Chapter Fourteen – Elder Education
Laurelin blinked away the sweat and snow stinging her eyes, turning her wrist and catching the blade slicing toward her on her own, then twisted, forcing her skeletal opponent to step back and disengage. Her shield came up and punched into the skull, knocking loose a few scraps of bone and lank hair. It reeled back and her sword flickered out, catching the stumbling undead thing behind it's bony knee, and pulled.
The skeleton dropped to the snow-covered ground with a rattle, and she bashed again with her shield, then stepped back as the inevitable clang of the enchantments on Dawnbreaker broke the spell keeping her foe animated. The skeleton fell into a pile of ash with a whisper, the wind stirring the mound slowly.
Glancing around, she saw Vilkas nearby, toe to toe with a black-robed necromancer who had dark magics playing about one hand, a dagger gripped in the other. She rushed over to aid her lover, the shifting rose and gold light of her sword comforting, blazing bright and true in her hand.
Although the necromancer wasn't undead himself and Dawnbreaker didn't set him on fire, the man facing Vilkas didn't seem thrilled to have the broad blade driven into his back and through his guts. His shriek of agony was short lived, tapering off to a strangled gurgle as Laurelin had to use her boot to push him off her blade. The lightning playing in his hand sparked a few times then fizzled away.
The fort, which crowded close to the road at the pass, had been occupied by several mages and numerous skeletal minions. That is, until the skeletons decided to assault the Companions, with both necromancers rushing into the fight as well. Once their antagonists had been defeated, Laure patched up their scrapes, Vilkas rolling his eyes but saying nothing when she used magic to do it. It was quicker than arguing with her–she would stand there and not budge until he let her heal him, and he couldn't find fault with the results-so he just let her have her way in this. Laure and Vilkas cleaned their blades and set out once more, following the road that curved around the sprawling compound of Fort Kastav.
They were only a few miles from Winterhold now; it was just around the mountain, down closer to the sea. The two lovers walked quietly, weapons still out, unsure what else might be readying an attack. They both smelled the sabre-cats before they saw them, much as they smelled the Orsimer man being stalked by the sabre-cats. Dashing forward, the Companions rounded a bend and saw one of the cats pounce a large orc warrior walking down the road. The orc gave an angry shout as he was tumbled off the road but came up to his feet in an instant, axe in hand. The cat hissed, taking a few angry swipes at the orc, but its claws screeched off the shield that appeared between the two opponents.
Laure sheathed her sword and unshouldered her bow, drawing and knocking an arrow in one smooth motion. She stilled her body and breath, blanked out everything but calling the shot to her. Exhaling, she released and watched in satisfaction as the barbed tip of her arrow punched deeply into the cat's neck, knocking it sideways in a spray of snow.
Drawing another arrow, her sharp eyes picked out the shape of the other cat, stalking through the brush near the road. As soon as she had a clear shot, she fired again, taking it cleanly through the eye. It tumbled to the ground and lay in a slumped pile.
Vilkas slid down the embankment to see if the man was all right but leaped back as the furious Orsimer turned on him. Sword screamed against axe as the orc bitterly called out, "You have taken my good death from me!" Vilkas was taken aback, parrying while his quick mind tried to sort out what was going on.
"What do you mean 'your good death'? We just saved you!" He heard Laurelin's light steps crunching through the snow behind him, so he backed up a few paces and kept his guard up.
"I am waiting for a good death. Malacath has given me a vision of a glorious, noble death, so now I seek it. That might have been my death you deprived me of just now!" The huge orc lowered his weapon, frustration jutting his lower jaw even farther out.
"Death comes to all, why rush to find it, friend?" Laure called out, arrow nocked but not drawn, resting near her thigh.
"I am old, that's why. It is unseemly to cling to that which is no longer useful. I have lived too long and shall never be chief nor take wives. It is honorable to find a good death so that the young and strong might thrive."
"You don't seem old to me. Why not continue fighting? You seem an accomplished fighter."
"I am. Once I might have been chieftan and had many wives, but a stronger warrior humbled me and took my place. It is better for the tribe that he won; he will have many strong children. I will follow the will of Malacath and die."
"Are you sure he wants you to seek this death he showed you? Perhaps he showed you something far distant, after many years. There are many who would value a capable fighter such as yourself."
"Laurelin..." murmured Vilkas warningly, catching on to where she was headed. She ignored him and continued on.
"Groups such as the Companions. They are recruiting anyone with honor in their hearts and the desire to swing a blade for a cause."
"Companions, fah! That rabble know nothing of honor, nor skill. Bunch of drunken sprats with rabbit-stickers." Laure and Vilkas both stiffened, eyes narrowing. Vilkas was nearly quivering with rage, and Laure had to swallow twice before replying.
"While that may have been true once upon a time, it is not so any more."
"What does it matter to you?" He finally looked closely, noticing the trademark wolf armor they both wore. Huh, well that's pretty damned funny. Rescued by Companions when he didn't want to be, then insulting them to their faces. Dying at the hands of the Companions might be a good death, he considered.
"We are Companions, so I hope you will understand our distress at your colorful description."
"Distressed enough to give me a good fight and noble death perhaps?" smirked the orc, his lower tusks jutting forward even more.
"I think my mate here has established that we would rather not fight you," Vilkas replied flatly.
"Wait, you're mated to her? Are you the chief of the Companions?"
"We have what we call the Harbinger, who doesn't lead but advises and supervises daily activities and job assignments. I am not the Harbinger. She is."
Laure smiled sweetly at the orc and shrugged. "Strange, but true. And we would welcome another strong warrior to our ranks if you decide that you can wait for a glorious death after all."
"I will wait; my death will come. Please be gone if you will not grant me my wish." He turned away and gazed out toward the sea. Nodding to Vilkas, Laure scrambled back up to the road with her lover close behind.
They walked quietly a while, before he burst out, "Laurelin, I know you mean well, but you can't go around taking in every stray we meet! Not everyone who likes to fight is meant to be a Companion. That man back there has plainly given up, and you would be fighting against all of his traditions if he did decide to postpone the inevitable and join us. In his search for his death, he would endanger any shield-sibling with him. It just wouldn't work."
"I had to try."
"Of course you did." He took her hand and brushed her gauntlet encased fingers over his cheek.
Around the next bend was Winterhold. What had once been a thriving port city was now a pitiful handful of buildings huddled on the remnants of a shelf of rock that had been sheered off and plunged into the sea below. A bowshot from the northeast coastline on a tall, wide column of stone was the College of Winterhold. Imposing, masterfully carved stone walls rose high above, giving the impression of a mighty lord on his throne, while Winterhold itself was a humble servant cowered at his master's feet. The gulf that separated the headland from the college was spanned by several stone bridges that zig-zagged to pylons of stone.
Laure and Vilkas entered the Frozen Hearth. The usual din of a busy tavern was missing here, only a few people eating or drinking in spite of the time being close to supper. They rented a room, ate in the dining room with the few patrons about. Laure discovered one of her old fences still frequented the tiny bar in the evenings, and she chatted amiably with him for a short time before retiring early with her mate.
Rising early, they dressed and ate but left their packs in their room. It was a short walk through the flurries of snow to the north end of town. There were no merchants or even beggars on the single street that ran between the four houses that appeared liveable. Two guards paced the short distance, giving the Companions a close look before shuffling off, bored.
A tall stone portico shielded the base of the bridge to the college, and there stood an Altmer woman in thick robes, gazing at them impassively as they mounted the steps.
"Halt! You may not pass unless you have business here or you are a member of the College."
"I have business here but no desire to be a member. May I still pass?"
"What brings you to the college, traveler?"
Laure despised having to use her titles, but she understood that such things often opened barred and locked doors faster than a battering ram. Lifting her chin slightly, she announced, "I am the Dragonborn, and my business is of utmost importance. I request admittance to the college on behalf of all of Tamriel."
The Altmer woman sniffed slightly, and gave a small quirk of her lips, "Would you mind demonstrating your Thu'um for me please? It would never do to admit a false Dragonborn on word alone. My apologies, but I must ask."
Nodding agreeably, Laure leaned over the wall and Shouted to the snowy skies, "Lok, Vah, Koor!" The wind dropped away, flurries of snow abruptly fell straight down, and the clouds rolled back, letting the sun shine down on them for the first time in two days. The Altmer sorceress gave a quiet, undignified giggle, then schooled her features again.
"Very good. If you will follow me, I can guide you up to the college proper. The way is warded and treacherous." The two fighters followed the mage across the span, pausing every so often as she cast an enchantment on circular stone wells set into the foundations of the bridges, one at each junction. Once across, the woman turned to Laurelin. "I am called Faralda. If you ever need training in destruction magic, find me. It would be interesting to train the Dragonborn. Nirya can be found lurking in the main vestibule; she will direct you to the Arch-Mage's quarters. Good day."
Laure and Vilkas pushed open the front doors into the mage college to find another towering Altmer glaring at them from her lofty height. "Yes what do you want?" she asked irritably.
"Ah, you must be Nirya. Would you be so kind as to direct me to the Arch-Mage's quarters?"
"And why, exactly, would I do such a thing? We don't allow just anyone audience with the Arch-Mage. She is a very busy woman."
"I'm sure she is, but surely she can spare a few moments, I am the Dragonborn, and I have come far to speak with her about an urgent matter."
"Hah, many could come to me and claim to be such. You will have to prove tha-"
"Feim!" Suddenly Laurelin was as insubstantial as mist, she drifted about the tall Mer's head, and when the Altmer waved her hand to ward off Laurelin, her fingers passed right through. Soon Laure dropped back to the ground and shifted back to her corporeal form, eyebrows raised. Vilkas was wisely refraining from getting between the two.
"Well, I suppose that could be considered proof. Wait here; I'll see if she can receive you today. I wouldn't hold my breath, though; it's unlikely she will have the time." Nirya turned away, opened a door to a stairwell, and disappeared.
Laure and Vilkas loitered a few moments, but in a relatively short time, Nirya was back, grinding her teeth, but smiling politely. "Arch-Mage will see you immediately. You will address her with respect she is a mighty sorceress who saved the college not too long ago. It is only proper. Follow me, please." She led them up many winding flights of stairs, finally reaching the top. A small foyer with several doors leading from it opened into a spacious circular room with a small garden in the center. Workbenches covered with an assortment of artifacts, alchemical reagents, tools, jewelry, books, scrolls, and soul gems were wedged up against the rounded walls. Here and there display cases and bookshelves broke up the clutter.
Laure almost missed the Arch-Mage where she was hunched over a basket of potion ingredients, sorting them with long, nimble fingers.
"Arch-Mage, the Dragonborn, as you requested." With that Nirya turned away and left Laure and Vilkas in the wide archway. They both rolled their eyes at the way the junior mage had managed to make it sound as if they had been commanded to appear before the leader of the college.
"Just a moment...eighteen, nineteen, and twenty. There." Dropping the dried sabre-cat eyes she had been counting into a bowl, the woman straightened up. Vilkas suppressed a tiny groan. Altmer again. He was going to have a horrible kink in his neck from craning his head back to look up at them. This one wore black, hooded robes, with the fringed and pointed mantle of the Arch-Mage over her wide shoulders. Long, strawberry-blonde hair was pulled tightly from her long face, but wisps and fringes had escaped, floating like a cloud about her head.
Her glittering ebony eyes passed dismissively over Vilkas and settled on Laurelin. "Yes, I see the rumors are true, then. Most peculiar. Were any of your ancestors human perhaps?"
Laurelin said mildly, "How do you do? I am Laurelin Vo'Shai, Dragonborn, Harbinger of the Companions, and this is Vilkas Jergenson, Master-at-Arms of the Companions."
The Altmer woman smiled ruefully, her thin, wide lips pressed together. "Apologies for my discourtesy. I am Shea'a AzIrial, newly appointed Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. I'm afraid I've not yet adjusted to the social aspects of the position. I bid you welcome, Dragonborn. May I offer refreshments?"
"I would love some, although I can't speak for my mate."
"Interesting..." Shea'as' gaze roamed over Vilkas for a more lingering appraisal, then snapped back to Laure. She led them to a small dining table, cleared a stack of books, and poured three goblets of wine. While filling them in on some of the more recent events at the college, the angular, tawny-skinned mer swiftly assembled a platter of bread and cheese, honey, butter, eggs, roast venison, and smoked clams-where it came from Laure never saw, but there was no cooking facility up here. She wasn't about to ask, though. The Companions listened and picked at the food.
Shea'a finally wiped her hands and sat back, gazing curiously from Laure to Vilkas and back again. "Well, now that those little pleasantries are done with, I am eager to know what brings you to the college. My understanding is that you have little interest in learning more of the arcane arts."
Laure took a deep breath before plunging in for what felt like the hundredth time. "As you may have noticed, Alduin has returned. He's the one raising dead dragons and binding them to his will. I...I can fight dragons until my dying breath, but unless I can find a way to defeat the World-Eater, it will all mean nothing."
"I was aware of this, but go on," murmured the sorceress.
"Recently I was made aware of a possible way to bring Alduin down and defeat him. However, the tool was lost to the ages-"
"What kind of tool could bring down the World-Eater?"
"A Shout. It was used before, when Alduin was cast into a rift in time. If I can find an Elder Scroll, there is a way I might learn the Shout and defeat him again."
"Elder Scroll. Hmm...let me think. The tall woman shot from her chair, pacing several moments before turning to Vilkas and Laurelin. "Stay here, and touch nothing if you value your digits. I'll be back soon." She hurried away, long legs carrying her swiftly from sight. Sitting back, the couple picked at the scraps on their plates, looking around curiously but not too closely.
Roughly a quarter of an hour later, the Arch-Mage was back, scrolls piled in her arms, a sour-looking Orsimer in robes following behind, similarly burdened with worn tomes. "If anything happens to these Arch-Mage-"
"I know, gruesome death, pulled apart by atronachs, fed to the horkers. Put them here." She swept a basket of scrolls away, blew ash off the wooden surface of the table and picked a gob of dried wax off the bench before setting hers down. The Orc mage scowled but set his burden down as well and began sorting them. Motioning for Laure join them, Shea'a sat herself down in a nearby chair and scanned the assortment with a critical eye. "So many good books gone. Ah well, be grateful for those we have, I say. Urag gro-Shub is the librarian here at the college. If not for him, our beloved Arcaneum would be a pale shadow of the wonder it is today."
"Flattery won't save your skin if-"
"Yes Urag, we get the point. Now what can you tell the Dragonborn and me of the Elder Scrolls?" She crossed her ankles and sat back, long fingers steepled under her pointed chin. Laure and Vilkas shifted to get a better view of the librarian, listening eagerly as he began, his rough voice a strange contrast to the eloquence of his words. This was no simple barbarian orc but an authority on many historical topics, and the Elder Scrolls seemed to have been of particular interest to him, so they were finally able to get some answers.
"First off, no, I don't have an Elder Scroll, nor do I know where you might find one this side of the imperial libraries in Cyrodiil." Urag went on to explain some of the history of the Elder Scrolls and finally turned to where he thought they could begin the search. Laure listened in dismay as he listed almost a dozen ancient Dwemer cities that might offer up clues. Urag was now enthusiastically opening books and reciting passages, jotting locations down, and even went so far as to sketch a few devices he thought were important.
"Urag, slow down, you will overwhelm us. Some of these are places we currently have under excavation; perhaps we might narrow this list down to something more manageable." Shea'a chastised gently.
"This is the manageable list. I've already taken into account and excluded the ruins that are clearly dead ends or have nothing of value left in them. The cities on this list were important trading and commerce hubs, which also implies they would have places of learning, worship, and vaults for storing books or artifacts and their like. They have also been the most difficult to access."
"If you were to pick, where would you begin the search, Urag?"
"Any of these ruins is likely as the next, unless those students come back from their mission with more information. I believe if they can find him, Septimus may have a few useful answers."
"He is the authority here at the College on the dwemer, but something sent him over the edge a few years back, I understand," Shea'a remarked to Laurelin and Vilkas.
"That is correct. He was studying the lore of the Dwemer concurrently with the Elder Scrolls, then abruptly, he packed up and moved up to that outpost of his. He's been there ever since, digging in the ice."
"Such is the danger of focusing too intently for too long on a subject. Soon it overwhelms rational thought, leaving blind fanaticism." The Arch-Mage sighed heavily and straightened in her seat. "Dragonborn, I wish we could offer more assistance; but unfortunately, right now all we have are Urag's speculations, and while educated in their guess, still that. I'm not sure how much help we've been."
"It's more than we had to go on when we arrived," Laure assured her. "At least we know there might be a chance of finding one. Would you mind if we read through some of these books? I think it would be helpful to know as much as possible before we start our search."
"Absolutely. Please, make yourself comfortable here; there are quills and ink to make notes. But please keep any food, drink, and ink clear; and by the gods no open flames near the books. I like to think Urag only jests about harvesting my ears if any harm befalls his precious books, but I would rather not test him."
Urag muttered softly, "You got that right. You realize that even if you find an Elder Scroll, you probably won't be able to make any sense of it. Scholars who read them spend years training their minds. Those who don't risk going mad from the pure knowledge contained within them. Furthermore, even if you can understand what you read, the gods frequently take the reader's eyesight as payment. Are you willing to sacrifice your sight in such a gambit? You may end up blind and still not learn what you need."
Laurelin's eyes closed then opened, as if testing. "First I need to find one. What comes after, I can't say, but if it takes my eyes, then so be it."
"Very altruistic of you. Do you mean such things when you speak thus?" queried Shea'a, head cocked, looking very much like a predatory bird at the moment.
"Blind, insane, eaten by Alduin, it won't likely be pretty, however this ends for me. But who knows, maybe the gods will spare my sanity or sight. Maybe both," Laure replied, leaning forward to take the nearest book. Vilkas was already carefully turning pages on another, his bright eyes flicking over pages as he swiftly scanned.
"This one doesn't make any sense at all," he observed, looking up to the Arch-Mage and Urag, perplexed.
"Ah that one is actually by Septimus," said Shea'a. "He was plainly already treading the halls of insanity when it was penned. Still, there may be some obscure tips in there somewhere, so I requested Urag bring it with the others. We should probably set that aside for last; it's by far the most obscure of our texts." Shea'a wrapped her long fingers around it and set it aside. "While you start, I will see to arranging accommodations for the two of you and to supper. Dragonborn, do you adhere to the traditional diet of your people?"
"Aye, for the most part, though I make exceptions for wine and mead, and the odd onion. They do add nice flavor to meat, I confess. Thank you for the consideration, Arch-Mage. Should we take these somewhere else so you can continue your own studies?"
"That won't be necessary. I plan to help you compile the information, and it will be easier up here, where there will be fewer interruptions. Many of my own studies are complete or awaiting new insight, so I won't be inconvenienced in any way by aiding you. Vilkas, was it? Anything special you would like to dine on?"
"Something hot and something to wash it down with would be appreciated, thank you," was Vilkas distracted answer; his nose was already buried in another book. The Arch-Mage allowed herself a tiny smile and nodded, turning away. Laure pulled a few scrolls her way, reading by the light of several permanent magical lamps, brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the obscure ancient dialect it was written in.
She and Vilkas were bent over the book, him reading, her copying the passages he spoke, when the Altmer sorceress returned, heavy trays held with ease. She set the dining table and shooed her guests over, admonishing, "Eat it while it's hot; we're like to be here for a while."
While they filled plates and poured drinks, Laure asked the other mer, "So Arch-Mage, I understand you are new to your position, and all of Skyrim has heard rumor of the ah, events that transpired not too long ago. Would I be prying if I asked just what happened here?"
Shea'a stiffened slightly, long fingers distractedly tearing apart a roll and reducing it to crumbs as she replied, "Yes, you may have heard some rumors; however, what you have heard resembles the truth as much as these crumbs in my hands resemble the loaf it was." She wiped the crumbs from her fingertips and sipped her wine thoughtfully. Laure and Vilkas quietly waited, tasting the fare while the Arch-Mage decided where to begin. "There was a mage here, a guest of the College. He succumbed to the allure of a relic we had discovered. He raised a barrier around the College while he attempted to gain control over the artifact. In doing so, he injured several students and caused the death of one of our senior instructors, a very gifted mage. To add insult to injury, he struck down the previous Arch-Mage, leaving the college shaken to its foundations. It was my task to slay him. That was a bad day."
"You were friends then?"
"Aye. For most of my life. I have been here studying for many years and recently began teaching. Ancano and I corresponded frequently, we had always shared a love of the Arcane arts. He was a gifted man, and when he expressed his desire to come to the college, I was delighted. I thought perhaps he was seeking a teaching position. The old Arch-Mage welcomed him to these halls. But when Ancano arrived, I could tell something was amiss, though I was reluctant to admit it. It soon became obvious he was snooping for the Thalmor, sussing out what secrets we might have hidden away."
"Do you not support the Thalmor, then?" asked Laurelin cautiously.
"That is an intensely personal question you ask Dragonborn, and one that shouldn't need answering."
"I apologize; my prying is uncalled for."
"No apologies needed. I was about to say that while I support my people, I resent it when I am lied to. Ancano came to me, using our old friendship as a means to an end. By the time he got here, he wasn't the man I had known anymore; he was a puppet. Unfortunately, even I was unable to understand how much he had been warped by his indoctrination by the Thalmor. When we discovered the Eye of Magnus, he became increasingly irrational, making wild accusations about the students, staring at the Eye for hours, muttering and pacing. Finally he lost his last shred of reason and tried to seize control of it. The battle that followed claimed his life, and several others, and nearly sent the rest of Winterhold into the sea."
"I'm sorry to have brought the subject up, Arch-Mage. I had no idea."
"Not to worry. I have had enough time to come to terms with it. Really, when he invited me to join him, after he exclaimed that he had enough power to destroy the world, I knew it wasn't him anymore. He would never have been so crazed before; he had been a good, dutiful man without the lust for power he displayed later. The Thalmor perverted him so badly, my old friend had died in spirit long ago."
They ate quietly after that, content to let the matter drop. Soon after, the three of them carefully cleaned their hands and moved back to the work tables. Within moments the scritch-scratch of quills moving across parchment and Vilkas' low voice reading the occasional line to Laurelin filled the circular chamber. Shea'a was reading the list Urag gro-Shub had drawn up, making notes of her own in the margins.
Before Laurelin knew it, the sun finally broke through the cloud cover, announcing late afternoon. The Arch-Mage set down one last scroll; they had already perused and studied everything available. "Shall we take a brief break? I think it would benefit us to stretch a bit and then perhaps we could go over our individual findings and compile a comprehensive set of notes."
Vilkas leaned back with a groan and a spine crackling pop. "That sounds like a great idea. I could use a breath of fresh air." Laure was studying a map intently, marking locations on it with precise care. Vilkas gently pried the quill from her fingers and set it aside. "Come, love, let's go to the inn and gather our belongings while it's still light. I don't fancy coming back over the crumbled sections of the bridge in the dark."
"Actually, I took the liberty of having your belongings moved already. They should be in your quarters down in the Hall of Attainment. I hope that wasn't presumptuous of me." remarked Shea'a.
"No, that is wonderful thank you again. You have been most gracious," replied Laurelin, stretching in her chair. "Fresh air does sound wonderful, though, let's step outside. Arch-Mage, if you will excuse us, we can be back in a few moments."
"Of course. However, if you like, my chambers have access to the upper wall walks. The view is impressive when the weather cooperates. Perhaps we could take a turn about the college together. I confess, I am curious and would love a demonstration of your Thu'um, if it isn't too much to ask."
"You have been so generous with your time and knowledge, I could never refuse. Lead on." They followed the towering woman downstairs, out one of the other doors leading out from the vestibule, and onto the broad walk that topped the wall surrounding the college. Flurries of snow drifted about in the frigid winds. Vilkas wrapped his arm around Laure's shoulder, offering his warmth, which she gladly huddled into.
They were quiet for a moment or two, pacing along the curving walkway, glancing over the walls, seeing little but glimpses of the sea below and mountains clinging to the nearby coastline. When they had gone nearly half the distance, Shea'a asked, "Would you mind telling me of the circumstances behind you discovering that you are the Dragonborn, Laurelin? I confess my curiosity is burning."
"It's simple enough I suppose. I had completed a few small tasks for the Jarl of Whiterun, so when a dragon attacked a watchtower in the hold, he sent me along to help. His reason for sending me was that I was one of a handful of survivors who escaped Helgen when Alduin attacked for the first time. What drew him there, I can't even begin to guess, but here we are."
"Here we are," agreed the Altmer. "How many Words of Power have you mastered?"
"Quite a few; my recent adventures have led me to many hidden Word Walls."
"What is your favorite?"
"That depends on what I'm doing. My first Shout was Unrelenting Force, and I think that's my favorite."
"Care to demonstrate it on me?" asked Shea'a with a half smile.
"Only if you ward yourself. I would hate to knock the Arch-Mage off the walls of the college," replied Laure with a smile of her own.
The Arch-Mage created a powerful ward around herself and said, "Whenever you are ready, Dragonborn!"
Laure took a deep breath, then with some trepidation Shouted, "Fus, Ro...Dah!" The thunderclap of her Voice shook the very air about them as a wave of pressure smashed against the ward conjured by the Arch-Mage. Even with the ward, her robes flapped and fluttered wildly about her legs, and even Vilkas could see she struggled to keep her balance in the wake of the concussive blast of energy unleashed.
"Impressive," she observed after a moment. "What others do you also command?" She refreshed her ward, bracing herself with a content twist of her thin lips.
Laure used her Fire-Breath Shout once she could use her Thu'um again. When the inferno had died back, the snow had melted into steaming puddles, and the Arch-Mage was smiling broadly now.
"Yes, I see why so many are threatened by your mere presence. I understand the Graybeards study for years to master even a single word. Truly, you are the weapon of the gods."
Laure shifted uncomfortably, felt her mate's arm going around her shoulders. She had made the same observation herself, but it felt strange having someone else say it out loud. Suddenly she missed her much simpler life in Valenwood, longed to see her children, know that her family was safe. They had come to a stop, facing the remnants of Winterhold, a few wisps of smoke visible in the distance but little else.
She stepped forward and leaned over the wall. "Lok Vah Koor!" In an instant the winds had died back, clouds cleared away, and the late afternoon sunshine flooded over the walls. On either side, snow-capped mountains and the blue-gray sea sparkled in the sudden light. "You were right, the view is impressive. Look, Vilkas." She pointed out to the tomb of Ysgramor, just visible at the edges of the clear weather. Soon the clouds started to roll in again as the winds rose once more. The two mer shivered as they made their way around the rest of the circular walk.
* * *
Shea'a seemed to move in slow motion, her long legs covering much more distance than Laure, or even Vilkas' steps. He had discretely studied her movement, tone of voice and expressions and scent throughout the day and come to the conclusion she genuinely wanted to help. What he couldn't figure was why an Altmer was so eager to aid his mate. The only thing he could arrive at was to gain yet another possible ally for the college, which wasn't a bad move; many others were clamoring for Laurelin's attention and support. He just felt tremendously uneasy thinking that his mate might end up owing favors to a woman who had just confessed to having ties to the Thalmor. However remote she had made them appear.
Still, he couldn't deny the graciousness of her welcome, nor her earnest gestures to help them. Stop being so damned suspicious. Maybe she just wants to see an end to Alduin as much as we do. Vilkas held the door open for both women as they entered the warm hall again. Vilkas gave the Arch-Mage's scent a moment to seep into his senses, finding the dry, welcoming scent of paper and ink; an eye-watering bouquet of herbs and oils, something metallic and chilly like hoarfrost, but no deception. He shrugged to himself and filed the scent away, following them into the welcoming warmth.
* * *
"I wish that there was more we could do at the moment," Shea'a remarked as they made ready to say their goodbyes the next day. "So many of our students and researchers are out in the field, but I wouldn't feel right pulling them all off the projects they are on to reassign them. I feel it best to share the objective you are after with as few people as possible, and they might resent being kept in the dark. If you wished to, you would be welcome to stay here until the pair I sent up over the ice to Septimus Signus' outpost return."
"Thank you for your hospitality and aid. It has been refreshing to not need to pry answers out of someone. Unfortunately, we must decline; there is someone I need to become reacquainted with in Windhelm," responded Laurelin ruefully. She had almost forgotten that she needed to stop there.
"You don't sound very pleased. I take it this will not be a happy reunion?"
"Not likely. Last time I saw him it was under the poorest of circumstances, and lets just say we have different priorities."
"Well then, I wish you safe travels, and may this next meeting be more pleasant than the last. It has been an honor, and you are welcome here at the college any time." She bowed deeply to Laurelin and even to Vilkas before turning back into the college, dark robes flowing behind.
Laure hefted her pack, feeling the weight of her notes, carefully sealed in a waterproof folio. Vilkas was waiting on her, and they still had a few hours' journey to Windhelm. Might as well get on with it. Pulling hoods up over heads, the Companions left the sad ruins of Winterhold at a jog, wind tugging at their clothes, snatching away the vapor of their breath, carrying it ahead of them into the storm.
* * *
Greetings from the sometimes humble author. You have all been great, let me say. You have been patient with my long-winded, wordy ass, said little as I ruthlessly toy with canon, and I thank you. I'm sure there are a few of you pulling your hair right now saying,"That's not the way it's supposed to happen!" I made a decision a long time ago that I wasn't going to tell every dungeon crawl, nor was I going to give Laurelin every single title and position she actually has. Therefore, because she is already Guild Master, Harbinger, Dragonborn, Ysmr...blah blah. Any way I decided the Arch-Mage of the College was going to be my very first Skyrim character. Everyone, meet Shea'a. Pronounced Shay-ah Aazz-Irr-eeall.