A/N: A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone! I've actually had two thirds of this written since about mid-December – but that's when I got access to Skyrim. So. Yeah. *sheepish smile* Nuff said. (Also I'm ill with literally the worst cold I've ever had, which I received as a late Christmas present. I just feel exhausted all the time and I'm busy hacking up my lungs constantly. Nasty stuff.)
Disclaimer: Not mine. *sad face*
Steel Over Shadow
Chapter Seven: Whatever Sunlight Remains to Them
"You've got to be kidding me; it's worth at least twice that..."
Elsynia leant against the wall, gauntleted arms folded, posture radiating boredom. She watched the progress of a spider slowly creeping across the windowsill, while Parwen haggled fiercely with Thoronir. The archer was quite willing to spend all afternoon getting the best bargains but shopping quickly lost its appeal for the swordswoman. She and Ah-Malz already sold all their loot and were waiting with varying degrees of patience for their friend to finish.
Elsynia heaved a deep sigh. The Argonian looked at down at her, a hint of amusement on his face. "Why don't you go ahead to the Arcane University? I'll wait for her," he rumbled quietly.
The elf brightened at the prospect of escaping early. "You don't mind?"
"Not at all. I know how much you want to see Tirion." One scaly eyelid dropped in a wink.
Elsynia glowered but refused to take the bait. "I'll see you both at the University then." She strode across the room and, opening the door, stepped into the outside world.
It was mid-afternoon. A drifting mass of grey rainclouds covered the heavens, though the occasional patch of startlingly bright blue sky was visible through the gaps in the cloud layer. The wind gusted strongly and a fine drizzle fell on the main thoroughfare of the Market District. Despite the uncertain weather, the streets were thronged with shoppers and the cries of the traders rose over the general hubbub of conversation.
Elsynia moved away from the doorway of the Copious Coinpurse, navigating through the crowds in the centre of the road. Her feet began carrying her automatically along the familiar route to the Arcane University, allowing her thoughts to drift. The swordswoman's mood was steadily rising, both at being freed from hanging around in the shops for another hour or so, and at the prospect of seeing Tirion again.
It had taken them a week to reach the Imperial City from Anvil. After closing the Gate, they had arrived back at the coastal city to find that the Daedra attack had almost completely neutralised – the Anvil guard had definitely proven their worth, along with the local Fighters and Mages Guilds. The three warriors had helped mop up the last few dredges of the attack force and then collapsed gratefully into bed at the Fighters Guildhall. They had spent the next few days recuperating in Anvil and waiting on repairs to their armour and weapons – or in Parwen's case, bought an entirely new suit of chainmail.
On the fourth morning after closing the Gate, the three comrades had set off for the Imperial City. They had only stopped to clear out an abandoned-fort-turned-goblin-lair; mainly for the reassuring familiarity of it, after the unsettling experience of a trip to Oblivion. They had been through the fort before but had been forced to leave several locked chests; this time, however, the Skeleton Key was in Elsynia's possession. It had more than proved its worth when she had tried it on the locks. As a result, the warriors had arrived at the Imperial City with vastly improved temperaments and several rare treasures apiece.
Elsynia whistled happily as she exited the Imperial City from the Arboretum's exterior door and began crossing the bridge to the Arcane University. The rain was clearing up and sunlight was now streaming sporadically through breaks in the cloud layer. Her pack was a comforting weight, heavy with the gold she had made. It had been depleted somewhat by her purchases but restocking on Welkynd Stones and restoration potions was a necessity.
The swordswoman passed through the massive doors at the far end of the bridge and emerged into the courtyard of the University. The main path was lined with enormous rune-carved basins. Each one was filled with deep purple flames that were strangely silent, that did not hiss and spark like a normal fire. This, even more so than their unusual colouration, signified the intense magicka that fuelled their creation.
Directly in front of her was the imposing presence of the Arch-Mage's tower. It was a tall, looming edifice, formed of silver-grey stone and possessed of a wide, solid build that gave it an air of unshakeable strength. It sat in the centre of a wall that bisected the circular complex of the University, separating the courtyard from the University buildings. On the ground at the foot of the tower was a circular mosaic, painstakingly etched with intricate shimmering symbols. The building itself was draped in long, red banners that fluttered in the wind and was flanked on either side by a small gate set into the wall. These gates only allowed access to the University for mages who possessed a key. All visitors had to enter the tower itself and present themselves in the Arch-Mage's lobby.
Elsynia ignored the door to the lobby and walked up to the one of the gates, still whistling merrily. The patrolling Battlemages eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, until she produced a key and fitted it into the lock. It turned smoothly and clicked open. The guards relaxed and moved on.
With a slight push, the gates swung back noiselessly on well-oiled hinges and the elf strolled through, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she pocketed the key. They didn't need to know that it didn't belong to her.
An half an hour later, the swordswoman was wandering up and down the corridors of the University, thoroughly lost. The hallways, with their high, vaulted ceilings and graceful, sweeping architecture, seemed to stretch on forever. However, her good mood was unaffected. The University was a very pleasant place to get lost in and Elsynia had always managed to find Tirion's rooms in the past. Eventually.
A pair of Apprentices went past, their green robes billowing around them as they walked. They eyed her with surreptitious curiosity. Well, she supposed that an unfamiliar mer clanking up and down the University in a full suit of Dwarven armour wasn't exactly a common sight.
Eventually though, after walking around for another half hour or so, her patience ran out and the swordswoman collared one of the next two Apprentices to walk past – did they always walk in pairs?
"Do you know where Tirion's room is?" Elsynia demanded of the Imperial, who was looking a little alarmed. Probably because she had a fistful of his robes.
"Who?" he squeaked.
"Oh, do you mean Master-Wizard Tirion? That good-looking High Elf?" giggled his companion, a Breton girl.
Elsynia looked at her, nonplussed. "Good-looking? I…" Then the more important part of the sentence registered. "Wait, Master-Wizard? Since when?"
"Um, since a couple of weeks ago, I think," she replied uncertainly, looking bemused by the mer's reaction. "And his rooms are just down the corridor and to the left."
Elsynia dropped the Imperial, who was beginning to choke from her tight grip on the collar of his robes, and sped off down the hall.
Master-Wizard? The swordswoman couldn't help feeling a little stunned as she dodged around a gaggle of Journeymen heading the opposite way from her. He's only twenty-four! I'm no expert on mage hierarchy, but I'm pretty sure only the Arch-Mage himself ranks above a Master-Wizard.
Not that it was surprising in terms of ability; Tirion had always excelled at the magical arts. It was the reason he had left the Fighters Guild three years ago. As much as it pained Elsynia to see him go, it had been apparent to everyone what his true calling was.
Yes, sighed the mer internally, slowing down as she arrived at the door the Breton apprentice had indicated. It's only the speed of his promotions that surprises me. He is powerful and skilled – and worked extremely hard to become that. He has the ability to be a Master-Wizard for sure.
Elsynia took a deep breath, knocked once and pushed open the door. Tirion's rooms were in their usual state of orderly chaos. Desks were piled high with books and parchment, with the occasional escaped sheet floating down onto rest on the stone floor. Inkwells and quills were scattered around the entire living area and a trail of ink droplets led from one workspace to the next.
However, it was the alchemy table which drew her eyes. Retorts, calcinators, alembics, mortars and pestles were arranged across the surface in a seemingly random pattern. Some of the apparatuses were cold; some glowed cherry-red with heat, their contents slowly bubbling away. The ingredients themselves littered every available part of the tabletop; scraps of Cairn Bolete Cap, smidgeons of Dreugh Wax, shards of Minotaur Horn, blobs of quivering Ectoplasm and a few scattered crystalline flakes of Frost Salt.
It was the mage himself though, that held Elsynia's attention. Tirion sat at the table amongst the delicate, spiralling glass apparatuses, writing on a sheaf of parchment. Light flooded in from one of the many windows, brightening his shaggy mane of blond hair to a glowing white-gold. An ink-stained hand came up absentmindedly to brush several stray strands from his handsome face. His dark eyes were serious; intent in a way the swordswoman remembered they only became when he was utterly focused, though she was more accustomed to seeing that look in combat situations rather than in a laboratory.
Something loosened in Elsynia's chest at the sight of her friend – tension that she hadn't even been aware of until it was released. The feeling of relief was overwhelming, and to her surprise, the mer realised how much she had been unconsciously worrying that she would never see him again.
"I thought I asked not to be disturbed." The swordswoman jumped slightly in surprise as Tirion spoke; his quiet voice seeming louder in the absolute silence of his rooms. He hadn't glanced up from his work and his tone was one of mild annoyance.
A grin crept across Elsynia's face as she spotted an opportunity for teasing. "Oh, I see," she drawled, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. "Now that you're a big-shot mage, you're too important to talk to the little people; is that it, Master-Wizard Tirion?"
The Alters' head snapped up and his intense, serious expression dissolved into a stare of astonishment. "Elsynia?"
She smirked, pleased at having startled him so thoroughly. "The one and only."
Tirion's astonishment melted into a wicked grin, which only served to highlight his handsome features even further. He stood and swiftly moved out from behind the table, before sweeping Elsynia up in a hug.
"I always forget how bloody tall you are," the swordswoman muttered into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his lean form to return the embrace. Even when she strained on tip-toe, the High Elf topped her by at least a head.
Tirion's mocking laughter rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her ear. "We're not all tiny half-Bosmers, you know. Some of us grow to a decent height."
"Watch who you're calling tiny, mage," Elsynia growled half-heartedly. She was entirely too happy to see her childhood friend again to be genuinely angry. The swordswoman pressed her face against the fabric of his robes, inhaling the familiar scents of honey and cinnamon, along with something that was uniquely Tirion.
Then the elf stiffened as she noticed something – or rather, noticed the lack of it. Her hands slid under the outer layer of the Altmer's robes and she began patting his torso in the manner of one searching for a concealed weapon.
Tirion looked down at her in surprise, and then his lips curved in a delighted smirk. "It's a bit early in the day for that sort of thing, don't you think, El? I'd be happy to oblige you later, though, when I'm not so busy."
Elsynia stopped her search and glowered up him. He had kept up a constant, casual flirtation since they were both in their teens and she was well used to his suggestive comments. She was more annoyed by his attempted evasion. "Where is your armour?"
The High Elf tilted his head slightly. "Armour?" he queried, his tone radiating innocence. The glint in his eyes, however, said that he knew exactly what she was talking about.
"Damn it, Tirion!" The swordswoman was practically quivering with frustration. She stepped back, pulling out of his arms. "I know you mages think magicka makes you completely invincible, but the fact is, it doesn't! You more than anyone should know; for Mara's sake, you were in the Fighters Guild for two years! You've had plenty of combat experience and you've seen first hand what happens when a mage runs out of magicka; even light armour can save you from a fatal wound when your shields fail! You know that!"
Tirion held up his hands in a placating fashion, all the humour drained from his expression. "Elsynia," he said gently. "Look at me." The other elf hesitated, then stopped her agitated pacing and met his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"You're not wearing your chainmail, that's what's wrong –"
"No, I mean what's wrong?" He held her gaze steadily. "This happens all the time; you come here, you nag me to wear armour, I refuse, you get hissy, I tease you, we fight, and then we make up again. Right now, you're acting as if I'm going to die if I don't wear the chainmail this instant. I'll repeat; what's wrong?"
Elsynia stared at him, realising he was right. "I –" All her repressed worries bubbled to the surface, making her stomach clench tight with a by-now-familiar tension. "I don't know!"
The swordswoman collapsed on a nearby settee, her head in her hands. She heard a rustle of paper as Tirion shifted a stack of books off the seat and then felt the settee sink slightly as he sat down next to her.
"Tell me about what's been happening lately."
Elsynia looked up into the mage's concerned eyes. He examined her closely, apparently analysing her expression. "I know about your recent actions as the Hero of Kvatch – is it something to do with that?"
The swordswoman blinked, startled, and then managed a brief smile. "Parwen thought you might have heard about that."
Tirion grinned, a swift flash of humour, there and gone again. "We mages tend to be very well informed. Besides, I wanted to know why you'd missed our meeting." Then he was serious again. "Why don't you tell me about it?"
Elsynia poured out the entire story over the next half hour, starting from the night of her birthday. When she came to the part about the Brotherhood, the High Elf's eyes darkened with concern but he didn't speak. The swordswoman finished her narrative at the point when they had left Anvil three days ago. When she finally stopped, her throat was dry from the constant speaking. Tirion fetched her a mug of water in thoughtful silence and she gratefully gulped down the cool, clear liquid as he resumed his seat next to her.
"So..." the Altmer broke the silence, drawing out the syllable in contemplative way. He looked at her, the tiniest hint of amusement in his gaze. "As far as I can tell, this new level of concern for my wellbeing is the result of current events. They're making you anxious and triggering your overprotective streak."
Elsynia narrowed her eyes at him over her mug. She could see the sense in his words but she disliked the almost dismissive way he addressed her worry for his safety. "You make it sound as if I'm overreacting to the amount of danger you're in. You might not be actively fighting at the moment, but you travel the roads all the time; you could easily come across an Oblivion Gate and its assortment of Daedra. Plus, I wouldn't put it past the Mythic Dawn to attack you simply because of your association with me. If they take you by surprise, before you have a chance to shield magically, armour could protect you from being slain."
Tirion looked away, considering. There was silence for a minute and then he nodded. "As you wish. I'll wear the chainmail everywhere, until you are happy that this Oblivion crisis has passed. Does that satisfy you?"
The swordswoman relaxed a little. She was aware that he hadn't changed his opinion on magic being a suitable substitute for armour; he was only doing it because of her concern. Hopefully this current situation would make him see the benefits. "Yes. Thank you."
Tirion grinned at her, the laughter flooding back into his eyes again. "You are most welcome, my lady." His tone was mockingly solemn. "Is there anything else that you wish me to do?"
Elsynia ignored his jibe and delved into her pack. "As a matter of fact..." she drew out her dark green travelling cloak. "I've been meaning to ask if you can enchant this for me so that it will repel water."
Interest flared in the High Elf's expression and he took the swathe of material from her, examining it with a professional eye. "I don't see why not. The cloth is strong and fairly new; it'll hold the enchantment." His gaze flicked to her, amused. He knew of her intense dislike for cold, wet weather. "I take it you've finally had enough of being rained on?"
Elsynia gave a grumble of assent and he laughed. It was a warm, familiar sound to her ears. Another thought occurred and the swordswoman rummaged through her pack again. "I have your alchemy ingredients as well; two months worth, since I missed our last meeting."
"Ah, good." Tirion stood and cleared a space on his workbench. Elsynia began unloading her bag, passing the items to the mage who started organising them on the tabletop.
"I still can't believe you developed such an interest in alchemy," the swordswoman remarked, handing him a jar of Glow Dust. "It's just about as far as you can get from Destruction magicka."
The Altmer smiled, deft fingers rearranging a row of saucers. "Destruction was only my first love. Admittedly, I didn't try my hand at alchemy for a long while – it seemed the least proactive of all the magical disciplines and I wasn't as interested in something that required me to spend a lot of time closeted indoors. Now though..."
"Now, you love it every bit as much as blowing things up." Elsynia finished, passing him a bag of Fire Salts. He didn't need to explain further; she knew exactly what drew him. They shared the same enjoyment of discovery. Whenever the swordswoman entered a new dungeon, it was the thrill of anticipation, the joy in uncovering hidden treasures and treading untouched ground which she loved. Tirion was the same; only his love of exploration now manifested in the mixing of potions, in the wonder of combining different ingredients to create something new. It was the same thrill that had driven him to craft his own spells, to experiment with his magicka beyond the established norm.
Elsynia reached into her pack and drew out several Nirnroots; the last and most precious of the ingredients she had collected. The blue-green plants nestled in her palm, each emitting a soft glow. Several faint chimes were just audible, right on the edge of hearing. The swordswoman was never quite sure why the plants made a noise at all.
"You must have hundreds of these by now," she commented as she carefully deposited the Nirnroots into Tirion's waiting hands. "What exactly are they used for?"
"It's a surprise." The High Elf winked at her. "Sinderion and I are working on a project."
Elsynia rolled her eyes in amusement. "That means you haven't got a clue."
"Patience, my warrior friend." Tirion smiled, refusing to be ruffled. "All will be revealed in time."
"You mean once you find out for yourselves," the swordswoman teased. She was well aware of the tendency of mages to appear mysterious when they were trying to cover up their own ignorance.
The Altmer made a non-committal noise in his throat. Then he asked, "Speaking of rare ingredients, I suppose that – based on what you've told me of this deal with Dark Brotherhood – I won't be receiving any samples of Oblivion's flora and fauna?"
Elsynia had to hide her smile at the swift change of subject but she didn't call him on it. "I'm afraid not."
Tirion looked at her, his dark eyes becoming serious again. "Just promise me you'll be careful around the Brotherhood. I can see why you're accepting their offer but I don't trust their sincerity at all."
The swordswoman nodded, her humour melting away as the knot of nervous tension began twisting in her stomach again. She attempted a smile. "Of course I'll be careful. I'm just as wary of the whole thing as you are."
The two mer fell silent for a few seconds. Elsynia watched as Tirion placed each Nirnroot into a bag of wet soil, clearly ready to be transported. Then another thought occurred to her. "Though, while we're on the subject of being careful, there was something else I wanted to ask you."
He glanced up, curious. "Yes? What would that be?"
"I don't suppose you know of a ward that will protect me while I sleep? I'm sick of being crept up upon when I'm most vulnerable and almost all shielding spells require active concentration to maintain; something I can't do when I'm sleeping."
The High Elf nodded thoughtfully, approval clear on his face. "That's a sensible idea, especially now. After all, you've never had to worry about assassins before." He shot her a quick smile. "It just so happens that I have created a spell like that. I tried it mainly as an exercise in control but it happened to turn out extremely well. The spell also has a dual function, in that it will both shield you from attack and wake you up if someone tries to interfere with it in any way, such as attempting to Dispel the enchantment."
Elsynia beamed with both delight and some measure of relief. "Wonderful! That sounds like exactly what I need. I knew there was a reason that I visit you," she teased.
Tirion's grin broadened. "Wait until you see what else I have for you." He put down the last Nirnroot and strode away through a door that led to the one of the other rooms in his quarters. He reappeared a minute later, holding a scroll in each hand. They were both tied shut with a purple ribbon. "You just reminded me that I still had these; extremely late birthday presents."
"Oh!" The swordswoman blinked, surprised. "Thank you."
Elsynia accepted the first of the scrolls that he held out to her. Then she almost dropped it in shock. The power of the magicka radiating from the parchment was so strong that it felt as though the scroll was barely enough to contain it.
With a tug, the purple ribbon unravelled. The swordswoman unrolled the paper and examined it closely. She frowned. Spells could be stored within parchment but they could only be cast once. After that their magic was spent and the paper would disintegrate. That was why the elf didn't make a habit of using them – not to mention the price. Normally, though, she was still able to identify the spells when they were transferred into parchment by the feel of their magic. However, this particular scroll's magicka was almost completely unfamiliar to her.
Elsynia glanced up at Tirion, frowning. "What is this?"
"A teleportation spell."
The swordswoman blinked, momentarily speechless with astonishment. Then she managed, "Teleportation? Truly?"
The Altmer wore a smug expression, clearly pleased by her reaction. "Yes."
Elsynia shook her head, incredulous. "I didn't think that was possible. I mean, I know of the portals in the Arch-Mage's tower, but outside of that..."
"Ah, that's where you're wrong. There is a type of spell known as defines a specific area that your magicka will identify and transport you to when you cast Recall, which is the basic teleportation spell," the High Elf explained, becoming enthusiastic as he warmed to his subject.
The swordswoman frowned, thinking over how useful such spells would have been on so many occasions, if only she'd known about them. "I've never heard of Mark or Recall before."
Tirion nodded. "That's not surprising; use of them is almost non-existent in this province. They're far more common in Morrowind. One of the few instances that you'll see their usage in Cyrodiil is in Arch-Mage's tower; in the portals you mentioned. The portals themselves are actually made up of an intricate series of Mark spells and a modified version of Recall, all interlinked to allow people to pass freely between the various floors of the tower. However, what I wanted to do was to see if it were possible to create a form of teleportation that didn't rely on the prior use of a Mark spell."
"I see," Elsynia murmured, thinking it over. "You wanted to know if you could travel to any place you felt like, simply by casting a spell and directing your thoughts to your destination."
Tirion smiled, pleased by her quick grasp of the situation. "That's right."
"And I take it you succeeded, then?" asked the swordswoman, gesturing to the scroll still held in her right hand.
"Ah." He grimaced. "Yes and no. Unfortunately, not all experiments work out the way I want them to. I've been forced to come to the conclusion that, as wonderful an idea as it is, it's simply not feasible to create such a limitless teleportation spell for the average mage. It took me several sessions, during which I completely exhausted my considerable reserves, to store enough magicka to power that one scroll. And a scroll is all most mages would be able to use; I understand now that teleportation magic is hideously complex in nature. Even if they had the level of power required, few would understand how to actually cast the spell."
"Then I can't possibly accept this." Elsynia was aghast at the idea of him giving her something so valuable. "It should be used for something important; you can't just give it to me –"
"I can and I am." The Altmer's tone was mild. "I can think of no better use than what it was intended for. I have a second scroll, which I'll keep to allow others to study it. There's no point in having two of them sitting on a shelf, gathering dust."
The swordswoman opened her mouth to argue further, and then thought the better of it. She had known Tirion for years and his expression indicated that he wasn't going to be moved on the subject. Swallowing her protest, she instead said, "Thank you. I'll put it to good use, I promise."
"I know you will." The High Elf smiled. He then passed her the scroll in his other hand. "And this little beauty is another invention of mine. Best used if you need to beat a hasty retreat from a combat situation. Try it out and let me know how it goes. If you like it, I can teach you the proper spell."
Elsynia examined her second birthday gift with interest. Like the teleportation scroll, it was imbued with a spell that felt almost completely foreign to her; though she would hazard a guess that it was a brand of Illusion magicka. "I don't suppose that I get to know what it exactly what it does, I do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No." Tirion smirked. "I refused to divulge the exact nature of the enchantment. You'll have to find out for yourself."
"That's rather dangerous."
"What, don't you trust me, Elsynia?" he smiled charmingly.
"Nope," the swordswoman lied, hoping to provoke him into an answer.
"My beloved, why do you wound me so?" The mage placed a hand over his heart, looking at her with an expression of mock sorrow.
"Ass."
Tirion's affected sadness dissolved into laughter at her irritation. "All right. The spell is guaranteed to immobilize all enemies within a seventy-foot radius for at least four minutes. That's all I'm telling you; you have to find out the rest for yourself."
Elsynia nodded, a little more comfortable about using the scroll now that she had the additional information on its properties. "I can live with that."
There was a loud knock at the door and both mer looked up, startled by the interruption. "Come in," called Tirion.
The door swung open and a nervous-looking Breton Apprentice, no older than seventeen, edged into the room. "Master-Wizard? There's an Argonian and a Bosmer in the lobby. They claim to be here to see you."
The High Elf glanced at Elsynia, a fleeting smile touching his lips. "Thank you. Tell them we'll be down momentarily."
With a swift nod to show he had heard and understood, the Breton quickly fled the room.
"Are you a complete dragon when I'm not around?" the swordswoman enquired in amazement. "That boy ran away as if he expected you to start launching fireballs at him."
Tirion laughed. "Most of them are like that at first. The new Apprentices tiptoe around anyone higher than the rank of Conjurer for the first few weeks, until they work out we're not going to take their heads off just for interrupting us." The Altmer paused. "Well, most of us won't," he amended. "It certainly makes life interesting anyway."
"I'll bet," murmured Elsynia, amused at the thought of all the timid Apprentices creeping around the University. "Should we go then? From the sound of it, Parwen and Ah-Malz are waiting for us."
"Of course." Tirion swept up the loose papers that he had been working on before the swordswoman arrived, tidying them into a bundle. Then something seemed to occur to him and he paused to glance over at her. "By the way, how did you get into the University? I didn't have to come and collect you from the lobby."
Elsynia grinned impishly as she pulled out a certain key and dangled it in front of him. "I do believe that you never asked me for your spare gate key back."
"Ah." The High Elf smiled. "I was wondering where I'd left that." He crossed the room and opened the door. "After you," Tirion gestured to the doorway, sweeping an exaggeratedly low bow. "Ladies first."
Elsynia merely rolled her eyes at his theatrics and strolled out into the hallway. "Don't mind if I do."
He followed her and together they began making their way to the lobby. The two mer walked in companionable silence until another question cropped up in Elsynia's mind. "How is my father? Have you seen him recently?"
Tirion blinked, clearly derailed from whatever he had been thinking about. "Henantier? Oh, he's fine." An amused smile flashed across his face. "At least, he is now that I've talked him out of his latest harebrained scheme."
"Oh? What has he done now?" The swordswoman was resigned to Henantier's mad experiments by this point but she couldn't deny she was at least a little intrigued to hear what he had come up with this time.
"I'm not sure exactly what he was planning to do with it, but he was in the process of creating an amulet that would let him consciously explore his dreams."
Elsynia frowned. "That's sounds...rather dangerous."
"It is," the High Elf agreed. "Messing around with the mind is a very risky business, even for those with experience. Which is why I gently coaxed him out of it; there was a high chance that he would have done permanent damage to himself."
Elsynia snorted and shook her head. "If not for you keeping him from trying out his more dangerous ideas, my father would have been expelled from the Guild long before now."
The rest of the way to the lobby was spent in amiable chatter and the occasional, comfortable silence. To the swordswoman's annoyance, despite the fact that it had taken her an hour to find Tirion's rooms, it took the mage mere minutes to lead her back through the massive arched hallways of University to where a certain pair of warriors were waiting.
"Tirion!" squealed Parwen, launching herself across the room. The Altmer caught her before she cannoned into him.
"How's my favourite archer?" he asked warmly, squeezing her in a bear hug.
The Wood Elf beamed up at Tirion and hugged him back just as hard. "I am extremely happy at the moment!"
He laughed and released her. "Good to hear." A few quick strides took him across the room to where Ah-Malz was standing. The big Argonian straightened up from where he had been leaning against the doorframe to grasp forearms with the mage in a rough but friendly greeting.
"It's good to see you again."
"Likewise, my friend," the Warder rasped, his face splitting into a rare, toothy smile.
Elsynia observed them, a slight smile on her lips. It was hard to believe now that the two hadn't got along when they had first met. She glanced at Ah-Malz. "So how did it turn out at the shops? I take it Parwen finally got the price she wanted for that enchanted dagger?"
The Argonian rumbled with laughter. "Thoronir didn't stand a chance. Did you really expect otherwise?"
Parwen shot a hurt look at Ah-Malz. "I don't know what you're talking about. He just needed to be persuaded a bit is all." Her expression was a little too innocent.
The swordswoman raised an eyebrow, amused. "Of course he did."
"What?" the Bosmer exclaimed. She looked up at Tirion. "You understand what I mean, don't you?"
The mage opened his mouth to reply but Elsynia cut him off before he could speak. "Of course Tirion understands. He's a serial flirt, just like you."
"My love, she is so cruel," the Altmer said to Parwen in a stage-whisper. "Beautiful, but cruel. I am doomed."
"You also share the same trait of overdramatizing things," the swordswoman added. She rolled her eyes as they shot her identical wounded looks.
"I take it you got what you came here for then, Elsynia?" Ah-Malz broke in, clearly attempting to divert them from their bickering.
"I'll bet she did," the archer waggled her eyebrows suggestively, shooting a sidelong glance at Tirion. The mage simply smirked in reply.
Elsynia sighed with mock sadness. "Not yet I'm afraid, Parwen. Tirion still has to take me to the training rooms to teach me an advanced warding spell."
"Oh, is that what you're calling it now?" Parwen smirked.
The High Elf grinned but to Elsynia's relief, didn't pounce on the Bosmer's comment like he normally would. "You're both right and wrong about that, El," he said.
At the swordswoman's questioning look, Tirion elaborated, "We've had a new practice area constructed recently; I was going to take you there instead. It's an outdoor training ring which, oddly enough, has ended up looking somewhat like a miniature version of the Arena. It's also surrounded by various layers of wards to prevent stray blasts of magic from hitting anyone."
Elsynia nodded in approval. "That sounds like an excellent idea. When do we start?"
Tirion held out one golden hand in challenge, a teasing glint in his eye. "Right now, if you think you can handle it."
The swordswoman raised an eyebrow and placed her palm in his, accepting the challenge. His larger hand covered hers completely; his skin was warm and smooth to the touch. "Do you even have to ask?"
xxx
It was eight o'clock at night by the time the four companions entered the Market District, heading for the Feed Bag and the promise of a hot dinner. The time taken for Tirion to teach Elsynia how to create the ward had been relatively short; she already knew a range of shielding spells and it had simply been a matter of modifying the way the enchantment was constructed and cast to achieve the desired affect.
However, as per usual where the two mer were concerned, the lesson had rapidly devolved into a magical brawl – it could be safely said that the wards around the training arena were now thoroughly tested. Tirion had won in the end; Elsynia was no match for him in straight-up fight of sheer magical strength but it had never stopped her from trying.
"So how did it happen?" the swordswoman asked. They were walking along the main thoroughfare of the Market District. The massive crowds of earlier were absent, though there were a fair number people still about, their forms shadowy and indistinct in the near darkness. Most were walking with purpose, heading either home or to a tavern, like the four companions. Some, however, were hanging about in the entrances to alleys or under the overhang of shop doors. Elsynia kept half an eye on them and her hand on the hilt of her sword, just in case. They might be people as harmless as beggars or as mundane as thieves, but she wasn't taking any chances. "Your promotion, I mean?"
"Ah, that." The smile that Tirion flashed down at her was warm but she could sense the sudden drop in his mood.
The swordswoman frowned up at him in reply. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
A rueful smile touched his lips. "You know me too well, my friend." The Altmer glanced away, along the street. Not far ahead of them, Ah-Malz was walking with Parwen. The archer was loping along beside the Argonian, keeping up with his longer stride with practised ease. A ceaseless flow of chatter came from the Bosmer, snatches of which kept drifting back to the other two elves. Ah-Malz appeared to just listen in silence – he was not one to waste breath on unnecessary talking. Not that that bothered Parwen. She could keep up a conversation all by herself.
"So?" Elsynia pressed, drawing his attention back to her. "Are you unhappy with your promotion?"
Tirion shook his head. "No, not at all. Merely the circumstances around it." He looked down at the smaller elf. Her eyes were bright with a familiar, avid curiosity. He laughed. "I'll have to explain that comment now, won't I? Ah, where to begin...I suppose you've heard that Arch-Mage Traven has banned Necromancy?"
The swordswoman snorted. "It's only the first thing out of every mage's mouth nowadays. I'm tired of hearing about how the ban has made a lot of them desert the Guild."
"Well, it's actually rather more serious than that."
Elsynia glanced up the Altmer. He was looking straight ahead, but his gaze was distant and his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "The Guild is...very uneasy at present. I can't help but wonder if Traven had any idea of the kind of havoc that would be unleashed by his decision. It's true that I've only been there for three years, but the atmosphere in the University has always been relaxed and tranquil. Now it's strained and unhappy. The tension seeps into everyone, affecting their mood. I've caught myself snapping at people on several occasions for no good reason."
"But why?" the swordswoman asked. "What's causing it?"
Tirion shook his head in disgust. "The mages – the ones who left – have gone rogue. Most of them have banded together and are attacking places affiliated with the Guild. Now all the mages who didn't leave are questioning Traven's decision. Some are afraid; they consider leaving simply to avoid being targeted by the rogues. Some are angry; they predicted the consequences of the ban and were ignored. The cracks are showing and even the Council is divided. The Guild is crumbling from within under the pressure."
Elsynia was silent, quietly appalled by the extent of the damage Tirion had just revealed. Incredible that such harm could be caused by a single decision. For a moment, the only sound was the ring of their boots on the cobblestones. Then, as her mind ran through the implications of what he had said, something occurred to her and she frowned thoughtfully. "It is strange, though, that these rogues are organised enough to be able to carry out raids. They must have a leader. A strong one, at that."
The High Elf nodded. From what she could see through the gathering dusk, his expression was troubled. "I know. We have yet to discover his or her identity. I can't think of many mages with the leadership qualities necessary to hold them together."
Silence fell. The two elves continued along the road, Ah-Malz and Parwen still walking ahead of them. It was now almost completely dark apart from the pools of light where the city guards stood, holding torches. The firelight cast their shadows, huge and flickering, against the towering white walls of the houses. High above, the sky was dotted with a billion tiny pinpricks of light; a vast, glittering expanse of stars that was only interrupted by the strong, slender column of the White-Gold tower. The graceful spire appeared as a black silhouette against the starlight as it rose high above the city into the heavens.
Tirion appeared to have lapsed into deep thought. Now that initial enthusiasm of their reunion was over, it was obvious to Elsynia how tired and worried the mage was. Guilt crept up on her. She felt bad for piling her own problems on top of his, but when she voiced this, he waved her down.
"Share and share alike, El. My worries are your worries, and your worries are my worries."
The swordswoman arched a brow, but was unable to hold back a smile. "I don't remember making any such agreement."
Tirion slung an arm around her shoulders and adopted a serious face. "It's implicit in the 'lifelong friends' pact we made. Remember that?"
Elsynia flushed, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment at the memory of how childishly earnest she had been. "Yes, I do actually." If she recalled correctly they had – in the way of children – met and within minutes declared each other friends for life. She was surprised Tirion had even remembered something from such a long time ago – but then again, he had always had a knack for recalling embarrassing moments.
Parwen chose that second to come bounding back towards them. "What's taking you two so long?" she called. "We're not going to reach the Feed Bag before midnight at this rate!"
"We're reminiscing old times," Tirion told her.
"You can do that when we're eating. I'm so hungry I could eat a goblin!" She paused, reconsidering. "Well, maybe not quite that hungry." The archer inserted herself in between the other two mer, linked arms with them and proceeded to drag them forward at a much faster pace.
Parwen didn't slow until they had drawn level with Ah-Malz, then she released them and spun around. The Wood Elf began skipping backwards along the road, facing her three companions as she began fantasising about her dinner. "– and then I'll have a succulent slab of beef, roasted in garlic and thyme –"
Elsynia was listening in amusement as Parwen expounded on her list of favourite dishes, when there was a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. The swordswoman frowned, uncertain. Was that...?
Discreetly, Elsynia cast a detect life spell and rotated her gaze slowly around the immediate area. She came up blank...until she looked back at Parwen.
"– sprinkled with salt and just a dash of ginger –"
"Parwen –!" Elsynia's warning shout came too late.
The archer choked on her words as a blade suddenly emerged from her torso in a spray of blood. Behind her, there was a green shimmer as an invisibility spell was broken – revealing a figure clad in Mythic Dawn armour. There was a second of frozen shock amongst the other three companions as the assassin pushed Parwen off his longsword before turning to face them, blade gleaming wetly with the Bosmer's blood.
Then the shock shattered and Ah-Malz barrelled forward with a furious roar, going chest to chest with the assassin. Elsynia dropped to her knees beside Parwen, Restoration magicka already glowing around her hands. The swordswoman was dimly aware of Tirion standing over them protectively, a strong shield spell already expanding to encase all three of them in a shimmering, white-transparent bubble but she ignored it, trusting him to guard her back and turned her attention entirely to Parwen.
The archer's body was convulsing wildly; blood streamed from her mouth and from the gaping wound in her torso, pooling around her on the cobblestones at an alarming rate. The Daedric steel had cut through her armour like a hot knife through butter and scraps of the chainmail had snagged on the torn flesh, glittering silver against the raw red.
Elsynia did her best to push away the panic that rose in her at the sight, instantly placing her hands on Parwen's body and channelling streams of healing energy into the grievous wound. As the Restoration magic flooded through Parwen, the knowledge it communed told Elsynia instantly that the sword had punctured a lung and shattered six ribs. With an injury that severe, she knew the Wood Elf was less than a minute away from death – though it was nothing short of a miracle that the blade had missed her heart – and every second counted if she was to be saved.
Focusing on the most serious problem first, Elsynia increased the flow of healing magicka into Parwen. The archer's lung was rapidly filling up with blood instead of air, so working quickly, she drained the fluid, repaired the damaged organ and supported it as it began to function again. Holding the lung steady, the swordswoman then fed another streamer of magic into the damaged area, carefully reassembling each of the shattered rib bones. Once the ribcage had been reformed, Elsynia released control of Parwen's left lung, allowing it to function on its own, and turned her attention to closing the wound. The Bosmer's body drank in the ribbons of blue-white energy eagerly; fusing blood vessels, knitting flesh and repairing muscle. The jagged hole slowly sealed, pushing out the fragments of chainmail and cloth still caught in the wound as it did so.
The swordswoman gave an inaudible sigh of relief as she lifted her hands away and released the flow of magicka. Though it had seemed to take an age, the entire process hadn't lasted for more than fifteen seconds. "Don't try to move," Elsynia instructed her friend, worried that the archer would accidently tear the newly-formed skin, which was still a little weaker than the flesh surrounding it.
However, the warning was somewhat redundant; Parwen didn't even looked as if she'd heard and certainly wouldn't be moving anywhere under her own power. White-faced and trembling, the Wood Elf lay gasping and staring sightlessly at the cobblestones slick with her own blood.
Though instinctive concern still gripped her, the practical side of Elsynia knew that Parwen's condition was stable and so she jumped to her feet to face the more immediate danger. She was just in time to see Ah-Malz kill the assassin, his claymore hewing the agent's torso almost in two. Nearby, a city guard grappled with another Mythic Dawn member.
Tirion, seeing that he no longer had to watch Elsynia's and Parwen's backs, turned his attention to the second Mythic agent. The Altmer mage shouted a warning to the guard, dropping his magical shield as he did so; the guard sprang away and an enormous fireball leapt from Tirion's palm, streaking across the intervening space to engulf the assassin. The Mythic Dawn agent died instantly, collapsing to the ground as his summoned armour dissolved.
There was silence for moment. Blood still roared in Elsynia's ears and adrenaline thrummed through her as she looked around the street. Judging by the bobbing torch lights heading towards them and distant shouts, all the nearby Imperial City guards were converging on their position. The one guard who had been close enough to help them straightened up and nodded her thanks at Tirion. The tall mage inclined his head in reply.
Judging that the threat had been eliminated, Elsynia dropped back down to Parwen's side. Some measure of lucidity appeared to have returned to the Wood Elf's eyes, though she was still as white as chalk. "I feel terrible," she groaned, sitting up gingerly. Her hands went instinctively to the hole that had been torn in her chainmail and undershirt, both of which were still soaked in her blood. The archer's fingers found the skin underneath and she poked at the ridged red scar just below her right breast, twisting her head in a futile attempt to see the now-healed wound. "You've fixed me properly, haven't you?"
The swordswoman hid her smile of relief. If Parwen was well enough to complain, she would be fine. "Of course. I can't replenish the blood you lost though, which is why you'll still feel dizzy and weak for a while. Though," she paused meaningfully. "You could get a better quality of armour. Then these kinds of things wouldn't happen so often."
Parwen rolled her eyes and lurched to her feet. Elsynia rose quickly too and steadied her when the Bosmer swayed like a drunken sailor. "You are obsessed with armour, El. And I don't have the strength to wear the kind of heavy stuff you do." The archer took a step forward and nearly fell.
"That wasn't what I meant," protested Elsynia. "Just get a higher grade of light armour. And besides, if you really wanted to, you could train yourself to wear heavy armour." The swordswoman had not originally possessed the strength necessary wear the heavier forms of armour either. She had started out with a suit of chainmail much like Parwen's but had reconsidered shortly after joining the Fighters Guild and experiencing combat for herself. Elsynia's close-quarters style of fighting favoured armour that wouldn't give way under a few strong blows and as such she had vigorously trained her body for months to be able to carry the greater weight. Her diminutive body had refused to put on much mass but her muscles had become strong and lean – which was more suitable for a swordfighter in any case – and she had eventually become capable of wearing a heavier type of armour.
Tirion took Parwen's left side and supported her in the same manner as Elsynia was doing on the right. "Don't listen to her," he told the Bosmer conspiratorially. "She goes on and on and on about armour to me too."
The swordswoman glowered at them both but managed to keep her quick temper under control. They were baiting her on purpose and she stubbornly refused to bite, even though they were openly grinning at her.
Ah-Malz broke off the conversation had he had been having with the guard who had aided them and moved back to stand beside them. "We will have to wait for her superior to arrive," the Warder informed his fellow warriors, waving a clawed hand at the guard in indication. "After we've given a statement, we'll probably be able to just go. Word is spreading fast between the cities about the mortal agents of Dagon."
Tirion cast a thoughtful look at the crumpled corpses. "So those were people were two of these Mythic Dawn assassins you were telling me about, El? I thought as much."
The swordswoman just nodded, though his question made her attention return to Parwen. The Wood Elf seemed utterly unconcerned about her recent brush with death and was fidgeting impatiently, despite the fact she could barely stand up without help. "I hope the Guard Captain shows up soon," she muttered. "I'm starving."
"Have patience." Tirion's eyes were fixed on the approaching lights, the holders of whom were finally close enough to be recognisable as members of the Imperial City guard. "It won't be long now."
"Huh." Parwen snorted in apparent disbelief but fell silent anyway.
Elsynia was quiet also. Her body didn't fully relax until a dozen or more guardsmen were crowded around them, surrounding with their reassuring presence. She was vaguely aware of Tirion talking to Audens Avidius but simply let the soothingly familiar sound of his voice wash over her, feeling oddly drained and light-headed, as if she were the one who had lost a great deal of blood instead of Parwen.
Aside from the strange tiredness, there was something else troubling Elsynia and it wasn't until the swordswoman's eyes fell on the bodies of the assassins again that she realised what was it was. I don't understand them at all. She tilted her head back, looking up at the sky. The innumerable stars glittered back at her, remote and far removed from the troubles of the world. Why would any mortal side with a Daedric prince? Most of the Daedra care little for us, that much is evident. We are tools and petty amusements to them. Maybe the Mythic Dawn were promised positions of power in this 'new world' they believe Dagon will bring them; but surely they are not so blind as to believe he would keep such a promise. He will not come to remake our world but to destroy it utterly.
Elsynia's thoughts remained dark and troubled long after Tirion shook her arm to regain her attention. The four companions finally headed to the nearby warmth and light of the Feed Bag and over the course of the night, the swordswoman's depressed mood gradually faded as good food and good company lifted her spirits.
The stars continued to shine far above the quiet, shadowy streets of the Imperial City, ancient and entirely indifferent to the affairs of mortals, as the world slowly turned and the dawn approached.
A/N: Please review. ;)