Whiterun had been quaint. Svana could see from the pretty houses and even prettier townsfolk that none of them had ever known a day of hardship. The streets were cobbled neatly with new stone, not dirt paths made from the stubborn footsteps of ancestors past. The houses were new and made of brick and wood, not barely held together with hope and old wood.
The Bannered Mare had been a fine enough place to stay. But Farkas's word had sent the owner into a fuss. She insisted she took the best room they had. It was nicer than anything Svana had ever slept in. A large bed dominated the room in the center, a washtub placed to the side behind a woven divider, and a charming balcony to privately enjoy food, drink and music.
Svana still hardly believed the circumstances that led her here, but she complained little when Farkas rubbed some healing salve on her shoulders, drew a bath for her, and explained the best times to visit the Jarl.
It could have been worse, Svana thought, He could have been ugly.
She snickered to herself, easing herself into the hot water and letting her aching joints melt into the heat. She wished Ma and Pa could see her, talking with the Companions. Wished she could brag to Elsie how big of a bed she got. Wished she could tease Onmund about-
She sat up, water sloshing out of the wooden tub.
Gods.
All of this was because of Onmund, wasn't it? She wondered where he could have gone off to. Was he safe? She hoped wherever he ended up, he was safe. Alive, at least. The anger that fueled her journey onwards had long since died after the dragon showed up.
Now, she could only hope he was in one piece. She'd seen enough death for one life, prayed enough that she would find a brother and not a body. That he was off being a fool with magic with other troublemakers.
Let him raise Oblivion all he wants, if it means he yet lives.
She poured more of the oils into her palm and worked it into her skin. They smelled exactly like the ones her mother saved for special occasions, for dinners and family visits.
She remembered how, on the morning of those occasions, her mother would spend all day mixing them. Small luxuries that they allowed themselves to enjoy.
They'd spend the week preparing for Oma to stay for a winter's visit. She'd bring smoked venison and bushels of berries, and they'd gather around the fireplace to laugh all night long. And when dinner was had and the smiles had died down, everyone sat with bottles of mead in hand and—
Moisture dripped down into the cloudy water below. Her reflection said it all.
Gods, she was crying.
She wiped her tears away, cursing aloud when the oils stung her eyes. She rubbed futilely at them.
After she stumbled out of the bath, she washed her face with cold water from the basin. It helped little in chasing away the memories- of laughter shared between her siblings, the warmth of a roaring hearth…
Her family. When she still had one.
When they returned, she decided, those bittersweet memories of lounging together in peace, she'd chase them away with mead and ale and whatever the innkeep would allow her.
When that failed, she wrapped herself up as tightly as she could with the soft blankets, rocking herself to sleep. She always, always complained when Elsie brought her thrice-damned pet hen into bed, and how Onmund snored the loudest between the three of them.
And yet she wished with all her heart that they were there. Snoring and pecking at her.
She just had to warn the Jarl, then she could continue her search. She just had to make it through the night.
"Gods, Onmund," she whimpered, alone, "Why did you run?"
She buried her face into the coverings, sobbing.
"I'm so, so sorry…"
When dawn returned over Tamriel, Kynesgrove found itself covered in a blanket of mist and fog. Not unusual for the time of year, but more than what Elsie was comfortable with. She peered out through the basement window, climbing on Onmund's vacant bed as she watched swirls of fog dance in the morning light.
"Come on, darling," her Ma called out, "If we're late, we won't have bread for the night."
Elsie sighed. Market day. It was going to happen eventually, she knew, yet it was so different without Onmund and Svana around. Those two could carry all the heavy loads with no complaint. It always made the trip home so much easier.
But they weren't here, were they? Chased off by-
-No. She stopped herself short. It wouldn't bring them home, anyway.
"Did Pa come home yet?" Elsie asked, hopping off her brother's bed and fishing for her boots under her own.
Her mother only sighed as she tightened the fastenings around her own pair of worn shoes. "He did. Then left again this morning."
Elsie looked up to her mother. She didn't need further explanation, when the unsaid words hung heavy in the air. He had gone to look for her siblings.
It was so much easier to think that Svana and Onmund had met their early ends, that the harsh landscapes or the cruelty of war was responsible for their demise. But then a hold guard happened to see Onmund go northward. Not enough to know where exactly he had gone off, but the trail was picked up once more.
It was all the family needed to offer their prayers again, before Talos's feet.
So their father continued his search, desperate to right his wrongs. After working long hours with the others, he would come home for supper. And before he even had time to wash himself up, he'd be out the door with a lantern in hand. Sometimes he'd make the dangerous walks along the river by himself, other times hitching rides with carriage drivers who pitied him enough to take what little coin he could offer.
For Svana, he tried sending letters to Darkwater Crossing, but no messenger from Eastmarch would dare set foot near the Thalmor's activities. Even if they had cleared out, seeking their prey elsewhere, there was no telling what clever trap they left behind.
Yet still, her father searched.
"You think Onmund and Svana are gonna come back?" Elsie asked, her voice quiet.
Her mother could only put on a brave face. After a while, she spoke.
"I don't know."
"Do you think they're still out there?"
Her mother pursed her lips tight, "I know your father does."
It didn't escape Elsie's notice, the way she had said that. 'I know your father does.' An admission of her own hopelessness? Or trying to convince herself of the truth? Did it even matter? They were both gone, and it was still market day.
Elsie nodded, "Maybe we'll hear some good news soon, it's only been a few days."
Her mother could only shrug. "I hope so."
Yet they both knew better. When war loomed over the horizon, when every day brought some new horrifying gossip to the village, a few days was all one needed to find death.
Or, Elsie thought morosely, for death to find them.
She pulled on her boots and began lacing them up. She pulled on a large, heavy shawl and before they could leave the house, they heard their father shouting, "Ulla! Elsie! Come quick!"
They climbed up the stairs. Her mother hurried out the door first. Elsie saw her father down the street, leading the nag that Svana had taken the night she looked for Onmund… and riding her was none other than their Oma.
"Ma!" Her own mother rushed over, helping the old woman off the horse as they led the old nag back in the safety of the stables.
"Don't fuss over me, Ulla, I can take care of myself," she grouched, her expression quickly softening as she saw Elsie's face. "There you are my darling little hen, how have you been?"
Elsie allowed her Oma's callused hands to stroke her round cheeks. "I've been good, Oma."
"Ma, what are you even doing here?" Her mother couldn't help but fuss. "This is so dangerous, word on the street-"
Her Oma waved her off. "Yes, I've heard. Saw it myself, in fact."
"Maybe we should get inside," her father urged, "never know who's out here."
The four of them hurried back into the house, Elsie helping her Oma into her mother's rocking chair. Her mother quickly put together homemade bread and jam, setting a kettle of tea back over the fire. Her father took his seat, looking more tired than Elsie remembered him ever being.
Gods, this was one of those days where she wished this was just some long, drawn out nightmare.
"What's going on?" Her mother asked as she served the tray full of food and drinks. "Why did you come here?"
Her oma waved her hand dismissively, "Oh don't worry about me, I'm more worried about you three."
"Ma…"
Elsie sat crossed-legged on the floor, pointedly avoiding the conversation. Maybe if she didn't look at the other adults talking, she wouldn't have to hear what they had to say. It couldn't be anything good, now that Oma was here.
"I'm surprised you'd make the trip out here, Runa," her father began, "with the news of the Thalmor-"
"Those elves are nothing but trouble, and I won't let a bunch of troublemaking layabouts do as they please," her Oma snapped, eyes flinty. They softened a moment later. "Besides, after what happened, I had to come here, make sure you're alright."
"We heard the Thalmor had come and taken some people," her mother said as she poured the tea.
"Aye, they did," her Oma sighed. "I couldn't stay there, not after what I heard."
All three pairs of eyes were suddenly on her. "I don't know how to tell you all this, but better me than some Imperial scout with a stick up his ass."
Elsie watched her Oma resettle into her seat, graciously taking the cup of tea from her mother, a quiet recollection of the once graceful woman she had been in her youth.
After a long while, she spoke. "The Thalmor came and drummed up some trouble. They caught Ulfric Stormcloak."
Everyone gasped, but her Oma didn't respond to it. Elsie couldn't read her expression, too stoic, too controlled for her liking.
"Svana was caught up in the trouble. I thought I could try following them for a while, but..." Oma's gaze trailed off, just as her words did.
Father leapt up from his chair. "Is Svana alright?!"
Yet her Oma'a lack of a response confirmed the worst.
"What's wrong?" Elsie cried, curling her knees up to her chin, bracing herself for the inevitable news. What else could it be? What other reason, other than bad news, would bring her Oma all the way here?
"Last I heard, they were being taken to Helgen."
Looks were exchanged, and from the glint of the morning light streaming in through frosted windows, Elsie saw tears welling up in her mother's eyes.
"I swear on all Nine of the Divines," her Oma began, "I didn't believe it when I heard it, even less when I saw it."
She drew in a steadying breath as her own aged eyes began to tremble with the threat of oncoming tears. "A dragon razed Helgen to the ground."
Her Oma's hands gripped the armrest of the chair tight, her knuckles white as frost, hands shaking, as if bracing herself for the words she was about to speak.
She let out a watery sigh. "Nothing's left. No bodies, no survivors. The soldiers warned me away before I could get any closer."
The little family sat in stunned silence.
Yet her Oma never stopped believing, "But I know Svana's out there, I know she's-"
She didn't have to continue. Elsie knew better than to believe whatever she would say next. She knew what the look her Oma gave her meant, desperately trying to convince her that her sister was alive and well, despite the odds.
"We just have to keep searching for her, we can't give up on Svana-"
Elsie couldn't hear anymore. The tears poured out, too fast, too much. Lies! Lies! Lies! Why do adults love to lie?
She sucked in a shaky breath, recognizing none of the words being exchanged between her family. She barely heard her parents call out to her as she ran out the door. She needed to get out, needed to leave.
Maybe if she ran away far enough along the river, she wouldn't have to hear more of their lies. Wouldn't have to hang all her hopes on empty promises.
Maybe if she ran far enough away, the news her Oma brought would be just a nightmare and she'd wake up to another lonely day at home.
In a vast field of gold, Onmund heard his family call for him. Over and over, the sound repeated endlessly. Not like the night he left for Winterhold, though. The words were monotonous, lifeless. Droning on and on, like a ritual of some sort.
As he walked through the tall grass, he could see his family house sitting in the middle of the plains. He looked around: the sky was a dreadful grey, with terrifying storm clouds swirling above. The gentle rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, a warning of what was yet to come. He turned to see the plains stretch as far as the eye could see. Yet no mountains graced the horizon, no sound of running water, not even a path in sight.
He approached the house, cautious as ever. Despite hearing the calls coming from inside, the closer he got to the door, the more distant their voices became, until they all but disappeared when he finally crossed the threshold.
The house had been left as it was that night. Dinner was still on the table- a small roast of ham gifted by one of his father's friends. The baked potatoes were still wrapped in the basket, steam wafting off their browned skins. The hearth was still lit, the scent of his mother's herbal teas wafting in the air.
"Hello?" he called, but no answer. He turned to the sitting area, spotting his mother's tins of paints sitting where she had left them, the vase she had been decorating unfinished.
"Ma?" He called again, but no answer. When he peered out the window, all he saw was darkness.
Where could everyone be? Asleep, maybe?
He walked into the basement, past the small corner used for food storage, over to the bed and bathing areas. A tub of hot water had been drawn- no doubt for his father in anticipation after a long day at work. Svana's scrubbing salts for getting the soot and filth from her hands sat where she left it over the basin.
He peered over to where his siblings would have been sleeping. But the bed his sisters shared was empty and unmade. Onmund tracked back, peeking behind the woven divider where his parents slept. "Ma? Pa? You there?"
But the large bed they shared was empty too. Even his mother's slippers were still where she had left them.
He returned upstairs and walked out the door. The little house remained devoid of life. There was nothing left for him.
"Hello!" He called, but all that returned was an echo. "Svana! Elsie!"
He tried again. "Gods, Frigga? Is anyone out there?"
Silence.
Before he could turn around and continue his search behind the house, the thunder made good on its threat. A deafening clap made his hands shoot up to his ears to cover them and the bright flash of lightning made him squeeze his eyes shut.
His vision blurred and his ears rang, but there was no mistaking the sight he would see when he looked over his shoulder.
The house, so lifeless and empty moments before, was consumed in fire. Onmund staggered back, tripping and stumbling as fast as his legs could carry him. The door he left ajar had shut on its own. He tried to reach for the door, but the handle had long become shapeless molten slag. Oh gods, what would he do? He searched for the barrel of water by the back of the house. Gone, vanished.
The splintering crack of breaking wood sounded in the air. The roof of his tiny home had collapsed in on itself.
Shor's blood.
He peeked into the windows, and screamed.
His mother, father and sisters stood inside, as still as statues, posed as though they were to be painted. His father stood behind his mother, seated, hands folded neatly in her lap. Svana stood beside their father. Elsie sat beside their mother.
"No! Get out!" He screamed. He tried to break the windows, but they would not shatter. He tried to burst the doors open, but to no avail. He could only watch as his family burned before his very eyes.
"Help! Someone help!" He screamed, voice hoarse from desperation. The window caught his eye once more and horror overcame him and turned his gut as he watched Elsie watch her hand burn away. From a fair, plump thing, to a charred husk.
"You mustn't weep for them," a voice behind him sounded.
He turned to find Alrek, just as he had seen him the very first time, bathed in fire. Completely in tune with his element.
"You're in a better place now," his whispered, voice haunting and hollow. He reached to cup Onmund's face, but the flames that Alrek summoned burned him just the same.
Pain seared through his body. His screams deafened even himself as he kept his eyes locked on Alrek, face devoid of emotion.
And yet, through the madness of it all, he heard the loud roar of a terrifying creature in the distance, and the feeling of lips grazing against his own.
Onmund woke with a start. He gasped, clutching his blanket tight, cold sweat beading along his brow.
Just a dream, just a dream, he soothed to himself. One breath, then another, then another.
His sleep was still a fitful affair. The nights where he suffered terrors began to outnumber the restful ones.. Gods, what did it all mean? What did it mean when he watched his family burn away? What… What did it mean when he saw Alrek…?
No, it was a dream. Just nonsense. Emotions trying to make sense of themselves. He had changed his life so drastically in just a few days, the son of a farmer one day, potential mage the next-
Prophecies didn't choose farmboys on the run from home. They were reserved for chiseled heroes and charming royals. Certainly not him.
He shoved the blankets off himself and stumbled out of bed. He just needed some time to adjust. It had only been a week or so, at this point.
He just needed some time.
That was what Brelyna told him over dinner one night, that time and distance would do him good. That he just needed to calm down and focus on his studies here.
Onmund made his way over to the basin and began washing his face. It hadn't been the first nightmare he experienced since coming to Winterhold, but it had been by far the most haunting.
Did it even mean anything? He asked himself. Was it guilt for leaving his family? Or was it… something else?
Maybe, his father-
No. They were wrong. They made him leave! It was their fault! If they had just been more accepting, more understanding-
If they had been more understanding, he wouldn't be here.
He dragged a towel down his face. The early glow of morning light that filtered through his window gave his room an ethereal blue glow. his attention turned to the shelf over his bed. The one that held the guardian animals, the wooden cow and the jade guar. He nervously chewed on his bottom lip.
He was among his people now, people who understood and appreciated and even praised his gifts. Complete strangers taken to showering him with kindness, unprompted. Kindness that not even his own family could afford to show.
He was up now. Maybe he could find a snack, or clear his mind? He pulled a warmer pair of trousers on, and shrugged on his college robes, hastily tying them together before he made for the hallways.
Curious wisps floated down from the rafters after him, but one in particular had taken to sitting on his shoulder as he walked through the college.
"Hey there," he greeted as the wisp sat, its energy a peculiar tingle against his skin as they walked together.
"Think anyone's gonna be up this early?" Onmund asked the wisp, "Or are they all asleep?"
If the creature had shoulders, it'd shrug, but it settled for a flickering glow. He saw Brelyna's and J'zargo's room still closed, and as he made his way down the living quarters, the distinct noises of snoring apprentices everywhere, dreaming away.
To the dining hall, he supposed, and made the journey up the spiral staircases that seemed to go on forever.
Nothing stirred within the halls. All, except for one lone figure.
"-Alrek?" Onmund called out, one brow raised, "Is…is that you?"
His hair was braided loosely down his back. And while the clothes he wore were certainly plainer than the last outfit he'd seen him in, the clean, precise tailoring was all Onmund needed to know it came from wealth. The high collar, the long flowing sleeves, all things he had only seen in romantic paintings of long-ago princes.
"Onmund, hello." Alrek smiled easily, "Care to join me for a reading?"
"A…reading?"
"Yes, cards! A card reading." He beckoned for Onmund to join him.
"Hang on," Onmund said as he took his seat across Alrek. "What are you doing up so early?"
He laughed, but not unkindly, "Our father back home had us rise as early as our knights. Said we'd make awful lor- eh, heads of the house, if all we did was sleep the day away."
"No offense," Onmund spoke plainly, "But I always thought rich people had, you know, servants to do things for them, so they can stay in bed longer?"
Alrek shook his head, shuffling a colorful deck of cards in his hands. Though there were less rings on his hands, the few that were on still glimmered brightly through the dim light.
"Nonsense," he dismissed, "not our family anyway. We're expected to make our beds and help the st- help." He finished with another smile, one that seemed a bit more forced than the last.
"Really?"
"If we wanted breakfast, we had to get up as early as our father did- and he's an early riser. Any later than that, and we're expected to figure out how to make it ourselves."
"So, you cook?" There was a clever smirk on Onmund's face, "What can you make?" He felt a strange kind of amusement when he thought about it; maybe there were things, practical things, he was better at than Alrek.
Alrek smiled, and he melted at the sight. "Oh, I don't burn my eggs anymore if you can believe it. And I've figured how to brew butter-roasted Ragada coffee perfectly now. A tricky thing, that. And we even do the washing up after. Father says if we can't even figure out how to wash our dishes, how are we expected to take care of anything more important?"
Onmund giggled. "Sounds like our fathers would get along."
"Maybe. My father doesn't look like a tough disciplinarian, you know. He's all smiles and laughter and… he's very soft. But he holds all of us to a certain standard."
"Is it common, what your father does? In High Rock, I mean?"
Alrek shrugged, "Depends. It's not like I'm up cleaning the rafters or dusting the crystals, but he always said that if we're making a mess the least we can do is respect our help's time and service."
"What about your mother?"
He laughed, "She's the same way. Her family, before she married my father, was influential, but not very rich."
Onmund's brow furrowed in confusion. "How does that work?" Could such a thing even exist? Power and wealth always went hand in hand, at least in Skyrim it did.
"It means that what they say in court- or anywhere, really," Alrek corrected himself, "holds more sway than anyone else's. But they won't be able to afford fancy new gowns for the next salon or pretty baubles to decorate themselves with."
"That sounds… wow, I had no idea." Onmund could barely fathom the notion of wealth and influence, even just a sliver of it. Even if what Alrek said was true, he was sure anyone in his circle or family would have more coin than his family would ever see in a lifetime.
Gods, he remembered how his father celebrated having a better cut of meat. How his mother wept when her little artworks bought them better, fresher bread for the night. He remembered how proud Svana was when she held up her first gold coin.
And here was Alrek. He wore all of Onmund's family's hopes and dreams on his fingers. The nicest thing the family had were small, traditional amulets, and even those looked like cheap baubles compared to the things Alrek wore.
"-So, care to read your future? See what destiny has in store for you?"
Onmund stared fixated at the cards before him. They were illustrated in intricate detail. He had never seen art from High Rock before, and these just confirmed how closely the Bretons loved the occult. On one card, the moons beamed down onto a man with a noose around his neck. On another, stars sparkled in gilded ink around a fool who fell to his death. Most frightening of all was the depiction of a Daedra, flanked by a pair of nude lovers in chains.
He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. "The… the priests in my village said people who looked to the future… they uh, they were toying with the Nine Divines' plans." Much as he wanted to keep an open mind, he was still a Nord after all. He worshipped Talos, went to the Temple, and venerated the dead with honor, glory and mead.
Alrek waved him off, "It's all for a bit of fun, promise, most of it is just nonsense. But who knows?" he winked, "Stranger things have happened in this college."
"O-okay…" He wasn't sure, of course, but he had no reason to distrust Alrek so far.
Alrek began to shuffle the cards and placed them face down in a neat stack. He cut the deck into three smaller stacks, and then combined them all once more. He spread them out across the table before Onmund.
"Now, this is a simple reading, so choose your first card."
"Any card?"
"Feel it," Alrek instructed, "A card will call out to you, meet it."
Onmund honestly hadn't felt anything, but Alrek was certainly the showman. For all but a moment, he believed a card had, indeed, sought him out. Even if all he thought he felt was the gentle buzz of the wisp, still on his shoulder.
He didn't know what willed him to make the choice he did. Perhaps it was randomness or truly the work of an invisible guiding hand, but he drew his card.
Alrek shifted a hand over his, halting him. "Don't turn it over just yet." Even if he could have moved, he wouldn't have dared. Gods, that touch…
"-Pick your second card."
As if on command, he shook himself out of his reverie. He ran his thumb over the cards in his hand, feeling the smooth cardstock and the textured ink, choosing a card with the other.
"Now, pick your last card."
And so, he did.
Alrek then flipped each card over. The first, a delicately drawn hand, holding an overflowing cup, though the card was upside down from his view. The second: a pair of lovers holding hands through a field. And the final one, a man falling to his doom.
"Huh, interesting," Alrek examined the cards, deep in thought. "Very interesting."
"What? What does it mean?" Onmund leaned forward on his forearms, trying to read Alrek's face to no avail.
To him, the paintings were very pretty, if not a little strange, yet that was the extent of his insight. Would he have been able to discern any meaning from this? Did the illustrations on the card mean anything at all? He'd recognized the words at the bottom of each card as Bretic, but would that have even helped?
"The first card represents your past," Alrek held the first card up for him to examine, "You chose it in reverse, which means you've had to learn a lot of self-love, and deal with many repressed emotions- or it means something held you back."
Onmund quickly dismissed it as a lucky guess. For all he knew, Alrek was making the whole thing up. He had, after all, told a gist of his story the first time they shared a meal together. Though he had to admit… it was a meaning that hit close to his heart. He hadn't spoken to Alrek of how far the abuse went, or how repressed he truly felt.
Perhaps there was something to these cards, after all.
"-Now, the second card represents your present," Alrek continued, full lips pulling back into a smile.
"-The Lovers," he continued, holding the card up.
"It means that you've found love, but not… just the romantic kind, but a love in yourself, and in your surroundings. Suddenly you feel as if you belong to where you truly belong."
Alright, that one had been obvious.
"Love is about choice," Alrek added, eyes boring deep into his own. "And you can't make good choices if you can't be honest with what you really want."
Oh. He blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that, of all things.
Those words hit him with the force of a punch. Love is about choice, he repeated in his thoughts. That… that had been true. He knew that night he had to leave, that if he didn't make that choice then and there he'd be stuck in Kynesgrove 'til the end of his days.
He was brought back when Alrek started again. "Now your third card represents your future- The Fool."
That can't be good, Onmund thought.
"The Fool represents innocence, and new beginnings. So, perhaps in your future, you'll have found your true calling- maybe as a new interest, or perhaps a new rank?"
He laughed suddenly. "Perhaps I'll be addressing you as Master Onmund of Kynesgrove soon?"
Onmund blushed furiously. More so when Alrek placed the cards down and put his hands over Onmund's. They were smaller than his, neatly manicured, yet callused. He expected him to have hands as soft as a babe's, with his lineage and wealth. What had Alrek done to earn them?
"-The cards, like I said, are sometimes nonsense," he met Onmund's gaze and held it firmly. "But sometimes they invite us to make the change we need to make, or to help us realize something we've been trying so hard to deny."
Onmund stayed quiet for a moment, enchanted by those eyes and the feeling of his hands over his own.
"Is that why you were here reading the cards?" He let a smile wash over his expression, almost as easy as the one Alrek flashed him earlier. "Were you trying to figure something out too?"
He saw the way Alrek's throat bobbed. Saw the way his lips twisted upwards into a sad smile and how his eyes were downcast. Onmund felt the weight of whatever burden Alrek was shouldering transferred onto him in an instant when he sighed, "...Yes."
There was no masking the sadness in his eyes. And for a brief moment in time, Onmund felt a connection spark to life between them.