Khajiit man saying, "This courier claims to have a letter for you from someone named Jill."

Serlas furrowed his brows and asked, "Jill? I don't believe I know anyone by that name."

The Khajiit stepped forward, pushing his way between the two students and grumbled, "M'aiq is not a courier, he is but a simple wanderer. Now... are you the one called Serlas?"

"Yes, I am Serlas."

"Good," M'aiq replied with a tone of relief as he fished around his robe sleeves and drew out a slightly crumpled letter, handing it to the old elf.

Serlas took the letter and carefully unfurled it, flattening it as best he could. The first word nearly made his heart stop as it read Ata in his daughter's handwriting. His lip trembled and he immediately started to read over the letter which had been written neatly in Aldmeris.

Ata,

(I trust that this letter reaches you in good health. I can't tell you how many times I sat down to write this to you and threw it away and rewrote it again and again. You must be so disappointed in me. To be honest, I'm disappointed in myself most days. I've had to do a lot of things that I never imagined I would just to survive. I hope you can forgive me for that, or at the very least understand why I had to do it. And I'm deeply sorry that I didn't leave you a letter before I left. I just didn't know what to say and I knew Bishop would share his with you so you wouldn't worry too much. Although knowing you, I'm sure you've worried endlessly.

I want to lie and tell you that things have gone well and that I'm that much closer to finding the scroll, but the truth is... I'm not. Most days I feel completely exhausted and utterly hopeless. There were so many times I truly believed that I was going to die down in one of those awful ruins looking for the damn thing and that wouldn't have been so bad if I knew it wouldn't shatter your heart to pieces. I know I shouldn't tell you this, but I have no one else to talk to about it. I feel so alone and everything seems so bleak.

I'm sure you're thinking, 'then come home daughter'. But I can't. Even now I can sense the dragons nearby searching for me. They'll never give up until the day I'm dead and everyone I love is dead and I made a promise to myself that I would never let that happen to anyone ever again.

I know there's nothing I can say to alieve your fears and worries about my safety but that's not really the point of this letter either. I've just been wanting to write to you. I miss you so, so, so much, Father and I want to see you but I'm afraid to. I'm terrified that you'll be nothing but disappointed in me. I always wanted you to be proud of me and my accomplishments. I always wanted to do good in my life and help others.

It seems ironic then that while I chased the life of a hero I ultimately became one and it is nothing like I imagined it would be. While I believe I'm doing the right thing, it has forced me to do so many awful and questionable things in turn. This is never how I imagined my life would turn out and I have learned that the path of a hero is a truly lonely road.

One thing I can promise you though is that I will not die and I will not give up until all of this is over. I swear to you. I'm still out here searching with everything I have left in me.

I hope that you can forgive me for taking so long to correspond. With the risk of the Empire, the Stormcloaks and especially the Thalmor intercepting my letters I've taken great care not to write to anyone unless I know for certain it will arrive in safe hands.

I will do my best to finish this horrible journey that has been placed on my shoulders. Please try not to worry so much about me and make sure to look after yourself. I never want to be the cause of your heartache, even though I'm sure I already am. I love you so much, Father.

Always thinking of you),

Velvyna*

Serlas finished reading it over, not even realizing that his cheeks and beard were soaked with tears until he choked out his question to the Khajiit who was staring at him awkwardly, clearly feeling uncomfortable in the presence of the tearful elf in front of him.

"When did she give this to you?"

M'aiq raised a paw to his chin and stroked it with a claw as he pursed his lips in thought. "It has been some time. M'aiq first met with the Dragonborn near the Dwarven ruin by the Dawn of Stars. He then traveled to the Forests of Falk to find you but was only met with the housecarl called Ilia. She sent this one back to the north and M'aiq trudged through much snow and avoided many soldiers just to arrive. It has been at least eleven or twelve moons since this one accepted the letter from the one who calls herself Jill. He is very hungry and tired now and wishes to rest."

Serlas wiped at his eyes and nodded saying, "I appreciate the trouble you went through to bring me this. If I may ask you one more question, however, before I compensate you for your troubles..."

"Alright," M'aiq reluctantly agreed.

"How was she? Did she look healthy and well? Or..." he couldn't bring himself to ask the worst.

"The Dragonborn is more powerful than ever. M'aiq heard her loud shouting from over the hills and watched as she slaughtered the snow-bear with her voice and her arrows. He could see that she was wounded, but she used magic to heal herself. M'aiq cannot say if she was healthy. She seemed... tired. Just as tired as M'aiq is now," he added clearly making an effort to end the conversation quickly.

Serlas took a deep breath then let it out slowly and carefully folded the letter, sliding it into one of his robe pockets. He turned to Faralda saying, "Could you please see to it that our friend M'aiq here is treated to anything he would like from the kitchens and that he is given one of the private guest chambers to stay in for the rest of the winter holiday? That is," he glanced at the Khajiit, "if he wishes to accept our hospitality."

A wide grin sprawled across the striped cat's maw and he said, "M'aiq is very satisfied with this arrangement."

"Excellent," Serlas said pressing his hands together, "We look forward to your company then, M'aiq the Wanderer. And perhaps when you are feeling up to it again, you won't mind telling me more of your travels."

"This one would be pleased to share what he knows."

"Good, good. Until the morrow then when we are both well-rested."

Faralda began to usher M'aiq towards the doorway, leading him to the kitchens. They heard him speculating loudly, "M'aiq does enjoy a warm pot pie. Does the school of magic have such things? But made without magic. M'aiq does not like the taste of magic."

Faralda was heard scoffing incredulously at him as the door closed. Serlas then addressed the two students and said, "I appreciate you both bringing me this news as quickly as you did. I cannot thank you enough and I will be covering your tuition for the next year's courses."

Brelyna and Onmund both went wide-eyed and sputtered, "Th-thank you, sir!"

"It is my pleasure. Now, I don't mean to be discourteous, but I have an appointment with our sympathetic nurses in the infirmary and must take my leave of you both."

"Oh yes of course," Onmund said heading towards the door.

"Please feel better Arch-Mage," Brelyna said as she followed him.

"Thank you Brelyna. Take care."

(The Music is Cold by Jorge Mendez)

As the door shut behind them, Serlas heaved a huge sigh and walked back towards his oak writing desk. He pulled up his chair and fell unceremoniously into it. Mirabelle stood by and watched as he took the letter out of his pocket and read through it over and over again, while his expression grew more and more heartbreaking by the second.

It was then that she witnessed this highly intelligent, usually charismatic, kind, old elf, break down as she'd never seen him do before. His chest heaved with several pained gasps and he put a hand to his face and released a never-ending tidal wave of agonizing cries and sobs. She was sure that the letter had confirmed his daughter's death from the way he grieved until she chanced a glance at it as she tried to console him.

Her Aldmeris was rusty, but she understood the gist of it and said quietly, "Arch-Mage, it's alright. She's alive. She's alive."

He lowered his hand from his face and she got a good look at his red-rimmed eyes and his thick brows which knit tightly together, emphasizing the wrinkles on his forehead. His lip trembled as he confessed the saddest thing she'd ever heard, from the depths of his aching heart, "I just want to see her. I want to hold my child in my arms. I want to tell her that I'll make it all okay. I want to tell her how much I love her. She's my little girl, my entire world and I can't even hold her in my arms and comfort her when she's at her worst. I don't understand Mirabelle. Why have the gods forsaken me? Why do they rip every. Single. Person. I have ever loved from me like this? Why do they always die on me?"

Mirabelle was in tears for him as he said all of this and she immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. He buried his face into her robes gripping her tightly around the waist and sobbed like a man who'd lost someone dear.

She'd only seen him cry once before, over the body of his best friend as he shook him by the shoulders and desperately pleaded for him to open his eyes. But this was by far much worse. She'd never seen an old man so broken down in her life and she never wanted to see it again.

It took a good twenty to thirty minutes before he calmed down enough to willingly get up and go to the infirmary. There the nurses did their best to treat his persistent cold and gave him a light sedative to help him sleep through the night. Mirabelle walked him to his room later that evening and was almost worried to leave him alone.

As they stood outside his sleeping quarters in the hallway he assured her, "I'm doing much better Mirabelle. I can't thank you enough for being my shoulder to cry on earlier. I have to admit it was somewhat embarrassing for me, falling apart like that..."

Mirabelle smiled up at him and said, "Please don't feel that way Arch-Mage," then she quickly corrected herself, "Serlas, I mean. You'd been holding it all in for so long. But now you know. This is good news, isn't it?"

He shook his head, "I am afraid the news we received today was not so good. While I'm grateful to know she's alive, the attack on Whiterun has me extremely concerned. I would like to send as many teams out to study these so-called portals if we can. But in the meantime, I am going to get a solid rest for the next three days."

"I couldn't agree more," she said.

"If you could see to it that any of my appointments are moved until after the holiday and tell Sakesi and Neer-Na to go ahead and send my meals up through the transfer rune. I am going to stay in bed and rest and would rather not be disturbed by anyone for at least three days."

"Of course, Arch-Mage," Mirabelle said, already falling back into her old habits, "I'll arrange for it immediately. And not to worry, I'll take care of the admissions paperwork as well."

"Thank you, Mirabelle. I can't express just how grateful I am to have you here. You've done so much for me and it has been such a pleasure to work with you."

She smiled warmly at him. "The pleasure has been all mine and it has been an honor to work at your side Master Thoraminh. Please get as much rest as needed and do not hesitate to call for me should you need anything at all."

"I will," he said turning towards his door and opening it.

Mirabelle turned back and asked him, "Serlas," he looked at her, "why did the letter come to you from a Jill?"

Serlas looked downcast, "Jillian of Heart Frost. She's using it as an alias... my smart girl."

"Ah... that would make sense."

"Indeed, one cannot be too careful in these trying times."

"One more thing, if I may," Mirabelle said. Serlas waited for her reply and she whispered, "I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. This whole time she's been alive and here I was thinking you should have grieved and moved on already... that was wrong of me. I hope you can forgive me."

He smiled kindly at her and said, "No need for forgiveness Mirabelle, as I never held it against you. Even I had my doubts on the worst of days, but now my heart is filled once again and my hope is reignited. Rona is alive and I will do all I possibly can to help her."

Mirabelle nodded her head and said, "Goodnight Arch... Serlas."

Serlas said, "Goodnight Mirabelle," and she left, departing down the stairs of the tower.

Serlas stepped inside his living quarters and looked around the charming room thinking for a moment about his daughter and her fiancé when they'd last visited. Even then things had been difficult for her and his visits to Septimus' outpost had been fruitless.

He slowly approached the enormous round window overlooking the ocean and watched as the snowstorm continued blowing wildly outside. He spotted the tiny iceberg in the distance where the Dwarven lockbox lay. He knew that inside that lockbox was the final key to their puzzle and he was more determined than ever to get it open, even if he had to force his way within.

He held his hands up as they crackled electrically. Shock had always been his greatest talent when it came to Destruction magic and long ago he had been given a great gift. One that had changed the very course of history. He knew he had to try something and with that final decision, he quickly ran about the room collecting his warmest robes and cloak, gathering a slew of potions he'd made that were on par with Qetesh's Best and selected his most powerful staff from a rack on the wall. One that sat right next to the mysterious staff that Sanguine had gifted his daughter ages ago.

He ignored the Sanguine Rose, however, in favor of one that enhanced his shock magic by a hundredfold. With all of the necessary equipment in hand, he swept out of his room, locking the door behind him. He cloaked himself in invisibility before making his way down the stairs and set out for the outpost across the sea.

He would open that Dwemer lockbox even if it killed him.

*Velvyna - Your daughter