Chapter 14: Of Darkness and Light
"No, you cannot see them. How many times do I have to tell you before your tiny magician minds finally accept the truth?!" The scrawny ginger Nord with freckles all over his face stood with his arms crossed over his chest before the barracks entrance in a would-be threatening posture. Singird alone would have sent him flying had he decided to punch him with his fists, and that was something to say. But even he was not so foolish to doubt the rightfulness of the new guard captain.
"Can't you see it is for your sake as well? Please, by all means do list us in your protocols and send it to Jarl Ulfric for all I care. You can record our every action here. We are on the same side. If we don't find out who is behind this, the murders are going to continue." Drevis Neloren, standing by Singird's side, chose the voice of reason. Nevertheless, the man did not move an inch.
"Coating your words with honey will not help you. Who do you take us for? Do you think we don't know what a cover-up looks like?"
"Listen…"
Singird put a hand on the Dunmer's shoulder. He fell silent, raising his brows in question.
"I assume you have heard of General Toddvar?" Singird said, looking the man straight in the hazelnut eyes. The captain stared at him, obviously assessing his stance.
"Who hasn't? What of him?"
"He is a very good friend of mine. I hear he sleeps with a picture of the Stormcloak bear in a field of stars under his pillow."
The man now openly gaped at him. Despite his composed face, Singird felt a lump settle in his throat. This was a risky move which could either gain him absolute trust or an immediate death sentence. Back in the day when his parents had served the Imperial army, a legate came to visit him in Falkreath, carrying a message from his parents. He had shared a story about Stormcloak secret signs and what it meant when someone mentioned a picture under a general's pillow. If the passphrase was correct, the person would immediately earn the trust of the Stormcloaks. If it was wrong, they would be considered a traitor or an intruder and sent for execution. That day, Singird had learned the signs of all Stormcloak generals including Galmar Stone-Fist and Toddvar Ansgarsson. And now he was using the secret to speak of a person who had never shared it with him.
The ginger man sized him up, brows knitting in doubt. There was a moment of silence. Singird felt the chill of the evening wind as it shook his frame. Drevis Neloren kept watching him, question still in his face.
"Come in," the man said in a neutral tone. The Dunmer's expression brightened but Singird knew the real test was yet to come. They were led through a series of corridors and small rooms. Singird drew in the scent of the dark, stained wood the walls were made in. It brought back memories of his hometown, the green, sunlit forests of Falkreath, the smell of moss and pines and the sound of woodpeckers carefully picking up bark beetles. The Larkwing family farm was made the same way the Winterhold barracks were, with bright windows and dark cozy corners inviting to spend the long nights in the light of a single candle.
There were a few men around, most of them minding their own business. A sturdy man with a mop of curly chestnut hair was cautiously wiping his blade, turning it into a mirror. Two guards engaged in a quiet conversation raised their heads to see the guests. They stared briefly at Singird, and slightly longer at his Dunmer companion, but then they simply shrugged and continued their discourse.
The captain led them into a small chamber whose equipment counted a single bed and a small table carrying a chandelier and a jug of water. The bed was occupied by a Nord man who looked more like a bear than an actual person, brown-grey hair sticking out from every inch of his person. He lay there with his huge hand over the massive belly, huffing quietly to himself. As soon as the three of them entered, a pair of dark eyes glistened from beneath the thick fur and he rose on his elbows.
"Well well, look what the cat dragged in," he growled, sounding like a bear even as he spoke.
"Hafnir. These two want to see the corpses. They claim to be friends of General Toddvar." The slight ginger man hopped to the bear's side and whispered something in his ear. The bear man gave Singird a long, inquisitive look. Singird returned it, mustering all his willpower not to back away from the room.
"Well well," the bear man said again. "If it ain't young Larkwing coming for a visit."
Singird's brows quirked up in question. "Excuse me, have we met before?"
"Who? We? Nah, I don't think so. But I know a friend of Toddvar's when I see one. Well, you look like you could use a bit o' dirt under those nails of yours."
Singird threw a quick glance at his nails. Light, glossy, round… perfectly clean. There was nothing wrong with them. He looked at the man to see him grin at him, but he was not amused.
"Feel free to look around, young lad!" the man continued. "As long as you don't touch anything that's not yours."
Singird let out a breath as he bowed. "Understood. We are in your debt."
"Hopefully we will be in yours soon! Now if you'll excuse me." The bear man lay back on the bed, turning his back to the guests and face to the wall. Singird quickly backed out of the room before the brute could change his mind.
The captain led them down to the cellar. They found themselves in a small room with walls of round stones and fine grout. A few torches were attached to them, casting flickering light over two bundles on the floor, covered by dark cloth. The cold of the room sent shivers down Singird's spine, and by the looks of it, Drevis Neloren, wrapping his arms around himself, did not feel any better.
"Here you are," the ginger man said. "You are free to touch the bodies. You are not allowed to take them away, damage them or desecrate them in any way. I will be excusing myself. Leave whenever you want." Turning on his heel, he made for the stairs. Singird and Drevis Neloren were left alone, staring at the two heaps before them.
"Shall we?" Singird asked gingerly, hoping his companion would take the first step. Master Neloren let out a deep sigh, for once letting the gravity of the situation show on his face.
"Together then?"
"And no magic."
"No magic."
They nodded at each other, both taking one end of the dark cloth. As one man they pulled it away, revealing two bodies with incessant scars crisscrossing their skin. Each corpse was laid with its hands over the chest, a wreath of snowberries and mountain flowers atop of it.
"If I didn't know better, I would almost believe they are alive," Master Neloren said with a hint of acknowledgement. "I have to give it to your people, you sure are skilled in preservation."
"Questionable if that is actually a good thing," Singird muttered as he bent down to study the bodies closer. "The draugr can terrify the best of us, and they are not known for their kindness." The bodies made his stomach knot in repulsion. All the way to this place he had been preparing in his mind for what he would see, yet no amount of time and contemplation could prepare him for this sight. He averted his eyes to take a breath.
"The draugr are a reflection of who they were in life. So are our ancestor ghosts. There is a lot of misconception concerning our dead, but for some, the act of staying on the boundary of worlds is not nearly as selfless as one might think."
Singird forced himself to smile as he turned back to the corpses. "People are still people, regardless of the race."
"Wise words. Have you found anything?"
He clenched his fists, studying the bodies with eyes half-closed. "Quite a lot, but still very little. These wounds," Singird pointed at a strangely curved and jagged scar, "could not have been caused by any weapon, nor standard magic. The flesh was literally torn out, severed from the body, and it was no claw that did this."
"Strange. I have never seen anything like this. It is as though someone is purposely leading the guards to think it was done by magic."
"That might as well be the case. Either way, we should look for traces. Do you think there will be enough after a whole day?"
"Under normal circumstances, there would be enough left even years after their death. You can read a person's history from their bones. But I have a suspicion about the craftiness of our enemy. I hope I am mistaken."
"Let us find out then."
Master Neloren nodded and the two of them raised their hands, engulfing them with magicka. They let out a strand each, caressing lightly the surface of the bodies, inch by inch, cautiously studying their fabric. Singird's brows knit in concentration. He proceeded slowly, restraining his movements to almost unnoticeable gestures, absorbing, feeling the rough, ripped skin as though he was touching it with his hands. He felt his stomach tumble and pressed his lips tightly together to stop the wave that was rising inside him. When he reached an especially wide wound, gaping open in its full hideousness, he winced. A spark of bright white magicka shot from his fingers. Master Neloren gasped, breaking his own connection.
"Pull away!" he shouted, but Singird was slow. His breath betrayed him, eyes growing wide at the myriad of colors that burst before him. He could not severe the link, the magic drew him in, pulled him closer to that bright light.
"Damnation!" Drevis Neloren spat, directing his magic at Singird. It hit him hard and sent him flying to the wall. The impact struck him breathless. Through the thousands of tiny stars dancing before his eyes he could see an orb of light encompassing the bodies. Bolts of magic from the inside made cracks in it, but every time they did, the barrier was strengthened by another wave of magicka. Singird forced himself to stand, trembling on his feet. Master Neloren was barely able to stand his ground. Gritting his teeth, Singird sent in his own magic. The barrier shone brighter, dying the walls snow-white.
Bolts kept assaulting the shield, but they grew weaker with every strike until they were reduced to tiny sparks. The two of them pulled back, letting the barrier absorb the last bits before it dissolved. The room grew dark.
"Still in one piece?" Drevis Neloren asked, hurrying to Singird's side. Singird let himself slide along the wall, letting his heart steady itself.
"I think so," he breathed.
"I apologize if I was a bit ruthless…"
"You saved my life." Singird closed his eyes. The investigation had not even begun and he was already feeling dead tired. "Magical trap, very clever. That person must have anticipated the College's involvement."
"It is more than that. Had we not stopped the explosion, it would have destroyed the whole barracks and everyone inside."
"You believe it was calculated?"
"It is only an assumption, but I do indeed. So far, everything they've done was planned with absolute precision. And if they want to destroy the College, having us accused of blowing up the entire Winterhold guard would certainly work in their favor."
Singird frowned. "I still think there is something we are missing. The College's downfall can't be their only motivation."
"We can only assume."
Sudden footsteps made Singird lift himself up with the help of Drevis Neloren. He huffed as he leaned to the wall, still feeling weak and shaken. The newcomer pounded down the stairs, his every step resonating throughout the small room.
"I heard some noises. Is everything all right, Larkwing lad?" It was Hafnir, the bear man, treading down to find the source of the commotion.
Singird made a quick assessment. Here was a man who may or may not have been involved in the murders. If he was, then he already knew everything that had transpired just moments ago. If he wasn't…
"There was a trap in the bodies," he said truthfully. "If an unskilled mage had touched them, this entire building would have been blown to pieces."
The man halted, dark eyes watching Singird from under the thick unnaturally long brows. Singird registered the shocked look on Drevis Neloren's face. He sent a nod of reassurance his way.
"You are saying we are being dragged in your internal struggles," the man said slowly. Of course he would interpret it this way. And he was not wrong.
"That is one way to say it, but we are on your side. That person was ruthless enough to sacrifice an entire unit."
The man scratched his wild beard, thinking in silence. For a moment, crackling of the torch fires was the only sound filling the room. Then he sighed and rubbed his hairy temples.
"Leave this place, Larkwing lad. This will be the last time we have collaborated."
Singird froze. He had miscalculated. Waves of hot and cold flooded him. Any resistance could prove fatal, but he could not afford to lose this chance. He glanced at the Dunmer at his side. Drevis Neloren shook his head in disbelief.
"We really need to stay here," he said in a peculiarly strained voice. Singird stared at him, ready to scold him for his manners, but then he noticed the strand of magicka coming from his mouth. "Let us continue our investigation."
"But…"
"You want to let us proceed and forget this entire matter."
The bear man shivered visibly. Then he stooped his shoulders in resignation and let out a raspy whisper. "I… indeed. That sounds… reasonable. Do continue, please."
He retreated back to where he came from, leaving the two of them alone. Singird let out a shaky breath, wiping beads of cold sweat from his forehead.
"That was…"
"You young ones," Drevis Neloren was shaking his head. "What in Oblivion were you thinking?"
"I… I apologize. I made a mistake."
"That you did, a cardinal one. That could have been the end of us."
Despite himself, Singird flushed, feeling like a child that had gone out to play instead of doing his chores. "You saved me… again. That was very impressive."
"Unfortunately, it wasn't. That man's mind was weakened. He was already being controlled."
Singird's heart skipped a beat. "I… beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. We are well deep in the enemy territory and whoever we stand against, that person's influence stretches far. Let's get this over with."
Singird nodded, feeling the weight of the moment on his shoulders. Face clouded with uncertainty, he knelt down to inspect the corpses, the sight of them adding to his already stifling queasiness. Master Neloren joined him, brows knitting as he enveloped one of the bodies in the glow of his magic. There were no more explosions. Not a single spark left the bodies, but the deepening frown on Master Neloren's face told Singird there was still something wrong.
"I can't believe this," he said, letting his hands sink to his sides.
"What is wrong?"
"Do you remember what happened when I went to inspect the avalanche site?"
"Nothing I know of…"
"Exactly. Nothing happened. It should have. Magic leaves traces, residue that can last from years to millennia. But back there, I considered the possibility that the culprit simply erased them. Or that my magic was too weak to identify them. But these are fresh corpses. They should be overflowing with leftover magic. Especially the elf," he waved his hand to the corpse of a thin, pointy-eared man. "But there is none at all. As if their souls…"
"The Spirit Blight," Singird said as realization dawned upon him.
"These two were not poisoned though."
"No, but the method is the same. That person is strangely partial to tearing their victims' souls apart."
"That they are," Master Neloren said with a sigh. He rose to his feet, watching the bodies with resignation. "But why would they do that?"
"Maybe to achieve just that. Erase traces. If the dead can't talk, they reveal nothing."
"Why would they try to do that to Miss Ravencroft though? It's not like we would have found any traces if she'd died."
Singird clenched his fists. The idea of finding Miss Ravencroft's corpse, deprived of the last bits of her soul, incited anger within him. He could not let it happen. "Maybe to prevent her from taking the whole College with her?"
"I doubt it," Master Neloren shook his head. "First off, they did not seem to mind when it came to this place. And secondly… well, even if you tear someone's soul apart, the energy has to go somewhere."
"But it's not here."
"No."
"Then…"
"To gain power!" both of them exclaimed at once. Singird's hand shot up to cover his mouth. Drevis Neloren raised his head to glance cautiously at the stairs. Then he sighed, letting out all the tension and weight of the freshly gained knowledge.
"Let's go," he said. "There is nothing left to do here."
Singird nodded. They slid the dark cloth carefully over the bodies. Singird muttered a short prayer to Arkay before leaving, knowing fully well that no Aetherius awaited the poor tattered souls. They left in silence, hurrying past the mostly sleeping guards, avoiding unnecessary attention. Even when they reached the entrance gate to the College under the starry sky, they only exchanged a few words before raising their Sign of Accord and nodding each other goodbye.
Ten days had passed since the investigation. Just like the rest of the Collegium, Singird was now confined to the College grounds. There would be no more visits to the Frozen Hearth, no more strolls through the silent snowy night and no more talking to the Winterhold citizens. But unlike the other teachers, Singird did not mind. Most of his time he dedicated to Miss Ravencroft and her training. And over those few days, she had exceeded his expectations.
The progress she had made was more than impressive. To most, it would be unthinkable. Her reactions still needed improvement, but her magic was something Singird would have never thought possible. She wielded it with absolute ease, making the world succumb to her at will. She could create impenetrable wards, manipulate things from the inside and summon creatures that would last her forever no matter how many more she conjured. She could cast balls of fire and start a small blizzard. She had changed. The look she wore when casting her spells was one of pure determination. She trained whenever she could, even in his room. She slept with textbooks, a feat Singird scolded her for on many occasions. She did not complain anymore. But she did not talk much either, and it scared Singird beyond anything.
He watched her as she listened to Master Neloren's explanation of the invisibility spell. She observed him intently, devouring each and every word he said. At times, she interrupted him gingerly with a question, all the while keeping her eyes on him, with her fists clenched and pressed to her thighs.
When the training began, it only took her several tries to become fully invisible. Master Neloren stuttered on his reaction, proceeding to the next phase of the training.
"I must say I am impressed," a voice issued just next to Singird and he winced. Faralda had materialized by his side out of nowhere, watching her foster daughter with unconcealed interest. "You were right about her."
She wore a smile that said nothing of her thoughts. Singird sighed, letting out a bitter chuckle. "Thank you for the recognition," he said.
"You don't look very pleased with her progress. Wasn't it you who so fiercely protested against her studying here, claiming that she was a useless good-for-nothing?"
He stared at the slight Breton girl, now trying to master detection spells. Faralda was so right. He was not pleased. He deeply regretted ever complaining about Miss Ravencroft. She was everything but a useless good-for-nothing, and now he wished she would be.
"True. How can I be pleased with this? She is becoming a weapon. A human weapon." He felt how his nails dug into the palm of his hand, but the pain it brought him was nothing compared to what he felt inside.
"You should not take it that way. It is for her own good."
"Is it though? Is this necessary? She never wanted to… can you not see it? The look in her eyes? I know that look. It belongs to someone who lives in denial of their own desires for the sake of… something else."
There was silence, defined by the humming of the fountain and Miss Ravencroft's magic. Faralda gazed at her face, keeping words to herself. She had certain pride in her eyes, but there was a slight hint of doubt that had not been there before. They stood there for a while, just watching, and the silence grew heavier with every passing moment. Miss Ravencroft chanced upon an obstacle. Master Neloren kept invading her with mind-controlling spells and she had a difficult time fending him off. He used her own soul power against her. She was gritting her teeth and Singird could feel the growing anger in her, but she did not snap or complain. Every time she seemed about to burst out, she took a breath and flexed her fingers to calm herself down. She was fighting two battles at once.
"That incident with Leyna Travi," Faralda said suddenly without taking her eyes off Miss Ravencroft, "is not going to be easy to deal with."
Singird stared at her in question. Did she know? Did she have any idea that it was connected to Miss Ravencroft's case?
"Of course not," he said, feigning ignorance. Faralda laughed.
"You did not ask," she pointed out. So he was being led on. Again.
"I was expecting you to go on," he shrugged.
"Truly." It was not a question. A simple statement, perhaps an acknowledgement. She hinted a smile that he knew she showed just out of politeness. "You said that courier must have had his soul ripped off."
"That I did."
"I have been thinking. Did you see Leyna Travi's reaction that day when the Arch-Mage announced his death?"
"I admit I was not quite paying attention to her." Of course he hadn't. His eyes had been solely on Yrith Ravencroft. An assembly of so many people, all listening to the queer Arch-Mage… it would have been so easy to stir chaos. Anything could have happened.
"She was… dismayed. Genuinely broken. Most of us Altmer do not even know what that word means."
"Which made you assume that she had been expecting someone."
"Someone sent by her father, perhaps, yes. You said the two corpses had their soul shattered and here is Yrith who became a victim of a murder attempt by the Spirit Blight. Curious how things add up, isn't it?"
If Singird could pick a word to describe the situation, it would likely not be curious. He would call it frightful. Suspicious. Disquieting. But not curious. He did not like it. Whoever the enemy was, they were someone influential and most likely involved with the Thalmor. The name itself was enough to send a person to their knees. He had never had a personal experience with them, but a single look at the faces of those who had assured him he did not wish to. Then again, Faralda did not know what he did. She had no idea what Leyna Travi was planning. How close the enemy was. By the gods above, what a good actress she must have been.
"Say, Faralda," he said, watching Miss Ravencroft succumb to yet another onslaught, "how do the elves express feelings? I must admit I suspected them of not having any at all."
Faralda laughed. "Your question offends me, dear Singird," she said with a bitter smile, "but it is indeed a valid one. You are so young… but imagine living for hundreds of years. For a fifty-year old human, it is painful to watch the seasons pass, to observe as everything around them withers and dies. They grow white hair, they become weary, and eventually, they decide to set out on the journey Aetherius. But imagine being an elf, whose great-great-grandfather had seen the wonders of the Merethic Era. When your king Ysgramor reached the shores of Skyrim, he was an old, seasoned warrior. At that time, we had been around for hundreds of years, yet we were still so young. How would that… discrepancy reflect in one's mind?
"We do not age like you do. Our body does not easily give in to our state of mind. And therefore, it is not the body that adapts, but the mind that follows the pattern that is so alien to you. We feel deeply the sorrows of this world. We see our own history. Perhaps that is the reason why many of us Altmer, the higher race that derives directly from the Aldmer, the elder ones, think themselves to be superior. I do not identify with that line of thought, yet I understand it. We see our own history so clearly. We see the seasons pass and many armies fall. I was around when the Nerevarine vanquished Dagoth Ur. I saw the gates of Oblivion open, and I lived to see them close. I observed as the Empire of Tamriel shattered into pieces when the last Septim had fallen in the dust. I watched my own people plunder the lands under the guise of cleansing them of sin and heresy. And I have witnessed the dragons return.
"Over those hundreds of years, you realize how powerless you are. There is nothing you can do. Mer, men, beastfolk, all the living things… they will pass whether you want it or not. And you either follow them, or you are alone. The pain is so overwhelming, and with every loss, it becomes deeper, paralyzing. In the end, you can either succumb to it, or learn to shut those feelings away. But it does not mean you feel nothing at all."
Singird stared at her, suddenly feeling deep respect for the master of Destruction. Just how old was she, despite wearing the form of a woman in full bloom, not even a mother yet? She had so much to say, so many thoughts, yet kept it all to herself. There must have been so many feelings hidden behind that mask. So many memories, people she had met and lost, emotions she had abandoned out of the fear of being crushed by them. She was watching her foster daughter, her face still nigh indifferent, yet he could see something in her amber eyes he had not seen there before. A flicker of life that had seen its share.
"I do not envy Yrith," she added thoughtfully.
"Whatever you're implying?"
"Even if I am alone, I still have my own world I can retreat to. I have that little place in my mind that helps me cope with things. But she… she feels everything with her magic. She feels us all and there is no place left for her. I can't imagine having nowhere to escape. All those feelings that invade her young, inexperienced mind… it is no wonder she has trouble facing Drevis. This exercise is so vital for her."
He gazed at the scene before him. Miss Ravencroft and Master Neloren were locked in a battle of minds, eyes squinting in concentration while their hands blazed crimson. For Miss Ravencroft, this exercise was harder than others. She did not have to control her surroundings. She had to focus on her mind, prevent Master Neloren from taking over while fighting to subdue him at the same time. It was not a battle of power. She needed to constantly adapt, choose carefully when to back away and when to charge. It required patience and technique, and that was her weakness. Her ability to touch everything with her magic and feel the life around with it was useless to her, disadvantageous even. Yet, she was not entirely losing. She was keeping her opponent at bay, even if she could not penetrate his defenses.
"What do you mean, she feels us all? She can control things with her magic, but she cannot read minds, can she?"
Faralda raised her hand to cover the smile that played on her lips. "You amuse me, Singird. Is it your ignorance, or wishful thinking, that made you pose that question? Of course she cannot read minds, but that does not mean she doesn't feel what we do. Do you remember those dreams she had? Drevis made it clear that they are caused by her own magic, mingling with the magical currents that traverse the world. There are no boundaries for her. Magic is still magic, and a soul is nothing more than concentrated magicka. It is as though we are a part of her. I am quite certain she can feel everything we do if she so desires."
Singird could not find any words to counter that reasoning. Deep in his mind, he had known it for a long time. It was neither ignorance nor wishful thinking that led him to his conclusion. It was simple denial. If she could feel him, then she knew how his heart raced every time he looked at her. She knew how he ached when she cried, and how great his fear was when she was in danger. And she knew how reluctant he was to let go when he embraced her. It was not fair. He knew nothing of her feelings. She was keeping them to herself, rarely talking outside the facts. He wished to know. There were so many things he wanted to know about her.
Master Neloren had announced a break. Miss Ravencroft nodded without a word, sinking to the wall of the focal point. She was obviously more exhausted than usual, and her face revealed she had faced more than just Master Neloren's mind attacks. Faralda beckoned to her, inviting her to join her and have a drink to refresh herself, but the girl just shook her head, staring at the floor and keeping to herself. Singird's eyes drifted to Drevis Neloren, but the Dunmer too seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.
"My words seem to strike a chord in you," Faralda remarked. "It is unsettling to have yourself exposed like that, is it not? And you're not even an elf." She gave Miss Ravencroft a look. For the first time, Singird could see genuine concern in her eyes, mixed with pride and… affection, perhaps? "She is very much like her mother in both looks and her stubbornness. Look after her, Singird. You are right. There is something in her eyes that speaks of hidden secrets and determination whose source I cannot figure out. In the end, we may have to fight her before anything else."
"Let's hope that moment never comes," he breathed.
"Do you truly believe that?" He met her eyes. Faralda's query was more of a statement than a question. Leaving it lingering in the air, she excused herself, leaving Singird to his thoughts. He let out a deep sigh, waiting for the training to resume.
The day dragged on. Miss Ravencroft grew more tired with every attempt, yet she refused to retreat and take a rest with obstinacy of her own. When the light from the outside dimmed, leaving the duty of lighting the room to the blue fountain, Master Neloren broke the magical connection between them for the last time.
"Let's call it a day," he said. "The night is already falling."
"No! One more time, please. I can still go on." She was leaning against the wall, obviously struggling not to pant.
"I can see your thoughts, Miss Ravencroft. You are tired and on the verge of collapsing. You will not help anyone by overstretching yourself. Go take a rest. We will continue next time."
She opened her mouth to protest but closed it again. Singird could see the struggle in her eyes as she tried to come up with a convenient argument, but she could not find a way to beat her own tactics that Master Neloren was using against her. She stooped her shoulders, taking her place at Singird's side with the face of a child who had just lost her favorite toy.
"I will be excusing myself then, Master Larkwing." Drevis Neloren hinted a curtsy. Singird nodded and watched him disappear beneath the entrance door. He turned to the girl beside him. She looked up at him and he noticed the dark circles that formed under her eyes, emphasized by the flickering pale light. The confinement was certainly not good for her, even if Singird tried to take her out for strolls regularly.
"How about we take the upper route for some fresh air?" he suggested her, but her gaze immediately dropped to the floor. He waited, but when no answer came from her, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Miss Ravencroft?"
She winced as she raised her eyes again, trying to avoid looking in his face. It seemed as though she was about to cry. "Yes?" she asked absently.
"The roof. Shall we go through there for a change?"
She looked up at the ceiling and bit her lip. "You mean through the Arcanaeum…"
He had almost forgotten. She still had not reconciled with the old orc. She had not brought up the topic either, even if at times she seemed to ponder it. He gave her a soft smile.
"Haven't you just learned the invisibility spell?"
She stared at him, forgetting her worries for a brief moment. "You mean…"
"You are so eager to improve, yet you don't consider the possibilities. Shall we test your new skill?"
"I would consider them if I had a reason to believe you'd let me," she protested, pursing her lips. He wondered since when these brazen responses of hers had caused him to laugh instead of thinking of suitable disciplinary action. Of course she would not expect him to encourage her in her mischiefs. But it would not harm anyone, or so he kept repeating to himself, and she needed a moment of leisure.
"Let's go," he prodded. She raised her brows in surprise, but he went ahead without another word, entering the stairway to the Arcanaeum.
As expected, Miss Ravencroft had no trouble with the invisibility spell. Hidden beneath their enchantment, the two of them passed through the corridor, sneaking past a small group of students gathered there to discuss the thesis they were preparing for their expert class admission exam. Some were planning to make it a joint effort. Singird frowned. He made a mental note to himself, thinking that he may just let his tongue slip before Faralda. He had to admit sneaking around unnoticed brought some unexpected benefits.
Aside from that, it also brought thrill. He had never done anything like that before and now he could see why Miss Ravencroft enjoyed it. It was like floating around, unaffected by anything in the world, observing and seeing things from an entirely new perspective. He felt almost reluctant to leave the Arcanaeum, watching as people shuffled through the infinity of tomes and scrolls, observing the ones who tried to sneak a book out of the library and silently giving points to Urag gro-Shub whose keen eyes did not miss a single one of them.
"You there!" the orc bellowed, pointing in their direction. He felt the slight figure of Miss Ravencroft next to him tense. Urag gro-Shub stopped inches from her, yanking a book out of the hands of Dorien Lafayette, a young Breton boy who was known to excel in the Alteration school. The boy cowered, averting his eyes. "That dictionary is one of a kind. You dare take one step outside of this library with it and the daedra whose language it contains will haunt you to Oblivion!"
"But I need it for Conjuration…" the boy defended, but the orc stayed firm, crossing arms over his chest.
"Ah, truly. After so many moons of studying here? Do not let Larkwing find out you neglect your studies." With that, the librarian's eyes wandered directly to the place where Singird and Miss Ravencroft were. Second wave of panic took over Miss Ravencroft. Singird gritted his teeth and grabbed her sleeve, dragging her away before they could be discovered entirely. They reached the roof just in time for the spell to wear out.
He let out an exhausted breath. "Well, that was… unexpected," he said. Miss Ravencroft materialized just by his side, scanning her own body and trying its tangibility. "Perhaps next time we ought to pick the safe route after all."
She inhaled deeply the fresh evening air, walking toward the edge of the roof to take a look at the landscape. The Sea of Ghosts at the foot of the College cliff was dyed deep purple, reflecting the image of the starry sky above. The air was clear like pure crystal. Far on the east, they could vaguely recognize the outline of the island of Solstheim, bathing in the ashes cast by the thick plume of the Red Mountain.
"Thank you, Master Larkwing," she said suddenly. She gazed at him over her shoulder, eyes shining in the moonlight, her face adorned with a smile that spoke of thrill and adventure. "I enjoyed it."
Singird froze. He looked her over, scanned every inch of her face, every wrinkle, the curls on her lips and the spark in her eyes… he burned that image into his mind. That was a happy Yrith Ravencroft, right before his eyes. She was weary, and somewhere behind that smile was a pile of worries that could not be erased, but at this very moment, she was happy, and he was the one to give her that happiness. He thanked the gods for the night that concealed the flush that burned his cheeks. But then again, she could quite possibly feel it with her magic.
"Miss Ravencroft." He joined her by the wall, watching the floes that bobbed lightly on the sea, rippling the starry reflection and creating ribbons of quivering light.
"Yes?"
"I… I've been wondering… about your magic. The way you use it is unprecedented. What can it do? What do you feel when you control it?"
She hesitated, fingers rapping on the stone wall she was leaning against. He heard how her breath quickened. "Well, I can… see with it… touch things, manipulate them… feel the magic in them."
"So, basically, you feel everything around you."
"Basically."
"You said that in your dreams, you feel people's pain, happiness, fear, joy… can you feel these things when using actively your magic?"
She turned away, eyes penetrating the Arch-Mage's tower. "No, I don't think so," she whispered.
"Well then," Singird said as he circled her, blocking her view. His eyes met hers and she was forgetting her breath. "Could you say it again while looking me in the eye?"
She took a step back, nearly tripping and falling over the wall. He grabbed her firmly, steering her away from the edge of the roof.
"So?"
Unwillingly, she looked up at him, face twisted in apprehension. "What do you want me to say?"
"Have I ever asked for anything but the truth?" he chuckled gently. She bit her lip and took a breath.
"So you want to hear that I feel with my magic. You want to hear that I can listen to people's heartbeats, that I feel when someone is in pain, and that I also feel when someone is in… when you're in… why do you do this to me?!" she was almost crying those words, shifting and waggling to free herself from his grip. "Why are you so unfair? You go and give me hope. You give me home, and comfort, you hug me and you… what do you want to hear? I can feel, yes! But sometimes I think I only feel what I want to feel. I…"
Singird stared at her. His hand shot up, to her face, touching it lightly. It was burning. He could not see her flush in the pale light of Masser and Secunda, but he could feel the hotness in her cheeks and the tremble that shook her body. He could feel her quick, shallow breath. And he could hear her words. She averted her eyes, falling silent, but he had heard enough. If only he could believe it… she had said it, it must have been true. Yet he had to replay those words in his head thousand times.
Sometimes I think I only feel what I want to feel…
"And what do you want to feel?" he asked her quietly.
She did not respond. She clenched her fists, looking everywhere but his way. Singird felt his chest tighten.
He needed to analyze, to confirm… but his thoughts gave way to unexpected desire. A hunger that was not easy to satiate. His mind went blank. His heart picked up a pace. He felt hot, despite the wind rising from the north, despite the cold night and the colorful veil of aurora that flickered above their heads. Miss Ravencroft's eyes were roving in a frantic motion. He pulled her closer. This could be his best move. Or his worst. But there was no way back. Not now.
He froze for a moment, eyes sliding over her slight figure. She was his student… was what he would have thought a few weeks before. But not anymore. She had become so much more than that.
He took a shaky breath. Damn everything to Oblivion. He could spend eternity pondering his options. But he was a mere human with no eternity at his disposal. He wrapped his arms around her, not minding the gasp she gave as her eyes turned to him, seemingly on their own. Whatever her words meant, now it was too late to ask. He seized her chin, pulling her up. Her eyes widened, but not in fear or discomfort. It was expectation which he was more than eager to fulfill. And so he did.
The feelings mingled. His lips locked around hers. He claimed her, feeling the touch of her skin, and her raven hair tingling his arms. He felt her warmth, and her breath, and the heartbeat that matched his own. He felt her slender arm wrapping around him, closing the nonexistent distance if it was even possible. She did not resist, playing his game instead, dancing in the rhythm he had set up for her, answering with the same fervor as he expressed. He closed his eyes, but opened them anon just to see if she was still there, if he was not dreaming. She was. So tangible and real, yet he could feel her own emotions as though they were his own. As if…
He gasped. A wave rose in him like the tide. She glowed almost unnoticeably, the blue of her magic surrounding her frame. It reached him and absorbed him, filling him with a feeling so strong it almost sent him to his knees. She was letting him know. Everything she had been afraid to tell him, she was giving him now. Her fears and insecurities, but also her love and passion. The wrath she harbored for the one who dared hurt her and her dear ones, as well as the care for those she considered her friends and family. Her grief and suffering, and the comfort and happiness she had found here. Her magic was incredible. He could almost visualize it. Images were passing before his eyes, both grim and colorful. He felt her hot tears on his face. He finally pulled away, leaving her breathless and weak in her knees.
She looked at him through the tears, half smiling, half crying. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
He pressed her against his chest, letting her tears soak his robes. "Don't be," he said. "We both did what we needed to."
"Is it wrong to say my dreams came true?" She pulled away, fixing her silver eyes on him. Her face was so serene. There was no concern in it. Only the calm of the moment.
"Is it wrong to say I longed for those words?" he returned with a smile.
She turned away, gazing into the distance. The world looked so small from the top of the College, as though it was theirs and theirs alone. On this night, Singird allowed himself to think so.
"I was scared…" she breathed. "Scared that I mistook your feelings for something else. You're… you're my teacher."
"And you are my student," he said as he joined her, wrapping his arm about her, "and I was just as scared that I might hurt you if I ever let you know how I feel."
"So you drove me into a corner," she uttered dryly, but he could feel the smile in her words.
"That really wasn't my intention."
She drew a breath to say something, but no words escaped her lips. She let the air out again, choosing to stay silent. The night was bright and peaceful, and her body felt warm against his. He looked up at the stars above and they seemed so much closer than before. Singird smiled at them, allowing himself a few more moments of bliss before steering Miss Ravencroft back to his room.
He felt in a daze. It was a dark night, yet everything around seemed so bright in the light of a handful of candles that he lit with a single motion of his hand. She was there by his side, and for the first time, she did not scurry away to her side of the room. She wore a distant smile, likely having her head full of thoughts, and so did he. They spent a while just looking at each other with no words breaking the tranquility of the moment. Then she chuckled nervously.
"I should…"
"Stay for a while. I will make us a meal."
She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
Of course she wasn't. He too felt his stomach tighten and the only thing he craved at the moment was her person. "Then tea?"
She nodded, seating herself by his desk. Singird fumbled about his cupboard in search for his favorite smuggled tea, but just as he found it, a knock came down on the door. He sighed, cursing in his mind whoever had decided to disturb him at such an inconvenient time.
"Come in," he said, making his chagrin apparent in his voice.
The door flew open and Singird had to send his magic to stop it from hitting the wall. He frowned at the panting figure of Drevis Neloren who, despite his already ashen skin, seemed unusually pale. He looked at him with urgency and Singird froze inside.
"Master Neloren… did you forget something?"
"No…" he rasped, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath, "I didn't… we're in trouble, Master Larkwing. We're in serious trouble."
"What happened?"
"Remember Hafnir? That bear man from the barracks?"
"Yes. What of him?" Singird felt a familiar tingle at the nape of his neck. He knew the answer before Drevis Neloren articulated it.
"They found his corpse. Right there, in his bed."
The spell of the moment was now completely broken. Singird felt his heart sink as he realized what he had just been told. Another murder. But this time, he bore his share of responsibility.
Special thanks to RealityItch and iNiGmA for their continuous feedback, awesome evening talks and a bunch of wonderful comments. If you want some quality fanfiction from the Transformers or Harry Potter universe, check out their profiles, guys! They're wonderful authors!
Oblivious IJ: So nice to hear from you again! It is good, I am just slightly busy… but life is great and I hope it is the same for you! Thank you for the nice comment. J'zargo and his moonsugar… yes, he will have it. ;) The Arch-Mage? Well, she's not your typical hero, but… I like her nonetheless. You'll see. :)
iNiGmA: Again, thank you so, so much for all these amazing reviews! You notice right things and your comments always make me smile like an idiot. You gave me so much encouragement you don't even know it. So thank you!
Hope you guys are having a fun time and don't forget Easter's upon us. Prepare for the big celebrations!
Mirwen out!
