Ako'Siirto was working fervently at his desk, papers and books stacked high in messy piles. It had been three months since he had returned to Skyrim, three months since dragons appeared for the first time in millennia. Winter was fast approaching, Evening Star only a month away, and the weather in Winterhold reflected it. Snowstorms raged for days, even weeks on end, limiting outside research and expeditions. Most of those three months were spent in sleepless nights of research, trawling through the Arcanaeum. Every single book in it that had a reference to either the Dragons or the Dragon Cult passed through his hands.
His life had been turned upside down. His colleagues were worried about him, with his tendency to go days without food or sleep, focused solely on finding information. The students were perplexed by the assignments they got. The Arch-Mage had assigned two students who aimed to specialize in Conjuring, to research Lycanthropy and how to separate the mortal and wolf souls. Needless to say, that set off alarms ringing in some ears, but with a decade in the position, most of the faculty were satisfied with his explanation of "for a personal friend." Ako dearly wanted to help Kodlak and the Companions, people who for once didn't completely shun his help out of prejudice. He had sent out requests throughout the darker groups of Skyrim, asking for any information that they might find on the subject.
Only two people knew of Ako's habit of keeping close tabs on the underworld of Skyrim; his second-in-command Tolfdir, and his liaison with the black market, Enthir. The Wood Elf was a fascinating character, being a procurement expert and part-time fence for the Thieves' Guild. Ako (legally) used the Bosmer to supply him with a rare tea the Khajiit favoured, as well as more exotic spices that he liked to cook with. On the less legal side, news about the Guild's inner workings and sometimes Dark Brotherhood knowledge was given in return for being allowed to stay at the college.
If the College leadership had been aware of the elf's connections before Ako became Arch-Mage, the elf would have been expelled immediately. One of Ako's first acts as Arch-Mage had been to force Enthir to refuse business to students who did not have the Arch-Mage's blessing. The Wood Elf had been unhappy but acceded to the order and over time became a close friend and confidant of the Arch-Mage.
Particularly, the trader taught Ako much of haggling and appraising, after Ako had been approached in his capacity as Arch-Mage by an adventurer to purchase magical artefacts. In time, the buying and selling of artefacts had expanded to providing other services as well, particularly performing research in return for gold or favours. After the Great War, many of Cyrodiil's libraries were damaged or in Thalmor hands, leading to an increase in the importance of Shalidor's library. But it was only after Ako had been leading the College for a couple of years that this service had been monetized.
As an extension of the research service, Ako had also dabbled in information brokering, selling or finding secrets to or for interested parties, though he tried to stay on the right side of the law. During the Khajiit's visit to Cyrodiil, Enthir had been handling the trade, but the Elf preferred to deal in less volatile goods. The information brokering had started almost by accident, but Ako happily kept it as an option, bearing in mind the protection it could offer during the civil war that was smouldering in Skyrim.
He kept his personal and dangerous notebooks and the worthy secrets under several magical locks, leaving him as the only one who could access them, in theory. In risky research he conducted in his early years, he had connected an enchantment to his own life force. Therefore, in the event of his death, all of the stored notes and secrets would be irrevocably destroyed. One of these personal notebooks concerned what happened at the strange curved wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, the Word Wall, as Ako had dubbed it.
Since his expedition to that tomb, he had revisited previous locations where he had found something similar. All the old walls had a similar reaction to the one in Bleak Falls, engraving a word in his mind, on his very soul. None of them had done it the first time around. In fact, he couldn't remember feeling any magic stemming from them, nor any record in his detailed journals when he first saw them. He was no closer to understanding the strange magic than he was when it presented itself.
He had found a few books on the dragons' language, though. He managed to cobble up a working knowledge of it, enough for a passable conversation. He was puzzled by how quickly he learnt it and was struck by a peculiar sense of familiarity whenever he spoke it out loud. A few of his students also tried to learn it with not nearly the same success, most barely comprehending a full sentence. Ako attributed this to his lifelong linguistic affinity.
The nights between the sack of Helgen and his expedition to the barrow had been plagued by dreams of the ebony dragon responsible for the death and destruction at Helgen. For some reason, they disappeared after he left Whiterun, gone like a mist in the sun, taking with it the memory of whatever words the dragon had spoken in it. Ako was extremely curious about what the dragon had said, and was annoyed at himself for not making copies of the words before the memory vanished. Yet another inexplicable result of his encounter with the wall.
The word that engraved itself on his soul, from Bleak Falls, Fus, he now knew meant Force. From Saarthal near Winterhold, he got Iiz – Ice. Labyrinthian gave Tiid – Time. And from Shalidor's Maze, near Labyrinthian, came Faas – Fear. These words were different than the rest of the language, Ako could feel a dormant power behind them when he spoke them singly. The Walls themselves tended to be praising long-dead heroes, though why these specific Words behaved so differently made no sense at all. Each one of the 'engravings' was accompanied by strange, confusing and alien thoughts after being knocked out, leaving Ako baffled. Nothing in the Arcanaeum was of any help at all. With a groan, he closed his latest notebook, filled with scribbles on the language, Dovahzul as the dragons named it.
He started as he remembered the last draugr in Bleak Falls. It spoke three words, and a stream of ice flowed from the creature's mouth. In a way, it reminded him of the fire breathing dragons, perhaps they used these words as spells? He grabbed his handwritten dictionary and journal, looking up the words. Fo. Krah. Diin. Frost. Cold. Freeze?
Indeed, it seemed to be suitable for spells. That would explain why he thought he could hear words in the fiery roars of the dragon that sacked Helgen. 'That would also mean…' A furious scrabbling of pencil followed as Ako set his thoughts of possibly Silencing the dragons on paper. Modern Silence spells prevented mages from accessing their magicka, thereby preventing them from casting any spells. However, older Silence spells prevented mages from speaking, thereby disrupting incantations and spoken spells 'So, in theory… it should also prevent dragons from breathing fire.'
Idly he wondered if he could perhaps one day learn to use the dragons' magic. The thought of breathing fire filled him with an odd sense of glee. He recognized it as one of the unnerving and alien thoughts and feelings that had begun to appear after he encountered the dragon all those months ago. Shaking his head to clear it, he finished up his latest thoughts and packed it away in his safe storage.
With a very chipper grin on his face, he headed off to meet his newest bunch of students, practically skipping down the stairs. The last of the 4 had only arrived the day before, and he had yet to welcome any of them. Arriving in the Hall of Elements, the main class- and conference room, he saw the new students waiting there. A Dark Elf, a Breton and two Nords.
The Dark Elf looked somewhat old, between 70 and a hundred years of age, the weight of years reflected in his humble stance. It was still rather young for the elves, who could reach anything between 300 and 600 years with ease, with the most powerful mages stretching it to millennia. The Breton was a petite young lass nearing twenty, with elegant robes and a very haughty pose indicating a noble background. He made a mental note to break the girl's arrogance as soon as possible, before she endangered the rest of the college. The male Nord looked to be barely into his twenties, with calloused hands and strong upper body pointing to early life on the farm. The last student was a very young girl, no more than 12 or 13, looking somewhat scared and out of place. She looked vaguely familiar to Ako's eyes.
As the students caught sight of the Khajiit, he took his time to observe the varying reactions at seeing his tail, swishing excitedly from side to side. The Dunmer looked surprised, and then smiled, as if a pleasant surprise had been revealed. The Breton was incredulous, before sticking out her chin, standing tall ('at least, trying to,' Ako smirked inwardly) in defiance. The farmer boy was clearly surprised, but shrugged it off with an unnerved air remaining. The girl looked up, but showed no visible reaction, reinforcing Ako's suspicions of having seen or met her before.
He cleared his throat, preparing to give the welcoming speech he had been refining the past ten years, each successive group of students receiving a better version. "Welcome, students, to the College of Winterhold. I am Arch-Mage Ako'Siirto, and I hope that you all will come to see the decision to join the College as the best of your life. First off, I'll reinforce basic rules. Any and all magic is available for study here. High-level magic and spells, however, is forbidden without both my and the specific magic school's master's permission AND his or her presence."
With a solemn tone to assure them all of his seriousness, he went on. "Specifically, necromancy and powerful daedric summoning is off-limits, no exceptions. If you prove to be capable and feel the urgent need to dabble in it, then you can lodge an application with me. Break the rules and you'll be in serious trouble with me. And trust me, I will know. I'm sure Tolfdir has given you all the spiel of when and where you need to be quiet, what areas are off-limits, and so forth. Now, I am personally interested in all of my students, and especially the newest apprentices, which are you. Nothing makes me happier than passing on my knowledge to the next generation. If you decide to remain with the College after you've completed your studies, I will be more than happy to call you a colleague."
The Arch-Mage had a grin on his face as he went into an outline of the College's research. "As a student, you will be given study assignments pertaining to current research at the College. Many will be specific to a single magic school, but then there are overall projects with no school attached. One such project is my research into dragons, specifically deciphering the dragons' history and language. There is a permanent research spot open to anyone willing or wanting to learn the dragons' language. If you have anything, anything at all, that could help the research," giving a pointed look towards the Nord, "please let me or Tolfdir know."
"Lastly, if any of you ever need anything, come talk to me. Ask Tolfdir to schedule a meeting if you can't find me. And I mean, anything. Be it rare ingredients for an experiment, somewhat forbidden knowledge or even protection or a comforting shoulder to cry on, please, don't hesitate to ask me. So, before we start today's class, a quick exercise. Seeing as you will all probably be in close proximity for the next few years, I suggest you introduce yourselves and give a short history."
The Dunmer went first. Falur Atheron, from a farm near Windhelm. He finally got tired of the prejudiced Nords there, decided to see what he could learn here. Ako liked the Dark Elf almost immediately. The conceited Breton was Marianne Despres, with a bunch of meaningless titles and some drivel about connections with the court in Solitude. The male Nord was Arn, no last name, from the Riften area. He had heard about the College, and after a farm near his parents' was destroyed by a dragon, saw it as the best way to help. The Arch-Mage was happy to see such an attitude from a Nord, who traditionally despised any magic.
Ako looked over to the last student, the young girl. "And your name, little one?" he asked in the kindest tone he could muster.
"Lucia of W-whiterun, S-sir," she replied in a quavering voice, clearly scared. He crouched down near her and removed his hood, lessening the aura of mystery he must have been presenting. As soon as his eyes became visible, the little brunette visibly flinched back, eyes widening and a strangled gasp escaping her throat. A quick scan of the other apprentices revealed that the girl wasn't the only one frightened. The Breton was shocked, all her previous haughty pretence abandoned as she looked pale. Arn was all but horrified, hands clutching at an amulet unseen beneath his cloak. Atheron was seemingly unnerved, but remained outwardly calm and steady, albeit with nervous eyes.
Letting out a muted sigh, cursing inwardly, Ako stood back up and turned towards a shadowed alcove near the door. "Tolfdir!" he barked. The old man hurried closer, a look of understanding passing between the two mages. "Could you please show Miss Lucia to her room? I think today has been a bit too much," he said with a fake smile. As the elderly Nord passed by Ako, the Khajiit whispered an additional order. "Poor girl is frightened out of her clothes, and the 'demon' is too much. Make her some tea too, would you? Thanks."
As Tolfdir took Lucia by the hand, performing admirably in his grandfatherly role, Ako turned to the rest of the class, hood firmly replaced. "Class is dismissed for today. The lecture schedule will be posted in the Arcanaeum by tonight. If you need any assistance, ask one of the senior faculty members, they will know where to find either me or Master Wizard Tolfdir."
He strode back to his quarters in a hurry. Damn his eyes. Always shadowed beneath his hood exactly for this damnable reason. Damn those slanted, blue and gold slits of a 'demon', as he was told all too many times in his life. Once again, it frightened away someone Ako had tried to help. A small part of him had felt a smug thrill at seeing the apprentices so scared, specifically afraid of him. It was quickly replaced by revulsion at recognizing the alien thought, belonging firmly in the new thought pattern that emerged after the first meeting with the dragon. Subtle enquiries to some of his more trusted colleagues delivered nothing on what or where these kinds of thoughts might stem from. The Arcanaeum was another dead end in this regard.
He let out a barely stifled groan as he returned to his workstation, removing his notes on the dragons themselves, intending to further ponder the oddities and feasibility of a Silence spell against a dragon. Within a few minutes, he could feel a pounding headache coming on, no doubt caused by bottled anger, a silently stewing cauldron of rage at his eyes. Why people feared him and his eyes had always puzzled Ako greatly. Admittedly, they were odd eyes, but causing fear merely at the sight of them? It was never this bad before. Even people who trusted him and were on friendly terms could barely stand to look him in the eyes nowadays.
With a sigh, he stood up to make himself some tea. His tea was a special grass and its seeds that grew on the mountainous coastline north of Anvil. He didn't have a name for it, and it seemed as if no one else had either. He filled a cup with ice, melted it and filled it up again until it was about three-quarters full. He set it boiling with a quick spurt of flame before adding the tea to soak. Digging around in his small personal pantry, he found a cold jug of milk. He had modified a frost rune by the same principles that were used to create a heating rune from a fire rune, thereby keeping the milk cold and preserved for longer.
After straining the tea, leaving the water a lovely rusty orange-red colour, he filled the cup with milk. The end product was a heavenly treat with a colour between amber and cream. He drank slowly, relishing the taste and calming effect it seemed to have. His day had started out splendidly but turned sour with no one at fault except whoever made his eyes. If only he could hide them, hide their true nature in plain sight.
Though he was a competent illusionist, not even he could disguise eyes without a massive strain on his magic reserves. It was one of the early discoveries of illusion magic that disguising the eyes are near impossible and extremely draining. Many theories were put forward as to why this was the case, but the general consensus (Ako shared this view) was that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Since changing anything of the soul, even temporarily or illusory, was near impossible, it was impossible to disguise eyes. Just what that knowledge meant for his eyes, though, remained to be seen.
With a sigh the Arch-Mage returned to his work, slowly sipping his tea and letting go of his anger. He had work to do, and a headache like a pounding mammoth would do nothing helpful. As the proverb so wisely stated, "No use crying over spilt milk." And wishing to change his eyes would do nothing but leave anger to stew. He let his thoughts wander as he finished his tea, 'Mammoths… Whiterun… Skyforge… Companions. Ah. A new staff would be welcome.' Putting away his work, he went off to find the apprentices he had assigned to work on Lycanthropy. Perhaps he could take some good news to Kodlak and the Companions.
The wheels of the wagon creaked as it crested the hill early in the morning, revealing a picturesque vista of Whiterun and its plains, the sun giving the grass a warm colour that belied the chilly winter air. Ako sketched the view as he softly hummed an old melody he had learned recently. Arn, one of his newest students, turned out to be rather well versed in Nordic mythology. Amongst the titbits he knew, was a song with lyrics in Dovahzul, which was a treasure trove for Ako.
The young girl, Lucia, turned out to be an orphan living on the streets of Whiterun, who occasionally helped the healers in the temple of Kynareth. Word of her somehow reached the Jarl, who in turn sent her to study at the College. She was still very much terrified of Ako, but loosened up towards other faculty and students. Tolfdir assumed a role as stand-in parent for her, and Ako was extremely grateful towards the old man for that.
His visit to Whiterun had several purposes; creating a staff at the Skyforge, conferring with Farengar, the court mage, on the dragons, and lastly, he hoped to talk with Kodlak of the Companions to see if there was perhaps something to add to the scant amount of knowledge gained on Lycanthropy. The wagon carried a chest filled with ebony and malachite, as well as a specially crafted and filled soul gem to use as materials for the staff. The Khajiit had spent the last few days going over the process of creating a staff, and he was confident that he could make what he had in mind.
As he finished his sketch and he reverted to plainly admiring the view, he started singing softly.
"Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin…"
The song that Arn had taught Ako not only held a lot of meaning with regards to the language of the dragons, it also reminded him of a bit of lore he had neglected and forgotten about. In the history of Tamriel, there were figures known as Dragonborn, mortals who supposedly had dragon blood flowing through their veins. Some stories claimed they could steal the dragons' power, which didn't seem too farfetched after his discoveries a few days back.
"Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal…"
For a long time, the emperors of Tamriel were known as Dragonborn. The last of these emperors had died in the Oblivion Crisis, nigh on two hundred years previously, when the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Ambition, Destruction and Change, invaded Tamriel. Supposedly a bastard child of that emperor sacrificed himself, turning into an avatar of the Divine Akatosh, casting out Dagon from Tamriel and ending the Crisis.
"Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan…"
Arn also explained a supposed prophecy connecting the World-Eater, Alduin, firstborn of Akatosh, with the end times, where Alduin was supposed to destroy the world in the form of a dragon. The more contemporary authorities of Cyrodiil referred to Alduin as the Nordic god of destruction, or perhaps a garbled version of Mehrunes Dagon.
"Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal…"
Then Arn had told him of a legend that claimed the Last Dragonborn would be revealed, destined to do battle with Alduin, the fate of the world resting on the outcome. Doing a bit of digging, he found a prophecy, ironically enough seemingly originating from the early Blades, when they were still largely Akaviri. And it was a rather startling conclusion that Ako came to upon seeing it, the six little lines of foresight.
"Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah…"
'When misrule takes place at the eight corners of the world', the first line, undoubtedly referred to the Imperial Simulacrum nearly 250 years back, when the then emperor was deposed. His traitorous court mage stole his identity and ruled for nearly two decades before the Emperor was restored by a hero, known as the Eternal Champion. This champion had found and reassembled the eight pieces of the Staff of Chaos, which was the source of the traitor's power.
"Do ved viing ko fin krah…"
'When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped' had Ako puzzling for a bit. By chance, he was reminded of the so-called 'Warp in the West', where a seemingly impossible set of events coincided to destroy all Imperial opposition in the province of Daggerfall, with local time discontinuities and rifts in the fabric of reality being commonplace in the two objective days it spanned. All sources agreed that Numidium, the fabled golem also known as the Brass Tower, was somehow involved, though none could agree exactly how. This seemed to fit the description given in the second line.
"Tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein…"
'When the thrice-blessed fail and Red Tower trembles' referred to the major upheaval Morrowind underwent at the end of the third era and the start of the fourth. The Dunmer had three living gods at the time, but they were either killed or vanished during the ascension of the 'Nerevarine', who was supposed to be a reincarnation of an ancient Chimeri warlord. Red Mountain, a massive volcano that dominated Morrowind, erupted a few years later, all but destroying the Dunmer and Morrowind. The ramifications of the eruption – not least an Argonian invasion – reduced the proud race to isolated conclaves and refugees, spread across all Tamriel subject to prejudice and poverty.
"Alduin feyn do Jun…"
'When Dragonborn ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls…' This line obviously pointed to the Oblivion Crisis, when the line of Dragonborn Emperors was wiped out. The fall of the White Tower could refer to either the loss of the Empire's rightful rulers then, or nearly two centuries later, when the Thalmor and Aldmeri Dominion destroyed Imperial resistance to take the White-Gold Tower in the centre of the Imperial City, which had served as the Empire's capital for millennia.
"Kruziik vokun staadnau…"
'When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding,' Ako was sure this was referring to the current state of affairs in Skyrim, with the Throat of the World occasionally being referred to as the Snow Tower. The war, which had begun with the murder of a king, had escalated in the last month or so, with violent skirmishes occurring every few days. Both sides of the war had approached Ako and the College for assistance, with the Arch-Mage steadfastly refusing, claiming neutrality in the 'senseless' conflict. Ako, in a flash of impulsiveness, offered to serve as an unbiased mediator should the two sides ever hold peace talks.
"Voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein…"
'The World-Eater wakes and the Wheel turns on the Last Dragonborn.' This last line had the Khajiit shuddering. All the signs that supposedly heralded the return of Alduin the World-Eater had been fulfilled. Everything except the Last Dragonborn. Ako wasn't sure how exactly one would identify the coming Dragonborn, with the prior tradition of the Emperors lighting the Dragonfires that separated Mundus and Tamriel from Oblivion now being obsolete.
"Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok…"
Two lines in the song gave Ako a fright unlike anything he had ever experienced, even if the fights against the dragons months ago were considered. "Dark wings" and "the dark dragon" were both used to refer to Alduin, and with it, a suspicion settled deep in Ako's mind. A suspicion that gradually, more and more over a few days, became a near certainty. The obsidian dragon that destroyed Helgen, was Alduin.
"Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz…"
The prophecy was left open-ended beyond the implied battle. The song painted a rosier picture, with a victorious Dragonborn. If the crimson-eyed dragon of Helgen was indeed Alduin, then Ako wished all the luck in the world to the Dragonborn, because that would be a frightening battle to behold. If it was not the World-Eater that Ako encountered, however… 'Gods help us all…' He shook his head to clear it of the depressing (and utterly terrifying) thoughts, focusing instead on the early morning bustle of the markets as Whiterun and its gates came into view.
"Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot, Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!"
Ako weaved through the crowds of the Plains District, the heavily laden chest on his shoulder. Grumbling under his breath, he deftly swerved to avoid yet another distracted shopper glancing wildly in all directions but ahead. As he finally managed to get out and above the market throng, he took a moment to survey the lower city. The usual hubbub of Whiterun seemed to be far worse today, and Ako wondered why. After a moment or two's deliberation, he theorised it must be the last market day before the ice and snow of Evening Star made the roads impassable. Even now, in Sun's Dusk, the Arch-Mage could feel a promise of heavy snow and frost in the evening, though Ako found it more bearable than usual, his robes' heating enchantments operating at lesser capacity.
Passing the Gildergreen and Jorrvaskr, he went up to the Skyforge, dropping off the ebony and malachite there. With a nod to the resident blacksmith, he headed back to the overturned ship that served as mead hall for the Companions. He had sent word a few days back, so he was expected. Opening the doors, he was greeted by Farkas, the man whose life he had saved when he last visited Whiterun.
"Arch-Mage!" the bear of a man said jovially. "Come in, come in. Kodlak said he'd be waiting downstairs should you arrive."
"Thank you, Farkas," Ako replied with a grin. "How's it going with you? Everything alright after your little bump with the club?" he asked with mischief sounding in his voice.
The big Nord looked happy as he answered, "Great! Better than ever. Even some of the old wounds I had stopped acting up. Thank you for that, Arch-Mage."
The Khajiit laughed merrily, before shaking his head slightly. "Please, Farkas, let's drop the formality. Call me Ako. Great to hear you're well, anyway. Sorry to cut the chat short, but I still have some places to be before I can start working."
Taking leave of Farkas, Ako headed downstairs towards the Harbinger's room. He nodded greetings to Aela and Vilkas, who were eating breakfast at the large table in the centre of the room. The Harbinger himself was also eating breakfast, sitting at the same table where Ako had joined him for the dinner about 3 months back. Knocking softly on the frame of the door, the white-haired Nord looked up and invited Ako to sit with a smile.
"Arch-Mage Ako. A pleasure to have your company again," Kodlak greeted politely.
"Thank you, Harbinger, glad to be back."
After a short talk of current affairs, during which Kodlak revealed that the Companions had also been approached by the Stormcloaks to fight in the war (refused), the Harbinger brought up a topic that Ako was hesitant about. "So… tell me, have you found anything to help with our 'curse'?" The old man was clearly nervous, but also hopeful.
The Khajiit let out a sigh, before turning serious as he answered. "Regrettably, not much. As I expected, the College's library held little. I had assigned two students to comb over it, while I also polled my contacts in search of anything of use. By the time I left Winterhold, all we had was that the source of the Lycanthropy was relevant, and that historically, at least, the Witches of Glenmoril knew how to cure it. But that coven had all but disappeared in the fourth era, with a scant few references to them in the forests of Falkreath and highlands of Daggerfall." Kodlak looked grim as Ako finished. "If you could perhaps find out where your curse came from, it might help immensely. I can make no guarantees, unfortunately," the Khajiit concluded with a sorrowful expression.
Kodlak looked up at the Arch-Mage, a sad smile on his face. "I had hoped for more. But I cannot thank you enough, Arch-Mage, your help is truly appreciated. I will look through our archives and see what I can find. Even if it is all in vain, I can say with all my heart that it is a privilege to know you, Ako, and I sincerely thank you for your help," he said earnestly. He looked the Arch-Mage in the eyes, and couldn't help but shudder and avert his eyes. He was uncomfortable the first time he saw those slits, but this time was different, much more noticeable, frightening even.
A primal feeling of fear and awe rolled through him in the few moments where he held the Khajiit's eyes. His wolf spirit raised its head with a silent hiss, wanting to come out and transform into the werewolf. Kodlak shoved the feeling down instantly. The wolf mentally paced, baring its teeth and with its hackles raised, but Kodlak could sense in his inner conflict that the wolf spirit was all talk and no bite, it was scared senseless of the Arch-Mage.
With the wolf suddenly enhancing his senses beyond normal, he could detect a strange smell hidden beneath the usual Khajiit scent of the Arch-Mage. It was something he had never smelt before, simultaneously reminding the Harbinger of a very hot fire, the coldest winter ice and a furious thunderstorm. The Nord was flabbergasted with this alien fusion of smells that screamed of sheer power.
Ako noticed this immediately and looked away while cursing inwardly. Somehow his hood had moved back slightly during their conversation, unshadowing his eyes. 'Not another one…' he groaned to himself, firmly replacing the hood. He desperately hoped that Kodlak would move past the experience and not shun him as had happened all too many times in the past. The old Nord saw Ako's reaction and correctly guessed that the Khajiit disliked the reaction his eyes brought out. No doubt he was aware that it was worse since Kodlak first saw him. With a concerned grimace, the Harbinger looked back and started to apologize for his reaction. The Arch-Mage waved off his concerns, stating in a voice thick with emotion that he was used to it. It didn't allay Kodlak's fears or guilt, but he respected Ako's implied request to change the subject.
Kodlak did so by suggesting they go talk with Eorlund Gray-Mane, the resident blacksmith, over who would get to work when with the Skyforge. Ako agreed mutely, still stewing in self-deprecating anger over his eyes. 'Perhaps I should just accept that I'm forever cursed to be alone, friendless and unloved.' He was pulled from his dark thoughts by the Harbinger speaking as they exited Jorrvaskr, breaking the awkward air that existed between them.
"So… Is there a specific reason why you want a staff from the Skyforge, Arch-Mage? Why would one such as you even want a staff, if it limits your spellcasting options?"
Ako was surprised at the apparent interest shown by the old Nord in magic, and pondered the answer as they climbed the stairs. Most staves were enchanted to cast a particular spell, and it was powered by the energy of a soul gem, like enchanted weaponry, instead of using the caster's magicka like normal spells. Ako, however, to compensate for his vast repertoire of spells, used a staff to serve as a conduit for his own magic, thereby casting his spells through the staff. This allowed him to cast with greater freedom than merely with the hands, since the staff tended to be at least as long as Ako himself. The Skyforge offered somewhat unexplored magic, and Ako was certain that forging a conduit staff here would prolong the life of the staff.
"An astute observation, Harbinger…" the Khajiit replied and quickly explained the difference. "As for why the Skyforge… well, apparently, it helps blacksmiths craft better weapons and armour. The little bit of research I could do based on what magic I could feel seems to support that theory. So, I want to use it for both scholarly research, properly cataloguing its properties, and to make use of the magic if my theory proves correct."
By now the two leaders had attracted the attention of the blacksmith at the Skyforge, who gave a newly forged sword a last few knocks before dunking it in the cooling trough. A hiss of steam rose from it as the blacksmith started to speak. "Harbinger. What can I do for you on this fine day?" Ako silently agreed, it was a lovely morning as the view over the plains evidenced.
"Eorlund, thank you. As we discussed earlier, the Arch-Mage here would like to use the Skyforge for crafting of his own. When and how would he be allowed to make use of it, since, after all, it is your forge?" Kodlak answered with a warm tone to his voice.
The blacksmith looked at Ako with a huff before asking, "Well, how long would he need it for?"
Ako pondered this for a moment before replying, "Hmm… anything between ten and thirty hours, but it will be a continuous effort. So no more than a day I think." Eorlund gave a gruff nod in assent.
After a few moments of silence, the elderly blacksmith said, "Let me clean up, then you can start right now and finish up so I can get my forge back." The Arch-Mage was happy with the plan and was about to thank Eorlund before a deep-seated twinge of unease shut him up. A few seconds later another pang came, accompanied by a faint and far off sound of thunder coming from the west, belied by the clear blue skies all around.
"A-actually, I would like to start tonight, if you don't mind. I have other things to do as well while I am here in Whiterun." The Khajiit's voice held a somewhat hesitant and uncomfortable tone, his mind distracted by the unsettling twinges from deep within him. The two Nords looked at him curiously, before shrugging it off and agreeing to the plan.
Ako made sure the chest of crafting materials was safely stored near the forge, before heading off towards Dragonsreach. Entering the great hall, he noted that the Jarl was not on his throne or at the dining table. Ignoring the rest of the court, he passed through towards Farengar's study. A creeping sense of unease had been slowly growing ever since he left the Skyforge.
After exchanging research notes with Whiterun's court mage, he settled down to go through Farengar's work on the Dragon Cult. He struggled to focus, the uneasy feeling becoming more and more prominent as he couldn't focus on deciphering the Nord mage's handwriting. He finally gave in and began pondering what could have caused the feelings of unease, nearly an hour after it had started to appear. In a moment of startling, horrifying clarity he recognized the feelings as resembling that which had occurred at Helgen, when the dragon ('Alduin' his pessimistic side helpfully supplied) had first appeared.
Farengar jumped at a sudden string of curses coming from the Arch-Mage, in a variety of languages and with a vehemence worthy of any sailor. His rapid heartbeat wasn't helped by the loud slam of the big doors followed by a rapid pounding of armoured footsteps coming up the stairs. Just as the Khajiit stormed out of Farengar's study, he was sent flying back as Irileth, the jarl's housecarl, came sprinting in.
Ako continued to mutter soft curses in Ta'agra as he picked himself up from the floor, but one look at the Dunmer's pale complexion and wide eyes heightened his suspicions to a near-certainty. Her words were all he needed to go running again. "Farengar, come at once! A dragon's been sighted nearby," she ordered somewhat breathlessly. Turning to the Arch-Mage with a scowl, she continued, "You too, cat."
Turning to charge up the stairs, Ako followed Irileth, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing Farengar's girlish squeal of delight. The sullen housecarl and the disgruntled Khajiit groaned in sync as they made their way up, both worried and wary about the newest threat to the city.
AN: As with the other early chapters, much thanks to empire1003 for her proofreading prowess. A bit of a timeskip, hopefully I conveyed the happenings of the three months in a concise yet comprehensive manner. Much of the information in this chapter arrives much easier than in game, and I feel this is a logical result given the size of Winterhold's library (especially when considering the lore rather than the actual in-game appearance – at the end stage of a game when collecting books, I can easily fill up the library a few times over without having to buy a single book). Similarly, Ako is a competent researcher and has many -minions- subordinates to order around and help him in the research. Let me know if there are any plot holes you spotted or characters not being right, I'm always happy to improve my storytelling. But this is a chapter I'm satisfied with, more so than the first few.