Onmund imagined this was what the great stone halls of the Jarls must look like. The Hall of the Elements was large, with ceilings that were much too high, oppressive and frightening with its massive size. The windows were tall and grand, frosted with snow, and each pane had the same symbol of an eye found throughout the college.
In the center of the hall was a small podium, a desk and a large board, no doubt where the master would conduct their lectures and lessons. And surrounding it were cascading terraces of seats for students eager to learn. Today, however, the teachers and masters all gathered together at the center, while students filled the large room to capacity, whispering excitedly to one another. The wisps from earlier playfully lurked above the rafters and statues, dancing in the light as the last of the apprentices filed into the room.
Brelyna excitedly sat both J'zargo and Onmund with her, arms still linked with one another.
"Look at everyone," Onmund gasped, head turning every which way to get a full look at the student body. These were just the apprentices? No wonder Mirabelle had told him that they were full, "I didn't realize there'd be so many people…"
"After the Great War, not a lot of schools remained standing," Brelyna explained. "Winterhold's one of the few that's left, and one without tuition at that."
"Yes, J'zargo had contemplated the Cyrodiilic schools and…" he twitched his whiskers disappointedly, "J'zargo may have come from comfortable stock, but the price they asked for made this one wither."
"So… people really make the trip all the way here?" Onmund wondered aloud.
"Well, you're here, aren't you?"
Onmund smiled at that, and Brelyna returned it with her own.
"Students!" Mirabelle may have been a woman of small stature, but she made certain her voice could be heard clear across the hall. Even the wisps straightened up. "Settle down now."
The excited chattering stifled to whispers, as Mirabelle began her speech.
"Thank you all for coming here. I understand you are all very eager to begin your journey to mastering your arcane gifts." Students shared looks with one another, excited and hopeful. J'zargo, Brelyna and Onmund did the same.
"But one must remember that your gifts aren't merely blessings from the Divines. Yours is a skill that requires mastery and control. Hopefully, by the time you have reached your mastery levels, you will walk away in tune with Magnus's blessing."
Onmund was completely enraptured as he watched on. Filing into the halls were several mages, each with impressive robes and an unmistakable air of confidence. They took their positions behind each teacher, poised and ready.
Mirabelle approached the first, "For the art of Alteration, you will be guided by Master Tolfdir the Shaper," and here, the mage behind him demonstrated a spell, lighting up the dead sconces in the hall with green fire.
The other apprentices gasped at such a feat. Truly, would they be able to accomplish such a thing?
"For Conjuration, Master Phinis Gestor of Camlorn," Another mage came forward, smaller and livelier. Their hands glowed with a darkness, and from a pool conjured at their feet, a statuesque Daedra came forth. But just as quickly as it had manifested, and before it could cause any trouble, the mage waved his hands and it disappeared in a poof. Onmund and the other students giggled as Phinis gave the mage a look, whoonly responded with a sheepish grin.
Other masters were introduced and with them, their favored students, demonstrating their skill and mastery of the different schools of magic: Restoration, Enchantment, Illusion...
"And perhaps the most exciting of all," Mirabelle introduced, "Master Faralda Gaeron, for the art of Destruction."
Even from so far away, Onmund could have sworn the mage that stepped forward was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He had a royal shade of blood red for his hair, and clever, elfin features that looked like it had come from a painting.
But most enchanting of all was when his gaze met Onmund's from across the room. Perhaps he had been imagining things, but could've sworn the mage gave him a clever smirk as their eyes locked.
He stepped forward to demonstrate his skills, confident as anything. A moment passed, then two, before the mage was engulfed in flames, comfortably. The sconces lit by the Alteration mage grew tall and wild. Swirls of flames danced at his feet, guided by only the most elegant of motions from his hands.
Onmund couldn't take his eyes off the mage, striking as ever, bathed in fire.
Fire rained from the skies.
Nothing had prepared the soldiers and villagers for what had happened next. Svana swore up and down the 'dragon' she had seen, perched menacingly atop a sentry tower, had been nothing more than death's hallucinations.
Then it spoke to her, its gaping maw spewing words that buried themselves into her body and soul. She couldn't understand any of it, not by the words alone, but something rattled in her bones that made her connect to it. Made her want to repeat them.
That was when the fireballs descended from the sky. The words that exploded in her mind and coursed through her veins soon gave way to the screams of children and soldiers. The fire and smoke threatened to choke her, and her eyes began to water terribly. She watched helplessly as a mother pushed her son out of the way, only to be burned to ashes by dragon fire.
She felt two strong hands grab her shoulder, pulling her up, "Come on, girl! The gods aren't going to give us another chance!" It was Ralof, eyes wild as he scanned for a clear path.
He held onto her bound hands tightly as he led her to a tower, still standing despite the chaos that had engulfed Helgen. She felt her legs run, felt the way her heart beat in her chest, tasted the smoke in the air… but that feeling of power, of understanding, rolled through her very being.
So much so, that she didn't realize they had made it through the madness and into the keep. Soldiers barricaded the door, and all Svana could think was, 'Really?' A dragon went around burning everything, and the best they could do were a few cabinets and drawers?
"Hey, you okay?" she felt Ralof push her hair back, "Hey?"
Svana blinked, hard, and looked around. The eyes of Stormcloak soldiers were on her, as was the infamous Ulfric Stormcloak. Suddenly the air she sucked in choked her, her body ached, and she was aware of her mortal presence.
"You're the girl from Kynesgrove," the Jarl identified, "Strange that the Thalmor knew to pick you out."
Her senses came rushing back, and out sputtered, "I was looking for my brother."
Ulfric didn't falter, his gaze still and his voice steady, "I don't believe you."
Svana felt around her neck and her heart sank, the amulet was gone, taken. She swallowed a lump in her throat, a mess of memories flooding her mind all that once, each vying for her attention. She got up on her feet, unsteady as she went, helped by Ralof's sure hands, "Look, you… you don't have to believe me," she challenged, "But I was there to look for my Oma, she was a healer… I thought…" Svana shook her head, "I thought my brother had run away there."
It was Ralof who spoke, "My Jarl, I think she's telling the truth."
"Look, I don't care either way," Svana tried, "Right now, does it even matter? There's a dragon on the loose."
"A dragon," Ralof shook his head, unbelieving, "You really think that's a dragon? Like from the legends and children's stories?"
"Legends don't burn down villages," Jarl Ulfric dismissed coolly, "We need to get out of here, and quick. You-" he looked to two soldiers, "Head up to the tower and scan for a way out. And Ralof?"
"Yes, my Jarl?"
"Take this girl to safety," he gestured to Svana, "Regardless of her alliance, she's not a soldier. I would not have the blood of innocents on my hands."
He gave a low bow of his head, "Yes, my Jarl… but what about yourself?"
"Better we keep ourselves scattered," Ulfric began shrugging off the impressive fur cloak he had worn as a status of his position, and began donning the uniform of a fallen Stormcloak, "We will gather again in Windhelm, but not all at once."
"Understood," Ralof then turned to Svana, "Come on, let's see if we can find another way out of here. Maybe out through the t-"
"Cellar," Svana instructed, pointing to a wooden trap door, "Farmers usually drop off their harvest to fancy cellars like this so the servants can take it up to their masters."
Ralof shot Ulfric a look.
"You can head up to the tower if you want," even in her state of fear, Svana still found her strength and pulled the old door open, "But the only way out of there is down, and I'm not jumping out of windows or towers even if you paid me a Jarl's coffer-" an aside to Ulfric, "-no offense."
"Come on then," Ralof hurried her into the cellar, "Let's go before that dragon burns us all."
They descended into the darkness, the hum of silence muffling the horrors outside. Through the hinges and cracks of an old exit, the fiery destruction of the dragon glowed an eerie, unsettling red. The way was clear… now they just had to make their escape.
Lunch was always an exciting part of the day, but for Onmund, being in the mere presence of other mages made a once mundane ritual so much more special. Brelyna and J'zargo eagerly filled their plates with delicacies from all across Tamriel. Onmund had barely recognized any of it as food. His two new friends- 'Friends!' he remembered thinking excitedly- pointed out their own cultures' regional specialties.
"You must try this, it makes any meat taste so much better," J'zargo insisted as he heaped a helping of blue rice onto Onmund's plate.
"Try some of these! The smokey flavor really adds to the sweetness," as Brelyna offered a serving of caramelized ash yams.
Venison stew from the local Skyrim cooks, to the breaded and battered scorpions of Hammerfell. Breton pastries and cakes were arranged in a dizzying array of pastel colors on another table, Colovian pastas in every shape and size dominating another. Onmund had to try it all- suddenly something as simple as a meal made the world he lived in so much bigger. He had never really thought about what the Argonians found delectable, or how one would find food in the vast Alik'r deserts, but now they were here, all for the taking by hungry apprentices.
The three of them pressed closely to each other at a bench, chattering excitedly about the lessons they would soon be undergoing.
"J'zargo would want to learn more about Destruction, I think- this one has already devised many fire spells on his own!"
"Already? I think they'd make you a Journeyman quickly then," Brelyna sighed in a mix of jealousy and admiration, "I want to do more with Alteration though- Conjuration seems… very Telvanni."
"Does your family do a lot of um… Conjuration?" Onmund asked through a mouthful of food. Manners be damned, the food was entirely too delicious for it.
Brelyna didn't seem to mind. "Well… yes and no. The Telvanni believe there shouldn't be a divide between the different 'schools' of magic- a lot of our scholars and masters believe magic is simply what you will it to be."
"Yes, this one has heard the same about the High Rock and Alinor schools too," J'zargo chimed in.
"So… why would they divide it then?" Onmund asked, curious, deep blue eyes locked onto his two friends.
"Well, the Telvanni, High Rock and Alinor are all cultures where magic is..." Brelyna waved her hands, as though trying to conjure the words to form, "... just a way of life. In my family, for instance, a lot of the mages tend to learn different types of spells and find ways to combine them."
"You can do that?" Onmund leaned into the conversation.
"Yes! It's entirely possible, but it takes years of perfecting different schools and spells."
"Not to worry," J'zargo began, "When this one has graduated to a higher rank, this one can show you the ropes, free of charge," he added the last words slyly, as though letting his new friends in on a secret.
Onmund smiled wide at that.
"Oh don't pay him any mind," Brelyna interjected, "I'll believe him when he walks the walk- talk is cheap, after all."
As the other two bickered playfully, Onmund's gaze had caught a most peculiar sight- the beautiful man from earlier, followed by the other mages who had demonstrated their powers.
"What is he looking at?" he could barely hear J'zargo say. From the corner of his eye, Onmund saw the way Brelyna turned to try and follow his gaze.
"Oh."
"Oh?" J'zargo asked, "You know them?"
That got Onmund's attention, "You know them?"
"The Destruction and Conjuration mages, the ones with the red hair?" Brelyna asked, Onmund confirmed with a nod, "I know them."
"How?" He and J'zargo asked in unison.
They could tell Brelyna almost seemed embarrassed to admit her status, judging by the way she nervously played with her fingers and averted her gaze downwards, "The Allards. My family is very close to theirs- they give us knights and hounds to protect our work, we give them mages to teach them their skills."
Onmund returned his gaze to the red haired mage, who idly hung around the pastries and cakes with the others, laughing amongst themselves.
"Not to uh, be mean about this," Brelya added, "But I'd be careful of them if I were you."
"Why?" Onmund asked, still staring at the mage.
"I've spent summers with them and my cousin and those two? They're insuffe-"
"Hello, Brelyna."
"Gossiping about us?"
The two mages had made their way over to the table, seemingly out of nowhere. And Onmund still hadn't taken his gaze off them.
"Do finish your thought, Brelyna, we're eager to hear what you've to say about us." The Conjuration mage was a lively looking lad. He had soft features, and a generous dusting of freckles over tanned skin. His eyes glowed a radiant gold, and his long, blood-red hair cascaded down in waves in a loose ponytail.
"I personally wouldn't listen to a thing she says, Telvanni are clever," the Destruction mage, and the object of Onmund's fixation, looked more mer than man. Sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes made him look like he came to life from a painting. He had the same tanned skin as the other, but instead of the wild curls, he had gentle waves flowing down his back freely, kept in place by a simple, gold pin.
"You two," Brelyna grumbled, "What are you doing here?"
"Why, we've come to say hello, nothing more."
"Only to find you gossiping about us, I'm hurt!"
"I wasn't-" Brelyna protested.
"You should introduce us to your friends," the Destruction mage winked to Onmund, who suddenly found it very difficult to focus on his words, "They seem like the friendly sort."
And the Khajiit companion did not hesitate to take the opportunity to speak about himself, "This one is J'zargo! If that pretty fireshow was all you could conjure, your days are numbered!" Harmless ribbing, of course, despite the words he had used.
"And… I'm Onmund. Ni-nice to meet you two!"
"A Nord?" The Conjuration mage perked up, and Onmund felt the weight of those intensely bright gold eyes on him, "I didn't think we'd see one here."
A shrug from Onmund, "T-thought I'd shake things up here."
His heart fluttered when the Destruction mage laughed at his joke. Onmund felt heat rising to his cheeks, and he begged Talos for the small mercy that this handsome mage did not see him blush.
"I'm Camille," the Conjuration mage introduced, "Nice to meet you!"
"And I'm Alrek," the Destruction mage followed, "The unfortunate twin to Camille."
"That's a Nord name," Onmund gasped, hopeful, "Are… Are you…?"
Alrek shook his head, "Alas, no, I'm as Breton as gilded cakes. But I was named for a prince, and Bretons do so love legends."
Onmund recalled the story his mother used to sing, how Alrek- a prince- united his brothers after bitter fighting amongst themselves, splitting the holds into North, South, East and West. This Alrek looked like a prince. Maybe not a Nordic one, but the amount of rings stacked on his fingers were regal enough to convince him otherwise.
"Don't you have… I dunno, dogs to train or something?" Brelyna tried to dismiss.
"Come now, this one would revel at a chance to have a meal with his new rivals," J'zargo patted a spot for Camille to sit beside him.
"Y-yeah, I… I was wondering how you did that cloak of fire- that was impressive!" Onmund added bashfully.
"Liked that one, did you?" Alrek smiled, taking a seat next to Onmund. He could have died a happy man there- Sovngarde take him, "I've more like that up my sleeve, if you're interested."
"So," Camille leaned forward, resting his chin in the palms of his hands, "Brelyna give you any trouble yet?"
"Or has she been behaving herself completely?" Alrek smirked.
Despite the accusations, Brelyna laughed, "Oh no, don't start that with me. I know who set fire to that banister at Master Neloth's tower."
"I haven't the faintest to what you're saying, Brelyna, dearest," Alrek said nonchalantly, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Although in all seriousness, Brelyna," Camille added, "It is nice to see you settling into Skyrim. I take it you find Winterhold agreeable? It's much more different than Solstheim."
There was a warm, genuine smile on Brelyna's face at Camille's questioning, "Yeah. Much more to my pace, I think. No exams, no governess, just… studying and practice."
"Your parents haven't given you much trouble have they?" Alrek asked, lazily taking a bite out of his cake.
"No… the letters aren't so frequent, but judging by the snow? I'd say the messengers not coming is a blessing in disguise."
"So, Onmund," Alrek turned his attention to the lone Nord, "How do you find Winterhold?"
"It's… It's amazing!" He could feel his tongue ready to ramble, but he had restrained himself every way to get the words out coherently, trying his hardest not to seem unbecoming or off-putting, "I've never been around so many mages before, or really anyone outside of Skyrim. This is all so new to me."
Camille blinked, "Surely there must be other mages where you're from? Don't the uh lords- Jarls? Don't they have wizards or mages in their court?"
Onmund shrugged, "I've never been to one of the bigger cities before, at least, not for very long. I… I actually came from a really small village. I think I was the only one in that place that had any magical skill. I mean, there was a Dunmer woman who came by but…"
"Oh?" Alrek's tone of voice invited him to continue.
"Occasionally she comes to… I dunno, do something with the mines near my village. She stops by every so often but… I don't really talk to her. She keeps to herself, then goes back to wherever she's from."
"You know," Alrek began, and Onmund's attention was immediately captured by him, "This all must be an incredible experience. Is this the first time outside of your village?"
"It...It is," suddenly he was all too aware of how that sounded like. Some sorry country bumpkin come to play among the scholars and royals. Brelyna and J'zargo each had stories of them travelling to different provinces and meeting so many new people. What could Onmund offer in terms of his own lived experience?
"It's… just that my family and I were… well, we're not… rich." He struggled with the last word.
He had never really considered his status in life- everyone else in Kynesgrove were farmers or miners or fishermen. But now, amongst so many others from grander backgrounds, he felt so small.
"I don't think there's any shame in that," Camille added, "There's plenty to be admired about people who do what they can to make a living out of honest work."
Onmund smiled at that, "It just feels strange. You all seem so… so…"
"Privileged?" Alrek helped.
He hung onto the Breton's every word, "Y-yeah. I just… I didn't think anyone would pay much attention to me. My father's a fisherman and my mother just sells little bits of art during market day. We don't make much," Onmund glanced at Alrek's rings, wondering how much it cost, all stacked in a glittering mess on his fingers. How much his parents could make off that alone. Winters would be less harsh, for one. He pushed the thought away; it wasn't right to think of others like that.
Although he was curious how Alrek and Camille arrived to such wealth.
"We're glad you're still here," Alrek offered, "We can learn a lot more from each other with such different perspectives."
Brelyna deadpanned, "You mean how you're still trying to find the most effective way to burn a man alive?"
"Come now, I have better hobbies than that!" Alrek protested.
"Oh? Like how Camille is still trying to move into Oblivion?"
"I'll have you know I've got my eyes set on this spectacular property in the Deadlands," Camille bantered, "Full view of the hot rivers of lava and the shrieking of the damned!"
Brelyna laughed at that, "They'd string you up over here for saying that."
"All the more reason to move there, wouldn't you think?"
Onmund was swept up in it all. The playful banters, the serious discussions peppered in between, Camille trying his hardest to say challenging Ta'agra words. None of this would have happened in his wildest dreams. At best he had thought of finding a mage to apprentice under, but the world that the College had thrown him into was beyond his expectations.
All the more so, when he felt Alrek's hand accidentally brush over his. Or how the world seemed to stop when he looked up to smile at him.
He had forgotten about that bruise on his cheek. Forgot about the way his father and sister screamed at him. For now, he could just forget, and lose himself in easy conversation, surrounded by people who genuinely seemed delighted to have him along.
He rambled all throughout the meal about the spells he could or wanted to do, the things he had read, all met with reassurance and validation from the mages around him.
He had long imagined what it was like to be wanted, saved only for his most secret dreams and fantasies. He didn't have to dream anymore, didn't have to pretend or be thankful for any scrap of kindness given to him by his father or older sister.
He was home.