Chapter Nineteen- She's Mostly Harmless
Farkas stared up at the gold-skinned Arch-Mage in dismay. She smiled mildly down and extended her hand in greeting. It was a novel experience for him, and it made him a trifle uncomfortable. He had towered over most humans a good portion of his life, and looking up at anyone made him feel like a kid again. He clasped her long, skinny hand in his and squeezed her fingers gently, nodding politely.
"Shall we all sit? It is wonderful that you arrived so quickly. There is much to tell, and some of it is . . . thrilling." Shea'a was clearly excited and eager to share what had been discovered. She gestured to the seats nearby and folded her long body into a chair, tucking her robes in around herself.
The three Companions settled in, grateful for the warmth offered. Shea'a waited until they were comfortable, then leaned forward. "As you know, the last several months, we have been exploring various Dwemer ruins. Not too long ago, a few of my students returned from the outpost of Septimus Signus with some rather vague clues and mysterious devices. Fortunately, we were able to use that information to guide us to a particular city, Alftand. However, when we arrived, we found another group of explorers already there. It has proved troublesome, but the second group appear to have their own conflicts between themselves. This has made it impossible to get to the lower reaches of the city."
She paused a moment to gather her thoughts and then continued, "If we can get past the other expedition, I believe we will be on the right path to obtain an Elder Scroll." The Arch-Mage went on to explain her belief that Alftand provided entry to a long-lost underground city with hidden troves of treasure, and possibly the Elder Scroll they sought. Fabled Blackreach, long ago abandoned by the Dwemer.
They pored over the maps and few scraps of writing they had on the ancient dwarven stronghold, making plans. A few short hours later, they had hammered out a rough plan. They would leave tomorrow and head into the mountains where Alftand waited, buried in ice.
"This will be a truly illuminating experience," observed Shea'a brightly. "I am excited to see where this information takes us."
Vilkas looked askance at the tall mage. "You plan to journey with us? Do your duties here at the college not consume all of your time?"
Shea'a waved her hand dismissively. "Most of the studies here are self-directed. We offer lectures by various teachers but do not demand attendance. Over the years we found that forcing students of magic to study certain things actually hampers the creative processes. My duties here are mostly administrative, overseeing hiring of teachers, communicating with other institutions of learning, all that. Truthfully, I can hardly wait to see a bit of something more substantial. I've been locked up here in the college for almost a year straight."
Laurelin nodded thoughtfully. Having a powerful mage in the party could be a great benefit to the mission, as long as the twins behaved when she started lobbing fireballs around. She herself wasn't too thrilled to be delving into a massive Dwemer ruin. They always brought up powerful memories of Irkngthand, and Karliah, Bryn, and herself pursuing Mercer Frey while he tried to bring down the complex on their heads using the powers of the Skeleton Key. The rising water in the dark cavern, the panic as the icy waters rose over her head.
"Are you intending to bring any of your students?" she asked a moment later.
"Nay, I am leaving them all here; I feel this expedition will be challenging enough already. Four is a manageable number. Now, I have quarters for you if you wish to refresh yourselves, then please join me for supper. I would like to hear what has been going on in the rest of the world while I've had my attention directed elsewhere."
"Of course, it will be a pleasure to dine with you again, Arch-Mage."
They turned and trooped downstairs, where they found a student waiting to guide them to their lodging. They washed up, took a short nap, and when the sun set, made their way back upstairs, where a sumptuous meal had been set out.
"Now you've got my attention," quipped Farkas as he eyed the spread with appreciation. Shea'a inclined her head in acknowledgment, and they sat down to begin loading plates with the still-steaming delicacies, while filling the tall Altmer in on recent news.
The Arch-Mage listened to the tales told by the three warriors, picking at the food on her plate. Laurelin and the two Nords told quite a tale: keeps full of necromancers and undead, Forsworn raids on small settlements, Ulfric's continued rebellion, countless dragons encountered. When Laure mentioned a few encounters with what she described as dragon priests, the Arch-Mage sat up, eyes wide. Laure described the unique masks she had obtained after defeating the undead owners.
"It is dire news you bring. The return of Alduin's cultists is an ill thing indeed. They were near as brutal as their masters, completely corrupt, enormously powerful. It is well you survived your encounters with the ones you have. They would kill you if you were fortunate; otherwise, they would give you over to their master, a far worse fate than a simple death. But I see you have some unique looking armor now; are those dragon bones?" Shea'a asked curiously.
"Aye, bone, scale, horn, whatever we could scrape together. Most of the skin burns up before Laure even absorbs the soul. It took a while to collect enough scraps of the hide to make hers." Farkas was proud of his work and would happily extoll the qualities of the end product at length, if asked.
"It looks heavier than your old wolf armor."
Laurelin chimed in, "It's actually lighter. Farkas and Eorland did a fantastic job making it all, so it fits just right."
"Fascinating. I would guess that dragon bone, while nigh unbreakable, is not as dense as one might surmise, thereby making it easier for them to achieve flight. It would be a remarkable opportunity to study one in depth. But I digress, my apologies. Would you like us here at the college to put some enchantments on it? We could protect you against the elements, enhance your strength, any number of augmentations could be applied. I could do the enchanting myself."
"That would be splendid!" agreed Laure with a grateful smile. "I will gladly pay you for-"
"Payment to me won't be necessary. If you wished to make a donation to the college, however, or perhaps sponsor a project in the future, that would be acceptable. You can always owe us a favor." Shea'a let her thin lips lift into a hint of a smile and sat back. Laure just nodded and shrugged.
"What of you two? I extend the offer to enchant your armor and weapons if you would like."
"What can you do to protect me from magic?" Farkas wanted to know as he levered a small rack of ribs onto his plate. After that it was more talk, this time of the various ways to augment their armor, courtesy of the Arch-Mage, who sat and took notes of the enchantments to be placed on each piece of armor, jewelry, and weapon.
As soon as she compiled and verified her list, she popped up out of her seat, as if forgetting her guests still sitting at the dinner table, and began assembling everything she would need, her dark robes swirling as she moved from shelf to shelf. The Companions watched her move fluidly about her tower, every move confident and sure.
None of them had counted on the Arch-Mage joining them; however, it was already looking as though she was willing to carry her weight, which meant a great deal, and made the magic-wary brothers a trifle more comfortable with the Altmer master of the arcane arts.
* * *
"So that's the Arch-Mage. Didn't you say she had ties to the Thalmor? Do you think she is a Thalmor agent?" Farkas asked softly as he tugged off his boots.
"One of her friends was most likely a Thalmor agent, but she herself seems to be of a more neutral mind. I can't say for sure though." Laure paused from the chore of wiping the paint off her face to consider the possibility and concluded it was there, but it didn't seem likely that they were in danger.
"What if she decides she could benefit by turning the Dragonborn and an Elder Scroll over to them?" Vilkas eventually asked, finally voicing the thought that had bounced around in his head since Shea'a had announced she was accompanying them.
"I think we can trust her," was Laurelin's gut response, one she felt to be true.
"Not sure I like the thought of blindly trusting a mage to lead us into a frozen ruin, Laure. But if you say so."
"Don't trust her blindly, that's not what I meant. Eyes open, I learned that a while back. I think she'll surprise you, however."
"You say that because you're both mer, and you're biased," muttered Vilkas as he pulled her under the blankets.
"Such lies. I'm pretty sure I'm more Dovah than mer by now." Uneasy in spite of her jest, they settled into the soft beds provided by the college and a surprisingly helpful mage.
* * *
Farkas, Laure, and Vilkas sat at a table near the roaring fire in the common room of Nightgate Inn, where they were all staying tonight. Vilkas tried to feed her a slice of apple, only to have her clamp her lips shut and emphatically shake her head no. "We've finally found a weakness, brother!" proclaimed Vilkas triumphantly.
Farkas threatened her with a flaccid piece of boiled cabbage, draped limply over his fork, "Knew there had to be one somewhere," he chuckled before loudly slurping the pale, overcooked vegetable up, much to Laure's disgust.
"Revolting!" she muttered, leaning forward to spear a chicken liver with her dagger. "Now that's more like it." Her white teeth flashed as she tore into it with small, precise bites.
Shea'a glanced over the top of the book she had her nose buried in with the expression of a governess inspecting the behavior of her charges, gauging whether or not she would need to step in. Her dark eyes glittered as she studied the three fighters, who took no notice of her attention. Instead they joked and arm wrestled, sang loudly while drinking copious quantities of mead, by and large letting her be. Thankfully.
This was Shea'a AzIrial's first time out with the Companions, and she found their rowdy belligerence somewhat distasteful, but mostly harmless in nature. Her attention had drifted back to her book when the bigger one, Farkas, smashed the table with a massive fist and shouted, "Done!" making her jump, and threw the Bosmer woman over his shoulder, marching purposefully outside.
Her mate held the door open for them and began counting, "One, two . . . three!
A flurry of indefinable activity and noise rattled the windows, and Vilkas bent over in laughter. The rough shouts of the larger brother filtered in. ". . . cheating, we never agreed . . . Thu'um! I . . . do over!"
Laurelin sauntered in a moment later, smiling, while Vilkas waited at the open door. Farkas showed up, brushing snow from his hair and clothes, and sent the Dragonborn a smoldering, threatening glance. Vilkas clapped his brother on the shoulder and led him back to the table. They sat down and Laure dropped her booted feet in Farkas' lap.
"Pay up," she said, then turned to the Arch-Mage. "One of these days they'll learn that I'm a hopeless cheater. Then I'll be in trouble. Until then, no fruit nor vegetable will pass my lips." Farkas grumbled, even though he was grinning and tugged her boot straps loose. Laure leaned back and sighed as Farkas cracked her toes.
Arch-Mage Shea'a AzIrial tugged a loose wisp of red hair, hoping these three childish seeming fighters were really up to the task.
* * *
Laurelin walked up to Farkas and Vilkas, idly cracking open a freshly roasted spider leg, and pulled out a long shiny gobbet of something green. Happily munching, she discarded the empty husk. The twins looked on aghast as they put away their swords.
Farkas finally spluttered out, his massive body twitching, "Were you just eating a . . . a spider for Ysmr's sake?"
"It's good, want some? Needs butter, though." She held out a chunk, something that closely resembled the slugs that made their way across the stones of the training yard during the night. Farkas turned his long pointed nose up and backed away.
Vilkas wrinkled his nose and warily eyed the viscid green slice in her fingers. She smiled wickedly and slowly fed it past her lips, pushing it in with a visible shudder of delight, then licked her fingers clean one by one. The men were both horrified and amused. She loved eating the strangest things. Ask her to eat an apple, though.
Farkas couldn't help himself. "Don't even want to know what that tastes like; it smells awful!"
Without blinking, Laure replied, "A little like mudcrab, the freshwater ones, though. And how mushrooms smell."
Farkas gagged a little, "That is disgusting, Laure. Is there any animal you haven't eaten yet?"
Laure couldn't help herself, she tried to keep a straight face but couldn't quite keep it up as she dropped her voice to match the cadence of Vilkas speaking voice, "I think by now I've eaten one of every living thing in Skyrim . . ."
Farkas roared with laughter when he saw his brother trying not to chuckle, Laurelin's laugh ringing out over the hillside they were camped on.
"Terribly clever, yes, love," Vilkas muttered. "I'll have you know I'm never eating your cooking again. And I'm never kissing you again either!"
Farkas oohed over that one and stepped back, clearing the path for Laurelin.
Laure simply tilted her head, stood with her hands on the curve of her hips. "You won't kiss me because I ate a tiny spider? You should like it when I eat spider, it makes me all . . . randy."
Vilkas gulped and crossed his arms over his chest while Farkas choked on a swallow of mead. "That-that spider was anything but tiny," he weakly protested.
"Actually, she is correct," interjected the Arch-Mage just then as she floundered through a drift, trying to hold her snow-crusted robes out of the way. She finally hoisted herself up the slope and into the area of tightly packed snow around their camp, and puffed to regain her breath. "That was a fairly small specimen of what you Nords call the Frostbite Spider. I've read accounts of specimens reaching eight feet at the apex of the top row of eyes. Of course, I've never seen one so large myself, but I imagine it would be quite sight."
Farkas stared at her in mingled horror and fascination. "That's just . . . wrong." He passed the bottle of mead to Laure, who finished it, swishing her mouth clean before planting a hard kiss on his lips.
"Don't worry, lover. We killed the big nasty spider for you. I even ate the creepy eyes, so it can't stare at you while you sleep."
"Ah, Laurelin, that is nasty. I'm with Vilkas. We're never kissing you again."
"Don't forget the cooking too, lads," reminded the Bosmer with a smile.
"Yeah that too. Really though, do you have to eat the spider? In front of me no less?" bemoaned Farkas.
"Yes," was her unapologetic reply.
Farkas flopped back into their tent, a disgusted look on his face, and opened another mead. He shuddered visibly while rapidly draining the bottle. "Blegh."
Laure chortled her amusement and resumed packing her gear, the task they had all been bent on when the spider blundered by their camp. This morning they had hiked over the steep pass and down onto the imposing glacier that had swallowed Alftand ages ago. Now they were doing final preparations before traversing the rickety wood and rope walkways that would lead them deep into the crevasse that would then give them access to the ancient site.
The snow dusted remains of the other adventuring party's campsite gave them no clue as to what had happened here, nor where the others had gone. An expedition manifest revealed a few hints, but nothing solid. Dead or fled, out here all they could do was guess. However, none of them could completely contain the excitement that this place would indeed harbor what they were seeking.
Throwing packs up over shoulders, the three fighters and one mage edged down the first incline, holding tightly to the ropes, as the light grew dimmer and paler and they probed deeper into the ice.
* * *
Delving into the pale ice, they soon came on their first sign of the other party. The sound of two people having a heated argument bounced down the long hall, startling all four of Laurelin's group. The voices rang out for a moment then quieted. However no one appeared to have noticed the newcomers, so they all slipped forward, picking their footing carefully on the ice-crusted path.
Like most every Dwemer ruin, this one seemed to be merely waiting. Unknowable machinery still churned behind walls and grates; and steam hissed out of vents and loose pipes, which wove in and out of the very walls, ceilings and floors. In places, the accumulated humidity combined with the frigid environment had created intricate drapes of icicles hanging from the ceiling, where in others, vast monoliths of the glacier had pushed the very walls into piles of rubble, coated with glittering frost.
It was beautiful and forbidding at the same time. Thousands of years these stone halls had resisted the encroaching elements. The Dwemer had built to last, and still somehow, their race had died out. Occasionally a metallic spider attacked them and was swiftly smashed to bits by the jumpy Companions.
As they delved deeper, skittering cautiously over slick patches, it slowly grew marginally warmer. Laure was leading as always, finding the best footing. Every so often a soft hissing voice would penetrate the stillness.
"Where is it? I know you were trying to keep it for yourself, J'zhar . . . you always try to keep it for yourself!" and later, "No! There's got to be more Skooma. . . . Shut up! Shut up! Don't lie to me, J'zhar! You hid it! You always try to steal it from me!"
The tirades set them all on edge and they proceeded carefully, weapons ready. After slowly edging their way through several halls and small chambers, they came across a deranged Khajiit, standing over the body of another, muttering to himself.
The Khajiit spotted them quickly and mused, "What? Who is this, Brother? More of the smooth skins looking for food? But these ones weren't trapped with us. . . ." Suddenly he lunged forward, a dull-looking ax in one hand, claws of the other extended to attack, shouting, "No . . . no! You must be who took my skooma!"
"Back!" shouted the Arch-Mage as she drew upon her magic and cast several rapid fireballs at the Khajiit.
Laurelin, already moving into engage, just managed to tumble out of the way, being caught by Vilkas, who was behind his mate. The flames scorched past them, heating the very air and causing a roiling cloud of steam to fill the tunnel. Laure and Vilkas bounced off the hard stones while Farkas pressed himself against the wall, shielding his face with his forearm.
"Fuck me sideways! For the love of Mara, warn us before you do that!" wheezed the Bosmer when she had her breath back. Farkas held his temper but couldn't help the disbelieving glare he shot the Arch-Mage's way.
Vilkas hoisted himself up and offered Laure a hand, and they dusted themselves off. He took stock of her injuries, a few light burns and scrapes, then yanked off his helmet and rounded on Shea'a.
"Just what the fuck did you think you were doing there, Arch-Mage? That was completely uncalled for, and you might have roasted any of us if we had been a hair slower! One drug-addicted Khajiit is something any one of us real fighters could have handled with our bleeding eyes closed!" He stood glaring up at her, face pressed forward, his nostrils flared wide with fury.
Shea'a leaned back a bit, Vilkas' nose being thrust up uncomfortably close to her jaw, and with a somewhat flustered manner said, "Perhaps I overreacted to the threat. My response seemed the most, ah, effectual manner to deal with the Khajiit. Who knows what sicknesses he might have been carrying."
"Perhaps you overreacted? That kind of reaction is the kind that could bring this whole place down on top of us we aren't careful. Do you fucking want to make it out of this place alive?" he shouted, running his fingers through his hair, his tell-tale sign of frustration and him trying to keep his temper.
"Vilkas," Laure and Farkas both warned quietly.
"Of course I want to make it out alive. I already acknowledged that I erred, what more do you wan-" began the Altmer defensively.
"I want you to think before you resort to incinerating us! Look, you may have joined our group, but that doesn't mean you know how we work together. My brother and I are committed to keeping the Dragonborn, a woman we both love, safe from harm. It isn't easy—she flings herself headlong into danger at every turn—but that shouldn't include yourself, and if it means we ask you to leave the party, then so be it. If you wish to travel with us, we expect you to be an asset, not a threat. Understood?"
Shea'a nodded stiffly, dark eyes giving away nothing of her innermost thoughts. "I will endeavor to observe your cues and act in a more appropriate manner."
Vilkas stared her in the eye, his face hard and furious, while his nostrils flared. Finally he turned away and took Laure's hand, leading her over the skin of ice that had formed on the stones as the air cooled again.
Farkas lingered a moment, angry himself, and a little embarrassed for his brother's volatile reaction. Feeling the need to say something to the astonished mage he finally said, "He's very protective. Especially when he doesn't know what we are getting into."
"I've tried to share every bit of data I could collect about the expedition-"
"That isn't it. Not all of it, at least. Just keep behind us and let us do the work. We'll let you know if we need help," Farkas offered, then turned to follow his brother and Laure.
Shea'a watched them regroup and check each other's gear, then toe through the ashy slush that was all that remained of the Khajiit. A sodden, slightly scorched journal was thumbed through then left with the remains. They waited for her to pick her way to them; then they all moved on through the chilly, deserted halls.