They finally reached the College of Winterhold and a disheartening sight greeted them.
The town was eerily empty and quiet and they could see the barrier all around the main building in the distance. It seemed that the mages didn't manage to hold the field back inside the halls. Hopefully that only meant that they had to move back and not that they were already dead and the field was moving further slowly.
Darren opened up the gate to the bridge swiftly and they rushed across towards the courtyard. They could already hear the shouts in the distance.
Good. That meant that the mages were still alive. Darren was worried that all of this would have been in vain. If he failed them again… he wasn't sure what would have happened with his life. Would anyone be actually relieved that he survived this shitstorm? Or would they just blame him, like they always did? His mother would likely assume that the College blew up due to some failed experiment of his, no matter the stories he would have told her.
Nobody would welcome him back in Wayrest.
Did he even want to go back? Was there anything there for him anymore?
Maybe, despite everything, he was better off in Skyrim. He always dreamed of going back home, back to his family, back to his luxuries and wealth. But he only wanted that because he was miserable here from the start. He was miserable the second that his parents told him he would be sent to the College for studies. And why? Because they said that he would go 'among the barbarians'? Because everyone treated it as a punishment? Maybe if he didn't come here with that on his mind, he could have thrived.
But that didn't happen. He didn't thrive. He was miserable in Wayrest and he was miserable in Winterhold.
Maybe it was his own fault.
But now, at least, he could do something right. He could save the College and, for a while, he could feel… welcome. He could feel appreciated.
The three of them reached the gate to the courtyard and Darren opened it with one hurried movement of his hand. He could already see them – the mages scurrying around the large barrier, yelling orders at one another.
And he could see the sudden hope in the eyes of everyone that noticed their arrival.
He brandished the Staff instantly.
It would work. This would work. Everything would be different now.
Bishop and Aeyrin stayed back while he ran straight towards the barrier and pointed the Staff at it. Nothing happened for a while, but after a spell, the Staff started to shake violently in his hand. He held it firmly and, only another second later, the magic of the teal field started to get sucked into the Staff steadily.
He could feel the power.
It was overwhelming.
He pushed on and walked steadily forward. One step, two, three. With each one, more and more magic seeped into the Staff and the murky field was becoming transparent. The mages pushed back the barrier along his steps while some of them yelled more orders to do the same in the other parts of the College.
It was working. It was almost over.
They all entered the Hall of the Elements with Darren's hand firmly holding the Staff. Only a few more steps. Only a few more steps towards his victory.
He walked forward, absorbing the power into the Staff until he found himself in front of the Eye. He was almost dizzy from all of this, but he had to persevere.
He pointed the Staff towards the Eye and the pulsating orb started to shake violently. It fought back, it tried to resist the Staff, but the power was too much.
The Eye was opening at the creases, but it steadily started to close again. Ancano was still standing there, trapped and enveloped in the teal light. But as the Staff worked its magic, the aura around him paled.
There was a deep rumble when everyone held their breaths in anticipation.
Then it stopped.
The Eye closed for good and it only continued hovering in the hall harmlessly. Ancano crumpled to the ground, dead. The Staff took everything that was still keeping him alive.
There was a long moment of silence.
And then everyone erupted into loud cheers.
…
The pyre was burning steadily in the courtyard.
Twenty mages, dead. But it was a lot better than what would have happened if they didn't come back relatively soon.
Darren watched the fires burn in quiet contemplation, occasionally interrupted by someone gently squeezing his shoulder in gratitude.
Nobody dared to interrupt the silence, however. Well… apart from Brelyna. She was sobbing hysterically in the back of the courtyard with Master Tolfdir trying to console her. J'zargo was a good friend to her throughout their studies – her sorrow was understandable.
Darren had always been rather bitter about the two of them. They were the most promising apprentices at the College and they were always quick to remind everyone there about it. Maybe if Darren found a kindred spirit there, his time at the College wouldn't have been so miserable. That never happened though and… maybe it was his own fault.
But now that would all change. He would make sure of it.
This was a new start for him.
After a long moment of silence, the funeral rites were suddenly interrupted by a bright flash of magic in front of the entrance to the Hall of the Elements. It took a while for everyone to rile themselves from the blinding light before they noticed the figure standing there.
"Quaranir?" Darren's eyes went wide. He was here. The Psijic monk who had been only visiting him in visions was here, in person. Did he teleport? All the way from the Summerset Isles? That… that kind of power seemed unimaginable.
The mage nodded at Darren with a small smile on his lips.
"Greetings, fellow mages. You have managed to avert disaster," Quaranir's eyes were fastened on Darren with a proud look on his face. "We have come for the artifacts of Magnus. They need to be… contained."
The mages from the College started to murmur amongst themselves, but after what had transpired, nobody would ever argue with that.
The Masters, along with Darren and Quaranir moved inside towards the dormant Eye where four more Psijic monks already awaited them. Ah. That was what Quaranir meant by 'we'.
Quaranir extended his hand towards Darren wryly and it took him some time before he figured out what the monk wanted. He said 'artifacts' after all.
Darren handed the monk the Staff of Magnus before he and his fellows placed themselves into a circle around the Eye. Quaranir fastened the Staff onto his back and then they all promptly raised their hands towards the Eye.
What followed was a confusing flurry of blinding light and loud humming and when Darren's eyes cleared again, it was all over.
The monks, along with the Eye, were gone.
Nobody knew where they went or what they had intended with the artifacts, but… it was enough to know that it was finally over. Too many lives had been lost and too much strain had been put on all of them.
It was time to move onwards.
It was time to celebrate.
…
The celebrations were in full swing in the large dining room in the Hall of Countenance.
Darren was sitting next to Aeyrin on one side and Master Tolfdir on the other while Master Faralda pried every detail of their journey from him from across the table.
It was strange. Throughout his years here, he had never felt so… comfortable. He had never felt so appreciated. He knew that this would change things. Now his life was finally beginning. He could finally be what he was meant to be. He could finally make people proud of him. He could finally be happy.
"Darren," Aeyrin placed her hand on his shoulder with a hint of trepidation, interrupting his conversation with Master Faralda.
Darren looked back at her and he noticed a hint of guilt etched on her face. It took quite a long time for her to speak again.
"I just… I wanted to apologize. For… well… everything," she bit her lower lip and avoided his eyes. He didn't expect this. He thought that they would just… pretend that their tense past never happened. He probably wouldn't blame her. Although… maybe he would a little. Still, this was a pleasant gesture. Maybe it was a chance for him to turn over a new leaf too.
"Me too," he smiled at her warmly. He didn't really need to say anything else – it was understood. A new leaf for all of them.
"Eh… you're not so bad. For a mage," Bishop snorted a little. Darren could almost imagine his disdainful expression if he couldn't see his face towering over Aeyrin's small frame on the seat next to him. He was smirking. Surprisingly enough, there didn't seem to be any malice in his words this time.
"Thanks, brute," Darren smirked back at him, earning a light chuckle back.
Their interaction got interrupted only a second later when Master Tolfdir stood up from his seat somewhat dramatically and clanked one of the utensils against his goblet of wine to get everyone's attention. He always loved his inspirational speeches.
"My dear friends, my students. We have lost much. We have lost many great people in this tragedy. But it is time for the College to start healing," he smiled reassuringly. "Throughout everything, we have stood strong. And we had one of our own fight for our salvation with everything that he had." Master Tolfdir's smile turned palpably proud as he placed his hand on Darren's shoulder. "Our legacy should not be carried by prowess and power. It should be carried by spirit and by intentions. We need someone to lead us, to keep us on the right path. We need someone who has battled the worst disaster that had threatened our College in ages. We need someone who knows what uncontained hunger for power can do to us. And for this reason, as the administrator of College affairs, I name Darren our new Arch-Mage."
The hall erupted in loud cheers of accord while Darren sat on his seat stiffly.
'Arch-Mage'? Him? He was just an apprentice!
That was incredible.
He knew that this would be a new beginning for him, but he had never imagined anything like this.
He would not squander this. He would make something of himself.
He would make Savos proud.
…
Darren rushed up the stairs into his new lavish quarters.
This was really happening. And everyone agreed that he was deserving of this title.
It all felt like a dream, as if it was just some silly fantasy. Surely the most inept apprentice at the College couldn't be named Arch-Mage!
He looked around his quarters wistfully.
This was his new life. This was his new chance.
He walked over to the opulent desk in the center of the room and ran his hand over the wood gently. This was his new world.
Everyone was so proud of him. His family would be proud of him.
He sat behind the desk and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill.
He would write to Wayrest. He would tell them how he endured hardship and how he went against impossible odds. He would tell them how he avenged Savos Aren – their long-time family friend. He would tell them how his efforts saved the College from the largest disaster that had ever threatened it.
He would tell them who he was now. He would tell them of this new life.
His hand stopped at the parchment and he contemplated his words.
He wished that he could tell them everything. He wished that he could proudly tell them what he had accomplished.
If only he could.
But that's not how his story ever goes.
…
The three of them reached the gate to the courtyard and Darren opened it with one hurried movement of his hand. He could already see them – the mages scurrying around the large barrier, yelling orders at one another.
And he could see the sudden hope in the eyes of everyone that had noticed their arrival.
He brandished the Staff instantly.
It would work. This would work. Everything would be different now.
He took a steady step forward, but suddenly, he felt himself be pushed aside.
Master Faralda practically shoved him away as she pried the Staff from his hands. She didn't even have to try hard – his shock was deep enough to make it easy on her.
"Good. Let us end this!" she snarled fiercely and ran towards the barrier with determination in her rose-gold eyes. The Staff started to shake the second she raised it towards the field of magic, but she held it steadily. All the mages around who weren't too busy pushing back the barrier just watched in awe as Faralda advanced with the legendary Staff brandished.
Darren stood back. What else was there to do but watch the Altmer Master save the day? What else did he expect? They wouldn't have trusted him to finish this. Better that someone like Faralda does it. At least everyone could be confident that she wouldn't mess anything up. If Darren was the one to do this, he was sure that he wouldn't be able to hold that Staff while it absorbed all that power, or something similar. He would mess up somehow.
Faralda and the mages holding the barrier were progressing steadily and, soon, they entered the Hall of the Elements. Everybody was already clamoring inside and Darren had to stand outside for a long while before there was enough room for him to at least peek in. When he got inside the Hall, Faralda was already standing right in front of the Eye with the Staff pointing directly at it. It was pulsing violently, but it gradually seemed to calm down as the Altmer held her ground, steadfast with the Staff in hand.
Soon it was over and everything became a blur as people started cheering, rushing towards Faralda or examining Ancano's corpse. The Eye looked perfectly harmless now – there was no humming, no pulsing. The Staff looked like any ordinary staff too, as if it wasn't teeming with untold power.
Darren expected this to feel different. He expected a sense of victory and accomplishment. Why did he? Why did he even expect anything like that anymore?
The mages rushed past him towards the center of the circular chamber, occasionally bumping him in the shoulder in the process. He wasn't sure what they expected to see there – everything was back to the way it was before the Eye exploded. Everything was back to the way it was. As if nothing changed.
That wasn't true – Aren was gone. The only person who had ever seen any worth in Darren was dead.
And things would only be worse for him at the College now.
Maybe he was the one who should change things.
…
The somber funeral rites were interrupted by Quaranir's appearance.
The Psijic monk addressed everyone at the College with his mildly satisfied speech of 'averting disaster'. He barely even looked at Darren the entire time.
But that was understandable, why would he? Darren was only his anchor for communication across Tamriel. Perhaps that wasn't even possible now – the Staff was sucking all of the Eye's magic from the area, maybe it took the little essence that was still in Darren after he had touched it. He held no interest for the Psijic anymore. Not when there were ancient artifacts begging for his attention.
There were more monks in the Hall of the Elements, all ready to take the Eye and the Staff away.
It was for the best. Darren didn't exactly feel like having a reminder of all of this right under his nose. None of this felt like a victory, yet everyone acted as if they had a reason to celebrate, even after so many had died. Even after Aren died.
He thought that this would feel so different.
He wasn't even sure how and when the celebrations started; the day was continuing to flow in such a strange haze. The next thing he knew, everyone was sitting down in the large dining room in the Hall of Countenance. Well… almost everyone. So many people were in the infirmary instead and some others were too exhausted to celebrate.
Honestly, Darren wasn't even sure himself why he was there.
Everybody was clamoring around Faralda, singing her praises and congratulating her on a job well done. Everyone said that without her, they wouldn't have been able to hold the barrier back, that her taking charge of most of the organization saved them all. And, of course, she was the one that ended the threat of the Eye in the end.
But she wasn't the only hero of the day. There were still those bravest of them all who had crawled through Dwemer ruins and ancient barrows to bring the mages the artifact that would save them all – Bishop and Aeyrin. Darren wasn't sure if he should be bitter about the fact that everyone was constantly questioning them about the adventure and congratulating them on how much they had saved them. He wasn't sure if he should be bitter about the fact that nobody even considered his contribution to this as something worth noting. He did get a friendly pat on the back from Master Tolfdir, accompanied by the mildly heartwarming 'you did well', but he did so much more. Without him, the College would have been doomed. Yet, despite all of this, he didn't feel bitter about the lack of acknowledgement. Not anymore.
He felt numb.
Aeyrin and Bishop continued to be awkward around Darren throughout the evening, much like they had been on their journey back. They didn't know how to act, they didn't know what to do after the confrontation in Labyrinthian. The entire journey was accompanied only by uncomfortable silence. And now it was all the same, even worse, since they witnessed just how overlooked he got when the culmination of this series of events came. Whenever Darren looked their way, Aeyrin averted her eyes with a mixture of guilt and discomfort on her face and Bishop outright pretended that Darren didn't exist at all. The man seemed to have a problem with feeling pity for anyone, for whatever reason.
Darren briefly wondered if he even wanted to be pitied, but… maybe he did. Maybe it was better than being constantly mocked and reviled.
Anything was better than that.
He understood why Bishop and Aeyrin acted as they did. It was obvious.
They thought themselves heroes – they thought themselves the saviors who would come and drag the College from the brink of destruction. But now, there was this black cloud over their glory. They knew that during their 'heroics' they almost murdered an innocent man because of their prejudice and preconceptions. And now their own self-image was crumbling whenever either of them spared a glance at Darren. Whether they were aware of it or not, it made no difference – the result was the same. They basked in their accolades, clinging to the approval of the other mages to make themselves feel less guilty. They let them all feed their delusions.
Well… let them.
Let them act as the ones who did all of this, let them act as if they single-handedly brought back the Staff, no matter Darren's help. After all, if it wasn't them, it would have been someone else taking the bulk of the credit from him.
It hardly mattered anymore.
"Attention, please!" Tolfdir suddenly stood up from his seat and clanked a utensil against his goblet of wine. Everyone in the room quieted and looked at the old man curiously.
"My dear friends, my students. We have lost much. We have lost many great people in this tragedy. But it is time for the College to start healing," he smiled reassuringly. "Throughout everything, we have stood strong. And we have all fought bravely together for our salvation." Master Tolfdir's smile turned palpably proud as he looked around the room. "We have many to mourn but we have also much to celebrate. We have many to thank. All of those who have held the barrier, as well as the brave heroes who have helped us in dire times," he gently placed a hand on Aeyrin's shoulder while the rest of the room nodded in accord. "And despite the tragedy, it is time for us to move onwards. With our beloved Mirabelle gone, I will be taking over student affairs administration to make sure that all our charges recover from this tragedy and are able to continue their studies to uncover the mysteries of Mundus."
Darren briefly looked over to the corner of the table where Brelyna sat. He had no idea why she even came to the celebrations – she was just staring blankly into space while Tolfdir talked about recovery and moving on. She didn't seem particularly inspired by that speech.
Funny… neither was Darren.
"And with our dear Arch-Mage, Savos Aren, dead, we will need to continue to carry on his legacy and ensure that the College continues to prosper, as it did under his leadership. My friend Aren exemplified the qualities that every mage should – his thirst for knowledge, his inquisitiveness and eagerness to learn more and more. He did what was necessary in trying times and he never feared taking action. There is no one I could think of to carry his legacy better than Faralda."
Tolfdir's speech was quickly ended by a round of applause and loud cheers as Faralda quickly stood up from her seat to give him a brief grateful bow.
It was to be expected. Darren wasn't sure why he kept imagining the stupid scenarios that he did. Who else would become the next Arch-Mage than Faralda? She was a Master already and she had all of those qualities that the College was looking for.
Darren knew what it was. It was something that he never had. It was something that he tried so hard to get. It was that eagerness to prove himself when he tried to summon that clannfear in the town. He wanted to prove to everyone that he could manage the difficult spell and make the beast obey him, but it didn't. If the guards didn't kill it quickly, he would have cost someone their life. And why? Because deep down, he knew that he couldn't do it. He knew that he couldn't control it. He didn't have that confidence, not like Brelyna and J'zargo had in their studies. Not like Faralda had when she grabbed the Staff and saved the day. Not like Aren had.
It was the fire that he saw in Aren's apparition's eyes down in Labyrinthian – the willingness to go to the end, and to see the mystery and to seize power, whatever it took. Darren didn't have that. Maybe he didn't even want to have that.
He wasn't happy with this. He wasn't happy trying to make his family proud, even though deep down, he knew that he couldn't. He wasn't happy doing whatever it took to prove himself.
And because of that, he would never prove himself.
He was still clinging to the old image of his life that he wanted to reclaim – his family and his luxuries back in Wayrest. But why? They never made him happy. He just thought that it was what he was supposed to want, because his family made it seem like something to strive for.
It was all so stupid.
He imagined it all, how he would prove himself to the College, how he would earn back his family's approval, but… maybe it was time to let that foolish dream go.
Going back to Wayrest or being a big-shot here at the College would still not make him happy.
Because he was never happy in those places. He was never happy with having to constantly compete over everything and constantly having to prove himself to keep what he had.
This was no way to live.
Somehow, no matter what he had imagined, he was right about one thing.
He knew that this would be a new beginning for him… but he had never imagined anything like this.
Yet… it was for the best. It was what he should have done a long time ago, but… maybe he needed all this tragedy and this whole adventure to happen. Maybe he needed to see that, no matter how hard he tried, this would not ever be the place for him. Because even if they had celebrated him today, they would scold him readily the next day when he would accidentally get another spell wrong. Because he would have been afraid that he would get it wrong – because he would have been too afraid to have that praise taken away.
Maybe he needed to go through all of this to see what he actually wanted in life.
To see that he didn't want this. He didn't want to always try so hard to be briefly accepted, only to have to try more and more again.
He just wanted to be accepted.
He would get his new beginning. He would not squander this. He would make something of himself.
And… just maybe… he would even make Savos proud by realizing that.
…
Darren paced nervously in front of the wooden gate.
His large pack was weighing heavily on his back – he'd never had to drag so much stuff for such a long distance before. When he traveled to Winterhold from Wayrest, he had carriages and there was always someone to lug his things around. Of course that there was – after all, the son of an important family of mages had arrived in the backwater Skyrim. They should have been all at his feet instantly.
Ridiculous.
Now all he had was everything that he could ever need in his life, stuffed into the pack on his back and he had lugged it for quite the distance.
As heavy as it was, he felt surprisingly light. But there was still that gnawing thought in his head. What if he was rejected? What if he wasn't enough for them either?
"Who goes?!" the voice from the wooden watchtower above the gate called to him, but when the woman saw Darren pacing there, her suspicious expression turned into a smile. "You again? Alright. Come on in."
The gate opened and Darren shuffled inside in a hurry. His anxiety was getting the better of him and he needed to do this quickly. He headed straight towards the large man who was currently sitting by the longhouse, sharpening the edge of his battleaxe with a small whetstone.
"Mage Darren. What brings you back?" Chief Mauhulakh raised his eyes from the weapon and peered at Darren curiously.
"I… you… you said that… your shaman could use an… apprentice? You said that… that I would make a good one," Darren bit his lip nervously. Maybe it was just polite small talk. Why would an Orc tribe even welcome him so readily?
The Chief's brows creased and he quickly placed his battleaxe to rest against the chair before he stood up from his seat. He towered over Darren and he gave him an unnervingly measured look.
"You would leave your College? You would learn of our ways until you've become family, become Blood-Kin? You would toil in this place, with none of your fancy trinkets and magics? You would help us thrive in the harsh tundra?"
Darren could have sworn that he saw a hint of a proud smile on the Orc's face. His words may have discouraged anyone, but… not Darren. Darren felt… welcome. Like he never had before.
There was no one to compete with, no one to make him feel like he didn't have it in him to be a part of this. He saw how the Orcs lived, he knew what their society was like. They strived together, they learned together and they helped each other get better.
And after the evening after Mzulft, when he spent hours talking to Mauhulakh about how the man needed another shaman to help them protect crops from the elements and to help their warriors on their hunts, Darren couldn't stop imagining himself in that role.
He would learn it all. He would learn how to enchant their weapons and armor, he would learn restoration magic to heal the miners and the hunters and he would learn transmutation magic to bring fortunes upon the stronghold from their ore.
Because this time, there was nobody to tell him that he wasn't good enough.
"I would. I… I will," Darren nodded at the Chief hurriedly.
He only earned a pleased smile in return. It was more acceptance than he had hoped for.
"Take your stuff inside. Bolar will fix you something to eat after your journey. You two can discuss what's needed to help the stronghold for now."
Darren nodded eagerly.
For the first time in ages, he couldn't wait to learn.