The new year arrived, bringing with it the promised downturn in weather. Snow piled so thickly on Winterhold that from the College the town seemed almost to disappear, and beneath village and College alike the Sea of Ghosts froze solid, transforming into a glittering sheet of silvery-grey also quickly blanketed in brilliant white. Blizzards became a near-daily occurrence, with winds so violent they could be heard shrieking and howling even through the College's layers of magical protection, and preventing all traffic across the bridge until they had stilled. Even on the rare days where no snow fell or wind blew the air was so bitterly cold it hurt to breathe; Myfanwy was excused from outdoor font-cleansing duty after just one session had given her a mild case of frostbite despite the three pairs of thick home-knitted woollen socks she was wearing. Luckily Master Marence had been able to heal it in moments, though not without an entirely excessive amount of tutting and unimpressed sniffing, Myfanwy had thought.
No matter how cold it got, of course, words never fell from anyone's mouths. Myfanwy's face burned whenever she remembered that she'd taken Enfys the second-year Bosmer's bait, something which happened all too frequently—they never seemed to tire of reminding her, either by letting food fall out of their mouth in the dining hall to the raucous laughter of their classmates, or by miming choking whenever they spotted her outside, or just with a sly wink and grin when they crossed paths in the corridors. Despite being the only student at the College shorter than she was, Enfys never failed to make Myfanwy feel very small.
On the whole, though, Myfanwy managed to avoid the unpleasant weather and unpleasant second-years both, spending most of her short winter days and long winter nights ensconced in the warmth of magically-heated stone and the no less magical warmth of friendship. While she still fretted endlessly about Master Ancano, and would sometimes be overcome for days at a time with a kind of hopeless lethargy and worthlessness, Myfanwy was astonished to realise that most of the time she was, if not happy, then not too far off. Her lack of magical aptitude and Elinor's absence still gaped like dark and bottomless pits inside her, but each day she spent less and less time peering over the edge. She had friends. That one simple, magical truth made every other burden lighter and easier to carry.
Brelyna's friendship in particular Myfanwy was more and more delighted to have won. If Onmund was like a dog, all exuberance and joy and unconditional acceptance, Brelyna was like a cat: cautious and reserved, proud and independent and wary of approach. Myfanwy had always liked dogs, but it was a cat she'd spent years begging her parents for; while she thought fondly of the twins' spaniel Gilly, it was her cat Sophie she truly missed. There was something special about feeling like you'd earned a cat's trust, that they'd chosen you in particular to share their affections with—not to mention that, unlike dogs, they were perfectly happy for you to go about your individual lives until both of you wanted attention. Whenever Myfanwy spent time with Onmund he was truly and distractingly present, which while very nice became a little overwhelming. She appreciated that she and Brelyna could be around each other for hours while completely preoccupied with their own thoughts or activities—'being alone in company', as Myfanwy's mother called it.
It also helped that Brelyna was much better than Onmund at chess. Myfanwy enjoyed teaching him, but had more or less given up on the idea of ever playing a proper game while at the College. Brelyna, she thought, might actually have a shot at proving a challenge before they graduated. Assuming Myfanwy handicapped herself severely enough.
Loredas afternoon a few weeks into Morning Star found Myfanwy and Brelyna sitting together in the first-years' common room, being alone in each other's company. Myfanwy was correcting J'zargo's latest Enchanting work; Brelyna was reading a heavy book on comparative anatomy. A half-finished waxed paper bag of peppermints rested between them on the sofa, the last of the sweets Myfanwy's family had sent with her Saturalia gifts. She still hadn't received anything from Elinor, "But," she said brightly to Brelyna as she selected a peppermint, "if she's sending it via her parents in Wayrest that's going to take a lot longer. It makes sense that it hasn't arrived yet." She popped the peppermint into her mouth and scribbled a small note next to a curlicule which curled the wrong way.
Brelyna made a noncommittal noise, not looking up from the book balanced on her knees.
"I mean, think about it. If letters going to and from Cyrodiil are being stopped then she might not even have got my Saturalia letter yet, the one I sent through her parents. Gods, I hope she doesn't think I've not been returning any of her letters." Brelyna's eyes remained doggedly fixed on her book. "Brelyna? What do you think?"
Still not looking up, Brelyna said, "I think you shouldn't be doing J'zargo's work for him."
"What?"
"It's not your responsibility that he is taking too many classes, or that he wastes what time he does have in either cooking up netch-brained schemes or being punished when they go wrong."
Myfanwy frowned. "I'm not doing his work for him. I'm just fixing it. Gods know he's not going to learn anything about where he's going wrong from Master Turrianus."
Brelyna turned a page. "That's not your responsibility either."
"So? He's my friend," Myfanwy said, taking another peppermint. "Besides, I've got the time for it. It's not like I have to spend hours practising my spellcasting like the rest of you." She was quite proud of how well she managed to keep any trace of envy or acrimony from her voice.
At that, Brelyna finally put her book down and fixed Myfanwy with an unblinking stare. "Really? What about that article you're supposed to be working on? I would have expected that to take up quite a lot of your time."
Myfanwy scowled around her peppermint. She almost regretted ever telling Brelyna about Master Ancano's request that she write up her spellcrafting methods and discoveries for publication; Myfanwy wanted nothing more than to forget it had ever happened, but Brelyna resolutely wouldn't let her, and kept bringing it up at annoyingly frequent intervals. Even so, she'd had to talk about it with someone and could grudgingly admit that Brelyna was still a better choice than Onmund or J'zargo. Both of them, like Myfanwy, seemed not to want to think about any part of the situation at all; in comparison to the two boys' obvious anxiety any time Master Ancano or Myfanwy's tuition under him came up, Brelyna's indifference was almost reassuring. Myfanwy supposed that growing up in far-off Vvardenfell with its negligible Dominion presence probably made the Thalmor much less scary than for someone living in Skyrim or Elsweyr. Or High Rock.
Still, at times like this she did wish Brelyna would take the potential threat a bit more seriously.
"Is that why you won't let me check over your work too? So it doesn't waste time you think I should be giving to Master Ancano instead?"
"No," Brelyna replied, supremely composed. "And it's not giving time to Kena Ancano in any case. It's giving time to yourself. It is your article, after all." Her probing gaze never wavered, and after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence Myfanwy dropped her eyes.
"I don't know if I should do it at all," she muttered at last. "I still have no idea what Master Ancano's motivations are. Why does he want me publishing it? There's got to be an ulterior motive, and I don't like that I don't know what it is." Master Faralda hadn't known either. She'd told Myfanwy it should be safe to go ahead, but Myfanwy was wary.
"What does it matter what his motivations are? You would still get published. That's a significant step in your career, especially as an Apprentice."
"Not necessarily. What if it's in one of the secret Dominion journals?"
Brelyna gave her a withering look. "You know that can't happen, not when you are a student here."
"Okay, fine," she said. "But it still feels like a waste of time. I doubt any reputable journal would want to publish my stuff anyway. It's not useful for anyone who isn't…like me."
"Now you are just being foolish and self-pitying," Brelyna snapped. "Let the journal's editors decide whether it is or isn't worth publishing. But saying a completely new and unique development in spellcrafting isn't useful or interesting to the world of academic magic is outright wrong, and you know it."
Myfanwy's scalp prickled and her face felt hot. No, she didn't know it, and didn't appreciate being patronised, either. She opened her mouth to retort, but Brelyna got there first.
"All I'm saying," she said in a soothing voice, "is what can it hurt? If it's as useless as you think it is then Kena Ancano won't be able to do anything underhanded with your work anyway. If it's not, you stand to gain as much as he does. And either way you get some practice in academic research and writing. Don't try to pretend you don't enjoy that part," she added at the stubborn set of Myfanwy's jaw. "Anyone who has listened to you talk for more than five minutes would know it was a lie."
Myfanwy sighed. "Fine. Okay. I'll write the stupid paper. But I'm still going to help J'zargo with his Enchanting."
Brelyna returned to her book, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Of course."
Some hours later they were joined by Onmund and J'zargo, the latter fresh from an afternoon's soulstone-scraping. His fur was still puffed and crackly with static electricity; Myfanwy yelped when she handed over his corrected scrolls and received a shock from brushing against his hand. As J'zargo apologised, not bothering to stifle his laughter, Onmund handed out condensation-beaded bottles from the crate of mead he'd brought in with him. One of the few benefits of the constant snow was how easy it was to keep drinks chilled; by far the most challenging part was choosing a hiding spot good enough that none of the older students could find and pilfer the first-years' supply.
"Isn't it a bit early?" Brelyna said, accepting a bottle but not putting away her book. "It can't be past three."
"But it is dark outside already, yes? Therefore, it is late enough," J'zargo replied, his words slightly muffled as he uncorked his bottle with his teeth.
Myfanwy grinned and took a swig of her own mead. She could live with that logic. It stood to reason that living somewhere with such miserable winters should have some perks.
The afternoon wore on in comfortable chatter and companionship, transitioning imperceptibly into evening, then night. Myfanwy was about three and a half meads in when, eyes roaming around the too-empty common room, her tongue loosened by alcohol, she finally gave voice to something which had been bothering her for quite some time.
"Why are there so few of us?"
Onmund and J'zargo broke off their conversation to look at her quizzically. Even Brelyna set down her book, cocking her head.
"I mean…I know the College is dead last in the rankings, and Winterhold would hardly be any sane person's first choice of where to live. But it still feels like there are too few students. In every year, not just our own—I mean, there's nobody in the third year at all. Classes aren't what they are at A.U., I expect, but they're not terrible, not now we're getting into meatier material. Even with its reputation, surely there should be, well, more than just the twelve of us?"
There was a long silence. The others were staring at Myfanwy like she'd lost her mind.
"What?" she said defensively. "Surely I'm not the only person who's wondered?"
"You mean…You do not know?"
She blinked at J'zargo. "Know what?"
It was Brelyna who answered. "The missing Apprentices."
"What missing Apprentices?"
Brelyna and J'zargo exchanged confused looks. "Your kena back at home didn't tell you?" Brelyna said. "It was all kept quiet, but is an open secret in the magical community, I hear. J'zargo, I'm assuming you heard it from your kena?" J'zargo nodded.
"Tell me what?" Myfanwy was starting to feel both confused and angry; she never liked not knowing something, especially something she apparently should have, and that everyone else did. "I switched tutors quite a few times. Sometimes stuff slipped through the cracks, I guess. What are you talking about?"
"There were more students here, just as you say," Brelyna explained. "But sometime during the last academic year, perhaps a year or so ago, four of the second-years just…vanished. Nobody knows what happened to them. The whole thing was such a mess and handled so poorly by the College that the rest of their cohort dropped out or transferred to different universities. Several from the year below, too. As I say, the College tried to keep it hidden as well, which made it that much worse. I wasn't at all surprised there were so few in our cohort. The standing advice is to stay far away." J'zargo nodded along as she spoke.
"But then why did you—" Myfanwy cut herself off before voicing the taboo question. She swallowed, and changed tack. "What happened to them? The four that went missing?"
"Nobody knows," Brelyna began, but J'zargo interrupted.
"That is not true. This one knows."
Silence fell again, but this time it was heavy with tension and dread. Everyone stared at J'zargo, who shuffled forward on his armchair, his face animated and his ears twitching.
"It was kept a secret, but those who were here back then know. They know, and they tell J'zargo all the secrets Arch-Mage Aren wishes kept silent. Enfys has told this one everything." He paused and took a long swig of mead, clearly enjoying both his classmates' rapt attention and the drama of the moment. Myfanwy suspected he was waiting for someone to ask what had happened; she kept her teeth clamped on her tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Annoyingly, Onmund spoke up anyway.
"What happened?" he asked softly.
"They went into the Midden, to seek the Augur of Dunlain." J'zargo leaned back expectantly, smirking, but Myfanwy just furrowed her brow.
"The what and the what?"
"The Midden," J'zargo said again. "It is the space below the College, where the miserable fonts have their sources. J'zargo hears it existed long before the College itself, and is a place of great magic, and power…and danger." He said this last word in a low growl. "There are many secrets kept locked away in the Midden, so J'zargo has been told. Perhaps the greatest of these is the Augur of Dunlain."
"I have heard of the Augur," Brelyna reluctantly supplied. "Kena Marence mentioned him—it—once. Apparently it was once a student here, but something went badly wrong, and it was transformed into…whatever it is now. She brought it up as a caution against seeking power indiscriminately."
J'zargo waved a dismissive hand. "Pah. It does not matter, who or what the Augur once was. The important thing is what the Augur is now."
"And what's that?" Myfanwy asked.
"A being possessed of great power. A being who can grant wishes."
Myfanwy's heart skipped a beat. "Wishes?"
"Well, one wish. It is said that anyone who finds the Augur will have one wish granted, any wish they choose. Those four Apprentices delved into the Midden to seek the Augur and have their wishes granted. But they were foolish, and did not account for the Midden's many dangers. They never came back. Everyone knows that they are long dead," J'zargo concluded in satisfaction. "This is the secret the College does not want known."
Myfanwy scoffed, breaking the tense silence that had followed J'zargo's words. "Wow, you really had me going there for a moment. Enfys told you this? Why, if I had a septim for—"
She broke off. Onmund had shot out of his armchair, white-faced, and without a word strode out the door.
For a few moments everyone stared at the open doorway. "What—" Brelyna began, but Myfanwy was already following.
She found Onmund outside in the courtyard, dark except for the brilliant blue of the font pointing at the night sky above. The stars were obscured by a thick blanket of clouds from which fat snowflakes fell in a silent, heavy stream. Myfanwy shuddered as she hurried towards where Onmund leaned against a stone pillar with his back to her; the air was so cold it cut.
"Onmund?" she called. "Are you okay?" Her voice sounded strange, deadened by the air thick with snow.
He didn't turn around. Hugging herself, she drew up beside him.
"Onmund?"
"Heya, Myf." His voice, too, was flat and odd. But not just from the snow, Myfanwy thought. "Sorry. I just…"
"Is it something J'zargo said?" She was being blunter than she probably should have been, but it was so cold. She didn't want to spend a second longer outside than was necessary.
Onmund didn't answer at first, still gazing at the coruscating pillar of magicka in front of them, or maybe at the snow-covered statue of Arch-Mage Shalidor that stood behind, its outstretched arms painted blue by the font's light. He sighed heavily.
"Yeah. I—oh, shit, Myf, sorry!" Unable to suppress a whimper at the biting cold, Myfanwy had finally drawn his attention away from the font. "Talos. Shit. Sorry, Myf, come on, let's get you inside." He drew her by the hand back into the tower, where the warmth washed over her like the world's driest and most welcome bath.
"By the Nine, Myf, are you insane?" he said, rubbing her arms vigorously. "You should've known better than to come outside, without even a cloak! Are you okay?"
"Y-yes," Myfanwy stammered. She wiggled her toes experimentally; they seemed to be okay. "I was worried about you. It's not like you to—"
Onmund looked away. "Sorry."
"No, don't apologise. Are you…all right?"
Slumping against the wall of the narrow corridor, Onmund folded his arms and stared at the floor. "Yeah. I guess."
Myfanwy waited in silence, trying to surreptitiously rub her still-thawing nose. Eventually Onmund looked up, his eyes oddly bright.
"You remember I mentioned I have two brothers, right?"
"Yeah. The twins. I remember." He hadn't spoken about them much; Onmund never seemed to like talking about his family. Over the months Myfanwy had learned to let the topic lie.
"Well. They're…missing."
Myfanwy's hand shot to her mouth. "Gods! Onmund, I'm so sorry…" She understood now why J'zargo's story must have upset him so much. And why he avoided mention of his family. She wanted to ask what had happened, but even with her head muffled by both mead and cold knew she shouldn't. Instead she said, "How long …"
"A while now. A long while. Long enough that my parents…They don't think…"
Everyone knows that they are long dead. How must it have felt to hear those words, coming from the lips of a friend?
"I'm so sorry," she said again, feeling utterly helpless. "I'm sure they'll turn up, Onmund. I'm sure they'll come back. It won't be the same as those Apprentices. If that was even true; I wouldn't put it past Enfys to have made the whole story up. You'll see them again. I'm sure."
"Thanks, Myf. It's…It's hard to hold out hope, you know? When everyone else…But thanks. That means a lot." He was blinking hard, but smiling at her. Or at least Myfanwy thought it was meant to be a smile; it looked closer to a grimace.
"It's okay," she said. "Do you want to, um…"
"Yeah. Let's go back. Still plenty of mead left, hey? Can't let J'zargo hog it all." He managed a more genuine smile, then draped an arm across her shoulders as they walked slowly back up the steps to their floor. "Thanks again, Myf. And for coming to check on me. You're a good friend."
Her heart twisted. Poor Onmund. Poor kind, brave Onmund. How lucky she was, and how little she'd realised it.
"You, too."
By next morning Onmund's good humour had returned, and he was laughing and joking with J'zargo as usual at the breakfast table as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before. Myfanwy found J'zargo's words harder to forget. The tale of the missing Apprentices was very sad, of course, and explained a lot, but it was the Augur of Dunlain she couldn't stop thinking about. A being who could grant wishes…who would grant a single wish to anyone who found it. It was an improbable story, a stupid fable for gullible first-years which she wouldn't have believed for a second had Brelyna not confirmed that the Augur did, in fact, exist.
She was determined to learn more, but it proved far more difficult than she expected. Nobody seemed very keen to talk about the Augur: when Myfanwy asked Brelyna later on Sundas whether she thought the Augur could truly grant wishes, she replied only with an inscrutable "I hope not" before stolidly returning to her work. J'zargo didn't have any further insights either, and naturally she was careful not to even bring the topic up within Onmund's hearing. Hours of research in the Arcanaeum yielded nothing more than the few sparse facts Brelyna had supplied, while Master gro-Shub, when nervously approached for advice, just peered over his half-moon spectacles and told Myfanwy to keep her nose out of business that didn't concern her, if she liked it the shape it was.
But she couldn't. The aching longing she usually managed to keep tamped to a dull throb had roared to a wild blaze, ignited by a spark of what she furiously told herself over and over was false hope. Even if the Augur did exist somewhere under their feet, even if it could grant wishes, what did it matter? If it were as simple as strolling downstairs for a quick chat and merrily sauntering back again, heart's desire fulfilled, then everyone would be doing it. Just last year four students had in all likelihood lost their lives chasing that wish (if Enfys was to be believed, which she still wasn't convinced they were). But no matter how often Myfanwy told herself it was stupid and pointless to fantasise about, and would just make her more miserable in the long run, she couldn't stop ruminating on what it would be like to have her wish granted.
To be a proper mage. The only thing she'd ever wished for; the one thing she wanted above all else. One single wish which would solve all her problems. It wouldn't matter any more what Master Ancano wanted with her, or that Winterhold was so cold, or how her ugly grey robes set her apart—she'd be far away from all of it, studying real magic in the heart of Cyrodiil, dressed like everyone else. It wouldn't matter how slow mail was between Winterhold and the Imperial City, because she and Elinor would be living together in their sunny little apartment overlooking a park, and she'd hear I love you from Elinor's own lips every single day. The thought of leaving behind Brelyna and Onmund and J'zargo tugged at her more painfully than she expected, but she'd always be able to visit—and besides, it was a moot point, as she was never going to find the Augur and make a wish anyway.
Nevertheless, the stupid fantasy wouldn't leave her alone, and Myfanwy returned to her classes that week distracted and irritable. Even though nothing had actually changed, the absence of the life she didn't have clawed at her more keenly than it had in a long time. Every reminder of her failings was a renewed twist of the knife, her usual little pleasures failed to bring her joy, and no matter how long she stared into the starry night sky she couldn't find peace.
"You look troubled, Miss Caldevwin."
Myfanwy started and looked up from the quill she'd been turning over and over in her fingers. Guiltily she realised that she couldn't remember a single thing Master Ancano had said since she'd sat down for her Turdas afternoon Theory of Magic lesson what had to have been a good twenty minutes ago. She'd been so distracted she hadn't even noticed a blizzard howling into life outside the enormous window, though perhaps that was less surprising than it should have been: within the dry, papery warmth of Master Ancano's towertop office the only things which ever changed were the arrangement of the stacks of books littering the rug-strewn floor, and the topic of discussion for that day's lesson.
"Sorry, Master," Myfanwy said. "Just…something on my mind. I'll try not to get distracted."
"Ah! But it is exactly those distractions which often lead to the greatest discoveries," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Is this the Califex paper? I had a suspicion it would preoccupy you. The key to understanding his work, I've found, is to assume the man was out of his mind on skooma approximately fifty percent of the time. The trick is deciphering which fifty percent."
"No, it's not the Califex. Though that's actually, um, surprisingly helpful advice, now that I think of it." Master Ancano nodded in satisfaction. "No, I've um…I've got a problem I don't think I can solve. It's nothing, really."
"Nothing!" Master Ancano came suddenly alive, almost wriggling out of his skin with excitement. "Why, that is everything. Unsolvable problems are the very backbone of scholarship, Miss Caldevwin. What is the problem? Wait, no, don't tell me. It's better if I don't know. One moment, one moment…"
The original subject of the lesson clearly abandoned, Master Ancano hurried to a bookshelf and searched intently. He was often like this when facing tricky academic puzzles, Myfanwy had found. Terrifying Thalmor agent he may be, but Myfanwy had long realised that he was also, undeniably, an authentically tremendous nerd.
"Aha!" He returned with a slim, well-worn volume bound in faded brown leather and placed it on Myfanwy's desk. She picked it up.
"Rhetoric and Logic?"
"By Gaspard Jolivet. One of your countrymen, in fact. Dry as a bone, I'm afraid, but with the tools in there there's not a problem in all of Nirn you can't solve."
Myfanwy thumbed through the book. It was heavily annotated in a hand she recognised as Master Ancano's own. "Um. I'm not entirely sure that this…"
"Nonsense! What does every problem ultimately come down to? Evidence and logic. As scholars, we practise applying these to answer questions from the small—how much energy does a standard magelight emit?—to the very large—is there such a thing as a fundamental measurable unit of magicka?"
Myfanwy sighed and settled in. It was pointless to resist; Master Ancano had the steely glint in his eye that announced she was about to be subjected to one of his many long-winded lectures on A Great And Important Truth, whether she wanted it or not, and regardless of how relevant it was to her actual predicament. Still, maybe it was better this way—she certainly didn't intend to confide in Master Ancano what was actually troubling her.
"Jolivet lays out a formal methodology of reasoning and logic," Master Ancano continued. "Many of these practices you have already been applying instinctively, but I believe you will find it elevates your work substantially to understand and apply the formal principles. For example, as scholars, we are constantly cycling between observations and hypotheses. You know this well: we observe, we predict, we test, we observe; but how we move from one state to the other relies on different types of logic." He tapped the page Myfanwy had opened to. "Abductive reasoning. We observe, and apply evidence we already possess in order to provide the most likely explanation for the observation. Miss Caldevwin is troubled. A few days ago I gave Miss Caldevwin a particularly troublesome paper to read. I therefore predict that today Miss Caldevwin is troubled because she is frustrated with the paper I gave her. This is now a hypothesis I can test, and in this instance, disprove. Do you follow?"
"Yes—but isn't that just a fancy way of saying…use your head?"
"Of course it is! But by following a formal process we can avoid logical traps and fallacies, and in particular avoid jumping to premature conclusions, which is of utmost importance when we are conducting research. For instance, when using abductive reasoning we must be aware that we are only forming a likely conclusion, not a true one, as was the case today. It is a hypothesis only, the soundness of which must still be verified. Sadly, this last step was often lacking in the research of our predecessors—in fact, one of my earliest contributions to the academic world was refuting what was once considered a magical fact precisely by applying Jolivet's principles. I shall have to fish out a copy for you to read. I even received a letter from Master Neloth himself praising my work. It was the proudest moment of my young life, as you can imagine." Indeed, a boyish joy shone from his face, and Myfanwy couldn't help smiling. Then she cocked her head, her brows drawing together.
"Sir, what about now? The only papers of yours you've given me are those old ones about energy theory." The same ones Master Faralda showed me, she added in her head. "I don't think I've seen anything you've written from the last three decades or so. Haven't you published anything recently? What are you working on right now? You definitely seem busy with something."
Myfanwy wouldn't have noticed it had she not been spending six hours a week for the past three months cloistered in a room with the Master Theoretician. As it was, she could have convinced herself the slight shuttering of his face was simply a trick of the light, the suddenly forced-sounding jollity a product of her imagination, had she not been watching and waiting for exactly a moment like this one for months.
"Oh, nothing noteworthy at present," Master Ancano said airily, suddenly very interested in searching his desk for a quill he'd misplaced. "Sometimes in the world of scholarship one must simply grasp the senche by the tail and see where it takes one."
"What do you mean? Are you saying you're taking your research in a new direction?"
"As I said, it's nothing worth discussing at this moment." He fixed her with a sharp eye. "But what about your own research, Miss Caldevwin? I was intending to discuss the importance of proper citation with you today; I cannot help but notice that the work you gave me on Tirdas was uncharacteristically sloppy…"
And that was all they discussed for the rest of the lesson. But while Myfanwy's mind couldn't have been further from citation methodology and academic rigour, for the first time that week, neither was it on the Augur of Dunlain.
Afterwards, in Master Faralda's office, Myfanwy stared absently out the narrow window, turning things over in her head while Master Faralda made the tea.
"I think he's working on something big," Myfanwy remarked. She noticed she was jiggling one foot up and down, and tucked her legs underneath herself to make it stop. "Big, and secret."
Master Faralda stiffened, her back still to Myfanwy. Slowly she turned around. She didn't say a word until she'd carefully placed the steaming teapot on the low table between them and sat down in her armchair, adjusting her embroidered robes over her knees.
"What makes you think so?" Her voice was level and neutral, sounding nothing more than politely interested, but Myfanwy had spent enough time around her Destruction professor now to know this information meant far more to her than she was letting on. A sudden spike of fear pierced her own stomach. She swallowed.
"Well, there's the way he always makes sure his work is completely tidied away by the time I arrive," she nervously began. "There's always this very obvious big clear area on his desk, and once I was a bit early and caught him stuffing something into a drawer he didn't seem keen on me seeing. I didn't think much of it at first because he always has so much stuff everywhere; at the start of every single lesson he has to clear my desk of all the books and so on he's piled on it, as well as usually the floor around it too, you know?" Master Faralda nodded, but didn't interrupt. Myfanwy barrelled on.
"But then today. He gave me this book on logic, and mentioned a paper he wrote…" Myfany filled Master Faralda in on the odd exchange. "Then he just grilled me for an hour and a half on proper citation techniques. But…I don't know. It felt like he wanted to distract me from asking more about his current research, and what he'd said. Let slip, more like."
Master Faralda had sat very still while Myfanwy was speaking, hardly seeming to breathe. Even once Myfanwy had finished she didn't say anything, and in silence poured both Myfanwy and herself tea with exaggerated care.
Myfanwy's hands twisted in her lap. She almost wished she hadn't said anything, she hated seeing her words cause Master Faralda such obvious distress, but hadn't this been the whole point?
"Master Faralda?"
"Sorry, dear. Here, you won't have had this blend before, let me know how you like it."
Myfanwy accepted the proffered teacup. "Thanks. But—"
"Yes, dear, I'm thinking. Has he said anything else? Any indications of what this…project…might be about? Any odd requests, or unusual tangents?"
Myfanwy thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No. I've told you everything already. The only thing that felt really strange was telling me to write up my own work for publication."
"And with that? Has he…suggested particular areas for you to look at? Pressured you in one direction or another?"
"No—well, he's suggested directions which he said might be helpful, and the areas I could look into for supplemental research and a background literature review—do—do you think that might be…" Her breathing quickened.
Master Faralda laid a calming hand on Myfanwy's knee. "Relax. It'll be fine. Nothing you've said so far has set off warning bells on that front."
"…Except what I told you just now."
"Except that. Yes."
They sipped their tea in silence for several long seconds. Myfanwy could hardly taste the scalding liquid passing her lips.
"What should I do?" she asked at last. "Do you want me to…find out more?"
Master Faralda stared into her teacup, swirling the contents slowly with one hand. "I'm…not sure," she said with obvious reluctance. "It would be valuable to know more, of course. But I don't wish to place you in harm's way, especially not knowing the role Ancano intends for you—if he has such intentions. His comments to you today are freer than I'd have expected…I'm not sure what to make of it."
Myfanwy swallowed. Despite just having taken a gulp of tea her mouth was very dry. "If it would help…If you need…I don't mind, I can…"
A beat of silence. "No." Master Faralda's face relaxed into a smile. "Don't push, not yet. It's not worth the risk. Just keep your eyes and ears out as you are already, and if anything stands out, I'll let you know."
Myfanwy nodded and took another sip of tea. She should have felt calmer, but her stomach still roiled, and her tea tasted bitter. She set it down on the table.
"Not to your taste, dear?"
Myfanwy didn't reply. She stared at the intricate geometric patterns on her teacup until they shifted and blurred.
"I hate this," burst out of her suddenly. "The sneaking, the spying. Always having to sift through every tiny interaction and assignment, wondering if there's more to it than what it looks like. I hate it. I hate not knowing whether I can trust my teacher. And the worst of it…the worst of it…" Master Faralda had leaned forward, looking sympathetic, but drew back as Myfanwy met her eyes. "The worst of it is that sometimes…sometimes. Pretty often, actually. I…I'm enjoying myself. It's interesting, and challenging, and I'll start forgetting who—what—he is, and then it'll all come crashing back again…" She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a shuddering breath. "I wish…I wish…"
She couldn't say it out loud. Not to anyone, but especially not to Master Faralda. It was at once too large and too small, too childish and too real, and above all, far too painful.
"…I wish I could be your Apprentice instead."
A smaller wish, but an equally painful one. Her fingers tightened on her hideous grey robes. Time may have dulled the hurt and the envy, but it was impossible to completely forget that Master Faralda had bid on Onmund and J'zargo but not her—not when even her clothes reminded her of it, every single day.
There was a long silence. Myfanwy blinked hard at her tea, too afraid to lift her eyes and see Master Faralda's—scorn? Pity? She didn't know which would be worse.
When Master Faralda did speak, though, her words took Myfanwy entirely by surprise.
"There might be a way."
Myfanwy's head snapped up.
"What?"
Master Faralda bit her bottom lip. "I—now, please don't get your hopes up too high, dear, I'd hate for you to be overly disappointed—but there could be a way for you to bump your magical aptitude up to a level where I could take you on as a Destruction major next year. Perhaps."
Myfanwy couldn't breathe. She felt like her heart had stopped.
"Do you mean—the Augur of Dunlain—"
"What? No, of course not. Don't be foolish." She shook her head impatiently. "This is a very slim chance, Myfanwy, understand that. But having now had the pleasure of getting to know you over the past months"—Myfanwy flushed—"and seeing just how remarkable a scholar's mind you have…well, I feel it would be remiss of me not to mention this, knowing how much it means to you." Adopting a very serious expression, she set her tea down and steepled her fingers.
"Now, you know of course that much of elven- and humankind's knowledge has been lost over the Ages, yes? Magical even more than mundane." Myfanwy nodded, her heart in her throat. "I have over the years heard rumours—only rumours, mind!—that the peoples of the past had magics able to accomplish feats of which we can now only dream. Some decades ago back in Alinor I attended a lecture during which I'm certain I heard speculation about ancient magical techniques which could permanently modify someone's inborn aptitudes: strength, resilience, even magicka. Again, Myfanwy, I cannot guarantee that these techniques truly existed, or that record of them can still be found, if they did. But given your own propensity for both creativity and seeking knowledge, and the wealth of information at our fingertips in the Arcanaeum…Let's just say that for some time now I have been giving serious thought to how I might help you find your way to a happier path." She smiled at Myfanwy, almost nervously.
Myfanwy felt light-headed. A ringing sounded in her ears, high and tinny, and all her fingers and toes tingled. She blinked rapidly at Master Faralda, sure she must have misheard. Master Faralda wanted to take Myfanwy as her Apprentice? She'd been thinking about her, and how to help her? There might be a way to fix her magicka?
"Myfanwy? Are you all right, dear?"
Unable to vocalise a single coherent thought, Myfanwy continued to gape and blink. Tears welled in her eyes; her heart was surely going to burst out of her chest.
"It's only a slim chance, I know," Master Faralda said anxiously, and leaned forward to place a hand on Myfanwy's knee. "If you don't wish to pursue it—if it's too overwhelming, or too difficult—you need to hear that I won't think any differently of you, or any less of you. I know this must be a lot to process, and you already have plenty on your plate."
"But there's a chance," Myfanwy croaked. "I could be…" She still couldn't say it out loud.
"…Yes."
Tears spilled over Myfanwy's cheeks and a sob tore from her throat. She threw herself from her chair and at a very shocked Master Faralda, who nevertheless returned her full-bodied hug without hesitation, and stroked Myfanwy's hair and murmured soothing nothings as Myfanwy cried into her shoulder.
A chance.
There was a chance.
There was hope.