The observatory level of Winterhold was breathtaking.
When Onmund emerged before the night sky, the gentle whistles blowing in from tall, mighty mountains were the first to reach his ears. The Sea of Ghosts clawed in mad waves against the rocks and cliffs below, dark and inky like an extension of the night sky. Legends told him when he was young, that the Sea of Ghosts was not named in vain- spectres and spirits haunted its icy depths, calling out to anyone who would hear to help guide them to Sovngarde's hallowed halls.
'A fitting place for a magical college', he thought.
He didn't know what convinced him to come up to the observatory after dinner. Had this all been a ruse? He wouldn't be surprised if it was. It wouldn't be the first time, and with Alrek looking the way he did, beautiful and regal, he wouldn't put it past him to poke fun at his infatuation.
He walked along the parapet, gliding his fingers over the frost contemplatively. Everyone knew at this point. Who was he to earn the affections of someone like Alrek?
Onmund sighed, doubting himself. He stopped in the middle of the stone pathway, debating if he should take another step forward. This must be some sort of joke. Make him wait here, pining helplessly, until something, somewhere eventually went wrong. All at his expense, of course.
But Alrek had been kind, hadn't he? He'd apologized over and over again.
'It's different this time', he wanted to believe. 'I'll just walk around the observatory, get some fresh air. If nothing comes up, no harm done, right?'
So he swallowed those fears and resumed his walk. At least he had company, the wisp from earlier snuggled lazily against his neck, content to sit on his shoulder.
But disappointment set in fast, when he saw no sign of Alrek anywhere. There were a few senior mages peering through telescopes and jotting down notes, but no shock of red hair in sight-
"Alrek, tu es trop dur avec toi-même."
The inflection of a Breton accent. He had never heard Bretic spoken before, only read how the words and letters were shaped, but never spoken. It looked so strange on paper, in books, but to hear it? Even the wisp was curious, floating ahead as though to hear the conversation better.
Rounding the corner, he saw both Alrek and Camille, seated at an alcove that overlooked the ocean in all her dark anger.
"Je ne peux pas m'en empêcher."
The books were not wrong; it was a delightful language to hear. Onmund stayed in the shadows for a spell, watching the twins sit side by side, their gaze fixed on waves below them. Camille strummed a few notes on his lute in between pauses, more thoughtful and contemplative than anything musical.
"Ayez la fo- Oh!" He spotted Onmund in the shadows, "Le voilà!"
Onmund stepped out from behind the pillar, his large frame so meek in all his shyness. "S-sorry, I didn't want to interrupt." Even the wisp took solace in his hair, a braid draped over it.
"Well, that depends," Camille tossed a lazy grin, "How much did you hear?"
Onmund shrugged. "I uh, I had no idea what you're saying."
Alrek turned then, eyes so bright they seemed to glow. "Maybe I'll teach you some Bretic, if you're patient."
"Start with the naughty words," Camille giggled, playfully strumming his lute as he excused himself, "Oh, and Alrek? You owe me fifty silvers."
Alrek patted the spot beside him, inviting Onmund to come sit, as the wisp floated down to nestle in the palms of his hands.
"I suppose Brelyna sent you the chocolates?" Alrek said, tucking a long lock of hair behind his pointed ears, "Did you like them?"
Onmund smiled, "I did!" But his smile dimmed, saying, "I don't understand why you did it though, you don't have to do any of this."
Alrek turned to face him fully, and it was here Onmund realized he hadn't been wearing his college robes. He wore a thick over-cloak made of dark velvet, lined with fur so soft it practically danced in the night air. His rings were still stacked on his fingers, as were the diamond teardrops that hung from his ears. If the moonlight was any brighter, Onmund feared the wisp might just steal Alrek's earrings away.
"I wanted to."
Onmund gave a bashful smile, "I mean, it's really sweet but…why?"
"To make a good impression on you."
"I think you did that pretty well, already."
"Have I?" Genuine curiosity laced Alrek's words.
Onmund nodded. "When I saw you with the other apprentices that first day. When Faralda showed us what you could do, what we all could do."
Alrek waved him off, "Nonsense, I didn't want to do it initially, but I couldn't possibly pass up such a simple favor."
"You didn't want to do it?"
"I don't like showing off." A beat, "Perhaps a small part of me does, but a lot went into my training- most apprentices don't get to the level I'm at this young. But you? I think you could."
Hope fluttered in his chest. "You really think so?"
"I felt it when we were training with the wards," Alrek smiled. He seemed so sure of himself, Onmund had a hard time disbelieving him.
Onmund was unsure of what to say then. Had he meant it? Did he really think he had such potential? The wisp seemed to read his mind and nuzzled against his palm, as if to reassure him.
He shook his head, not allowing his mind to wander any longer. "But why? Why are you doing all this?"
"I thought we covered that."
"No, I mean… there's got to be other people you could be talking to, right? Maybe a senior mage? Some journeymen?" His fingers found themselves again, lacing in anxiety, and the wisp made a game of climbing over his hands, "I'm…I'm just an apprentice."
He couldn't read Alrek's expression, perfectly cool and collected. He briefly wondered how he managed such control, if it had been part of his training as a mage or embedded in his personality.
"I truly do want to get to know you better. You intrigue me, you have such a bright personality and attitude. It's refreshing."
"Really?"
"You'll forgive me, it's just so many mages get so cynical- myself included. Why do you think I hang around people like Camille?"
He nearly said, 'Because he's your brother?' before stopping himself. Onmund thought back to the other mages he had seen in his brief stay at Winterhold. The apprentices had all been very eager, yes, but those with more senior rank and title were brusque, impatient, tolerating little of those they deemed beneath them.
All save for Alrek and Camille Allard.
"But I can't be the only one."
"I've been keeping an eye on you- not that I've been deliberately spying, but it seems that with your journey through the Destruction school, we cross many paths. You even managed to borrow a favorite textbook of mine."
Onmund blushed at that. Had they? Onmund truly hadn't noticed. In all his days at the college, he had only stuck close to Brelyna and J'zargo.
"I think you're charming. And you seem genuine and eager to actually improve your skill."
"Isn't that why everyone else is here?"
"That's true, but you're the only person I've seen that doesn't take advantage of others on your way up."
"I just started." Onmund hadn't meant to deflect so much, but Alrek's own interest in him was baffling.
"A good first step, albeit small, is still a first step." Alrek began pouring himself a glass of wine, "Do you drink?"
"Just uh, just mead."
He nodded in understanding. "Of course, I ought to remember to bring a bottle next time."
'Next time'. Onmund hung onto those words.
"So…you didn't just come up here to offer me wine," he tried, "What do you want?"
Alrek let out a gentle laugh, unbothered by the accusation. He took a sip from his wine and pursed his lips pensively before answering.
"Can I make a confession?"
Onmund's expression begged him to continue. Even the wisp seemed to still to hear what the other mage had to say.
"I haven't the faintest idea."
Onmund furrowed his brow in confusion. The wisp buzzed in dissatisfaction. That was not the answer he had been expecting, for sure.
Invigorated by the admission, Alrek continued. "I was so convinced that you wouldn't come to meet me, and why would you? It's freezing up here." He shook his head and laughed. "What was I thinking?"
Freezing? Maybe to a Breton, but to Onmund, the night air was hardly a chill.
"You thought I wouldn't come?"
"You've made fast friends with Brelyna and J'zargo," Alrek said, swirling his glass, "No reason for you to hang around a mage aiming for his mastery ritual, and one who's about as dour as this weather, to boot."
"I don't think you're dour."
"Ah, there it is, that charming positivity that drew me to you."
In that moment, Onmund wanted so badly for those words to mean what he wanted them to. But why would Alrek, so eloquent and educated, waste his time with Onmund? Had he been reading too deeply into Alrek's words? Was he just being friendly?
"-All I've got to offer is some time, and some wine. Interested? No hard feelings if you'd rather go back down into the warmth."
Onmund smiled, trying to mirror Alrek's confidence. "Sure, I've got time. I don't really have much to do tonight."
"Famous last words."
"I'm just surprised you didn't have a plan, though," Onmund matched Alrek's gaze to the ocean below, "You seem so well put together."
"Well, I suppose you just have that effect on me."
Talos above and below, everything was moving so quickly for him.
He remembered, not too long ago, rising before dawn to feed the chickens and tend to the farm. Bracing himself during breakfast when his family engaged in idle conversation. Trying his hardest not to mention magic or spells or wizards or-
There was no use in thinking about it now. He loosed a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding.
Of course, Alrek noticed. "Everything alright?" He sounded more inquisitive than concerned.
"It's just-" He paused, lost for words. What would he even say? Would he understand? Would Alrek even care? Onmund looked to those rings again. Gold bands inlaid with jewels so large they could easily feed his family for months, if not a year.
Would he understand what he had left behind in Kynesgrove? The shouting and screaming, but so too the gentle, tender moments? The family he left?
"It's just… I've come such a long way and I can't believe everyone's been so nice to me."
Alrek's voice was soothing when he spoke, like the first summer rain. "You're among your peers now," he said, reaching over and patting him on his hands, palms unusually warm. The wisp, disturbed from its place, buzzed with annoyance and floated back to Onmund's shoulder.
"It's nice seeing someone enthusiastic about bettering themselves as a mage."
Onmund could have melted with the way Alrek squeezed his hand, mind protesting as he eventually pulled away.
A mage. That's what he was now, wasn't he? Not just the son of some farmer. Not just the village mistake.
"Look," Alrek's voice was a breathless wonder. It didn't quite register to Onmund at first, but then he saw the dancing lights and the ribbons of colors streaking through a star-speckled sky.
He had seen them a thousand times, peeking over the mountains in his village, when the nights kept him up and he spent them gazing out the windows alongside Elsie. But up on the observatory, over the cliffs of Winterhold, he could see them in all their beauty, as clear as the ice below them.
"I've never seen anything like this before," Alrek's face was awash with the gentle glow of the northern lights. Even a few curious wisps peered over the ledge to see what all the fuss was about.
Onmund began to notice other mages peeking out from windows, and some scholars hurriedly looking through their telescopes to list down notes and observations, whispering to each other in excited delight.
"You don't get these in High Rock?" Onmund asked, voice low in quiet reverence.
"I've only seen it in paintings…the actual thing is- I have no words."
They watched together as the lights blended into a beautiful harmony of colors, folding into one another, creating strokes of light in hues of pinks and greens.
"It's beautiful," Alrek whispered.
Onmund turned to him, and regarded Alrek with a lovesick gaze. Arms wrapped around himself, hair fluttering in the sea-breeze, a pointed nose, a pretty profile. He couldn't help but note the blue of his eyes, the shape of his lips, fuller on the top.
Onmund had no words for the beauty of the man who sat beside him.
"It is," he quietly agreed, though his eyes never wandered back to the sky.
Evening began to settle in earnest. The stars sparkled high above and the moons peeked behind the clouds. The whistling wind rustled the grass, and the last of the birdsong began to make way for crickets. Playful luna moths fluttered in and around bushes of mountain flowers, while foxes hurriedly dashed across the old, cobbled road headed to Whiterun.
It was all Svana had for company, along with the crunch of her boots on the roads and the burning of her torchlight.
The journey out of Riverwood had been a fairly uneventful one. The roads were quiet, bright sparkling rivers and majestic evergreens made way for the lush, golden fields on the horizon. Humble homes dotted the landscape, glowing with warmth.
Svana pulled her cloak tighter around her and braced the journey forth. She could see the outline of a Jarl's castle, illuminated by the setting sun and the lights from the city streets. It wouldn't be much farther now, if she just kept on the road.
'Gods, what is happening?' She thought to herself as she rounded the bend, kicking rocks idly into the darkening sky. She woke one night to find her brother running off in a storm, a dragon attacked, and now she had become a messenger. Part of her regretted listening to Alvor, while the other urged her to keep going. 'Am I really going to complain about getting a good night's sleep when a dragon is flying about?'
A nervous bubble burst in her gut as she remembered rolling into Helgen at the back of the Imperials' cart. 'Rolling.' How the soldiers' heads rolled from the block, eyes still darting around as though clinging to that last thread of life. The tang of copper heavy in the air, and the choking black smoke.
She shuddered. Gods. And all she wanted was to find Onmund and bring him home. There was no use in suppressing her agitated mind.
'You shouldn't have punched him.'
'Why did he have to run?'
'Talos above, if I could strangle him now I would.'
'You shouldn't have punched him.'
"Well, hello there."
The smell of mead and something vulgar was suddenly present in the air. Stopping dead in her tracks, Svana realised with growing horror, that she was not alone.
Four brigands stood before her, armed with rusty weapons and leather armor. Not unlike the troublemakers she used to chase away in Kynesgrove. But then, she had the others in the village to easily outnumber any wayward lout looking for a fight. Here, she was outnumbered and on her own.
"You're in the way." Svana tried to move past, but one of them shoved her back.
"What's your rush?" One of them leered at her, anger bubbling in her gut as she watched his eyes trail upwards along her body, "Got somewhere to be?"
"I do." Again, she tried to move around them, but the other two blocked her way. The temptation to swing her axe was great. Svana stood a little taller, feigning the confidence she so wished she had.
"Come on, we're not bad folk, we're just enforcing the toll," another said.
Her grip tightened on her blade. "I'm poor."
He noticed, and motioned to it. "What's that you got there, huh? D'ya even know how to swing that thing?"
They began to close in on her, cutting off any means of escape. Svana retreated, but she wasn't about to let them get the best of her, not some half-drunk thieves. The sooner she got to Whiterun, the sooner she could go home.
"Hate to ruin that pretty face of yours," the leering one said, "So you just pay the toll, say, a hundred gold pieces, and we'll let you go with most of you intact. How's about it?"
Her mind raced. A hundred gold pieces was more money than she could imagine at once. She shook her head, desperately trying to quell the rising flow of panic.
"I said, I'm poor."
One more word, and she'd swing.
Hands appeared on her shoulders. Svana's body locked up in fear.
'Run. Come on, just run—'
Warm breath exhaled on her cheek. The acrid stench of ale and piss filled her senses.
'What are you doing? Just run. Run!'
But no matter how much she tried to force herself to flee, her legs stayed bolted to the ground. The brigand leaned in close, brushing her hair out of her face, "Other ways of paying us, girlie."
That's it.
No more. She was tired of being dragged around, tired of being made weak. The gods didn't let her live through a dragon attack for her life to end like this.
Grabbing her axe, she squeezed her eyes shut, and swung.
The blade struck true. Bone and sinew crunched and gave. The scent of copper hung heavy in the air.
The brigand stumbled back, dark ichor spurting from a jagged gash on his side. "That's it," he snarled, "That's it! Kill her! This bitch isn't worth our time, just kill her-"
On cue, they leapt at her like starved wolves. Svana swung again, forcing them back. She waved her still lit torch at another trying to grab her from behind.
They readied their swords and clubs. Svana swung again, scoring one in the leg. She barely felt the slash that connected with her arm through the chaos and darkening skies.
Clumsily, she staggered away from the oncoming attacks. Dodging where she could, swinging when she can. But her moves were awkward, desperate. Frightened. They surely sensed it, closing in again.
A pommel raised and came down on her skull. Stars burst behind her eyes and Svana was sent back onto the ground. Looming above her, a bandit raised his weapon.
Then, fell backwards as an arrow pierced his throat.
The others screamed and flew back, eyes wild. Svana, equally wide-eyed and fearful, immediately scrambled away, grabbing at the dirt and grass to pull herself up and away from the brigands. That's when she saw them. Her saviors.
Three warriors stood side by side. In front a woman with warpaint and a nocked arrow stood. The other two, a man with an impressively large greatsword, and a smaller woman with a blade that gleamed in the moonlight.
If she weren't so ready to soil herself in fear, Svana would have kissed their boots in gratitude. The man gestured for her to stand behind him, and as quick as lightning, she did.
"Who in Shor's Bones are you?" one of the brigands spat.
The man snarled, like a wolf closing in on its prey.
"We are the Companions—" he practically growled, "—and you just picked the wrong fight."
The smell of a sweet and spicy brew lured Onmund into Brelyna's room. The door was ajar, an invitation to friends and colleagues alike.
Nestled in the corner under the window, Brelyna and J'zargo were curled up on a mountain of pillows. A stack of books lay in the center, as well as a tray of cups, bread, jam and a porcelain teapot filled with tea steeping from a red root.
The shuffling of his boots snapped the two out of their reading, and they greeted him with eager, yet cautious, grins.
"So, how'd it go?" Brelyna asked, slipping a tasseled bookmark where she left off and shut her book, "What did Alrek want?"
"Yes, this one is most curious," J'zargo said, licking jam off his fingers with a pop, "But truly, you should have stayed here. Brelyna makes a most delicious canis root tea."
They made room for him in their little pile of books and tea and pillows. Onmund happily plopped himself down, the red on his cheeks still bright as ever, the smile on his face still a mile wide. The wisp still hadn't left his shoulder.
"We, uh," he started, bashfully. The temptation to place his cool palms against his burning cheeks was great. "We watched the aurora together."
"Did you?" Brelyna suddenly sat up, excitement bright in her crimson eyes, "We saw them from the window here! Aren't they gorgeous?"
"Yes, in Senchal, we have glowing tides at night, but never a glowing sky. Truly, this land holds wonderful surprises." Then, a clever look graced J'zargo's features, "But surely the poncy little thing didn't just ask you to watch the sky with him?"
Onmund laughed, flustered as ever by his friends' questioning. "He…actually admitted that he didn't think I'd come, so when I showed up he had no idea. Then the lights came on and…we just sat and watched them together."
Brelyna and J'zargo's faces begged him to continue.
"It was nice." Onmund pulled his hood over his head, hiding himself before he burst into song or something just as embarrassing, "It was just nice listening to him talk and just… sitting there with him."
"I'm surprised Alrek didn't have a plan, he usually loves pointing that out about himself," Brelyna sighed, "So what did he say?"
Onmund almost giggled like a shy maiden. After all, he still had some Nordic pride clinging on. "He said I just had an effect on him."
J'zargo was the first to let out the amused tittering. "Truly? He said that?"
"Oh, Onmund, I think you've finally found a way to get Alrek Allard to finally shut up!"
But their laughter came to a sobering chain of smiles and lifted spirits. Brelyna poured him a cup of tea, and J'zargo spread jam on a slice of bread and passed it to him.
He shouldn't have been surprised by the act, yet he was. Kindness. Genuine kindness and care. Onmund had always known love from his family, but it had always been conditional. Days or weeks when he held his tongue, his family would warm up to him, but then his father would complain about a rumor that necromancers had taken to a nearby cave, or how a travelling band of mages were cheating people out of their money.
"Bad people do bad things, what difference does it make if they're mages?"
With Brelyna and J'zargo, it was different. They were all mages. They had seen his powers. And here they were, treating him with the kindness and care he should have seen from his blood-kin, yet they were the reason he was here.
Onmund accepted their offerings. "It's just… nice."
"What, the lights?" Brelyna asked after a sip of her tea.
"No, just…I was half expecting him to pull a mean prank or make fun of me or something."
"Hasn't that one been nothing but flattering towards you?" J'zargo asked, "Surely, even if it were a ruse, it'd be a pretty lousy one to pull."
"Why… would you expect him to do something like that? I know Alrek's irritating, but I've never known him to be mean," Brelyna asked.
Onmund struggled to find the words in Common. He began, slowly, "It wouldn't be the first time it's happened. I almost expected to walk into a trap like that."
"Onmund…" Sympathy laced Brelyna's voice. She reached out a hand, patting his shoulders.
Onmund stayed quiet for a time.
"Surely you do not think of yourself so lowly?" J'zargo asked, cautiously.
"It's nothing you two did," came the admission, "It's just… it's happened before."
"Really?" they asked in unison.
Onmund nodded, "I had eyes on a girl in my village, Tsuna. She was…" How would he even begin to describe her? It had been years, and in the company of his friends, of good food and drink and the hope of finally being accepted, it felt like it had been time to reopen his past wounds and examine them once more.
Even the wisp on his shoulders buzzed gently, a soothing sensation along the skin of his neck.
"Tsuna was pretty, but the kind of pretty you wouldn't believe until you see it. She had hair like gold. And she had these blue eyes and freckles- but she was also really nice, everyone liked her, always had something good to say about her."
His two friends huddled closer together, intrigued.
"One day, my mother, and her mother got talking at the temple, and she was there. I dunno if it was a trick of the mind but she started- I think she started flirting with me."
"Then what?" Brelyna prodded through a mouthful of jam and bread.
"I wrote her a letter saying how much I liked her and how I wanted to see her again. Eventually, we started meeting in secret. You know, dumb stuff- in my family's stable, at the outskirts of the village, I think we both knew that if anyone else found out…especially with me being a mage…"
Brelyna and J'zargo shared a concerned look.
"One day I get a letter from her saying that she wants to meet outside of the village, she-" his breath caught in his lungs, "she wanted to do...more with me."
His shoulders slumped, "She leaves all these little clues for me, you know, like those treasure-hunting games kids play? Finally I get to the lake and she tells me to… well, t-take my clothes off and wait for her."
That raised eyebrows.
"A-Anyway, I get in the water, and I wait, and then I notice my clothes are gone."
"Oh no…" Brelyna gasped, eyes widening in horror, a hand clasped over her mouth.
"So I start looking, thinking a critter took it. Then I hear laughing and I run for it. I gave chase- turns out, her brothers did it. They set the whole thing up, they even made her write the letters to trick me. I was afraid. They were hunters and a lot tougher than I was, so I begged for them to just give me my clothes back."
"Did they?" J'zargo asked.
Onmund could only shake his head. "They'd been out hunting, so they made camp and had a fire. They threw my clothes into the flames and that was that. Said that if I was stupid enough to fall for a dumb thing like this then maybe I deserve to die out here in the woods alone."
"What?!" J'zargo and Brelyna looked simultaneously offended and enraged. J'zargo snarled his words, "How could they?"
"If this one were there, this one would have plucked their eyeballs for a snack!" He bared his fangs, claws half-sheathed.
Brelyna, to her credit, was far calmer, though her distress was clear. "Why would they do something like that?"
Onmund shook his head sadly. "They said no mage is welcome near their sister, their family, or even their village."
Brelyna and J'zargo sat in horrified silence. "W-What did you do after?"
Onmund tried to stifle the sob clawing at his throat, failing. "I didn't do anything. I just sat there in the clearing, crying, like-"
He exhaled, shakily. "When it got dark, I was just waiting for the wolves or whatever to just eat me and be done with it. But my sisters found me, brought me a change of clothes and took me home. Since then, my mother never felt safe taking me out alone, she always had one of my sisters or herself accompany me."
He wiped his tears with his arm in an awkward swipe. "There was no telling who else was going to hurt me or humiliate me. I shamed my family."
Onmund covered his face, hiding his tears. "I'm sorry," he managed through sniffles, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say all that-"
"It's alright," Brelyna hushed him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder.
"Yes, there is no shame in your history, friend," J'zargo joined in.
A moment passed in silence. Eventually, Brelyna spoke up.
"—You know, J'zargo's right," Brelyna said, her voice gentle and kind, "You're not the only one with history like that."
"R-Really?" Onmund braved a peek from behind his fingers.
She nodded. "I was once laughed out of a Telvanni meeting. My parents didn't speak to me for weeks. And I overheard my mother even suggest to an aunt that she wished she sent me away when I was younger so she wouldn't have to deal with all the 'embarrassment' I threw at her, day in and day out."
"W-What happened?" Another sniffle.
Brelyna swallowed a lump in her tightening throat, "My cousin stole a spell I had been working on. Not only did he improve it, but he made me perform it in front of everyone."
"Of course, it failed miserably, and my mother had to drag me out of the hall before the other magisters could figure out what to do with me. It… It made me want to leave forever. When I overheard her, I stepped out and told her if she wanted to get rid of me so badly, she could start now. My father barely stopped her from slapping me black and blue-
She folded her hands in her lap, gaze cast down. "I was sent here a week later, no more questions asked."
Onmund wiped his tears and put an arm around Brelyna, bringing her in close. "I'm sorry."
But before she could get another word out, J'zargo sighed, unusually heavy. "This one… did not leave on such grand terms either."
Brelyna and Onmund looked incredulously at their Khajiit companion. "R-Really? I thought you said your family was proud when you left?" Onmund asked.
"Only this one's family." J'zargo's shoulders slumped and his eyes were downcast, "This one's parents were very proud. But this one was the only surviving kitten in this one's litter. This one's mother always wanted a large family, but instead, she had just… well, this one." There was no denying the hurt in the emphasis of the last word.
"I didn't know…" Brelyna said, eyes tearing up from her own recollection, burrowed in Onmund's soft shoulders.
"This one was doted on terribly by his parents. A master of the mercantile trade, this one knew mathematics, how to find the best deals… but this one's friends and village had said this one would make a better merchant prince than a mage." Venom laced his tone at the end. It hurt him more than he would say.
"When this one spoke of this one's ambitions during a feast, the whole village laughed at him. This one's parents were the only ones who did not laugh. They helped this one pack things needed for the trip, gave this one money for travel, and even got special permission for this one to cross the borders safely. The whole village called them stupid and foolish for sending their only son away, but they were the only ones who believed in this one."
"They watched this one leave. Their only cub, gone to pursue his own selfish dreams. This one will not disappoint."
J'zargo flattened his ears, blinking back tears of his own. "That is why this one wants to try so hard at becoming the best mage, to show everyone that this one can make something of oneself."
Onmund said nothing, only extending an arm around J'zargo and pulling him in close too.
He threw his head back and laughed, sudden and humorless. "By the Nine, we're all… we're all just mistakes, aren't we?"
Brelyna let out a watery laugh. "Well now that you've put it that way… I guess we are."
"This one proposes a pact," J'zargo extended his hands out to his friends, always the first to collect himself, "That we stay together during our stay in the College. That nothing shall tear us apart. Pact?"
Brelyna took his hands with her shaky one, "Pact."
Onmund looked between his friends, and smiling his own sad, but determined smile. He took J'zargo's hands and gave it a firm shake, "Pact."
The Winterhold Three had finally come to be.
The brigands ran.
The warriors bested them easily with masterful control of their weapons. The women were graceful, light on their feet, terrifying in their speed, while the man was strong and sure.
Svana could only watch in awe at the sight before her. They had been careful to lead the fight away from her, kept her sheltered by the safety of the roadside and flowers. It wasn't until the last of them ran off, tails between their legs, as they helped their bloodied friend up and away.
The warriors watched as they made it past the bridge and into the mountains. Once they were sure they would be scared off the roads they turned back. The man jogged up to Svana, his dark hair bobbing along with his muscles.
"Miss!" he called, kneeling before her, "Miss."
Svana blinked up at him, barely registering that he had been talking at all.
His voice had been soft, and gentle, a complete opposite to the terrifying form he possessed, "Are you alright, miss? It looks like they got you," he pointed to the gash on her shoulder.
Gods, Svana thought, a whole dragon attack had left her in better shape than a run in with lousy brigands.
"I-I'll be alright," the pain flared up in her arm, but she held it down with a wince.
"Can you get up?" He offered a hand, Svana took it.
"I can, but…" another wince and she was pulled back up, shaking her head, "I think I'll be okay."
Oh. Huh.
She noticed the his face then. The scruffy, chiseled jaw and the bright, silver eyes. From where she stood at that initial encounter, he just looked like a mountain of hair and muscle.
But up close? He was passably handsome.
"That looks a lot worse than it really is," he assessed, "Bet we can patch that up and you'll be good as new."
It was then Svana recalled their introduction, "Are… are you really the Companions of Jorrvaskr? The Companions?"
But before the man could reply to her, the huntress with the war paint answered, "That we are, and you shouldn't be alone out here." She cinched her hands on her hips. "It's late, what's your reason?"
"I-I was sent to deliver a message," Svana flustered, too aware of the muscle that was roped along the huntress's silken arms, "I had to, time was wasting."
The three Companions shared a look between each other, before the huntress gave an affirmative nod and walked away. The other woman followed. And the man, reluctantly, did as well.
But she wasn't about to be left behind. "Wait! Wait" She called, and they stopped.
"Wait," Svana jogged up to them, "Are you going to Whiterun? It's really important that I see the Jarl."
"What business would you even have with the Jarl?" Svana took note of the way the huntress gave a dismissive up-and-down glance at her form, "We were paid to deal with the brigands, not escort some lost milkmaid to the city proper."
It didn't escape her notice how the other two flashed shocked expressions at the huntress.
Quite frankly, Svana was surprised. Had they just intended for her to find her way in the dark? After getting attacked? The blood alone would attract a pack of wolves, no matter how close she stuck to the roads.
"Aw, c'mon Aela," the man tried, "We're heading to Whiterun anyway, not like we haven't had hangers-on before." He turned to face Svana, wearing a polite enough smile, "Though she does have a point. Weird for anyone to be out here."
"I have to give the Jarl an important message," Svana stepped towards them, hand now clasped over her wound. The man was right, looked worse than it felt, but she had to do something about it soon.
"Oh?" The huntress, Aela, cocked a brow.
Svana gritted her teeth, too aware of how… incredulous the whole thing had been. "A dragon attacked Hel-"
The three warriors suddenly burst out laughing.
Svana furrowed her brows in frustration. "It's true!"
"A dragon? Really?" Aela closed the distance between them, suddenly serious once more. "You expect me to believe a giant lizard from a children's story came to life?"
Had they not been warriors of Nordic legend, Svana would have shoved her boot in Aela's pretty little face. But she knew a good Nordic chest-puffing when she saw it, and gave as good as she got.
"I saw what I saw." She pointed at the huntress, "I don't need to convince you, I need to convince the Jarl."
But the man stepped in between them, "We could at least get her some place to rest."
Svana waved them all off. "Look, it doesn't matter, I'm hurt and I just want to find a way to Whiterun."
The huntress, Aela, threw her hands up in frustration, before turning on her heel and leaving. "Ria, come on. Ice-brain over here can deal with this."
That rankled some of Svana's feathers, but the man put a hand to her good shoulder to stop her. "Don't mind Aela, she's just grumpy that she's on brigand duty."
Svana smiled at that, "Oh yeah?"
He shrugged. "That's usually stuff we throw to the whelps."
"Well, thank you."
"I'm Farkas, by the way." He extended a hand for her to shake.
"I'm Svana." She took his hands in hers and gave it a good shake. She felt the calluses of his hands, well-worn like a warrior's ought to. Rough and strong.
He gave a lopsided grin. "You got a pretty good swingin' arm."
Svana furiously fought the heat in her cheeks. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, a little clumsy. You're no warrior."
She shook her head. "No kidding? I was the blacksmith's apprentice before I got caught up in this mess."
They chatted idly, a means to fill the silence as they moved through the dying light of day. It wasn't long before they arrived at the gates of Whiterun. Svana barely believed the stories of the 'gold fields that went on forever', yet even in the dimming light, the moons dazzled the plains with their hues of golds and browns. Water as blue and clear as the skies above sparkled in the night light, and the gentle fluttering of luna moths danced along the winds like wisps of magic. It was like something out of a painting, something she never thought she'd see.
The outer walls were just as impressive. Old. Historical. But maintained with the kind of love and care Svana would expect from an honorable Jarl. There were no marks of war, no scars to proudly show its ugly, bloodshed past. To Svana, it screamed safety and peace everlasting.
Strange then, that the Companions made this their home.
Aela and the other warrior, Ria, let themselves in, with the guards offering humbled bows of their heads. Their looks quickly changed when Svana walked up with Farkas.
One of the guards stepped forth, hands stretched outwards, "Hold, Companion, who's this- Mara's tears, another one?"
"Injured from the brigands," Farkas confirmed, "We took care of 'em."
"Glad to hear it, but the Jarl's issued an emergency order." The guard folded his arms across his chest, "No strangers allowed in. Only the Companions are allowed in and out."
"What for?"
The guard's grim tone wasn't reassuring in the slightest. "Helgen's been attacked. Jarl doesn't want to take any chances with newcomers."
Farkas looked to Svana, eyes wide in realization. Clearly, only then had he connected the two events. Little wonder why Aela called him 'ice brain' then, Svana thought to herself.
Svana ignored his look and stepped forward, declaring, "I came from Helgen."
His helmet obscured his face, but she was sure his eyes widened in surprise. "You did? Shor's blood, what happened?" Even the other guard stared curiously in their direction.
"A dragon attacked it, razed it to the ground."
"A dragon?" Disbelief was prevalent in his voice, and part of her prepared to be dismissed again.
She sighed. If she knew it would be this difficult to convince the others, she would have never have taken Alvor's fool errand. "Look, I need to speak to the Jarl."
"Besides," Farkas interjected, "She needs healing." He pointed at the cut on her shoulder, jagged and raw.
The guard sighed and motioned for the gates to be opened. Alright, alright, go on in. You're lucky you have the word of a Companion to back you up, girl."
As they entered through the grand city gates of Whiterun, Svana couldn't help but sigh in wonder at the sight before her.