A/N: Sorry I'm late for posting today. I had a lovely morning spent playing through the depths of Dragon Keep with Tiny Tina as my guide and then an evening filled with both The Goonies and Space Jam. Overall, a very good day, as I hope yours was as well, and in the end I managed to still remember that it was the day to post a chapter. So, here it is. Hopefully, I will be finished writing this story by the end of the week or the beginning of the next. I will not, however, change my posting schedule, because this one gives me time that I will need now that I'm working two jobs on campus and still have classes to attend. Anyway, I don't think there are any notes for this, so just enjoy. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister), GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.
Rating: T for allusions to death and dark magic and things of that sort.
"Executioner...let the Jarl's Justice be done."
Sansa woke with a start as the axe fell, trembling and drenched in sweat. So many of her nights had been spent crying herself into a dreamless stupor, but now that she was home, and relatively safe, the nightmares had returned to haunt her. Each time her mind forced her to relive Sandor's execution, the pain cut deeper.
Absently rubbing her hand across her belly, she swung her bare feet onto the wooden floor and clutched the blankets tightly around her shoulders.
First her father, then her mother, Bran and Rickon, Arya, Sandor...now Robb. The only thing she had left to love had not yet come into the world, and not even the slight swell beneath her fingers could fill the gaping hole in her chest.
She was in the one place in Skyrim where the greatest minds of magick were gathered, and still she had been forced to watch her brother's casket be lowered into the ground. Not even that could bring them back to her.
Suddenly, and clearly, she remembered a conversation that she had overheard between Wuunferth and Sam before leaving for Windhelm. Dragged into the matter by some stranger under orders from Ulfric's steward, they were investigating the recent string of murders that had occurred in the city, by a man they called the Butcher.
By the sound of what they had been saying, a recent breakthrough had been made in relation to the abandoned house of Friga Shatter-Shield.
"She found this in Hjerim," Sam had said. "She was going to take it to Calixto, but I convinced her that you were a better choice for appraisal."
A moment of silence had passed before Wuunferth spoke. "By the gods, this is the Necromancer's Amulet, forged and worn by Mannimarco himself. This fool is killing to try to raise someone from the dead."
Sansa had heard of Necromancy of course, but only in hushed whispers. It had long since been outlawed from any self-respecting mages guild, although Archmage Aren at the College had been said to allow his wizards free range in experimentation, so long as no rumors escaped that could further harm the College's reputation.
Though considered the darkest of the black arts, surely Necromancy could be used for good, if mastered by one with good intentions.
A plan slowly taking shape in her mind, she rose from the bed and donned her cloak, moving silently out into the throne room of the longhouse. The hall was dark and silent, save for the faint sound of snoring from one of the other rooms.
Quietly, she made her way to the door, slipping out and stepping into the snow outside. Her bare feet protested against the cold, but she continued to walk, moving toward the bridge she had so often run across in her youth.
As she ascended to the College, the beacons along the path shone to life, guiding her across the crumbling walkway to the heavy iron gate. It opened with a loud squeal of dissent, but allowed her through to the courtyard.
For a moment, she stood and looked around, lost in the memories of her childhood spent in the halls of the College. She had learned much from its wizards, and was not untalented in magick herself. If she was able to gain the knowledge that she hoped she might, her former training would be of great use.
Though it was late, Tolfdir, the College's Master of Alteration and professor of new apprentices, was sitting on one of the benches along the wall in the Hall of the Elements when she entered. Her steps made little noise and it wasn't until she cleared her throat that he looked up from the book in his lap, blinking a few times in her direction.
When his vision focused, his eyes grew wide and he set the book aside, rising to his feet. "Sansa?"
Smiling, she nodded, though she could only imagine what it was that he saw. The Sansa he had known was a girl no more than 10, young, happy, and carefree. The woman before him now was none of those things, and shrouded in the black of mourning.
After pulling her into a quick embrace, he withdrew, his face falling. "I heard the news of your brother's death. My deepest condolences."
"Thank you," Sansa said quietly, her mind returning once more to the task at hand.
"May I ask you something, Master Tolfdir?" she asked a bit hesitantly. "In confidence?"
"Of course, child," he replied with a smile. "What is it?"
She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Is there anyone at the College that studies Necromancy, or any spell tomes on its practice in the Arcanaeum?"
Tolfdir's eyes widened slightly. "Why in the name of the gods would you want to know about Necromancy?"
"For research purposes only," Sansa lied smoothly. "There's a man that's been killing in Windhelm and he's suspected to be attempting some sort of Necromantic ritual. The Court Wizard hoped that I might be able to do some research while I was in Winterhold so that we might be able to predict and prevent the next killing." Parts of that were the truth at least.
The relief was evident on his features and his suspicion gave way to pensiveness. "I don't think any of us wizards have the sort of answers you're looking for. But...there may be someone else who does. Beneath the College, in the Midden. They call him the Augur of Dunlain."
"The Augur of Dunlain?" Sansa had heard of the mysterious cavern beneath the College, but not of this...Augur.
Tolfdir nodded, tugging absently at his beard. "He was a student here once. A brilliant student, and an accomplished wizard. He delved into magic in a way none of us had seen before. But, I think, he became too focused on just how much power he could acquire. That's what led to the accident."
The old wizard trailed off and then sighed heavily before continuing. "It was a very sad thing that happened. We lost a gifted student that day, and a young boy lost his father."
Sansa tried to think of any accidents that had occurred during her childhood in Winterhold, but Tolfdir easily followed her train of thought and shook his head.
"They came from High Rock years before you were even born, but I believe your brother Robb met the Augur's boy while he was still an instructor here. Much like his father, he had a gift for magick, and he was quick to master the school of Illusion, with a skill that none of us could ever even dare to match. By the time you began your studies here as a child, he had gone to use his talents elsewhere, and Master Drevis took his place."
He sighed again, sadly. "But his father remains, shut away and all but forgotten. If you truly want your questions answered, it is the Augur you must find."
Taking Tolfdir's hands in both of hers, Sansa smiled. "Thank you, Master Tolfdir. You've been a great help."
Already lost in thought once more, the absent-minded wizard nodded, though his gaze was distant.
Taking her leave, Sansa returned to the courtyard, checking to see that she was alone before slipping into the Hall of Countenance and approaching the staircase at its rear. Just as it had been in her childhood, the trapdoor beneath the stairs was covered in scattered straw, disguised from all but those who sought it out.
Once, in the days before they had left for Solitude, Arya had dared her to enter the forbidden depths of the Midden, having overheard of its existence during her detailed experiments with eavesdropping. Sansa, still just a child, had agreed only to avoid her sister's endless teasing, but the eerie wail that had echoed from the cavern at the trapdoor's opening had sent both girls scurrying far away.
Brushing aside the straw, she hefted open the rusted and rotting door, steeling her nerves as the stench of must and disuse assaulted her senses. The blackness below was silent, and as she descended into it, the only sound she could hear was that of her own shallow breathing.
When her feet met the bottom, she let go of the crumbling ladder and called upon her old training in Alteration to summon a shining orb of light to guide her way.
The path was long and winding, and had an eerie stillness to it. The shadows cast by her light were long and flickered across the bones that lay scattered across the ground. It was a sad place to imagine spending one's life. Whatever accident the Augur had caused must have been quite tragic to merit such exile.
When the path finally came to an end, she found herself facing an ancient door, rotten with age. After stopping to catch her breath, she gathered her strength, reaching for the door's handle and pulling with all her might.
When it held, she fell back once more, tears welling up in her eyes. For a moment she had truly dared to hope that she could gain the power to return Sandor to her side. But in the end, the only way was barred.
Wiping her eyes, she turned to go, but a voice held her back.
"There is no help for you here."
She turned back, hope rising in her chest once more, and as she remained, it spoke again.
"Still you persist? Very well, you may enter."
As she tried the door once more, it gave way, and she found herself blinded by the light that shone within. When her eyes adjusted, she found that the light had not faded, but was concentrated before her in a glowing orb of energy, pulsing gently as though it were breathing. Eventually, the voice came again, and the light sparkled with the cadence of its words.
"Welcome to the Midden."
Sansa stared in awe for a long moment before regaining the ability to speak. "Are you the Augur of Dunlain?"
Again, it paused.
"I am that which you seek. But your efforts are in vain. I do not have the answers that you hoped to find."
Refusing to be so easily rebuffed, Sansa began to explain. "The man I love was taken from me by a cruel man that now calls me his wife. I wish to return my love to life. To me."
"I know what you wish, Lady Sansa," the voice interrupted. "But it is not life that the black arts can give, only undeath. The man you love cannot return to you."
Sansa felt her eyes grow wet once more, and her heart sank. Though she knew what it said was true, she had dared to believe that it might not be so. Everyone she loved was dead, and there was nothing she could do to bring them back. The realization was enough to send her spinning into despair once more.
She was almost to the door when the Augur spoke once more.
"Perhaps that is not truly why you came to me. You wish to end your suffering, and that may yet be done."
She looked into the shifting orb, and it continued.
"Go to the Arcanaeum. Look carefully, search your heart, and you may be able to kiss your lover one last time."
"May I help you?" The Orc librarian looked up as Sansa entered, his eyes narrowed as he appraised her critically. Despite the late hour, he was still at his work, poring over an open book by the light of a single candle.
Smiling, Sansa stepped forward to the counter behind which he stood. "Hello, Urag. It's Sansa."
His bushy white eyebrows rose high on his forehead and he leaned closer, trying to make out her features in the darkness. "Sansa? Little Sansa Stark that used to beg me to lift her up so she could get to all the fairy stories on the top shelves?" When she nodded, he broke into a wide grin. "My how you've grown. Even more beautiful than your mother was at your age, and with far more of your teeth than you had the last I saw you."
Sansa laughed, her cheeks coloring at the compliment. "That's kind of you to say, and it certainly has been a long time since I was home. Too long."
Urag nodded in agreement and closed the book before him. "Is there anything that I can help you find while you're here?"
She hesitated for just a moment before smiling and shaking her head. "I just wanted to come here before we return to Windhelm in the morning. Some of my fondest memories are of the Arcanaeum."
The Orc nodded once more then turned and retrieved a second candle, lighting it with a gentle touch of his fingers before handing it to her. "You're more than welcome to stay then, my lady, and look through the tomes. If there's anything at all you need, do not hesitate to ask."
With a parting smile, she took the candle and moved to the nearest bookshelf, her gaze flitting over each spine in the hopes of a title catching her eye. When each shelf held nothing more than old missives on ancient artifacts, spell tomes, and the stories she had once loved as a child, she began to feel disheartened. Perhaps the Augur had simply wanted to give her one last hope before sending her back to the prison of her loveless marriage.
Turning once more, she moved to a shelf at the back, heavily shadowed and covered in a layer of dust. Her candle cast a soft glow over the tomes and she moved it carefully from one to the next, reading each title in turn.
Beware the Shadowscales, The Black Glove, the Brothers of Darkness, Hiding with the Shadow, A Kiss...
Her heart leapt to her throat and her fingers stopped their absent trailing, settling on a thin leather-bound book.
"You wish to end your suffering, and that may yet be done. You may be able to kiss your lover one last time."
With trembling hands, she lifted it from the shelf and opened it, her gaze falling on the words within.
Pray, child. Pray...