After her meeting with the Jarl, Svana found herself back at the Bannered Mare. She tucked herself away into the solitude of a corner table, peering at the small wooden menu above the counter. Before she could make a decision and count her coin, the owner approached her and slid a plate of breakfast over the table.
She raised a brow, not taking the offered food, but not refusing it. "How much?"
The owner explained it had all been paid for by the steward, as thanks. But before Svana could ask, the owner disappeared into the crowd.
She turned her attention to the food before her, and her stomach rumbled at the sight. It was a simple serving of cured meat, cheese, bread, and berries, but she graciously accepted it all the same. She was not one to let good food go to waste, after all, and Svana had only seen spreads like these after a good harvest back in Kynesgrove. So without much ceremony, she took her time with the meal, savoring each bite as though it may be her very last.
The peace was short lived when a looming shadow fell over her corner, followed by the boom of an impressive baritone.
"Heard you talked to the Jarl."
Svana looked up and smiled at the handsome face of none other than Farkas. "I might have."
A chair scraped against the old floorboards of the inn as he sat across from her. "What'd he say?"
"He's sending people over to Riverwood, maybe to find out what's going on with the whole dragon nonsense."
Farkas nodded. "That's good."
Svana made to speak, but was cut short as the owner reappeared, sidling up to the Companion. "What'll it be?"
"Oh, uh," Farkas glanced at Svana's plate and pointed. "I'll have whatever she's having."
"Mead too?"
He laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly in Svana's ears. "Keep it coming."
The owner barked off orders to her staff, disappearing into the heat of the kitchen. Svana leaned back in her seat and whistled, impressed by the display.
"You always get that kind of treatment here?" she asked, returning to the food on her plate. "Must be nice," she mused through a mouthful.
Three full mugs of mead appeared before her, and Svana looked up in time to watch Farkas give a curt nod to the serving girl as she left. "Was embarrassing at first, got used to it now." He took a large gulp from the first mug, froth clinging to the dark, coarse hair of his upper lip. "No point hiding it."
Svana hummed. "Perks of being a Companion?"
He shrugged. "I look out for the people here, guess they think they owe me."
Fair enough. She said nothing more, sipping at her ale. Malted wheat and an undertone of foreign spices danced on her tongue, a new but not unwelcome flavor. She turned her eyes to Farkas expectantly.
He had returned to his plate with renewed vigor, gaze hardly straying from the food before him. She decided not to press further and followed suit, an easy silence falling between them as they enjoyed their food and drink.
"Speaking of looking out," Farkas began through a mouthful, "What about you?"
She didn't expect him to reinitiate conversation so soon, and washed down her surprise with another swig of ale. "What about me?"
He swallowed his food with an audible gulp. "You good for the road?"
She frowned. Was she good for the road? Would she be able to survive another encounter with bandits or wildlife without a Companion to save her?
Svana looked down at herself. Her dress was stained with road dust and flecked with a dark substance she wasn't sure was grime, and the same could be said for her cloak slung over her chair. The leather of her boots was wearing thin and caked in sludge all the way to the uppers. She winced as she peeled away the sole of one boot from the floor. The soiled floorboards stared back accusingly.
The answer was clear and she shook her head in response. "Dunno, not much else I can do but head out when I can."
"Got any money?"
"Not really."
Farkas frowned and set his fork down. "Supplies?"
Svana grabbed her pack from under her chair and rifled through it. "Some… jerky, and a dagger. Salve, a roll of bandages… uh, a salve?"
"So... nothing then."
Svana's expression said it all, and it was clear how Farkas felt about her situation.
"If you're heading back on the road you're gonna need more than that. Some armor, maybe clean up that axe you got."
"Much as I appreciate the advice, friend, I can't afford it," she replied.
His eyes narrowed in disbelief. "How'd you pay for the inn?"
"Steward," came the easy explanation, "The owner said it was for a 'job well done'. Might've embarrassed him a little in front of the Jarl too."
Farkas huffed out a small breathy laugh, not unlike a hound. "About time someone did."
Svana eyed him suspiciously. It wasn't as though the legendary Companions were known to be friendly to random nobodies like her. "Why do you care so much?"
"You've been through a lot," he said, swirling a mug of mead in hand. "And if you're the one going around warning people, saves me the trouble of being surprised by a big ol' dragon sitting on Jorrvaskr."
She didn't know why the answer disappointed her the way it did. He was a Companion, and he had to worry about the lives of everyone else, not just her. Stupid fantasies, focus on getting Onmund home.
"I mean, thank you. But like I said, I haven't got a coin to my name." She sat up straighter in her seat as she answered.
Farkas waved off her concerns. "I'll take care of it."
Heat rose to her cheeks, flaring in intensity when he flashed a wolfish grin in her direction. His silver eyes gleamed under his dark bangs, lips pulling back to reveal rows of white teeth and sharp canines. The baritone of his voice rumbled with laughter, and suddenly she couldn't remember why she was frustrated to begin with.
"Listen, I'm a Companion, I gotta spend my money on something or someone, so why not on a girl who needs help?"
So that's how it is. Svana mirrored his look, shooting a grin and glance that was nothing short of a challenge. "Lucky you've got looks, normally I'd pummel a man for calling me a 'girl who needs help'."
Farkas stopped for a moment, seemingly in thought. "Then how about a friend in need?"
Svana smiled. "Better."
They finished their meal in relative silence with no interruptions. When Farkas made his way to the counter to pay, the owner declined his coin, sliding them back over the counter. "Please, at least let me pay for my plate."
"Nonsense, Companion," the owner declared, "You helped me track down that thief, I'll never forget it."
Svana watched the conversation with interest, how Farkas lost the battle when he finally pocketed his coin. He looked to Svana, and motioned for her to join him as he made his way outside.
"Special treatment, huh?" she said when she caught up to him.
"Only when I do the work." He looked somewhere between embarrassed and mortified as he kept his gaze fixated at the exit. "Really, I just wish they'd take the money.
"So, where're we going?" Svana asked.
"Adrianne's. The smith working the forge at the Plains District," He explained when Svana raised a brow in confusion. "Near the gates of town, I mean."
"I… see."
He cut ahead of her suddenly, grabbing the door handle before she could say anything further.
"Ladies first," he grinned. She resisted the urge to slug him in the face in front of the entire tavern and settled for a glare instead.
"Or not," he reluctantly conceded, stepping away from the door.
She had to leave the safety of the tavern eventually. What difference did it make if it was now or later?
"—You can stay for a little while longer, you know." It was Farkas. He looked… concerned? Before she could ask what he meant, he continued. "You've been through a lot, I get it. The world can wait, if you need to rest." He managed an awkward smile.
She held that image of that too-wide, too-honest grin… but it quickly morphed into one of agony. Of melting skin and burning wounds.
Helgen flashed before her. The taste of ash flooded her mouth and the murmur of the patrons distorted into dying screams. Every night she saw that same vision, saw the needless death and destruction.
Svana tried to console herself with her actions that morning. After all, she had done her part for Whiterun, or so she hoped. That had been one disaster averted, if the Jarl made good on his word. Maybe by the time she was on the road again, prepared and fearless, the other holds would be warned too.
But for now, it was time to continue her search for Onmund. She remembered the way Elsie had glared at her that night. How she held onto their grieving mother. How I punched Onmund and told him this was all his fault.
She had to push on. She had to find him, bring him home. And maybe then, they could put all this behind them. Find somewhere safe before a dragon could turn them all to ash.
"You uh, you alright?" Farkas asked.
"I have to find my brother, I have to get back out there and find him."
Farkas stepped aside as she strode past him and out the door, into the crowded marketplace and breezy afternoon.
When Svana had first made her way to Dragonsreach, she paid little mind to the city that had just started its day. Now that the sun was a little higher in the sky, she was nearly overwhelmed by how busy it was.
The first thing she heard above all else were a pair of Bosmer brothers, hollering above the crowd of their choice cuts of meat, all fit for a Jarl's table. Glittering silver trinkets dazzled her eyes, forged from legendary hands. A little further down the street and her nose was hooked on the scent of freshly baked pies.
It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
"Out of your element, eh?" Farkas commented, "Don't got a city where you're from?"
"Kynesgrove is a mining village," she said, distracted by the master-crafted silver jewelry on display at a stand. "The nearest city was Windhelm."
"Woof," Farkas huffed in dismay. "Talk about old."
"Tell me about it." Her eyes darted amongst the crowds of people, bargaining for prices and chatting amongst themselves. "What's the occasion?"
She scanned the marketplace for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that moment. "What'dya mean?" Farkas asked.
Svana nearly balked and asked him if he was blind, but settled for a wide sweep of her arm to the entirety of Whiterun before them. "There's so many people. There's gotta be some reason for it."
Farkas rolled his broad shoulders, and it was then Svana noticed how everyone seemed to cut a path ahead for the Companion. As though terrified of being caught in his way. "It's always this busy. S'why I never like shopping or doing supply runs."
He led her through the dizzying maze of people and merchants with collected ease and familiarity. They neared the city gates, and what smelled like the blacksmith's district. There was no mistaking the stink of a forge, the way iron and metal seemed to tinge the air with their bitter taste.
"Adrianne," Farkas walked up to a nondescript shop, its owner working away at tightening the buckles of an impressive set of leather armor. "You busy?"
The smith, Adrianne, looked Imperial. Or, at least, how Svana understood Imperials to look. While she wore Nordic braids in her thick, voluminous hair, she also had a deep, rich complexion, found only in provinces that the sun favored.
"Only because the Battle-Borns have been running me ragged," Adrianne answered, not looking up from her work. "What's a Companion like you doing here?"
Farkas jerked his chin at Svana. "Friend of mine needs some armor for the road."
Adrianne stopped what she was doing and glanced up at Svana. She stiffened at the blacksmith's gaze and prepared for the usual dismissal— yet, much to her surprise, there was no doubting or ridicule present in Adrianne's stare.
"What kind of armor are you looking for? We've got some steel pieces in stock, some iron too. Anything fancier and we're gonna need measurements."
"Steel sounds go—" Svana began, but caught Farkas shaking his head. "I, uh, how about iron?"
"Steel's good if you've got the training for it, but you just got out of Helgen." Farkas explained.
"Helgen?" Adrianne said, eyes wide. "Gods above, I heard what happened. Word on the road is that it was some sloppy raid gone wrong from the Stormcloaks."
"Was a dragon, not the Stormcloaks," Svana quickly corrected. "I was sent here to warn the Jarl."
From the way Adrianne quirked her brows, she didn't buy the story. Fair enough, Svana thought, irked. She was here to do business, not retell her story. Luckily, the blacksmith didn't press further, only pulling out some tape and taking her measurements.
"You'll want leather then," Adrianne said as she scrawled notes at the back of her hand. "Light but sturdy, good for folk who don't need to be weighed down."
"Needs her blade sharpened too." Farkas added.
"That'll cost extra."
He crossed his arms and stood straighter. "You know I'm good for it."
"It's gonna take more time."
Svana interrupted. "Mind if I sharpen it myself? Got a grindstone there, if my friend here wants to throw money around, at least let it be for the materials."
Adrianne raised her brows. "You sure?"
"Was a smith's apprentice, I'm used to working with metal. Made nails and door handles most days, though, but I know how to sharpen a blade."
Adrianne didn't protest. "Well, if you want, you're free to help yourself to it."
As she excused herself to prepare their order, Svana began work on her axe. It was a simple enough process, but one she did so often it was second nature to her. She didn't flinch as the metal screamed, and she always found the sparks pretty and enchanting. By the time she had finished, the blade practically sang from how sharp it was.
She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and made to rise, a small, proud smile on her lips. She was pleased with how the axe turned out— too pleased, in fact, because she'd forgotten about Farkas in her work. He'd been watching the entire time, she realized. By the Nine...
His voice startled her back to reality. "You're not bad."
Svana blushed, equal parts proud and embarrassed. "This? W-Well, if you like that, you'll like my hinges better."
He laughed at that, "You've got jokes! I like that," Svana beamed, barely catching his next question, "You ever thought about tending to the Skyforge? I hear it's every blacksmith's dream."
Svana snorted. "Of course! But not me. I don't think I could ever. I don't deserve that honor." She cracked her wrists, stretching. "Not nice to make jokes like that anyway."
"Was a serious offer."
Svana balked, but Farkas continued. "Eorlund's getting on in the years, we're gonna need to find a replacement soon. Figured since you've got a foot in the door with me…"
Svana found herself laughing at that, despite the grim insinuation. "Gods, that's a terrible thing to say!"
He grinned. "Hey, if the old man hears it, he might be honored that we're thinking of him at all."
"That's dumb!" Svana laughed, slipping into Nordic, "Your poor smith, so easily discarded!"
"Think of it like a… future investment."
The conversation felt easy. Comfortable. It was nice being able to speak in her native tongue. And for a moment, Svana forgot about the dragon and Helgen. For a moment it felt as though she was back home, tending to the blade of some handsome hero blown in from the western lands.
Home.
She'd be home soon enough. But first she had to find Onmund.
From the sounds of the excited apprentices that filled the hall that morning, one would have thought it had been a class of four hundred, and not a mere forty.
And yet, there stood Tolfdir, trying his best to calm the excited apprentices that lined the seats of the hall. It seemed from the very beginning of his lectures to when the students filed out of the class for the day, all that was ever discussed was the upcoming trip to Saarthal.
Even Onmund, Brelyna and J'zargo couldn't help themselves. Their conversations ranged from what they could possibly find in such a ruin, to what would be suitable supplies for the long trip. It made the leisurely morning stroll across the courtyard all the more pleasant. After all, it was a rare occurrence for the sun to grace the stones of Winterhold with its divine warmth, and the trio were sure to make the most of the good weather.
On the way over to the Hall of Attainment, the apprentices' quarters, Onmund couldn't help but muse at the new tradition they had all started. It hadn't been deliberate, it simply just… happened. Every day without fail, they would gather in Brelyna's room, amongst the heavy floor pillows and plush rugs and sit in a circle surrounded by books and snacks. As soon as Brelyna herself would enter, she would bring flames to life beneath a teapot, ready to brew more of that delightful canis root tea.
"So, since this is a group project, maybe we can start delegating some of the work," Brelyna began as she glanced over her notes. "J'zargo, you have the best handwriting out of all of us, could you write our final findings before we present it?"
"This one is flattered to!"
"What can I do?" Onmund looked expectantly at her.
"I thought of something a little sneaky." A sliver of cleverness appeared on her sharp features, "Since we're researching Saarthal, maybe we should get a Nord's perspective, everyone would be going for the Imperial sources, we could give a more balanced view."
Onmund fought down his surprised look. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. His hand automatically reached up to the back of his neck. "I- I dunno, I mean, I only know the stories…"
She shook her head. "No, no, there are books written in Nordic, right? I saw a couple on the reading list Tolfdir handed out. You'll be our researcher; you'll translate helpful parts and explain any cultural context!"
Without waiting for a response, she handed him the list. "Here, head up to the Arcaneum and see if you can find the books, I've circled the ones we need."
Onmund stared down the paper, and sure enough, the titles were in his mother tongue. He couldn't help his curiosity. Were these ancient texts? He'd never known many Nords to boast of academic aptitude or even literacy, least of all writing a book about historical pursuits. Tradition and history were best told in song, with a roaring fire and kegs of ale and mead.
He was eager to find out what Nord scholars had researched about Saarthal, given its importance to his people.
List in hand, he made his way through the winding halls of the College of Winterhold. He barely took it all in as he ventured deeper into the school. Classes of students shuffled between all hours of the day, some carrying thick tomes, others shooing away particularly determined wisps.
But one broke away, catching up with him to seat itself on his shoulder. "Hello again," Onmund greeted, holding a finger up to it. "Are you the same fellow from before?"
The wisp buzzed in affirmation, nuzzling his hand. He grinned, glad for the company.
Through the maze of hallways and laboratories, and only occasionally stopping to ask for directions, he finally made it up to the Arcaneum. Imposing doors stood before him, daring him to enter. His calloused hands tentatively hovered over the old iron fittings, before Onmund laid his palms against the wood of the doors. He could feel the thrum of ancient magic beneath, like a gentle heartbeat.
He let his hands linger there for a fleeting moment before he pulled away. The wisp pulsed brightly, fleeing his shoulder in favor of shoving at the doors in vain. Onmund was quick to gather it to his chest, muttering words of encouragement to himself, grounding him in the moment.
He was here. This was real. The books were just beyond the door. He took a deep breath, pushing the doors open. What's there to be so nervous about?
Onmund's eyes grew wide at the infinite rows and shelves of books and maps and scrolls. Everywhere he looked, it seemed the walls were filled with tomes of knowledge. Students were settled in plush armchairs, deep in their studies, lost to the world. Others sat in groups, the scratching of quill against parchment a symphony in the quiet halls. Unsure footfalls carried him into the Arcaneum as he looked around shelves and seating areas for the impressive mahogany desk he passed on his first day.
"Can I help you?"
By this point in his stay, Onmund had heard the whispered rumors of Urag gro-Shub. That the Arcaneum was his domain and he ruled it with an iron fist. That he would have no qualms tearing a student from limb to limb if they so much as dog-earred a page. No one dared to see if he made good on his threats, of course, but the fearsome scowl he wore was warning enough. Even Onmund who stood taller than the aging Orc felt tiny under that steely gaze.
"I, uh…"
"Out with it, I'm getting old."
Onmund swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and wordlessly handed him the list. The poor lad almost yelped when the librarian snatched it clean out of his hands.
Urag didn't waste his manners on students, that much was clear. He pulled up a too-small pair of reading glasses from a chain around his neck, and glanced at the titles listed. The huff he released made his displeasure all too clear to Onmund.
"You're going on that Saarthal trip, hm?"
Onmund only nodded.
The paper was handed back to him abruptly and he took it with a shaking, nervous hand. "Shelf three, section fifteen, return the books in the exact condition they were loaned to you."
He turned to leave, all too glad to disappear in between the towering shelves and whatever lay within them. "Y-Yes sir!"
"And make sure that damned wisp doesn't eat the scrolls." Urag narrowed his eyes at the glowing ball of magic on Onmund's shoulder. He felt the wisp buzz in annoyance, and he lifted his hand over it to calm it down.
Shelf three, section fifteen. That was easy enough to remember. Now to find it.
Before him lay a maze of different aisles, arranged in some order that Onmund could barely fathom. There was a shelf Three-A, then there was shelf three-thirty-two… Disorientation quickly melded into despair as numbers and letters continued on with no end in sight, yet his shelf seemed to evade him. His shoulders slumped as he shuffled over to the first likely row.
Might as well start somewhere.
The first row proved to be fruitless, and so did the second one, and the one after. The narrow walkways constantly antagonized his broad frame, almost as if they were an afterthought to the placement of the books. Browsing the endless corridors of books and shelves, a new horror crept into his mind. Surely he was not the only one who was looking for these books. What if someone had gotten to them before him, someone who knew the labyrinth of the Arcaneum far better than he did? After all, everyone was talking about Saarthal.
As his thoughts coiled around in horror after horror, threatening to strangle him where he stood, Onmund took a minute to breathe, and leaned against a forgotten stone pillar, not daring to lean on the shelves. By the Nine, how would he even manage his other assignments if he was already this overwhelmed by finding a few lousy books?
Perhaps he had been looking at this the wrong way. He gathered himself once more, and thought to try his luck with the other mages. "Excuse me, do you know where shelf three is?" Yet every time, he'd barely get his question out in full before he was dismissed.
"Go away, I'm busy."
"You're in my light."
"Ugh, who let the apprentices in here again?"
"The voices in my head are positively screaming at me to ignore you."
The wisp buzzed and hissed from his shoulder. He frowned. This… wasn't what he expected, surely. Surely there was someone willing to help him, but some part of him feared that finding those people would be harder than finding his books.
"Think we should start from the front again?" Onmund murmured to the wisp, who motioned as if to nod. As he wandered down the narrow aisles, he stopped in his tracks when his ears caught the sound of rings gently clinking together.
"Alrek?"
When he heard his name, the Breton was quick to turn and subsequently stumble off the small step-ladder he was precariously tip-toeing on. It was a miracle that none of the other books came down along with him.
Onmund gasped and rushed over to help. "By the Nine! I'm so sorry, are you alright?" Without waiting for an answer, he grasped Alrek's bicep and hauled him upright.
Alrek looked surprised to be back on his feet so soon.
"It's alright! Really, it's alright." Alrek hastily dusted himself off and smoothed his rumpled clothing. Onmund didn't look, or feel, reassured much.
He stepped back, suddenly aware of how… scholarly Alrek looked at that moment. Like he had meant to belong here this whole time. The ease of knowledge, the calm and collected demeanor. But so too the glint of gold on his ears and fingers, the thin sparkling chain that always seemed to hang from his neck. Perhaps what made them all find their place here… was the very same thing that made all of Nirn move: gold. And lots of it.
"W-what were you doing?" He cleared his throat, a weak attempt to clear his thoughts too.
Alrek glanced up to the top-most shelf of that row. "Well, Onmund, I don't suppose you could be a dear and fetch me that book? The one with the green spine."
Happily, and easily, he did. But when he caught the Daedric Oht on the cover, his eyes turned wide and horrified. He turned, a half-formed warning dying on his lips as Alrek took the book from him.
"It's safe, don't worry," Alrek reassured.
"You're a conjurer?" He could hardly believe his own words.
Conjurer. The word hung in the air like a curse. Something forbidden and evil. All those talks at the dinner table, where his father spat and damned the mages, who would poison wells and raise the dead. His father never painted his ideals with anything other than broad, ignorant strokes. It was always how mages were bad people, or how foreigners would ruin Skyrim before their very eyes, just look at the mess with the Great War, he'd argue.
And yet, Alrek had been one of the few people in the college to have shown him any kindness. Who had shown genuine interest in his ramblings and recountings, who had shown him mercy when the cruel winds of Skyrim had none to give. How was it that a dreaded conjurer read him cards and watched the auroras with him, and his own blood turned him away for their own fears?
If Alrek was a conjurer, Onmund was happy to be the fool to follow in his wake.
Alrek smiled, and all those horrible thoughts retreated into the shadows to stay. "Everyone in my family is. Camille has a natural affinity for it. I just like to summon the Xivilai for their rippling pectorals, personally." A beat of horrified silence passed before Alrek tried to explain. "I'm joking, don't worry. Nothing in here but theories and summoning diagrams, you're safe from my evil clutches."
By the Nine, he hoped Alrek was joking. He laughed weakly, "G-good one."
Alrek pantomimed an evil laugh, echoing hauntingly through the Arcaneum. "For now, my little pet."
The laughter Onmund released was more nervous than relieved. Alrek relished on keeping him on his toes, it seemed. But he had a task to do, and an assignment to finish, he couldn't afford distractions just yet.
"Ah, Alrek?" Gods, his name on his tongue felt like fire. And when he turned Onmund's way, eyes like cut crystals, heat blossomed on his cheeks again.
Alrek continued to examine the book in hand, only quirking his brows and raising his head slightly. "Hmm?"
"I was wondering if you could help me. O-only if you want to, that is."
"Of course, what do you need?"
Onmund fished out the list from his pocket and held it out. "I need these books for an assignment, supposed to be at shelf three, s-section fifteen." Or had it been the other way around?
"Oh, I know where you need to be," Alrek confirmed, scanning the list. "There are good books on enchantment runes there, very useful."
Onmund barely registered it at first, but Alrek led him to the correct area by holding his hand. He stared, fixated by the curling of fingers, the cool metal of his rings and unusually warm fingertips. He marvelled at the way their complexions contrasted. Alrek with his sun-kissed skin against Onmund's own wintery pale.
By the Nine, what a sight it was.
"And here we are."
"Oh! Thank you!" He blurted, too loudly, unaware that they had reached their destination. Onmund hastily cleared his throat. His voice went small, and he hadn't even realized. "S-sorry, I uh..."
Alrek patted his hand reassuringly and returned his own to his side. "Nothing to be sorry for. You were turned around, it was no trouble at all, Onmund."
If he could just save the way he said his name in his mind to be replayed over and over again, Onmund was sure he would die a happy man.
"Thank you. I mean, I said that already, didn't I?"
Alrek laughed, gently yet not unkindly. "If you ever need help with your studies, or getting around, you're more than welcome to visit me. I'm in the Hall of Countenance, just across from you."
Onmund opened his mouth to say something, anything, —no, it's fine, don't let me bother you— but at Alrek's kindness, his knees would give out soon, he was sure of it. "A-are you sure?"
Alrek closed the distance between them then, and put a hand to Onmund's chest. "Absolutely." Alrek had worn a particular perfume then, sweet and heady and unlike anything he's ever experienced.
"Before I go though, there is something I wanted to ask." Alrek looked up to him. "I hear you're heading for a trip to Saarthal, yes?"
Onmund blinked, surprised. "You heard about that too?"
Alrek smiled and the dim glow of the Arcaneum seemed to brighten, if only a little. "I think the entire college knows by now. It's not often that apprentices are allowed out into the field with the more senior mages, you know. This would be a good experience for you, I think."
"It is pretty exciting, I mean, this is… this is incredible to me!"
Alrek seemed pleased at the sudden burst of eagerness. "Oh? How so?"
"Saarthal was always in my people's legends, I just… never thought it was a real place."
He couldn't help but stare enamored at the way Alrek's eyes twinkled at his words. "That does sound like a grand opportunity for you, I'm glad to hear of it. But that's exactly why I wanted to ask you about a proposal I have."
If Alrek didn't have Onmund's full attention before, he had it now. He tried to look away from his eyes, trying instead to focus on something else, but it landed on Alrek's full lips.
It took all of his willpower to focus back on the conversation.
"I've been on a few excavations myself, and Camille and I thought we'd like to include you on a little… adventure, shall we say?"
"A-adventure?"
"Nothing outside of the college grounds, I assure you. And if you'd like, you can bring Brelyna and J'zargo along. You know safety in numbers, the more the merrier."
"What kind of adventure are we talking about?"
"Promise not to tell anyone else, save for our little circle?"
Onmund nodded eagerly.
Alrek leaned so close his lips nearly brushed the lobe of Onmund's ear. He shuddered at his touch, the feeling of Alrek's body against his. Onmund fisted his hands at his sides to ground himself in some way. He prayed Alrek didn't notice how awkwardly he held himself in that moment.
"We found a cavern under the college, hidden away. I'm not sure what we'll find there, but the thought of it is exciting, isn't it?" He felt Alrek's hand snake up further along his chest, resting on his shoulder. He nodded hastily, not daring to disagree.
Onmund hadn't realized how hard he had been biting down on his lower lip, quelling his excitement. He savored the sensation of Alrek's hot breath against his skin. Alrek whispered details to him, where to meet and when. Truthfully, he could have recited the fundamentals of casting spells there and then and Onmund would have been elated to listen all the same.
He was helpless in Alrek's presence, and he didn't mind it one bit.
When he pulled away, Onmund's mind exploded in protest, screaming for him to stay, yet no words fell from his lips. Before he knew it, the handsome mage with the blood-red hair had disappeared into the ether of books and shelves, leaving Onmund alone with his wisp and his unfinished task at hand.
He turned to the wisp, finding his voice once more. "Well… uh, I guess we gotta get those books now, huh?"
The wisp floated off his shoulders and began the search with him.