The College of Winterhold, of the Province of Skyrim, Tamriel || 2nd of Morningstar

“Did you hear there’s a Thalmor at the College now? Mirabelle said he showed up sometime yesterday.”

My ears twitch as I awaken the next morning to a muffled conversation, several paces outside of my door. The lack of windows makes it impossible for me to tell what time it is, or how long I slept. Whoever is in the foyer is attempting to be quiet, as if they know I'm here. Their caution will not help them. I'm able to effortlessly pick up the individual words spoken. I lie still in my bed as I eavesdrop on the hushed tones of what appears to be two people.

The first voice is male, low-pitch but young. There’s a mild accent distinctive to Nords that I've heard before. This must be Onmund.

“I did. I saw her talking to the other professors in the Hall of the Elements, after Tolfdir's lecture. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it sounded serious. I haven’t seen him yet, though. How do you feel about it?”

A female voice responds to Onmund, higher-pitched but also young. Given what I remember of who lives on this floor, this can only be the Dunmer, Brelyna. Her accentless voice lacks the harsh, raspy quality that many Dunmer have acquired over the decades. A result of living in Morrowind following the eruption of Red Mountain, and the many brutal ash-storms that followed. It was a wonder the province was still livable, honestly. Considering it was already an inhospitable wasteland to begin with. I don't know what brings Brelyna to Winterhold of all places, but I can't say I blame her for wanting to leave. If my homeland turned to ash and brimstone overnight, I would leave too. And never look back.

“Worried, if I’m honest. My folks already didn’t approve of my coming here, being against magic and all. If they knew a Thalmor was here, well... they’d raise Oblivion, to put it mildly.” The male voice speaks in a rush.

My ears twitch again. How very interesting. Onmund has valid reasons to be nervous, being at odds with his parents who are staunchly anti-magic. It would not be unreasonable to assume they are Stormcloak sympathizers, since the Imperial Legion routinely trains and deploys battlemages of their own. And the Stormcloaks have proven to be deeply anti-magic themselves. Their aversion to the Thalmor and the Dominion by extension could either be the expected Nord racism against the elven races, implicit loyalty to the Stormcloaks, or even both. Something potentially worth investigating if exploitable.

“I thought the College was neutral on the civil war and the rest of Skyrim’s politics. Why would they grant a Thalmor entry?” Brelyna sounds more curious than suspicious. And for good reason. While Skyrim's civil war rages outside the College grounds, the College itself is perfectly insulated from it. I haven't seen a single Stormcloak or Imperial since I crossed the main gates, especially considering the Jarl of Winterhold supports Ulfric's cause. Granted, no one who still lives in Winterhold seems to want anything to do with the College, and likely would not care if anything happened to the members here. After seeing the aftermath of the Great Collapse underneath the College itself, I cannot say I blame them. Brelyna being an elven novice could mean she is as young as her voice implies, even as far as elven lifespans are concerned. There's a posibility I'm the oldest among everyone here, elves alike. Her naivety presents another exploitable weakness.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. I’ve heard what they do to those who support Ulfric and his cause, especially Nords. It’s part of the reason why I came here, to get away from it all.” Onmund’s voice has lowered considerably, like he’s afraid at any moment he will be caught doing something he shouldn’t. Part of me wonders if anyone in his family has been on the receiving end of punishment by the Dominion for supporting Ulfric's cause, or being Stormcloaks themselves. The way he speaks highly implies he's had run-ins with my colleagues in the past. He releases a faltering sigh, although it sounds more to me like a failed attempt to calm fraying nerves. “I think it’s best that we avoid him. Mirabelle said his stay here is temporary, but who knows what he could be up to in the meantime? Hopefully, he wants nothing to do with any of us.”

I smirk, feeling a giddy sort of satisfaction as I picture the dismay and disappointment that will no doubt plague the Nord when he realizes my stay here will, indeed, not be as temporary as he hopes. And I have no intention of leaving them alone, not if the information I glean from them is deemed valuable to myself, or even the Dominion. Although so far, I doubt I would find anything useful here that my colleagues and superiors would bother with. I remove myself from my bed, dressing as silently as possible in the event that the Dunmer girl’s hearing is as proficient as my own, making sure to sling the knapsack over my shoulder with as little movement as possible.

Luckily, Miss Brelyna seems too immersed in her discussion with Onmund to realize that my room is occupied. She speaks a little bit louder, and it sounds like she’s attempting to reassure Onmund, sensing his growing distress. “Well, we’re all novices. The lowest ranking of mages here. What could a Thalmor with years of magickal experience possibly get from any of us? And besides,” I'm at the door with my hand poised at the handle, ready to open. “Mirabelle says he’s going to be an assistant to the Archmage. I’m pretty sure he’ll be too busy with him to bother or even notice any of us.”

I freeze just short of turning the handle. This must be a joke. This has to be a joke. I explicitly told Mirabelle I was here to advise the Archmage, not assist. The very word implied I was to be employed here as some sort of lesser, not in a position of authority that I should be in. My jaw ticks, remembering Mirabelle's words from yesterday. You may be used to the Empire bending over backwards for you, but you’ll find the Thalmor receive no such treatment here. In-fucking-deed. I release a quiet sigh, not putting it past the Breton to have done this intentionally. And although I've yet to meet the Archmage themself, I highly doubt their skill supersedes that of myself or my colleagues. Onmund sounds calmer now. Distress sufficiently quelled, for the time being. But he seems to share my thoughts. “I'm not sure what the Archmage would need with an assistant from the Dominion, but I suppose you’re right. We haven’t been here that long either. Between you and me, I think there’s a better chance he’ll be more interested in Ira, anyway-”

I make a point to yank my door open with as much speed and force as I can, the gust of air whipping my hair back from my face. Both Onmund and Brelyna startle and jump in place, whipping their heads in unison in my direction. Onmund yelps at the same time Brelyna releases an exaggerated gasp. I would have laughed had the circumstances been any different, had I not been incensed by Mirabelle’s insult to my station behind my back. Both were blissfully unaware of my presence, and it is here that I receive my first look at the newly-appointed novices to the College of Winterhold. Awash with the blue light, originating from a yet unknown source from center of the floor, it gives them an almost otherworldly appearance.

True to my assessments, Onmund and Brelyna are as fresh-faced as their voices implied. Both are clad in fur-lined robes, fur hoods over their heads. They look like they’ve been inside for some time, the fur clinging to their clothing dry as bark. Brelyna’s wide-angled and vibrantly red eyes are widened upon me, her body frozen as if she's just seen a Daedra. She clutches a book in the crook of one of her arms - what is it with everyone carrying books out in the open here? - the cover of which I cannot see. There are the faintest traces of age lines on her face, indicating she must be as young as her voice implies. By my estimation, she’s not even a century old. The light absorbs into her skin, diffusing the grey and almost making it hard to tell her Dunmer heritage.

Onmund, for his effort, tries to look unfazed by my surprise appearance. His back is straight as he looks head-on at me, his position almost defensive. But the undertone of fear in his eyes and tense, defensive body language betrays him. Glowing in the otherworldly blue, a strong jaw free of facial hair and hard-set eyes reflect back at me in a nearly blinding crescendo of brightness. I squint at them, and notice a slight shift in their body language. I have no idea how long I've been standing there or what I must look like to them, but my silence and stillness are apparently off-putting enough to put them both on edge. Good.

“So, it appears your superior has already acquainted you with my presence here,” I begin, having to bow slightly to step forward from the doorway. My voice is raspy from sleep and dehydration, giving me an edge that works to intimidate the two mages. “Although, I'm afraid I must issue a correction. I am not an assistant to the Archmage.” I straighten and cross my arms in front of them, holding both of their rapt attentions. “I’m here as an advisor. The Dominion wishes to promote relations between us and your College, and I have been chosen as their representative.” Arms still crossed, I begin a slow walk over to the two novices. My long legs eat up the short distance in a matter of seconds, and I feel like a predator stalking prey. Prey who know full well there is a predator in their midst. “You two would do well to remember that. I then realize I need to make my purpose here clearer for them. "Whether the two of you are here because you think you'll save the world, or you're only in this for youselves, know that I'll be watching all of you very closely."

Brelyna visibly gulps, and Onmund takes a deep breath before steeling himself to say, "Whatever you say." I can't stop my face from working itself into a scowl. If these are the newest recruits of the College, I'm not looking forward to what the rest of this sorry group consists of. They appear to be weak, and lacking in backbone. And I have yet to meet the sole cat in this group, J'zargo. It means my work has been cut out for me, as at least these two require the lowest possible amount of intimidation and coercion to get anything from them. The cat will be low-hanging fruit. If I even suggest there will be something of value in exchange for information, he will sing like the songbirds of Wasten Coridale. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. There will be plenty of time for this later. I'd rather not stand here and waste any more time attempting to speak to them, so I make to leave. I'm in front of the door when I stop, suddenly remembering something I almost missed during their conversation.

"I believe one of you mentioned a mage by the name of 'Ira'," I say with my back facing them. The Redguard journeyman, whom I have yet to meet, inexplicably rooming with a bunch of lower-ranking mages. A conundrum I aim to get to the bottom of, though I have no expectations of magical proficiency to match my own. His room is next to mine, and I don't believe I heard any indication that he had returned to their room the night before. I can't pinpoint what is making me seek out this mage in particular, but there must be a reason this mage outranks their colleagues. It makes little sense for someone stronger to still be housed with their lessers. At the very least, I reason, it is imperative I build a photographic memory of who these people are. And after this encounter with Brelyna and Onmund, I feel that I've seen enough of the novices to know they by and large won't be worth my time. Not for now, at any rate. Turning around, I find that neither Brelyna nor Onmund have moved from their spots. They seem to be waiting for me to leave before doing or saying anything else. "You will tell me where I might find this individual."

It seems to take them several seconds to register that I requested something of them. Onmund opens his mouth and turns back to glance at Brelyna, who gives him a panicked look. Brelyna opens her mouth, but Onmund is quicker to respond than she is. "I last saw Ira in the Hall of the Elements. S-staying behind after we left, waiting for Tolfdir I think." I don't miss the stutter in Onmund's voice. I can't tell if he's telling me the truth, or telling me what I want to hear that will translate into me getting out of the Hall faster. Without another word, I walk out of the door and step into the College's frigid courtyard.

##########

The sky is a sickly grey color, the faintest of flurries falling in a slow rhythm. But the sun shines brightly behind this blanket of snow. It appears to be the late morning, and there's considerably more activity now than there was the previous evening when I arrived. I hear and feel the whirring of spells in the background, specifically the tell-tale sound of a magical ward being cast and held for an extended period of time. The idea that new mages here need practice in a spell I learned when my age was in the double-digits is laughably pathetic. The little hope I had in this institute being a serious place of magickal learning, rivaling that of anything found on Summerset, blows away with the the gentle winter breeze. Movement above me catches my eye, and I realize there is a walkway high above the courtyard. Robed figures walk along the circle's highest edge, and I even catch a glimpse of a storm atronach patroling alongside them. I survey my immediate surroundings; to my left is a small wooden table with two wooden chairs. I walk over to it and find an assortment of items left behind - wine glasses, a wine bottle, an inkpot left forgotten with a quill frozen stuff inside of it. I scoff to myself. Carelessness of this magnitude would have resulted in expulsion had they been anywhere on Summerset. The table and chairs are situated against a wall underneath a short, open window. I maneuver around the furniture to peer outside, and immediately regret it; I am almost instantly blinded by the frozen expanses reflecting the muted and weak sunlight.

I back away from the window, rubbing my eyes back to normalcy. I turn to walk in the opposite direction, when I freeze. Waves of awareness crash and wash over me, like a riptide off the shores of Auridon. I get the prickling sensation that someone is watching me, someone close by. I glance to my left and see no one but a female mage in purple robes, dark hair tied in a high pony tail. Her back is to me as she raises a ward in front of her. Two other mages facing her take turns shooting projectile spells at her ward. None of them notice me. I glance to my right, and see a dark figure sitting on a low bench in front of a window similar to the one behind me, on the other side of the door leading to Hall of Attainment. The figure is wearing the same clothing as the one from the previous evening, conversing with the groundskeeper. They are heavily leaning forward, their left forearm resting on their left knee, while their right forearm sits on their right thigh. Wearing a deep hood, I still cannot see their face, but I have a distinct feeling they know I'm here, watching them. They sit completely still, and I can't even tell if they're breathing. I feel all of my senses go on high alert. Something isn't right with this individual. I don't know what it is and the fact that I can't pinpoint this bothers me more than it should. Perhaps...

I start to move towards the mage, intending to confront them, when a voice cuts across the courtyard on my left. "Mister Ancano." My stomach drops upon hearing the authoritative tone of Mirabelle, the Master Wizard. She isn't someone I wanted to see today at all, but she must have news for me regarding the Archmage. Groaning, I glance in the direction of the voice and see her making her way towards me. Mirabelle is wearing the same set of robes she wore the evening before. Black and blue filigree decorate a thick, ornately designed pair of robes acknowledging her rank as Master Wizard. By Lorkhan, do these people even bathe? She strides in my direction with purpose, and I notice a bundle of cloth in her hands where her book previously was. "I've arranged a meeting with you and the Archmage," she says as she gets closer to me. "You're in luck. He currently has a rare but short window of where he will see you, so I suggest you make haste." She gives me a cursory glance I do not like the feel of, and hands me the bundle, which I accept begrudgingly. "Here, I've procured these for you in the meantime." Unraveling the cloth in my hands reveals a set of College robes. On the thicker side, beige-ish in color and lined with fur, complete with the College sigil on the back. "You might find them more fitting than your..." she trails off for a brief second before finding the right description, "current attire."

I feel an insistent pulsating down the middle of my forehead. The nerve of this woman. I level her what I hope is a steady look, having to crook my neck down at an awkward angle. I often forget how short Bretons are. "I don't see what could be so concerning about what I'm currently wearing, my dear," I begin, tucking the robes under the crook of my arm and trying not to unleash the venom I feel into my voice, "considering you've already informed your colleagues about my presence here. Surely they know to expect an agent of the Dominion on College grounds for the forseeable future." Does she think I'm stupid? Intelligence-based insults were especially egregious. Clearly the Breton wants me to ingrtiate with the College students and staff, so as to make my presence here more "palatable" to those with delicate sensibilites, those who are too scared for their own good about everything and nothing at all. Nordic fools like Onmund, who harbor a fear that the Thalmor will come to disappear him in the night at any moment. While not an unfounded fear, in these circumstances it was ridiculous. None of my colleagues in the Dominion would bother wasting their time with this hovel if they saw what I had seen so far. Mirabelle is unfazed by my response, blinking at me once. "Be that as it may," she says slowly, crossing her arms over her chest as if weighing her words, "I believe it would behoove you to not feel singled-out if you dressed like the rest of us during your stay here".

It takes me a moment to register what's she's telling me, and what she's not telling me. She must not believe I'm here as an advisor, she thinks my position here is a sham. "I don't know what it is you're implying, but I assure you," I tell her in a measured tone, "my business here is solely in the interests of promoting a working relationship between the College of Winterhold, and the Aldmeri Dominion." I need to tread carefully. If Mirabelle can potentionally sense my ulterior motives, then who's to say the others won't as well? "I'm not implying anything," she tells me coolly, clearly not amused by where my interpretation of her line of questioning took me. "But may I remind you that the city of Winterhold, as well as the surrounding area, is Stormcloak territory? We are in the northernmost point of Eastmarch. Windhelm is due South, and Dawnstar is due West. And all three cities support Ulfric's rebellion. The locals don't need reasons to hate us more than they already do. So it stands to reason that seeing someone in full Thalmor uniform will agitate them to the point of physical escalation against us. A risk I'm sure you won' t be willing to take."

I frown. Her words sound like a warning, a icy threat. But I memorize the information she gives me - Windhelm directly South, Dawnstar directly West - although it is useless without knowing how far each city is from each other and from us. A map would be helpful. And she has a point, as much as it angers me to admit it. Despite what she and others may believe, the Dominion doesn't have carte blanche across the entire province. Not since support for Ulfric and the Empire seem to be even on both sides down the middle. There are a great many things I could get away with in Solitude, that would land me in considerably dire straits anywhere else. Especially Eastmarch, the seat of Ulfric's "kingdom". And our superiors repeatedly warn us that should we face imprisonment by local authorities during our assignments, they would provide no assistance. Pushing my luck with the local populace, surrounded by people who already hate magic and elves by extension, is not on my agenda. I realize it would be much safer for me here in the College than anywhere else in the immediate area. But I'll be damned if I take any sort of advice from a halfling. Before I can respond, Mirabelle turns to leave, but not before leaving me with additional instruction over her shoulder: "Please don't keep the Archmage waiting. Despite all appearances, he's a busy man."

I'm left standing in the courtyard, bundle of official College robes in tow. I heave a sigh, realizing my assignment might become noticeably easier if I comply with the uniform expectations here. Belatedly, I turn back to where the black-clad mage was sitting at the bench next to me, and I find it empty. I didn't hear them leave. They must have left during my discussion with Mirabelle, I take notice of my calmed senses, the lack of eeriness their presence produced having long since abided. It dawns on me that this mage seems to be wearing whatever suits them, a decision I immediately assume to be the result of their higher rank. Begrudgingly, I pull the robes over my Thalmor attire, not feeling bothered to change completely. It actually covers every inch of my body, down to my feet, and even leaves a small amount of room for my wrists to barely be exposed. I'm honestly surprised it fits so well, and provides additional layers of warmth in the cold. Belatedly, I realize Mirabelle hadn't given me instructions on how or even where to find the Archmage either. I roll my eyes. Of course she didn't. Consulting with the directory at the courtyard's entrance, I cross the space and pass the statue of Shalidor before pushing the large set of heavy wooden doors that lead to the Hall of the Elements.

My nerves are somewhat frayed upon immediately hearing sounds of combat. Flashbacks from my brief time in Cyrodiil during the Great War threaten to resurface, before I ground myself. Several steadying breaths are all I need to anchor me back to reality. I learn soon enough there is a lower level to the Hall of the Elements. True to its description, the main hall is a wide, cavernous room with high-vauled glass windows and a circular layout. Cushions of varying colors are arranged on stone steps leading downwards and around the room, with podiums stationed in different angles to allow for addressing a varying size of people. What looked a stone well in the center of the room offered an aerial glimpse of an equally massive training area. Students were firing projectile spells at glowing, stone monoliths in gated sections, forming a circle around the arena. There was even a student sparring with what I'm quite sure was a spirit, blasting it with fireball after fireball, causing the ground beneath my feet to tremble. I decide to distract myself with exploring later, and leave the Hall. Staircases to my left and right lead to different parts of the College. Whoever constructed this building at least had the foresight to add directory plaques next to each staircase, labeling each one and listing which staircase led to which floor. The Archmage's quarters, predictably, were at the very top of the College, the 5th floor of the northwestern staircase. I begin my ascent, mentally practicing what I will say to an Archmage that may or may not be elated to have a Thalmor on his College grounds.

##########

At the top of the staircase, I see a reflection from a huge window. Splayed across the entire floor, in a foyer-area before a great set of wooden doors, is a blue window bearing the College's sigil. I'm instantly reminded of the singular window I saw when I first set foot onto the College grounds, and realize this is the central tower of the College itself. And they allow an impressive amount of light. The doors lead into another room, massive and sprawling with vaulted, stone ceilings. It was no different than the Temple of the Divines in Solitude. Savos Aren, the current Archmage of the College of Winterhold, sits in this room alone. A Dunmer, to my mild surprise. Although it isn't that surprising, come to think of it. Winterhold used to be a haven for the Dunmer, the "dark elves" as many an idiotic human have called them. But that was many decades ago, and those who survived the Great Collapse long since fled what was left of Winterhold to Windhelm. In which, from what I've heard, they are faring much worse. I suppose the only real surprise is that a Dunmer stayed behind after the Collapse, even in the College. The Archmage's quarters look like a giant, windowless office. Stone flooring is mostly concealed by rugs of various colors and lengths. A large, ornate wooden desk sits in the center of the room, with so many stacks of parchment that I almost feel overwhelmed on his behalf. Behind the desk is a plush and regal-looking wooden chair, one I nearly mistake for a throne. And behind the chair is a single row of tall bookshelves, their contents barely visible behind opaque glass windows. The wall behind the bookshelves is adorned with several banners, black with light blue borders and the College's sigil at the very top. Small chests line the perimeter of the desk, storage for writing supplies. Savos sits at a low table right next to the door to his quarters, book in hand, when I approach. He initially had no reaction to my entrance, but upon taking in my appearance, he straightens somewhat. "Ah yes," he says at last. His voice is smooth, deep and surprisingly young, given his aged and weathered appearance. Saggy, discolored flesh underneath his eyes and on his forehead, rings of wrinkled skin along what I can see of his neck. A dark grey cowl covers his head and conceals his hair, a blue ornament at the crest. Attached to his robes is a long fur shawl, forming a large "V" as it cascades down his torso and the tip of which reaches his pelvic area. Thin fur bracers and boots cover his arms and feet, and I wonder if this man has ever set foot outside the College with how underdressed he is for the climate outside.

Savos looks to be a few centuries old, which can be a fraction of the lifespan of an elf of any race. Especially one so magically attuned and experienced as to be the Archmage of Winterhold, but nonetheless not unheard of. I have heard rumors that Neloth, once Master Wizard of the Great House Telvanni in Morrowind, still lives himself. Which sounds hard to believe, even for a mer such as myself having been born during the tail end of the third era. Neloth would not only have lived to witness the birth of a new era, but he would have somehow managed to survive the Blight Plague of Vvardenfell, the dissolution of the Great Houses, the Accession Wars, even Red Mountain's eruption. If those rumors are true, then he must be approaching his 800s or older. Such power was unheard of, even by Telvanni standards. Savos' voice snaps me out of my mental wanderings. "You must be the one Mirabelle spoke of. Please," he gestures to an empty chair beside him, "take a seat." I accept his offer of a chair, settling into it gingerly. I'm loathe to admit the trek here made me sore, exerting muscles I thought would have been fully rested by now. The room isn't as dark as I thought it would be, in part thanks to several glowing instances of magelight scattered throughout the room that seem to be permanent, as well as dozens of candles lit around the room. "It's a pleasure to make your acquantaince at last, Archmage." The knowledge that Savos and I more than likely shared ancestors at some point in history, thousands of years ago, was borderline offensive. The entire Dunmer race was born the moment the original Tribunal gods, Almalexia, Sotha Sil and Vivec - acronymed ALMSIVI for longer than I care to find out - betrayed their friend, war hero and Chimer king Lord Indoril Nerevar, by murdering him. Apparently Almalexia was even married to the King when it happened. To be fair, butchering was a more appropriate way to describe what they did to him. Vengeance was served swiftly by the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk herself, Azura. A snap of her fingers and a dark curse decreed from her lips changed the lives of the thousands of migrants of ancient Summerset forever. Ever since, the Ashlander tribes of Vvardenfell long believed Nerevar would return, reincarnated into someone else. And if the stories are to be believed, they were right. But that whole debacle with their gods and Nerevar reincarnate, whoever they were, have made some of them quite feral in their already fervent beliefs. But all the same, elves are easier for me to work with compared to humans. And I am glad Savos seems somewhat removed from that particular section of his peoples' history.

The Archmage clears his throat, closing his book and placing it on the table next to us. The Firsthold Revolt. Ah yes, the story of how a Dunmeri princess laid siege to First Hold, the northernmost city on the island of Auridon, in the Summerset Isles. The parellels of the story and the meeting about to take place are not lost on me. I don't know whether to be amused, or on alert. I am not sure both is possible here. "So," he begins in a tone that makes me think I'm about to sit through a rather dry lecture. "It is my understanding that the Aldmeri Dominion wishes to facilitate a collaboration of some sort with us in Winterhold, yes?" He leans back in his chair. "I can't recall receiving any official parchmentwork from the Dominion itself about this particular arrangement," he casts a wayward glance to his desk behind us, overflowing with parchment and scrolls, "but I did receive a letter from the Embassy expecting your arrival." I nod, studying the desk behind us. Despite its messy state, he appears to be mentally well organized and up to date with current events and information. Probably more of Mirabelle's doing than his own initiative. "Yes, that is correct, Archmage." I use my best diplomatic tone. "Although I wouldn't call it a 'collaboration' as much as I would consider it a 'partnership'. The Dominion believes building a working relationship with magical institutions across Tamriel is a crucial cornerstone to beginning the road to peace. Especially now that stability has been attained within the Empire. We also see this to be the best way to undo the damage wrought against the magic-wielding populace at large, let alone against the elven races." I smirk to myself. I impress myself with my ability to sound persuasive and genuine more often than not. "And as for the parchmentwork," I continue, "you'll find that the Dominion doesn't share the Empire's enthusiasm for bureaucracy. We believe direct action speaks louder than words, even those written on paper."

He seems to consider this, stroking the long, pointed beard growing from his chin thoughtfully. His deep red eyes stare at a spot on the wall a few paces to my left, pondering. He's much more at ease here, I have no doubt he's just as aware of the history of both of our respective races as I am. I inwardly shudder, remembering the customs and rituals of the Ashlander tribes of Vvardenfell. He doesn't sense any immediate danger, and I'm starting to think I've won him over. He sighs. "Between you and me, I'm not sure what the Dominion hopes to accomplish or even gain with working alongside us. I doubt we have anything to offer them that they aren't already receiving from the Empire or elsewhere. And it's funny that you mention damage done," he says, much more conversationally, "you would think they would see such an arrangement as detrimental in the long run. Considering the Great War against your government wasn't too long ago, magic users are reviled at large here in Skyrim, and our College has something of a... tainted reputation." He pronounces tainted delicately, as if careful with how he says it. I can't help but wonder if there's a connection between the Great Collapse, and the College's pristine and mostly undamaged exterior. As if reading my thoughts, he adds, "not to mention the Great Collapse, which many believe was our doing. Even those who remained in Winterhold after all these years..." he trails off momentarily, lost in thought before lightly shaking his head, "Anyway, I digress. But I assure you, the College had nothing to do with what happened back then." I flash what I hope comes across as a warm, charming smile. "There's no need for such assurances, Archmage. I believe the College had nothing to do with that unfortunately tragic incident." And for once, I'm telling the truth. I highly doubt anyone in here would have had the magickal power and talent necessary to sustain such a catastrophic display of power for an extended period of time. Not even Neloth himself. But what I say next is a bold-faced lie: "In turn, I would like to assure you that my purpose here is for the good of the College itself. I've only encountered a few of the students here so far, but I see great potential in them. I have no doubt they would benefit immensely from a partnership with the Dominion, which would include supplemental learning in addition to what they learn here."

I could have fucking laughed with how ridiculously obvious that lie was, but by the grace of Lorkhan I managed to keep a straight face. One corner of Savos' mouth turns upwards in a half smile, and I mildly panic, believing he's somehow sensed my lie. "That does sound well and good, Mister Ancano. But I must confess, I feel no need for advice on any particular matter. As I'm sure you're aware, we remain strictly neutral when it comes to local and provincial government affairs." He doesn't appear as dismissive as his words imply, but my words have stuck with him. "But, from what I remember of the Embassy's letter, you have qualifications that more than fit an ambassador position in any institute of magical learning. Not many here can say they've made frequent visits to the College of Sapiarchs, myself included." I can't help the shudder I feel when I hear the name of the home of the Sapiarchs. But I can resist the rush of memories that come with it. "I'm sure there's much you can share with the rest of us. I trust they would not have sent you all this way had it not been important. And Mirabelle would not have arranged this meeting for similar reasons." The Archmage sits forward, stretching his arms and shoulders. Oh how tiring it must be to sit around all day,, I somehow manage not to roll my eyes. Fortunately, Savos seems to have come to a decision rather quickly, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing in my case. "Well, in that case. I see no harm in allowing you to remain here at the College. Contribution on your behalf isn't necessary, but we encourage anyone and everyone staying with us even temporarily to become engaged on some level. What you learn here will last a lifetime. Several, if you're talented," he raises his eyebrows. "In the meantime, we can work out the details of this 'supplemental learning' at a later time," what a relief, that went easier than expected. But that can only mean... "On the condition," he leans forward slightly, index finger pointed to the ceiling high above us, "that you refrain from discussing the current political climate during your stay with anyone here. As of now, you are the only Thalmor-affiliated Altmer on our grounds. And I will not tolerate recruitment of any kind." His squints his eyes at me. "If I hear so much as a word that you're looking to fill the ranks of the Dominion for the civil war, or trying to establish a military outpost here, I won't hesitate to throw you out myself."

Savos may be older than I, and have more experience in magic, but he isn't as threatening as he wants me to think he is. He is a Dunmer, after all. And I'm a pure-blooded Altmer, a descendant of the Elhnofey themselves, one of the First Children. Something Savos' ancestors lost their claim and access to, courtesy of their duplicitous gods who only thought of themselves and not their people. Funny how one mistake altered the course of generations of magical lineages for millennia. It wouldn't be a fair fight, not with the dexterity that a younger age provides on my side versus his. I straighten back in my chair, crossing my long legs and resting my elbows on the armrests of the chair. I remain unfazed by his thinly-veiled threat. "You have my word, Archmage, that no recruitment of any manner shall be taking place here." You won't need to worry yourself about recruitment or military postings at all, I think sardonically. No one here shows any real promise anywhere, least of all to the Dominion. Haafingar, the seat of the Thalmor Embassy, is snowy enough. Moving from one snow hovel to another - in enemy territory no less - would be a monumental waste of resources. And we have more than enough who are vastly qualified within our ranks here and abroad. Some of my superiors themselves are confident that the civil war will be over in a matter of months, but I myself am not so certain. Ulfric so far has proven himself to be what Lady Ambassador Elenwen has labeled a "hostile asset", and I have my doubts he will prove useful in any capacity as this war wages on. But I consider this a success either way. If I can fool the Archmage, everyone else should be mere child's play.

My reassurance seems to persuade him enough to relax. Savos releases a breath, one he seemed to have been holding for a long moment. He must have thought recruitment was my real purpose here, and mentally prepared for a lengthy argument once he believed he "caught" me. "Well, now that we've settled that," he stands from his chair and moves towards the doors to his quarters, and my ears pick up the faintest of creaking and popping noises coming from his knees. I barely conceal a smirk. Old indeed. "We can work out the details of the supplemental learning you mentioned at a later time." He vaguely gestures to the desk behind him as he rubs his back. "I've got a month's worth of parchmentwork to catch up on, unfortunately. Research sabbaticals are a necessary part of my job, but I never look forward to what's waiting for me afterwards. Mirabelle can only do so much." He stretches his back as I stand as well. The eerie feeling I felt outside, the pulsing waves of acute awareness, comes back in full force. It's there for a fleeting moment and then disappears, and I'm left wondering if I ever felt it at all. And to my surprise, Savos seems to have felt it too. At the same time, Savos straightens abruptly, and I see recognition light his eyes before he smiles softly at the door. "Hmm, tell you what," he turns to face me. "Since you're new here, and the College is uncharted territory for you," I'm not entirely sure there isn't a double-meaning in his words, and I am reminded of the book he was reading before our meeting. But I listen as he continues, "I'm going to introduce you to a member of the College for you to shadow. She's been with us for a year at this point, and she knows the College better than most."

My immediate reaction is apprehension. I don't know a thing about this mystery woman, or why Savos thinks she's worth my time. Either he's being genuine... or he doesn't trust me. He could be trying to collaborate with this mystery woman to spy on me, to make sure I keep my word. I'm almost impressed by his foresight. But "many years" could mean that this College member is likely old. The Archmage being Dunmeri means the chances of her being an elf are substantially higher, but I'd rather not get my hopes up. Dunmer don't share the same sense of superiority that we do. Which is a given. There's nothing for them to be superior about. Mastering viciously inhospitable climates is nothing new or worth bragging about when the cats in Elsweyr and the filthy brutes in Orsinium have done the exact same thing countless times over countless generations. And unlike the Dunmer, at least the latter two groups didn't enslave people. "Archmage, with all due respect," I begin, not sure where this will go, "I presume you're going to explain why I should shadow this particular mage as opposed to the others?" If this mage is anything like their apprentice counterparts, I'm going to be in for a long assignment. I hope whatever passes as an alchemy station in this place has enough ingredients for wellness potions. I'm already dreading the migraines I'm going to get from this. Savos chuckles. "I understand your hesitancy, but this is something I must insist on. And it isn't a privilege I give to everyone new to the College," he begins to walk to the door, straightening his robes. "I insist you meet her at the very least. She is a star pupil, exceptionally talented. The likes of which we haven't seen since..." he trails off. He stops as he reaches the door and looks down, to a spot on the floor between us. I get the feeling there's something he wants to share with me, but refrains from doing so out of pity.

Something pulls him from the memory rather quickly, and he clears his throat. "Well, nevermind that. She's compitent and efficient, something I'm sure you'll appreciate," he gives me a knowing glance and I can't help my amusement. Far be it from the Thalmor or the Dominion at large to disprove the punctuality allegations. I give him a smile in return, clasping my hands in front of me. "Your consideration for my preference of timeliness is much appreciated, Archmage. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have someone experienced tell me more about the College, and the research conducted here." I hope my disappointment isn't palpable. I can forget about getting anything meaningful done with someone on my heels day in and day out. I flex my jaw to prevent myself from clenching it. Hopefully this "star pupil" is just as imbecilic as the apprentices I've already met so far, which would make this entire institution a complete and utter joke. The humans really had some nerve genuinely believing anyone here could have caused half of Winterhold to sink into the Sea of Ghosts.

Archmage Savos smiles in return. Staying on his good side is easier than I thought it would be. Provided he stays as busy as he likes to say he is, crossing him would take consierable effort. Effort that won't be worth my time. Savos opens to great doors that lead to the foyer of the College's highest floor. "Come with me," he tells me. "I'll take you to the Hall of the Elements." He walks through the doors and heads for the stairwell on our right. "I'm sure Mirabelle has already informed you, but the Hall of the Elements is our primary room for lectures and group activities." Behind Savos' back, I roll my eyes. Mirabelle did not inform me of this, and was more than content to let me figure my way around on my own. I'm beginning to sense a pattern in witholding information from me. "Ah yes, I remember she mentioned this yesterday when I arrived." Ugh.

There are so many blasted staircases in this building, it's a wonder I'm not disoriented. As we descend, Savos gives me a brief history of the College that I didn't ask for. Supposedly built in the second era by Shalidor himself - "you may have noticed his statue outside the doors" - although some claim the College is as old as the first era, the impressive Arcaneum holding tomes and texts thought lost for centuries, more tidbits of information I can't be bothered to remember. On our way, we pass many students on the lower floors and tiny balconies interspersed between the floors. Nords, Bosmer, Dunmer, my stomach drops upon seeing an Orsimer among them. They wear different colors and variations of the same robes, some even have fur cloaks and hoods attached to theirs. They give me inquisitive looks, and I'm horrified to be grateful I took Mirabelle's advice. There's no telling what they would have done or how they would have reacted had I still been wearing my uniform. But for now, all I sense from them is curiousity. If I'm being escorted by the Archmage himself, I must be important. In the meantime, they look at Savos as if he's starlight incarnate. Some clamor for his attention, only to be disappointed when he waves them away with an excuse of being busy.

After what feels like an hour, we reach the Hall of the Elements. There are students down below in the lowest level practicing spells of every manner, but the noise is less intense this time. Returning with the Archmage reveals more to the massive room than I had previously noticed. Tall glass windows line the perimeter, letting in a substantial amount of light. Three low steps lead us to the center, the rest of the steps around us lined with thin, brown cushions. Small tables scattered in between some of the cushioned rows hold writing supples, tiny candles and scattered parchment pieces. Off to the right, a wooden podium faces the cushions in front. There are little alcoves in three points around this room; north, east and west. Each alcove has a two small benches lined next to each other, allowing for additional seating should the seats on the steps fill up. I see a low table with objects I cannot idenityf from this distance against one wall of an alcove. The floor itself is lined in a circle with metal sigils of the College. I have learned, thanks to Savos, that the official name for the sigil is "the Eye of Shalidor".

I'm so busy taking in the stillness of the room that it takes me a moment to realize there's someone else in the room with us. A dark shadow sitting on one of the cushions far to our right, their back facing the window. The daylight shining through the window obscures their face, but I don't need to see anything else to know who this is. The mystery mage that I've seen around the College, wearing all black robes. They sit with their legs slightly apart from each other, both feet on the ground, leaning their forearms on their knees. Their hood is up above their head, and I can see the shape of their cloak behind them. I can't see their face, but I know they're watching me. Watching us. Savos looks around the room before spotting the figure, to which he says, "Ah, there you are. I had a feeling you'd be here." The figure stands, and takes a step to move towards us. And they do something I've never seen before. In one swift movement, they dart forward and cross the distance between us in half a heartbeat, becoming a blur of movement in the process. Had I blinked, I would have missed it entirely. I can sense amusement on Savos' end, and I must have conveyed my alarm openly. Alarm that soon abates as I get my first unobstructed view of the mage, currently removing their hood.

My breathing stills.

White contrasts with a rich, saddle brown and decorates a femininely angular face with four simple strokes. It almost glows in the shadows of the room. A thick slash of white vertically crosses her right eyebrow and travels down her right eye. The other starts on the right side of her equine, button nose and crosses its bridge before sloping down and ending an inch above the left corner of her mouth. Her full lips are stained a deep, muted color impossible to tell in such poor lighting. The third slash starts off-center near her left temple, travels the small gap between her eyebrows, and joins the bottom slash in crossing the bridge of her nose, forming a crooked "L" down her forehad and across her nose. The final slash is a thick line below her bottom lip that runs the vertical length of her soft-pointed chin. Her hair is much longer than it appears. Dark braids cascade down her shoulders and cover her chest; neat, individual twines that must have been painstakingly time-consuming to create. They cling to her scalp like a diadem. Halfway behind her head is a bun made of those same braids. Long lashes frame a pair of wide, almond-shaped eyes, their icy blue a jarring and highly unusual color for her race. The subtle arch of her long eyebrows gives her a rather severe neutral expression. Which at the current moment, I cannot read. And for human standards, she looks somewhat young. I gather she is no older than 30 winters.

She says nothing, first coming to stand in front of Savos before turning her gaze to me. I should probably say something at this point, but my tongue feels laden in my mouth. She presses her legs together and loosely clasps her hands in front of her groin, a gesture that almost makes me physically react. It's a stance I know well, and one I've seen countless times before, in Alinor and other parts of Summerset. And it tells me something about her without her having to say a word. Highborn. Rescue comes in the form of Savos making his presence known. I had absolutely forgotten he was still here. I had no adequate preparation for finally meeting the elusive mage I've been seeing for the past day around the College, the source of the prickly awareness coming over me. But it's what Savos says next that stuns me to my core. "Ancano, this is our star pupil I mentioned earlier. She will be your shadow during your stay, or until you feel confident in your role here in the College." He looks between us both.

"This is Ira of Astora."

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

My player character's first chapter is up next let's gooooooo!!!!