Dear readers,
After reading this chapter, please, read my notes – or at least the part starting with ***. I have some important news to tell you.
Hope you will enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 11: The Brink of Existence
The Hall of Attainment was lively this time of the day, full of quiet murmurs and loud laughs, passionate chattering, clapping of the boots on the stone floor and incessant echoes. Yrith did her best to blend in, ignoring the words that flew around her like streams in a river. She heard her name a few times, thinking to herself sardonically she had become quite popular. Out of the corner of her eye, she took notice of Qassir, waving at her and inviting her to keep him company. She quickly shook her head and made her way up to the kitchen.
It was empty, save for a Dunmer boy standing by a desk, one hand propped against it while the other was gripping a knife. His only company was the cold oven and a cask full of fish. The kitchen was almost as barren as the rest of the Hall of Attainment, reflecting the state of necessity the College found itself in. If it was up to Yrith, she would have named it the Forlorn Tower, for everything seemed grey and forgotten here, compared to the rest of the College which was cozy and bright with magic. She gazed at the lone figure before her and pondered how much he had changed. How much he reminded her of herself.
His back was bent as he observed his own work. Several unevenly cut pieces of salmon which would definitely burn at their edges while the cores would stay raw and tasteless. Yrith took a step toward him, but then she stopped, deciding to observe. He was not aware of her presence yet, struggling with the fish. But when he took the knife and sliced the next fish as though he was facing an enemy, stance firm like a warrior with his feet spread to maintain balance, an insuppressible laugh escaped her lips. He turned around and his face went from troubled to irked.
"What are you gawking at?" he snapped, waving the blade in the air. Yrith was relieved he was so far.
"Nothing," she shrugged. "Just observing the situation."
"So you have come to entertain yourself at my expense. Great, I've obviously met your expectations. By the gods, I do hope Larkwing will make you do something that involves a lot of Destruction magic."
"Fine," she said matter-of-factly, one foot slightly turned in a hint of departure, "if you don't want me to help, I'll just leave."
The Dunmer snorted. "That's the first time I'm hearing about help."
"So?"
With the knife still in his hand and a smirk on his face, he crossed his arms over his chest, twirling it in his fingers. "Suit yourself," he said theatrically.
Yrith felt the red dye her cheeks. How dare he! "You little… ungrateful…!"
"Yes? I thought you were leaving."
"I am leaving!"
"Then go ahead. I'll manage. Well, after all, you'll be the one eating my cooking."
"Ah, Oblivion take it! Give me that knife."
"But I thought you were…"
"I'm not leaving."
Cain laughed. Yrith had never heard him laugh like that. It was pure, full of mirth, and so uncharacteristic for a Dunmer. The voice filled the room and its space, darkening as the sun outside was slowly fading beyond the mountains, suddenly felt brighter. She watched him thoughtfully and had to respond with a smile just as sincere.
"I thought so," he said as he handed her the knife, blade pointing at his person in utter caution for her safety. Yrith could not comprehend where the sudden affection came from, but she could not bring herself to doubt him. She gripped the handle, brows shooting upwards in a question. He caught the hint. "Ignorance is not your strong point," he added with a shrug.
She pondered whether that was an insult or a compliment. Deciding not to think on it too much, she took the knife and a new fish to work with.
"So, about the salmon…"
She remembered it well, the way one cuts a fish along its spine and removes its fins, the way to make the slices thin so they become crisp and tender when they are fried. Back when her parents were alive, just after they had moved to Winterhold, the city still had a fishery of its own. She often came there to help, having few reasons to stay at home. She was always welcome there and often rewarded with fresh fish to take home. Upon her return, she would always get a pat on the head and a word of praise from her mother.
"This," she said as the knife slid through the rosy meat, "is how you cut it. You want the meat to be tender and seasoning to blend in, so…"
"Well, troll's dung. That thing we eat here is never tender, and I'll be a blasted daedroth if it ever was seasoned."
"That's because it's made by Nirya."
Cain's face twisted in the sour memory of the smug Altmer. Nirya, the local errand girl who was so convinced she was the greatest, or, rather, the only real contributor at the College. The elven outcast who liked to get delusional about Lady Faralda and her supposed jealousy toward Nirya, too absorbed in her own dreamworld to see that no one gave two septims about her.
"That… I can't argue with."
The two of them laughed. As Yrith sliced the fish, Cain sifted through various kitchen equipment in search of another knife, asking one question after another. Yrith was amused. The rich boy had never seen a kitchen with his own eyes, much less used it, and now he was curious like a little child on an exploration trip, wondering why there was a large spoon with holes in it or why the ladle he had just picked up had teeth.
"So you've never visited the kitchen in your manor?" Yrith asked, unable to imagine what his life could have been like without the chance to snatch things from the chefs. She had always believed every noble had to have a history of stealing treats from the kitchen. Then again, perhaps it was not so exciting when one could just ask and they would be delivered right away.
"Is that a jest? Of course I haven't, that's what we have footmen for."
"Right."
"Still, I'm wondering why all this is necessary when we have magic. Can't we just magically slice all these? Or, rather, turn them into a feast with a single spell?"
Yrith shrugged. "Can you actually do that?" She laid an umpteenth slice into a stoneware bowl before her.
Without a word of warning, Cain pulled up his sleeves and fired a meteor of icy shards at a fish Yrith had just prepared for cutting. She jumped back, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"What in Oblivion are you…"
"Well, that didn't exactly go as planned," he mused as he inspected his work. All that was left of the fish was a mass of shapeless pink-flushed matter, hardly reminiscent of the creature it used to be.
"Obviously," Yrith uttered dryly, wiping the remnants of the fish from her robe. At the back of her mind, she was grateful Master Larkwing could not see her like this. "Maybe we should return to the more… mundane methods."
He let out a snort. "This is even more boring than having to go fetch them."
"Quit complaining. You can heat up the oven with your magic."
"Yes, mom." A corner of Yrith's mouth twitched, but she let the comment slide. After all, she was the uninvited guest here.
It had gotten dark when the two of them were finished. Occasionally, a student's head peeked in from the staircase, inspecting whether it was time to eat. There were a few spiteful comments addressed at the two of them for being slackers, slowbones and other nasty words beginning with S-L, but they only laughed them off. Yrith caught herself smiling for no reason. Despite the rough beginnings, she was starting to enjoy the day. There were people she could call friends now. She could not feel the weariness the lack of sleep had brought her, only strange comfort she had not felt in a long time. Once or twice there was the feeling that nothing could go wrong now. The feeling of happiness she was trying to teach to Leyna… she was now living it.
She picked up a roasted salmon fillet. It was a good piece. Much more appealing than the ones from Nirya, made with care and precision. Ransacking the local supplies, Yrith had found a long lost jar of Nibenese sour pepper which she immediately decided to use. Now she watched the final product with pride.
"I want to see them say anything bad about it now," she said as she nibbled on the fish. She felt a tingle in her belly, making nothing of it. She realized had not eaten the whole day.
Cain joined her, back against the wall and mouth stuffed to the brim. They enjoyed a moment of silence before the students started flooding the room, snatching portions to fill their hungry stomachs. Yrith watched as Ha'risha, accompanied by her usual group of lackeys, passed them on their way. The Khajiit girl picked up the fish, twitching her whiskers as she let it hang from her claws.
"After all the coin that was invested in this place, we still get to eat this," she remarked, dropping the fish on the floor. "Made by two delinquents instead of a certified chef. Say, Aernil," she turned to the crème Altmeri boy at her side, "would your parents approve of this?"
"Absolutely not," came the expectedly smug reply. Cain clenched his free fist, his grip tightening around a fork as he stepped forward, but Yrith grabbed his shoulder. Before she could say anything to placate the irate Dunmer, another voice came across the kitchen, silencing all the others.
"Well well, that's a pleasant change. Not only is our urchin a good mage, she's also a good cook. Now, what was that about approvals or whatnot?"
Ha'risha stared at the approaching Redguard, tail and ears drooping down in unconcealed shame. If it was anyone but Qassir, Yrith would have laughed. Her eyes met with his and her stomach knotted. Had she not helped Cain with the meal, he would not have bothered coming to their aid, of that she was certain. The Dunmer boy beside her glared at him in apparent displeasure. Yrith tensed. Why did there have to be discord at every occasion she met her classmates?
"I hate my home. It's filled with anger and strife. And I hate this place too because it's just about the same."
How much effort did it take for Cain to not give in to the anger he harbored deep inside? How much did he resent the world that had treated him with nothing but hostility? He could smile. He knew joy. But this world refused to give it to him. Her stomach churned and tumbled, perhaps with disgust. Brows knit in anger, she blocked Cain's way with her own body, but the moment she stood face to face with both Ha'risha and Qassir, her vision blurred and her mind went blank. She could not utter a word. Rage gnawed at her from the inside but the words got lost somewhere on their way, before they could surface. Was she afraid?
"What now, commoner? Are you going to wave your hands like before? The same trick won't fool us twice." Ha'risha's voice sounded distant. Yrith felt a stabbing pain in her chest and belly. Had she swallowed a fin? But she had made sure she pulled them out before putting the fish in the oven.
"Midget?" Someone touched her upper arm.
She inhaled and pain overtook her. It shot through her whole body and reached the tips of her fingers. She fell on her knees and heard a burst of laughter, shaking the whole kitchen and deafening her person in a sudden wave of clarity. She gasped.
"Now that's more like it!" the Khajiit girl sneered and the rest of her group laughed.
"Shut up, you stupid cat, she's choking!"
"And? It's not my fault she left fins in the fish…"
"Silence!" Yrith could hardly concentrate on the words around her, but the angry voice of Qassir caught her by surprise. "She's not just choking, this is…"
"Disgusting!"
"Midget! What is that thing?"
Yrith could feel something dripping from her mouth. It was heavy and viscous. Her blurry vision spotted nothing but dark stain on the floor that was slowly growing wider. It was as though she was being decomposed. Her body felt heavy and light at the same time as energy left her. Something was devouring her from the inside, feeding on her flesh and soul alike. She was being drained, and the nightmarish visions returned to her. One by one, images of tormented people she had seen and felt before flicked before her eyes, then slowly dissolved into nothingness. She was fading. Her very existence was evaporating. But that was impossible. In a brisk moment of realization, she knew what this was. The deadliest, most terrifying poison of them all. The one that would make death final and ultimate. But it could not be. It simply couldn't.
"Death…" was the only thing she managed to squeeze out through the tightening throat and chattering teeth. Deathbell, she wanted to say. Deathbell, Nirnroot and Nightshade, the deadly trio that was her only hope now. But she could not finish, her own body was betraying her.
"Let me see her! I know some healing spells!" a girl's voice demanded. It was clear and melodic, and it hurt her ears. Yrith had a feeling she had once known its owner, but the memory of her flickered and died. She could not remember. Not anymore. Everything was fading, the feelings, the memories, all that she knew. There was only pain, piercing, numbing, searing and freezing. She wanted to breathe but could not find her lungs. Only nothingness filled her body. She could not feel herself hit the ground. She could not feel the hands that lifted her gently and wiped the strange black fluid off her face, only to be stained by another burst.
"NO! Healing spells will only speed up the disintegration! I will…"
"Disintegration?! What in Oblivion…"
"No time to… godsdamn blazes! Stay with her, Dunmer, don't let her pass out. I'll bring an antidote."
"There's an antidote?!"
The sound of footsteps grew more and more distant. Voices mingled, cries of despair, disgusted snorts and gasps alike. Yrith was now watching the flicker of her own soul from afar. She wanted to grasp it, absorb it, but she could not reach it. It was drifting apart, further and further away with every breath she attempted and failed to draw. There was an existence inside her, alien, feeding on her life, taking the space that was meant for her. She wanted to cry out, but she could not. She should be afraid, yet even fear avoided her, drowned in the sea of nothingness along with everything else. She was fading. The world was fading. The voices were fading.
"Hold her…"
"No!"
"Wait…"
"… will get help…"
"… hurry…!"
"…'s dying!"
"There's more…"
The words blurred into quiet murmurs, then almost inaudible hums. She could not feel anything anymore. She could not remember either. She did not know how she had come to exist and what her name was. Names, words… useless labels attached to various forms of energy. Energy that did not belong to her anymore. A higher existence took it, one that should have possessed it from the beginning of time. She would give it willingly. She had no right to have it. No right to exist.
There was silence, and then, even the silence began fading. There would be no more grief, no more pain, no—
Something tore through the nothing and broke the silence. A cry that came through as a quiet rustle as though it was muffled by a thick mass of curtains. There were more, and they brought pain. Yrith struggled. Why should she come back? Why come back into that tempestuous world where even breathing is exhausting? Why fight and suffer when one could just give in?
"—croft!"
A familiar voice. One that promises safety. One that cares. She hesitated. It was still so far away, and the pain was already excruciating. Retreat, go back into nothingness where there is no pain. She wanted to cry out, but she had no voice nor breath to work with. She was empty. Though slowly but surely, the voice filled her. It gave energy, life. It brought back memories she had left behind, somewhere far away.
"Stay with me!"
The words shook her. She wanted to cover her ears, avoid the insuppressible aching, but it came again, and again, calling for her, seeking her attention and prodding her to come back. The tension returned. Pain shot through her, reminding her that she still had a body of her own. It flashed through her fingers, brimmed over her limbs, flooded her head and chest. She let out a deafening cry.
"Hold her mouth open, we have to get this in!"
She tried to open her eyes, but the light hurt them tremendously. Tears dripped from her face in waterfalls and mingled with the puddle of dark fluid that had soiled her entire body.
"Midget!"
"Is she responding?"
"I don't know!"
"Stop shouting so loud!"
"Miss Ravencroft!"
"Yrith…"
She coughed as a new wave of pain seared her throat. Someone was holding her jaws, tightly securing them in an uncomfortably gaping position. It was hard to breathe through the mass of matter that was being forced into her. She tried to struggle, but she had no strength left. A muffled cry was the only reaction she could give. Someone beside her squealed with joy.
"She is responding!"
The matter was bitter and painful. She felt it sink down her throat and infuse her inner tissues. It was fending off the nothing that had threatened to absorb her, leaving around pain that was entirely physical, brutish and very, very real. She groaned and her eyes cracked open. The light from the candles hurt and blinded her. Tears made everything a smudged blot. She gasped for air, and suddenly, she could breathe. Every breath pricked her lungs like a stinger, but it also sent in new life. She kept inhaling, gaining a steady tempo as her vision sharpened.
She stared into the face of Singird Larkwing. She could barely discern his features against the light behind him, but the dread in his eyes that he tried to hide behind his typical stone-hard mask was apparent nonetheless.
"Miss Ravencroft? Are you with us?" She knew his voice was but a whisper, yet it still sounded so loud and sharp to her ears. Her head hurt. Her whole body ached and trembled. She did not have the strength to reply. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted many other people gathered around in a circle, all watching her, but they were all just blurry figures in the murk. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.
"Caw, caw," the crow lamented in the dark. It sang its cries and tore the silence. The unpleasant sound was strangely muffled, as though the poor bird was covered by a thick blanket, but the ominous voice still sent shivers down her spine. It spoke of dark times and foreshadowed eternal night. It wept like a banshee, yet its voice creaked like that of an old hag. "Caw, caw!" it went again.
Yrith opened her eyes and the darkness dispersed. It took her a moment to adjust to the bright light of the day. She blinked, trying to discern the number of floating shapes that wriggled before her. Unsuccessfully for a moment, she forced herself to focus. The shapes were laughing at her weakness, tormenting her eyes. She closed them and opened them again, patiently, systematically. With every breath, the blurred room became sharper, and finally she could see the window just by her bed, and the crow sitting on the ledge outside. She did her best to frown at it, and the black bird, as if sensing her irk, rose with a flap of its wings and disappeared in the distance.
With all the effort she could muster, she turned her head around, scanning the room. She was feeling weak, but also uneasy. The window opened to cloudy skies, which meant she was not in her own room. She only knew one teacher whose room was this high up. Just as she suspected, she found Singird Larkwing sitting at his desk, absorbed in a book. The room was so silent she could hear her own breath, and, as always, perfectly organized. She was not lying on Master Larkwing's bed. Instead, it seemed another one had been moved to this room just for her. Was she dreaming?
She tried to pull the blanket that was draped over her closer. It was warm and comfortable, much warmer than her own down in the Hall of Attainment. Her aching body found the little comfort it could and it was not enough. She let out a soft moan, barely audible but loud enough to attract the attention of Singird Larkwing.
He turned around so abruptly Yrith could only see a smudged silhouette. "Miss Ravencroft! You're awake."
Had her body allowed it, she would have flushed like a ripe apple. The concern in his voice was so apparent, banging at her with urgency she had not known from him before. He hurried to her side, and in an instant, she felt his hand on her forehead. A wave of cold came over her, his hand feeling like ice. She shuddered visibly. He knit his brows in return.
"We need to do something about this fever," he said.
She tried to raise her eyes at him, but her head felt too heavy. In a split moment, she was panting as though she had run a great distance.
"Stop. You are too weak yet."
He did not have to remind her. She could not even clench her fists to let out her frustration. If she could at least bury her head deep under the pillow. But she was left at his mercy, feeling entirely vulnerable. She closed her eyes in exhaustion.
"How long…" she tried and her voice was but a whisper, much quieter than she had hoped for it to be.
"How long have you been here, you mean? Four days, and it looks like you will need much more than that."
"Four…!" she would have sat up, but the moment she tried to flex the necessary muscles, remnants of the pain that had claimed her back in the kitchen paralyzed her. She hissed and felt moisture in her eyes.
"By the Divines, you're stubborn as a mule! Stop waggling around like this, you need to rest!"
There were so many questions she wanted to ask. So many unknowns she needed to uncover, but she felt the bed sucking her in like quicksand. The blanket was so warm and heavy, and she felt her eyelids sink, drowning her in darkness once more. She heard Master Larkwing call her name before slumber took her.
She woke up into a moonlit night, with her lips and throat parched and stomach growling with agonizing hunger. Master Larkwing lay on his bed, deep in his dreams, but there was a decanter on his desk. If she could just reach it… but it was so far away. She drew in a few breaths. With a fairly swift movement, considering her condition, she swung herself up on her feet. For a moment, she stood by the bed, daring herself to take the first step. As she did, the world suddenly turned upside down.
Next thing she felt was the hard corner of the table hitting her head before it crashed onto the carpeted floor. She cried out with pain, spitting curses in her raspy whisper. She could barely hear the rustle that came from Master Larkwing's bed before he appeared at her side.
"Why in Oblivion can't you listen just for once?" he sighed as he slid an arm under her to pick her up. "What were you trying to do anyway?"
"Water…" she said, grunting as he lifted her. For someone of such a thin figure, he was surprisingly strong.
"I could have brought it to you."
"You were… asleep."
He lay her back on the bed, propping her against the wall with a pillow as a cushion, and gently wrapped her in the blanket.
"You could have woken me up," he continued.
"I… didn't want to… disturb you." The barely audible mutter reflected how small she was feeling, fussed over by her own teacher, weak and in need. And then he only made it worse.
"What a silly argument," he said as he patted her on the head. "It's what I'm here for."
Inadvertently, she glared at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Singird Larkwing?" was what she would have liked to say. She kept it to herself. So he was ridiculing her now. Surely it must be so amusing to watch her struggle like that.
He came quick with a mug full of water, holding it to her lips so she would not have to strain herself, guiding the water in her mouth with a stream of magicka. It was humiliating. Yrith averted her gaze so she would not have to look at the infuriatingly considerate teacher.
"Why am I here?" she asked. It was an obvious question, yet she felt a tingle of embarrassment as she posed it. This was perhaps the best place she could have ended up at, but she would never admit it to Singird Larkwing.
The teacher gave a long, weary sigh. He did not hurry with the answer, letting the silence linger. It was not a heavy silence. He seemed to ponder the right words, staring at his own magically imbued fingers.
"We needed to keep you at a guarded place and my room is the biggest in the College. When I'm out teaching or researching in the Arcanaeum, Lady Faralda and Miss Marence take turns watching over you."
Yrith watched the water sparkle in the moonlight and the blue glow. So much effort just so she could live. So many people discarding their comfort or even risking their lives for her.
"Did you… were you the one who cured me back then?"
"No," he shook his head and she could trace an almost unnoticeable hint of shame in his voice. "That would be Qassir Tahlrah."
Forgetting her previous state of mind, Yrith stared at him. Qassir? Her own classmate? Impossible. It would mean that he was much more than he had made himself out to be. How in Oblivion had he managed to create the antidote? Unless…
"Could he… be a spellbrewer?" she mused, more to herself than the teacher at her side. He froze and the water splashed onto Yrith's blanket. He immediately dried it up with a spell.
"I beg your pardon?"
"N-nothing!" How could she possibly tell Singird Larkwing about Spirit Blight? The fact that she had been warned about it by her parents who knew how to concoct it was disquieting enough, but to frame Qassir who had always come to her aid when she was in danger? Then again, that too was disquieting. He had come when the avalanche had almost buried her alive. He had come when she had been poisoned. And the fact she had been poisoned…
She had not thought so far. Why was this happening to her? Just who could hate her so much that they would try to kill her with Spirit Blight? Had she made such powerful enemies? Was the AWA trying to punish her for killing her parents? Or had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Master Larkwing was telling her something, expressing disapproval at her denial, something about protecting her, but she could only hear a soft echo of his voice, watching his mouth move and his brows knit. Her turbid thoughts put shutters on her ears. She realized something that had been lingering in her for a while, something she was too busy to see. She was afraid. Or, rather, terrified. Perhaps someone was aiming for her life. The stories she had read about valiant heroes who were on the brink of death all the time, those who fought for the whole world with no fear or remorse… she had thought she knew them so well, but suddenly, she could not identify. Whoever the culprit was, they had tried to corrupt her with a concoction that would shatter her soul. There would be no Aetherius for her, not even Oblivion. She would cease to exist entirely. The nothing that had tried to take her… it was too dreadful to think of.
Her back slid over the pillow as she curled up, hugging her knees. Despite her state, she felt energy gather in her, threatening to cast loose. It was difficult to breathe, to overcome the torrent of emotions that washed over her in waves. What if no one is there to save her next time? And if it really was the AWA, how could she ever escape?
She felt a grip on her shoulder. It made her wince and recoil before she realized it was just Singird Larkwing watching her with a frown that was not unkind. She raised her head to meet his gaze. It was blurry and smudged. She was showing him this face again, this weak side of her that she hated so much. Why was it always him?
"Miss Ravencroft?" he asked with that unsettling urgency. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"I…"
She was afraid. Afraid of death, afraid of suffering, afraid of nonexistence… and afraid of telling her teacher that she was afraid. But she felt it surface, the suffocating need to shout it out to the whole world. She needed to release it, to set those feelings free. Disrupted by sobs, she took a breath.
"I'm… scared," she whispered, and her own voice sounded strangely distant to her. But it brought her unexpected relief. Gaining the slightest bit of self-assurance, she clenched her fists. "I'm so scared!"
She was not ready to explain herself, but Master Larkwing did not ask for it. He froze, waiting for the longest three heartbeats in her life. Then he slowly nodded and did something Yrith would have never expected.
His arms closed around her in a tight embrace.
Singird was dumbfounded by his own actions. What had he just done? Was he really hugging Miss Ravencroft as though she was his own? How would he explain it when he finally let go? Concern did not justify it. He was her teacher, not a parent, or…
He maintained his grip. It was better than to look her in the face. In that crying, sad face that knew suffering like no other. He was taken aback by her honesty. Despite everything that had happened between them, she had decided to rely on him. Or perhaps she just needed to rely on someone and he was the only person nearby, but he felt slightly happy about it nonetheless. It was the kind of happiness he would have never expected to adopt.
He realized now that it was more than a teacher's duty or his lust for power that led him to protect her. When he saw her that night, suffocating and drowning in the black matter that her own body had produced, his heart nearly stopped. Not because he saw something disgusting or unclean before his eyes, and not because of the possibility to lose her power. He was genuinely terrified he might lose her, this little girl he had been lying to, the girl whose sense of responsibility was far too great for her own good. The girl who, despite all that, was at times like the Skyrim gale that goes where it pleases.
It had taken him hours of talking and all his wits and resourcefulness to convince Lady Faralda to leave her in his care. He did not want her to leave his sight. Whenever she did, something happened. His room was enchanted with innumerous protective spells, a joint effort of Lady Faralda, Master Neloren and yours truly. While she was there, she would be safe.
He held her tightly. She was burning like embers, still shaking with fever mixed with her fear. She shifted in his arms, obviously unsure of his gesture, and he could not blame her. He was unsure himself. He had felt compelled to return her honesty, but this was something beyond his expectations. His body had simply moved on its own.
He had to let go. If he was to ever have a normal conversation with her, he had to let go.
And so he did.
His arms gripped her tight and it was hard to breathe. Yet it was also comforting, a little safe haven she had found amidst all the struggles. He had betrayed her, or so she thought, but perhaps she was mistaken. Throughout their interactions, he had never expressed anything but care. And now, somehow, he knew exactly what she needed. Despite himself, he went out to give it to her.
She shifted uneasily. She wanted to accept his gift, but she was unsure if she was allowed to. She could smell his scent. It was a scent of cleanness, like freshly starched linens, but it also had an undertone of exotic spices. Everything that was Singird Larkwing was contained in that scent. Hesitantly, she reached for him, but then, like a tide that's reaching its low, he drew away.
She raised her head to meet his gaze. It was full of conflict that was more internal than directed at her, and she knew her own eyes mirrored it. There was silence, a mix of heavy atmosphere where none of them knew what to say with something more. A mystery they both wanted to explore. Yrith had forgotten about everything. Her mind felt blank. They looked at each other for a long while, silent and motionless, until she finally decided to break it with a single word.
"Why?" she said.
He did not hurry with his answer and she waited, patient, yet anxious. Then he hinted a smile.
"You seemed like you needed it. And you haven't gotten the chance since…"
It was not like Singird Larkwing to not finish his sentences. It was more unlike him to be considerate enough to not articulate words that could put salt in her wounds. Who was he and what had he done with Singird Larkwing?
She nodded in thanks, unable to voice the answer. In the quiet of the room, she could hear snowflakes softly tapping on the window. The dark of the night was receding, giving way to the greyness of the upcoming morning. The glow of the hourglass dominating the shelves was fading. She had woken Master Larkwing up at such an ungodly hour.
"Time sure flies," he stated absently as he rose to his feet. "I'll get you a meal. You need to build up your strength. I think Lady Faralda should be here any moment."
With that, he retreated to his cupboard in search of food. Yrith watched him for a while, but then her weary eyes closed by themselves and once again, she submerged into the darkness. By the time she woke up, her meal would be long cold and Master Larkwing would be gone for a lecture, leaving her in the care of Lady Faralda.
Days passed. No nightmares tormented Yrith in the nights. Her magic had been drained entirely by the Spirit Blight and she was only slowly regaining it. She did not have to feign anything this time. She was truly powerless, unable to cast the simplest of spells. The only difference was that Singird Larkwing was not angry with her and she felt much worse than before, knowing she had no way of protecting herself against anything.
Master Larkwing kept her in his room, only letting her out in his, Lady Faralda's or Master Marence's company. He returned to his usual grumpy disposition, but at times she could spot softness in his voice, like water under a thin layer of ice, bubbling with warmth from its depths. Yrith was not happy about the lack of privacy her self-proclaimed protector did not seem to care about, but he did supply her with books to spend time with. After a few days of Yrith's constant pleading, he divided his own room with a curtain to let her have a semblance of her own space, but he still insisted on having her in his sight most of the time.
Yrith felt uneasy. Lady Faralda often left for "important business", Colette Marence seemed agitated because her healing techniques were useless against the after-effects of the Spirit Blight, and Master Larkwing emanated a strange vibe of anxiousness which added to her fear. Her new friends were out there, learning magic. Despite never being left to herself, she felt more alone than ever.
She could not insist on going outside. She was still afraid, still shaken from all that had transpired. There were times when she could not even concentrate on reading anymore. She would just lie on her bed, chin against her knees, and try to forget everything. Other days she would stare out of the window and envy the dragons out there who dominated the skies without anything threatening them. She wished to soar and be free. And she wished to have friends by her side.
"Master Larkwing?" she called to him one day, averting her eyes from the book she was supposedly reading. In fact, she had been staring blankly at it for a good while, pondering the words she should choose to address him. Master Larkwing was prone to moodiness and her words often caused him to snap. It took her some courage to speak up. He took his eyes off the fish he was examining for poison, giving her a thoughtful stare.
"What is it?" he asked simply. He put no feelings in his words, no indicator of his current frame of mind. She bit her lip.
"I was thinking… could I maybe… visit some of my classmates?"
"No." He returned to the fish, imbuing it with detection magic.
"Or maybe we could invite them over…"
"No." He did not even turn around the second time. His eyes scanned every inch, every single dot or irregularity they found. It floated in the air before him as though it was swimming in the ocean where it belonged.
"Not even for a short while? If I could just speak to Leyna or Cain for a minute…"
The fish landed on Master Larkwing's desk with a plop. With a sigh, he put it on a plate. His eyes turned to Yrith, brows knit in strong disapproval. She winced and turned away.
"Miss Ravencroft," he said as he joined her on her side of the room, "do you even realize what kind of danger you're in?"
Yrith stared at him for a while. What kind of question was that? How could she not know? All that fear and frustration and loneliness she had been feeling suddenly swelled within her, trying to make their way to the surface. She gritted her teeth and stood up to meet his gaze. In the end, he still did not understand anything.
"You mean the danger of losing my entire existence which I have no means of protecting myself against? Of having my soul shattered? I… what's going to change if you confine me here? What will it matter if I regain my magic?!" Rage. Burning, blazing rage. She felt it rise within her, take out the words she could only use when she was angry. The walking book act, as Cain liked to call it. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this? "No magic will save me from the Spirit Blight…"
"Miss Ravencroft…"
"… and no magic will protect me from the AWA!"
"Miss Ravecroft!"
"Nothing I do will ever…"
"Miss Ravencroft, slow down! Listen to me, for the Divines' sake!"
She stared at him, rooted to the spot. He gripped her shoulders, dark eyes pinned to hers, face stone-hard as usual, but not unkind. He was not angry with her. She could only spot concern.
"Sit down," he pointed at her bed when she finally caught her breath. "Let us talk."
She sank down, feeling defeated. Why wasn't he angry? Why didn't he give her the reaction she was expecting? She would have snapped right back at him. She would have returned the favor tenfold and slammed the door behind herself, only to feel better. There would be no need to apologize because she'd have the right of it. She glared at a curl on the carpet pattern as though it was its fault that this happened.
"I know you are lonely," he said as he joined her. "And I know you're afraid and angry. You have every right to be. Someone's aiming for your life and you don't even know why. But please, be patient. We are trying to find out as much as we can about them. For the time being, we have to keep you safe. And that means keeping you away from potential suspects."
She turned her glare up at him. "You don't mean Cain and Leyna, do you?"
"I can't be certain about Miss Travi, but Cain Aldaryn was with you every time something happened."
"He didn't do it!"
"As much as we want to believe that, we have to be careful. And you too, Miss Ravencroft. Do not let your trust turn into gullibility."
Yrith clenched her fists. How could he! There was no way Cain could ever do this. After all, he could not even master expanding his own consciousness. There was no way.
"Cain isn't a spellbrewer," she hissed through gritted teeth.
"Indeed," he mused, "but you've said that about Qassir Tahlrah. Care to explain?"
He really did not understand anything. She watched him closely, the face that was not just worried, but also curious and a bit of something else, something mysterious. She had already told him so much… but not nearly enough. She herself could not grasp the whole truth. She had asked so many questions when her parents were alive, of which only a small portion had been answered. She was frustrated and worried every time something happened to them. And now Singird Larkwing was in the same position. He was asking, yet he was not getting answers in return. She was being cruel to the person who had made her life at the College bearable. The first one to take her side, although he had no obligation to do so. She bit her lip.
"Can I ask a question first?" she peeped. She knew she was out of her line, and she had been ever since the first word of this discussion. But there were steps to be performed before she would trust him fully.
He raised a brow. "What is it?"
"Why do you help me so?"
Master Larkwing froze visibly. His face darkened with something very lonely and painful. Was it… guilt? He let out a deep breath.
"One day, you had to ask this question, didn't you?" he mumbled, and it sounded more like a thought to himself than an actual question. She did not understand it, and so she just waited. She could almost hear his thoughts clicking, like the cogs inside a dwemer irrigation mechanism. He had asked her to be patient, and just this once, she would be.
When he finally looked her in the eye, he seemed somewhat ragged and defeated. Yet still he managed to conjure up a soft smile.
"I suppose," he said, "I owe you a lot. So much more than you can imagine." He rose, withdrawing a teapot from his cupboard. "Make yourself comfortable, Miss Ravencroft. I'll… tell you everything. It will be a long night."
Well… I was so anxious writing this chapter. This was one of the few that weren't really outlined beforehand. I can't plan emotion that well, it sort of has to write itself. I hope you liked it. :)
There's one thing I'd like to address. I made a mistake with the book names. In the previous chapter, I introduced a book called A Man of Two Faces (the one with the cipher). If any of you remember my chapter 5, I mentioned it there, but it was under a different name – Tale of the Pirate Princess. That was a mistake on my part. Tale of the Pirate Princess was actually the old name for the book which I then decided to rename because A Man of Two Faces added some symbolism to the story. So I apologize for the confusion. Chapter 5 has already been edited and it now shows the correct name.
Roove: Thank you!
Marcoeldepresivo: Thank you! You're not the only one telling me, and I'd actually love to, but I doubt Bethesda would be so thrilled with this. :D But I have some originals planned. Maybe one day I'll publish something. :)
Thank you guys for reading, commenting, favoriting and following my story!
Thanks to Tildemancer for the proofreading.
I would also like to include special thanks to RealityGlitch from AO3 who has been a great inspiration for me for the past few weeks. She's been constantly providing me with tons of comments with helpful feedback and we got to chat a lot about how we write our stories. She's a great writer as well as wonderful reader and valuable friend. You should really go check out her profile. :)
*** And now, something that will be less positive for you guys on Fanfiction. Thing is – I am considering closing my account here. You will still be able to find my story on AO3 or Wattpad (I write under the same name on both), but I've grown quite tired of people spamming my FFN profile with requests. Seeing people asking me to write stories for them without even taking a look at a single chapter of mine actually offends me quite a lot. They're not interested in my stories, not even my style, they just want their fantasies to come true and don't put up the slightest bit of effort. Another sort is people asking me to roleplay with them the moment I write for a new fandom without so much as including a greeting in their message. And none of these ever include any "please" or express any kind of warm attitude.
If there was a way to block people who don't follow me or my stories from sending me messages, I'd do it right away. Like this, I don't know any way to make it stop other than to close my accoung. So I am asking you guys – do you have an account on AO3 or Wattpad? (Alternatively Tumblr?) And if not, would you be willing to create one and follow me there?
I also have a Facebook page called Mirwen's Story Lab, so you can follow me there too.
Anyway, I'm sorry for the bad news. Hope you can still follow me along – I love you guys!
Mirwen
