"So, how long have you been walking around looking like that?"

Every good thing that had happened since walking through the door of their home dropped when Alvor pointed at the cuts and scrapes all over Svana.

Proud as she was, she pulled her sleeves down, hiding them. "I'll be fine." To her credit, it wasn't a total lie. The taste of the food and the sensation of a full stomach overpowered any discomfort she felt at the moment.

Yet Sigrid frowned from across the table.

"You two must have gone through so much." A disbelieving sigh fell from her lips. "A dragon of all things…"

At the mention, Alvor straightened up. "Are you sure it was a dragon?"

Svana looked to Hadvar, who only shrugged his shoulders, "Everyone at Helgen saw it, heard it. If it wasn't a dragon, then…I don't know."

"Whatever it was, it must have made a mess of the place," Sigrid clucked her tongue. "And you were the only survivors?"

Hadvar took the opportunity to speak. "No- there were others, I think. Saw some when we crawled out of the dragon's way, but can't be sure after that. No one on the roads here that I recognized."

Svana was more than happy to let Hadvar do all the talking. She was preoccupied with finishing a second helping of stew, one that didn't involve thinking about a chopping block or a dragon.

Yet her mind wandered restlessly. Sigrid and Alvor were a lot like the other folks in her native Kynesgrove, she observed. Hard-working folks who wouldn't know what to do at the thought of war and dragons. Svana had to admit, she wasn't sure what she'd do either. Could dragons even be killed? All the stories she read as a child said only clever, cunning heroes could slay them.

And Svana never saw herself as clever, or cunning. She frowned at the thought.

"What about you?" Alvor asked, tearing her out of her musing, "How did you end up in the Imperial camp?"

To his credit, Hadvar began to explain his way out of that story, but Svana wasn't going to let him- even if he did try to save her.

"I was looking for my brother," she barely made out through a mouthful of potatoes. She swallowed, and continued, "Ended up in Darkwater Crossing where my Oma lived. Next thing I knew, Thalmor came swarming into the inn and put me on the block."

"What for?"

Hadvar, again, tried to talk over Svana, but her stubbornness prevailed. "They found my amulet of Talos."

There was no hiding the way Hadvar shrunk in his seat and averted his gaze, while Alvor and Sigrid cast disappointed glances at their nephew. Though he did manage to say, "I tried to stop them."

Shaking his head and furrowing his brows, Alvor exclaimed, "That's the problem with this war!"

Svana stirred her stew in quiet contemplation, unsure of what she started. The idea of war and the ensuing terror seemed so far away from home- soldiers never passed by the village, only mentioned by traders or travellers. Occasionally the hold guards would remind folks to be wary of Thalmor forces seen in the area. But Kynesgrove carried on like it always did.

Here though, at the humble dinner table, the threat of war was all too real to the families of Riverwood.

"-Just to worship a god, our god! And off they go, dragging people away in the middle of the night, to-to who knows where!"

"Husband…" Sigrid tried, "We've talked about this."

He sighed, defeated. "I know."

Hadvar spoke up, looking to Svana with as much sincerity as his blue eyes could hold. "I genuinely am sorry."

Svana merely waved him off. "Doesn't matter, I'm here now."

It was nice to hear all the same, though she wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing that. "What matters now is that I get moving, and soon."

"Are you sure?" Sigrid said suddenly, "I think you should stay."

"Why?"

"You're hurt," Sigrid bluntly stated, "And honestly? With all that you've been through, the least I can do is help you get back on your feet. As thanks for bringing Hadvar and Ralof back in one piece."

"I'll be fine." To demonstrate, Svana pushed herself off her seat, only for her knees to give out from exhaustion and injury. She tumbled backwards, barely catching herself and landing on her already sore arms.

She groaned and cussed as Hadvar rushed to her side, helping her up.

Sigrid clucked her tongue in exasperation. "You're tired."

"I have to find my brother." Svana countered.

"I can help," Hadvar offered.

She squinted in suspicion. "Why?"

"It means that much to you, and you did help me. Consider it a repayment."

As she retook her seat once more, wincing as she did, she looked to him, searching for answers. "How are you going to help?"

"I have access to the scouts' reports," Hadvar explained, "If anyone's seen anything, it'd be them."

Svana shook her head, "I can't…"

Sigrid tried, "I know you're worried, but I think you should at least rest up, have us look at those wounds. Wouldn't do to go off looking for anyone in the state you're in."

Svana hated to admit defeat, hated the idea that she wasn't strong enough to even stand, thank her hosts and just leave. But she had been through so much. Her captors didn't bother to feed her, they made her entire journey to Helgen as uncomfortable as possible. And then that dragon appeared.

It was all her body and mind could take.

She relented. "I just don't want to waste any time."

Hadvar nodded, "I understand, but Aunt Sigrid's right- you're in no shape to go off. At the very least, rest up while I get my contacts in order."

There was no use fighting them. She allowed them to feed her and pull out a hay-stuffed mattress in the cellar. And, shockingly, she even allowed them to offer her a bath.

Gentle hands combed out the matted tangles in Svana's dark brown hair. She sat in the tub of their small bathing room, the steam wafting into the darkness as she stared off into the void. For a woman who grappled with a blacksmith husband, Sigrid had graceful motions when she dabbed at her wounds.

"...Do you always bathe your guests?"

"Only the really beaten up ones," Sigrid shook her head, "Talos above, look at you. How are you still standing after all this?"

"Just wanted to get somewhere safe as fast as possible, didn't have time to whinge about some cuts."

Sigrid hummed in agreement, washing away the muck and grime. "That dragon must have frightened you."

Svana didn't know how to respond. It didn't. Strangely enough, as the beast swooped down and roared its terrible roar, Svana seemed drawn to it. Not in fear or awe, but an understanding of some sort. It wasn't unlike seeing a proud wolf, stark against the white of a snowy forest. Dragons were easy- dragons were creatures, and creatures were hungry and dangerous. You could appreciate a ferocious creature for its strength and majesty.

Sigrid wouldn't understand. It was the soldiers that scared her the most.

Men are different, she wanted to say, men would torture and maim and torment before they offered death as a mercy. Men played at being your friend only to stab you in the back once you turned it. Men played into bad deals because it was easier to sacrifice your integrity for a few more days of living.

But she held her tongue. She didn't understand the nature of war, maybe it was all some elaborate, necessary evil for some greater good. One that she didn't understand.

"Svana?"

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize she hadn't answered.

"Sorry," she said, almost too-quiet, "Sorry, it's just… the dragon didn't scare me. Or, at least, I don't think I had time to be scared. I just wanted to get out of there."

Sigrid hummed in contemplation "I'm sorry it ever happened at all."

"Don't be."

But Sigrid seemed to tear down every wall she put up. And as far as Svana was concerned, as long as she kept rubbing that cooling, scented salve over her wounds and brushed her hair with those glorious fingers, Svana would answer any invasive question she wanted to ask.

"Where did you say you were from?"

"Kynesgrove," she answered, "Small village in Eastmarch."

"That's where all the Stormcloaks are, aren't they?"

"Not in my village- mostly keep to the big cities, I think. Never saw a Stormcloak up close until today. Not that it mattered, think the war's stupid."

"I'm just glad you brought Hadvar home in one piece. And Ralof." A pause. "Really, we can't thank you enough."

Svana glanced over to the other side of the room where Alvor had taken on the duty of tending to Hadvar. He applied salve as the two shared a joke, while the little one, Dorthe, sat there, completely enamored with each cut and injury Hadvar had managed to collect through their harrowing time in Helgen.

"Does he have family?" Svana asked.

"We are his family."

"No, I meant, like a mother and father?"

"Oh," Sigrid frowned, "No."

"Can I ask why?"

It seemed a difficult topic, and for a moment, Svana regretted ever asking, "The Great War took a lot from us."

"Oh!" Svana looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she smiled, though there was no hiding the sadness behind it, "We were always close to Hadvar. Some days I even consider him my own."

There were no more questions after that. As she got changed into some borrowed clothes, Svana couldn't help but remember her own family. Dorthe reminded her so much of Elsie- the misplaced ambition, the too-loud voice, the excitement over every mundane thing.

From the mattress, she watched how the girl danced around her cousin as he allayed his fears of the dragon and the impending conflict with Alvor. Watched how she amused herself with a wreath of flowers when she thought no one looked.

It didn't take long for Svana to fall into a dreamless sleep, haunted by a voice tugging at the very essence of her soul.

Dovahkiin...

Dovahkiin...

Dovahkiin...

xx

The lessons continued throughout the day, and Onmund was already beginning to dread the inevitable moment when they would end. Tolfdir called on apprentices to test their skill against Alrek's; an unfair lesson, but one they would accept nonetheless. After all, it was far easier to whittle down ego and hubris when they were still students, rather than mages who had grown too much power and too little sense.

"Now then," Tolfdir began, and the class settled down at his command, "Since we understand the more practical points of controlling one's powers, it is just as important that we learn how to defend ourselves in the event it escapes our control."

The apprentices began murmuring amongst themselves.

"Before we end our lesson for today, I believe it is important that you all learn how to put up wards," a beat, "And just as well. We have had many past incidents where apprentices… were perhaps too eager to demonstrate their skills to one another."

J'zargo did not attempt to stifle the amused laugh that burst forth from him, earning him a glare from Brelyna.

"Would anyone like to volunteer?" Tolfdir scanned the hall of students, but he didn't wait until someone offered themselves. He looked right at a student, seemingly having made his decision.

"Me?" Onmund blinked, pointing to himself, "Me?"

"Ah, we have a volunteer," he smiled. "Thank you Onmund, my boy, why don't you come to the front?"

He looked to his companions, then around to the other students, and sure enough, all eyes were on him.

Even Alrek's.

Breath caught in his lungs, he swallowed a nervous lump and rose from his seat. His knees felt like jelly as he watched the way Alrek carefully regarded him. Heat rose to his cheeks and burned the shells of his ears.

Ysmir's beard, why did he have to look like that?

"So, uh," Onmund cleared his throat, too loud in the too quiet hall, "W-what should I do?"

"Now, don't be afraid, but I want you to cast a spell at Alrek."

His heart leapt into his throat. "Come again?"

"Don't worry," Tolfdir lay a careful hand on Onmund's shoulder reassuringly, feeling the gentle tremors of age as he moved.

"I wouldn't ask Alrek to help with demonstrations today if he couldn't handle whatever you throw at him." He then looked to Alrek. "Isn't that right, my boy?"

Alrek flashed a charming smile, pretty and perfect, "It was either this or poring over tomes- this is exciting, especially when you've found such fine apprentices."

Onmund could've sworn he winked at him.

"Alright, stand over on the edge there. Now, Onmund, are you ready?"

"What if I hurt him?" Fear laced his words. "I don't want to hurt him."

"You won't," Alrek assured.

There was no use in arguing, it seemed. So Onmund squared his shoulders and concentrated his magic. He felt a familiar hum, the tingle of nerves at the base of his skull, crackling in bright sparks at his fingertips. Then, clear in his mind's eye, he saw Alrek standing before him.

A bright flash of lightning, a loud crack of thunder, and Onmund braced himself to see a pile of ash where the Breton once stood.

But much to his, and the other apprentice's astonishment, Alrek easily caught the lightning in his hands. The volatile ball of sparks and magic soon fizzled into nothing.

"Lightning," Alrek remarked, and Onmund could hear the awe in his voice. "Very impressive,"

He flashed him another smile, one meant for him only. Onmund could've melted into a lovestruck pool there and then.

Alrek watched with curiosity as the last of the lightning disappeared between his fingers, "Storm magic is difficult to learn, that it manifested naturally in you says plenty of your potential as a mage."

Onmund blushed so intensely, he could have sworn he could have melted into a puddle, "Thank you."

"Storm magic is difficult for even I to master-"

A clever grin.

"-maybe you could teach me?"

"All well and good, Alrek," Tolfdir interrupted, "But let's see what we can do about those wards, mm? Now, can anyone tell me what technique Alrek used to absorb the oncoming energy?"

Other apprentices began to raise their answers and shout their answers, but it was Onmund's quiet, "The Dragonskin Technique," that earned him a look of approval from Tolfdir.

"Very good, Onmund. Yes, the Dragonskin Technique was developed in High Rock in the early Second Era." Tolfdir began scrawling dates on the large blackboard at the front of the hall, "But it is not the only technique for warding spells. Absorption is one method, but so too, deflection."

Apprentices cried out techniques more familiar to them, even J'zargo and Brelyna fired off their own (correct) answers to Tolfdir.

"Certainly a lively sort you've got here," Alrek remarked. Onmund couldn't help but notice the way his full lips pulled back into a smile, revealing too-white, too-straight teeth, "Much more than the last batch."

"Indeed!" Tolfdir agreed, "Alrek, my boy, I hate to keep you for longer than I promised, but would you help with the apprentices' wards? You've been so helpful, I think the others could benefit from your techniques."

"Happy to help, Tolfdir, just say the word."

Tolfdir nodded in gratitude, and turned his attention back to the class. "Now, everyone, find yourself a partner, we will begin a more practical, supervised lesson before we conclude today's lesson. Onmund, since you've done so well with Alrek, why don't you two start first?"

Alrek gestured with a tilt of his head to the other end of the hall, away from where the other apprentices were congregating, "Why don't we go over there?"

"S-sure!" Heat rushed back to his face. Alrek grinned at his enthusiasm.

"There we are, now-" He listened as Alrek explained his technique, what form to take, what to expect, how to charge one's magicka in anticipation. "Show me your stance, and we'll go from there."

Onmund nodded, unwilling to disappoint. He rolled his shoulders, ready as ever.

Placing his feet further apart for stability, he held up his casting hands, primed for a ward. He didn't expect Alrek to come around behind him and place his hands on his arms. It took him a moment to realize that he was guiding him into a more natural stance.

"You don't have to keep your arms too stiff, relax," Alrek ran his hand down from Onmund's shoulder to his fingertips. He fervently prayed to Talos that Alrek couldn't feel the goosebumps rising under his robes.

"There we go, let the magic course through you; even when deflecting you want to move with the flow."

Onmund swallowed a nervous lump. And gods damn it all, Alrek noticed.

"There's no need to be anxious around me, I promise I won't bite," he gave a clever laugh. "Unless you asked me to; though I'd ask you to buy me dinner first."

His head spun something entire face was ablaze, and the accompanying thoughts were as intrusive as they were titillating. He remembered the books he used to read in secret, of teeth scraping the skin of necks and whispers of sweet nothings-

His magic suddenly sputtered wildly, like hot oil in a pan. Suddenly, a loud bang. Onmund quickly pulled his hands into his chest from the sudden, hot burst of energy.

And everyone's attention was on him. The entire class saw a very red, very embarrassed Onmund, raw magic still fizzling around his fingers.

"Onmund, are you alright?" Brelyna asked, but she seemed so far away. He couldn't muster the words to speak. All he could think about was dinner and wine, hands holding hands, teeth on necks-

"-He's fine!" Alrek gave him a good-natured pat on the back. The action nearly sent him careening into the students below, dragging him back into the present.

He turned his attention to Onmund, he put on a very gentle, very kind tone, "I'm so sorry." The apology in his tone was so sincere, "I'm so sorry, I was just teasing, I didn't mean to embarrass you like that!"

Onmund let out a nervous huff of a laugh. Divines, why was this so hard? Why did he have to say those things around him? Thoughts ran through his mind, all curious, all intoxicated with a brand of infatuation he hadn't felt in so long.

"I-it's alright…"

"Alright, seriously, this time," an awkward beat, as Alrek raced to correct himself, "Sorry, I meant me being serious, not you, you're fine-"

Onmund must have worn a concerning face, because Alrek immediately dropped any hint of playfulness and began fussing over him.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright? Do you need to sit down? Please, say something-" There it was, guilt. He was guilty. Out of all the things, guilt? For him?

Gods, he was so pretty and talented and skilled and- and nice. Why did he even bother with him? Why was he even looking at him like that, why did he care?

Unless…

No, not that… it couldn't be. Alrek was better than him in every way. He was brought back to the teasing when he was younger; how his infatuation with a hunter's daughter ended in humiliation. But this felt different, Alrek seemed genuinely remorseful over what he did. Did he really care?

He couldn't know for sure, but Onmund didn't dare hope. He shook his head, trying to quash the thoughts but instead sending him off balance and stumbling away.

"Onmund?"

"Sorry," he began, finally finding his words. "You just… took me by surprise." He tried to gather his nerves, before the whole class could stare more, "Are uh, are Bretons usually so… forward?"

"I was just being stupid." He melted at the sight of Alrek's gentle smile, "No, we're not at all like that, I promise."

Onmund looked down and away. Casting spells suddenly seemed impossible.

"Here, let me make it up to you," Alrek offered. What was he thinking? He didn't have to, it was kindness after kindness, more than he was ever spared, but he made no move to stop him, "Let me buy you a drink, or dinner?"

"I thought the food was free?"

Gods, the way Alrek smiled, Onmund wanted nothing more than to freeze that image in his mind and keep it there forever, "You're right, it is, but I can pull some strings to get something nicer for you, if you'd like. So, name your price."

"I couldn't…"

"I insist."

He shook his head, but considered the offer. "Well, maybe you could help me with my wards?"

Silence filled the air for a moment. Onmund suddenly wished for the floor to swallow him whole.

Then, Talos above and below, the way he held up his hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter-

'I made him laugh, I made him laugh, I made him laugh-'

The way his rings clinked together, how the diamond teardrops dangling from his ears danced in the light…

"-Very well, one ward casting lesson it is then!" Alrek positioned himself as he did before, guiding Onmund to a proper stance. A relaxed form, a concentrated focus, Alrek peppered each point of his stance with tips only a skilled mage would know: "Don't lock your knees, keep your breathing steady."

"Alright, now try it. Cast the ward."

Onmund tried to remember the notes he had taken during the lecture. Steadying his stance, he let the magic flow through him as Alrek suggested, and sure enough, the familiar heat of magic began to pool at his palms…

And there, before him, was a ward. It glimmered and sparkled, not as bright as Tolfdir's, and the edges wobbled and wavered… but there it was, a ward.

"Excellent work, Onmund! Everyone, come see," Tolfdir motioned for the students to approach, "This is a wonderful example of a ward, notice the way he's standing?"

He couldn't help the proud smile that spread across his face. 'Excellent work.' He practically beamed. It had been his first time, and yet- there it was, a ward, strong and sure, cast from his own hands.

"I think we've got ourselves a master in the making, Tolfdir," Alrek remarked.

"That we do, my boy! Perhaps he'll join you in your studies soon, mm?"

Onmund couldn't take his eyes off Alrek then, and he froze in place when the Breton met his gaze with a soft, gentle look.

'Excellent work.'

'A master in the making.'

There was a nervous fluttering in his chest, a happy one. The way the other apprentices gathered around him, eyes wide in awe, the proud grin Tolfdir gave him, the way his friends praised his abilities… the way Alrek looked at him.

Onmund couldn't have asked for a better start to his stay at the College.