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

The wretched human woman walks away from me. She hopes to be rid of me that easily. She is, once again, severely mistaken... and not what I have expected so far. I had been correct in assuming she was a Redguard when I saw the plaque bearing her name, but she is no man. Upon meeting her for the first time with Savos, I expected the exotic accent I'd heard from Redguards here and abroad. A melting pot of tongues amassed from a lifetime of sea-faring, pirating and pillaging. I did not expect the crisp, Cyrodiilic brogue that came out of her mouth. An accent whose thickness is a telltale sign of having been born and raised in the province of the Empire's current seat. And to top things off, Redguards are not known for any sort of magical affinity. They are, in fact, the least talented when it comes to magic. Yet the demonstration she and Tolfdir exhibited told me the exact opposite story. The sort of magical prowess I've seen from elves, but no humans. Not even Bretons. Her being of Breton heritage would explain some of it, but her ears lack the tell-tale, subtle pointedness that the halflings possess. A remnant of elven blood, still present in current generations. But even Bretons had their limits. This Redguard woman is an anomaly. Either that, or she's cheating. Perhaps using artifacts or enhancements to boost her skill and magicka pool, not uncommon among the human races. I will find my answer one way or another.

"I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere without me, Redguard," I keep pace a few steps behind her. The bundle of braids behind her head sways and swishes with each step she takes, and I watch it as I follow her. "I aim to take full advantage of the free time you have been given here. Considering your skill level and rank within the College, it's only fitting." She doesn't acknowledge me as we pass through the doors and into the courtyard. The blast of frigid air takes my breath away, having been insulated inside from it for hours. The setting sun is darkening the sky into a deep, muted grey. At this point, I doubt I will ever see it any other color. A light shower of flurries dance around us, having already covered the paved sections of the courtyard in a transparent dusting that nearly makes me slip and lose my footing. But the Redguard is clearly used to this weather, striding with ease while I scramble to sufficiently shield myself, shoving my hood over my head and stuffing my hands into my robes. "And what makes you think I have time for whatever it is you intend to do here?"

"I believe I overheard Tolfdir mention that it would take three days for your little expedition to be cleared with the Jarl of Winterhold." We are behind Shalidor's statute when I move to stand in front of her, blocking her path. I have to tilt my head downwards to look at her face-to-face. She's tall, at least taller than Mirabelle, but only by human standards. The top of her head barely reaches the bottom of my chin. "That leaves you with plenty of time to transition the Archmage's newly appointed advisor into the College as a new member." However temporary that may be. She rolls her eyes at me, sighing heavily in the process. A tiny snowflake has landed on the outer edge of her left eyelash, momentarily distracting me with the blink's movement. I can't tell if she's already exasperated with me, or if she suffers from near-perpetual boredom. If I had to constantly be around people beneath my skill level and intellect, I suppose I would feel the same way. "If the Archmage insists I babysit you for the next three days, then so be it. I trust his judgement better than yours, and you won't be much use to him if you freeze to death on account of neglect. Something I'd rather not be responsible for, lest your Dominion friends descend on this place in force."

She is evidently inconvenienced by what my being here has caused her. And she is fluent in thinly-veiled threats. But two can play at this game. "No, I won't be. Just like you won't be much use to anyone here if you were to suffer an unfortunate accident, causing you to miss the Saarthal expedition." She is smart enough to know the Dominion would take notice of one of their agents going missing, but incorrect in her assumption that they would send an entire contingent to investigate. My colleagues and I are continuously warned about the dangers of this province, the harshness of the land and its creatures. It wasn't unheard of for a contingent of agents to go missing, even with a justiciar. But she doesn't need to know that. She smirks with half of her lips, which in the dimming light of the day I can see are a deep red. I immediately grow suspicious. It's already alarming how easy it is to speak to this woman, a human no less. I'd have thought by now I'd have a severe migraine, enough to rival a hangover. Instead, I came dangerously close to telling her that I was not as "old" as she she implied I was earlier. And now I've managed to make her smile. And it isn't... entirely hard on the eyes. That can either work to my advantage, or prove fatally distracting. I don't intend to stay here for long to find out. "If that's what you'd like to think," she tells me after a moment. She walks around me, past the statue and heads for the Hall of Attainment. Our shared living space. "I expected more civility from one of the First Children. But being an agent for the Dominion, I suppose it can't be helped. Your people have become accustomed to having things your way, haven't you?"

I clearly see the multitude of meanings in her words. The Aldmeri Dominion strong-arming the subordinating provinces into treaties that were more exploitative than they were beneficial to both parties. The Aldmeri Dominion resorting to violence on any scale to ensure our will is enacted. The Aldmeri people, descendants of the ancient and heavenly Elhnofey themselves, dictating us as the first beings among men and mer. And me, pestering this woman into Oblivion, following her for the next three days. I don't know if she intended for what she said to be so multi-faceted, but if it means keeping up appearances and providing adequate cover for my tracks, then I'll let her believe whatever she wants. "Why yes, we have," I tell her matter-of-factly. "As it turns out, the promise of torture and death are effective bargaining chips when it comes to getting the desired results. And if we have to uphold those promises, it will serve as a lesson for the others that crossing the Dominion has lethal consequences." She doesn't take the barb like I thought she would, instead sighing loudly once again. "Why am I not surprised?" I hear her mutter. We reach the door to the Hall of Attainment when she turns to me. The light from the magelight wells next to us reflect brightly in her eyes, so much so that she almost looks blind. The hour is drawing late, and the sky has darkened slightly more than it did when we first came out here. I glance upwards at the muted sky. Getting used to shorter days will take more adjustment on my end.

"As much as I'm sure you're eager to see what we're hiding here," she gives me a deadpan look, "the day is done and I'm much too exhausted for anything else. Your 'shadowing' shall begin tomorrow morning." She turns the door handle to the Hall of Attainment. "It is advisable to keep your voice down in here, people may be working on delicate experiments or sleeping already." My ears perk. "Experiments, you say?" I straighten. It sounds like she's referencing alchemy, potion-mixing. I've yet to see an alchemy set-up anywhere, although no magic institute worth its salt would not have at least the basic supplies. Field alembics, mortars, water filtration systems for distilling. I'm reminded of the alchemy ingredients I found in the wardrobe of my room, and wonder if every room comes with a rudimentary alchemy starter kit. "I do hope whatever passes for alchemy here is at least somewhat comparable to the rest of the civilized world." She doesn't respond, pushing the doors open instead. She does not wait for me to walk through them or follow her inside.

The Hall is quiet when we enter, though I can hear the faintest of voices above me. Multiple voices. Stepping away from the door and into the foyer, I look to the ceiling. "What's on the floor above us?" I ask the Redguard. "A few more rooms, similar to ours. Tolfdir's office, Enthir's room, Orthorn's former room, and Oveld's supply closet," she lists the names off as if I'm supposed to know these people, or even be familiar with them. The only one I recognize is Tolfdir, the aged master of Alteration who looks like he should be using a walking cane with how bent his back is. Orthorn is an Aldmeri name, specifically male. I wonder why I haven't seen another male Altmer aside from myself here. Enthir is Bosmeri, and I have not seen a Bosmer yet either. And Oveld is as Nordic as they come. If he has a supply closet, then I can only guess that he is be the caretaker. I turn to her, a memory returning to me. "That was you speaking to the caretaker yesterday, in the courtyard when I first arrived." She yawns, nodding her head. "Yes. I wanted to inform him about Master Toldir and I's demonstration, and that I would be taking care of any messes we made." She walks to her door, fishing into the pocket of her robes. I hear the soft clinking of metal before her hand resurfaces with a small, brass key. "His job is hard enough, no need to add to it," she says to her door.

She pushes the key into the lock, and I scoff. "Well, look at you. Aren't you a model student," I sneer at her. I can't bring myself to imagine why someone would go out of their way to make someone else's job easier. Such altruism doesn't exist with the Thalmor or the Dominion as a whole. There's no room for it, frankly. We all do our part to keep the machine well oiled and running efficiently. Failure isn't an option. Neither is dereliction of duty, inefficiency, incompetency, anything that makes the machine falter or lag behind. Failure is death. There's no need to look out for others, because we all keep rank. And we all know the price paid for anything less than. If this is some attempt to make herself look good in front of the Archmage, or Tolfdir, or to anyone in general, it would be in line with the nature of Redguards. They are not too disimilar to the catfolk, looking for any opportunity to further themselves amongst others. "I can't imagine what you expect to gain from that. I suppose you see yourself better than the others here, not withstanding your apprentice mentees." The Redguard turns to me as she walks through the door, a smile on her lips. "Certainly not my mentees," she says. She looks me dead in the eyes once she's in the room. "But definitely better than you, if you're only good when it suits you." She shuts the door after her without waiting for my response, and I hear the lock slide into place in the silence between us.

The nerve of this woman. This human woman who thinks herself better than one of the First Children. I have half a mind to vaporize her for her insolence. And were we not on neutral soil, I might have just tried. The blood of the Elhnofey courses through my veins, generations of pure, undiluted essence of the Aedra themselves. If she thinks she can outsmart, outwit, and out perform me, it would be the third time she is severely mistaken.

I feel my jaw clench and tighten. And if things escalate and I'm forced to do something drastic, it will also be her last mistake.

##########

Ancoril and I sit on the cliffside, overlooking the Abecean Sea while my parents conduct business in the city of Firsthold we are too young to comprehend. The jagged rocks dig into our soft skin, but we don't mind; we are in our early double digits, young enough to endure dull aches and pains without suffering the consequences later. A privilege we have yet to realize, as it is something our parents lost long ago with age. I sit up from where I had been laying and lean backwards with my hands pressed against the ground. My legs dangle off the cliff, I'm intrigued by how the rocks feel against my calves. Ancoril sits crosslegged two arm's lengths away from the edge and slightly behind me. His forearms rest loosely against his knees, while his long fingers idly caress the amulet he holds. Our robes are going to be wrinkled and covered in cliff debris, but it is a small price to pay for such a magnificent view. Father insisted the both of us come along, to see the city for ourselves. It was a sight to behold, and I remember clearly the history lessons he told us about Firsthold on the way here. How the city was the crown jewel of the entire Summerset Isles, the way her natural defenses protected her from invaders during times of war. The city being one of the eight founding cities of our province. He meant to instill pride in us for our homeland, but there was no need. We were plenty proud enough. Mother gently shooed him away from the topic, telling him that we would have plenty of time to learn for ourselves later.

While they handled important matters in the city center, we went exploring. Firsthold lived up to every praise and accolade my father lavished her with. White marbled buildings, pristine cobblestone streets, statues to great heroes on every street corner. Our exploration led us outside the city's perimeter, to a steep rock path to the cliffside. We pass through a broken but ancient archway covered in roots and ivy, over steps worn in over thousands of years, and now we sit with the Abecean Sea as our view, much like our ancestors once did. A vast body of water our ancestors crossed to settle in the most beautiful province in Tamriel, in all of Nirn. Guided by the Aedra themselves, the Elhnofey. The distant call of exotic birds sounds all around us, while the sea below crashes and rages against the cliffs hundreds of meters below us, sounding distant and yet close at the same time. The sun, at its zenith, feels like a warm caress in the face of the chilly, windswept sea amidst a cloudless sky. The Isles were known to be fair-weathered for most of the calendar year, but the hot season was particularly brisk in the North. I looked up to Ancoril. He was a magic prodigy, even by Altmer standards. Mastering spells and concepts my peers and I were only just beginning to try for ourselves. He was my sole inspiration for becoming a mage. Even without looking at him, I can hear the distinct sound of his amulet, clinking as he walked.

As we sit, Ancoril remains quiet, lost in thought. I look to him. His burnish chestnut hair sways calmly around his face and shoulders with the breeze, gently brushing his sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw. Even by non-Altmer, he is considered incredibly handsome. Many of the Aldmeri girls in our city vied for his attention, and he caught eyes even here in Firsthold. He is older than me, but only by a decade. With our lifespans, that's half of a heartbeat. His brow is furrowed as his eyes, deep grey mirrors of my own, hone in on something on the horizon. I follow his line of sight. Thousands of kilometers away, to the North and East, I can just make out what he sees. A sizable land mass, but there's something off about it. It doesn't look normal. At least, not like the rest of the Isles. It's covered in a thick shroud of fog, misty and almost ghostly in appearance. Even though there isn't a single cloud in the sky, and the current weather is not conducive to creating fog or mist. It's like one big mirage on the water's surface. There is only one thing I can see; a tall, pointed spire in the center. Its dark stone contrasts horrifically with the crystal clear view from Auridon's northern shore. The isle sits isolated, with no boats or ships at or around it. I frown, unease settling into my stomach. My parents have so many maps of the Isles, my grandfather has a dedicated cabinet of them in his study. Each one details the foundational pinpoints of Summerset's history; from the founding of our province to that of each major city. I've combed through the ones they've showed me, 'the important ones' as they referred to them. At this age, I've developed a near-perfect memory of the cartographical view my home.

None of our maps show an isle northeast of Auridon.

I open my mouth to ask Ancoril what that mysterious isle is and why it has caught his attention so, but as I turn to him again, I'm startled to find that he's gone. I did not see or hear him leave, as if he simply vanished into thin air as he sat next to me, wordlessly. Panic bursts in my chest. For all of Ancoril's magical prowess, he hadn't mastered invisibility yet, and wouldn't for another few years. And he wasn't one to play practical jokes of this nature. I spin around, looking for any trace of him, but there's none. I don't see him in the distance behind me, walking up the stone steps back to the city without me, nor do I see him anywhere on the surrounding cliffside. I even look down the cliffside, the idea that he fell or even jumped to his death for reasons unknown making me feel sick. I'm relieved when I don't see a body floating down below me, but when I look back to the horizon, the land mass is gone too. As if it had never been there in the first place, as if I had imagined the whole thing. Invisibility was effective on people, but not objects. Such techniques were impossible. I'm sitting alone on Auridon's northern cliffside, the cawing birds and gentle breeze my only companions, and my panic and unease combine into fear. I knew I wasn't hallucinating, and I knew I wasn't imagining things. Something was very, very wrong.

With sheer urgency, it occurs to me that my parents need to be informed of Ancoril's disappearance at once. There will still be time to find him if I get to them quickly enough. And perhaps, they would know of the mysterious land mass we saw in the distance. But for now, Ancoril going missing was far more important. I leap to my feet, aiming to sprint as fast as I can to the city and find them. I bound less than a body's length away from the cliffside when I am stopped in my tracks and doubled over by a Nirn-shattering humming. It starts somewhere behind me, then it's above me, until the source of it triangulates directly into my head. It vibrates my vision and causes my whole body to shake and tremble uncomfortably. It feels like my skeleton is about to be relieved of my fleshly coil, stripped away by pure sound. The interrupted momentum from my run sends me hurling to the ground with much more force than it comfortable. I clutch my ears and fall as the humming gets louder and louder, bowing my head to the ground as I groan and writhe in pain. It doesn't register that I've just shredded my robes into holes and tatters upon my fall, nor does it register that the painful humming appears to be a voice speaking to me. It has no discernable words or speech patterns recognizable to me, but it sounds vaguely familiar...

##########

I awaken sitting upright, from quite possibly the most vivid dream I've had in my life. I've never awoken sitting up in bed before. I do not remember going to bed and falling asleep, nor do I remember returning to my room and closing my door shut behind me, locking it in the process. The first thing I'm aware of is a faint smell. There is something being cooked somewhere in the Hall, and I am reminded of the kitchen area above me. It smells savory and filling, but also hearty and potentially salty. Nothing that comes close to what is prepared and served anywhere in the Isles, but something more likely to be found in Elsweyr or even certain parts of Morrowind. Or Hammerfell. There are also a few voices coming from the same floor above me, I hear coughing and even laughter. I rise from my bed, disrobing from clothing I do not remember changing into and attiring myself with my Thalmor uniform. It lies in a disheveled pile near the foot of my bed. By the Aedra, what happened to me last night? Picking up the robes and straightening them out with my hands, I cycle through the events of yesterday, leading up the conversation I had with Ira right before she retired for the evening.

Ah yes, the Redguard wench. She must have incensed me so much the night before, that I lost recollection of everything else. I almost forgot that I am to be following her around the College today. Either that, or the dream I had has rattled me more than I want to admit to myself. I pause in my movements, hands hovering over the front buttons of my robe. I have not thought about Ancoril in... almost a century. After his sudden and this time permanent disappearance, any and all trace of him was promptly erased within my family. Portraits were hidden away or destroyed completely, letters and clothing were burned, his room became the only guest room in our house. It became as if he never existed, and it felt wrong to me. His memories were a stain on my family's reputation, but they were also painful. Because while my family lied to everyone who asked, I knew the real reason why his existence was willfully forgotten. Distantly, I am reminded of the amulet I carried here with me, his amulet. The weight of it gives me an odd sense of reassurance, as if he's with me somehow. Even though I know the thought is foolish as it is impossible. Ancoril has been presumed dead for a fraction of the lifespan of these mages I am surrounded by.

However when I reach into the pocket where I keep Ancoril's amulet, I find it is not there. I whip around, nearly going blind with panic, before spotting it on the little nightstand next to my bed. Where I do not remember placing it, much less taking it out of my pocket to begin with. Now I am uneasy. I replay the dream in my mind, and for the first time since my arrival here, I feel tendrils of dread worm their way into my stomach. To the Altmer, dreams of this nature were often prophetic. To all elves, really. My people do not have a claim to the predictive future of dreams. They contained multitudes of meanings, messages, warnings. This is the first dream of it's kind that I have ever had. I begin to think coming here was a mistake. Perhaps my being here will do more harm than good, in the long run at least. No. I cannot let one dream distract me from my assignment, no matter how vivid it may have been. And there is an explanation for everything. I am in a new province, a new climate, a new environment. Surrounded by new people, none of them allies or confidants. It will take my body and my mind some time to adjust to the changes presented here. And what I accomplish here will benefit the whole of the Dominion, not just the Thalmor. My time here will not be wasted. My purpose is clear, and with a deep breath I finish attiring the rest of my uniform.

Stepping out into the foyer, a figure nearby jumps in surprise as I open the door. An elderly Nord man is sweeping the entrance area of the Hall of Attainment, and he appears to have tidied up the clutter around the well of light in the center of the room. He's hobbled over a handheld broom in the corner next to Brelyna's door as he watches me over his shoulder, something between wariness and surprise marring his withered features. He clearly wasn't anticipating anyone being on this floor when he bgan cleaning. This is the caretaker, what was his name again? Ah. "Oveld." His face morphs into open suspicion after I said his name. He straightens abruptly and leaves the Hall of Attainment, without so much as a word to me. It takes me a moment to discover the reason for his reaction. With my uniform out in the open, my purpose here takes on a new meaning. Perhaps, Oveld assumed I'm here to root out Talos worship in the College. I wouldn't be surprised if I don't see him again for the duration of my stay here, which doesn't bother me in the slightest. Part of me thinks he will warn the others of what he saw. But why anyone would care about what happens to the College of Winterhold is beyond me. From what I've gathered so far, none of the locals would miss this place or the mages within it, even if a catastrophe like the Great Collapse were to happen for a second time. As unlikely as that would be.

On the other side of the entrance to Attainment, I proceed to the staircase and walk up to the second floor. I stumble and try to clutch the wall to balance myself, which barely helps. The only source of light in this ridiculously dark staircase is a pathetically puny candle mounted to the wall just above me. They really need to add more lighting here, there's not even a railing. This is absurd. As I draw closer, I hear more conversation, laughter and someone coughing and sniffling. A small part of me remembers the family meals I had as a yearling elf in the Summerset Isles. But the rest of me is unable to feel a pang of nostalgia for a time so distant in my memory. I round the corner to the cooking area I visited on my first day here, arrive to stand at one corner of the foyer, and find four pairs of eyes all trained on me. Two human, one elven, and one feline, their heads turned over their left shoulders to face me. Seated at the bench with their backs to me are the three apprentices from yesterday, and the Redguard woman is among them. She is between Brelyna and the khajiit, while Onmund sits on the far left end. I blink at them. Onmund looks like he's just been crying, an evident wetness around his eyes and a glistening underneath his nose. He sniffs once, and I find out why when I inhale myself. Whatever was cooked here has a generous amount of spice. The acrid scent tickles my nasal passages and floods my esophogeal corridor, almost making me choke just from standing there. I surreptitiously clear my throat. My nose wrinkles and I involuntarily sneer at them in the process. A small shift in their body language tells me I must look more sinister than I intended. There's no telling what they think I'm about to do. But if I can keep them unaware of my true intentions while I'm here, then that's all the better.

I've clearly interrupted an otherwise joyful experience the four of them were sharing amongst themselves, the communal partaking of a meal. I have also clearly reminded them of whatever plans they had arranged for today, as they choose this exact moment to remember. Brelyna goes first, as she stands to get up from her spot on the bench. "Sorry Ira, I just remembered Collete's office hours are today. I don't want to miss her," her words come out in a rush. She turns to Onmund next to her, giving him a pointed look. This snaps Onmund out of his daze, and he follows suit behind her. They all but zoom past me, down the staircase, and I hear them rush out of the door. The cat doesn't have the same sense of urgency as his peers did. He yawns, his sharp fangs on full display in a distinctly feline motion, and stretches his legs as he rises from the table. "J'zargo wishes to be the first one on the training grounds," he sounds like he's purring in between words when he speaks. Their inscrutable language was beyond my comprehension, and it was a wonder they had a language to begin with. The way they butchered the common tongue was enough to give me a headache. "Perhaps some worthy competition will find its way to this one later." He has an unusually competitive mindset. Clearly he's mistaken the College for the Imperial Arena. Time will tell if he is smart enough not to turn that competitiveness towards me, but I cannot be sure. Not all of the cats are our allies, not all of them bought the lie we concocted to explain the Void Nights.

The Redguard, for her part, has no reaction other than a short nod in his direction. The cat saunters past and away from me, though I can feel his eyes on me. I can only guess why a cat would be here in the College of Winterhold. Much of it has to do with shiny baubles and trinkets, and I will need to ensure my room is locked and my valuables are hidden from sight. Overhearing his comment to Tolfdir about the upcoming Saarthal expedition yesterday was eye-roll inducing, but not surprising for his race. Their penchant for petty thievery tracks well, they can't seem to resist helping themselves to things that are not theirs. If he hopes to find any of that sort in an ancient Nordic burial tomb, he will be sorely disappointed. Part of me wishes he gets caught in a trap in Saarthal, teaching him a permanent lesson in crypt-robbing. But what happens to him is of no concern to me. His departure leaves me alone with Ira of Astora. She has turned her attention back to whatever meal they were eating. A bowl of something is on the table in front of her, with the source of the food on the cooking pot in the corner to our left. Her posture is relaxed as she uses a utensil I can't see to pick at something on the plate in front of her, tilting her head back and placing it in her mouth. I can see the delicate line of her jaw working to chew the bite she takes. Wait. What am I doing?

I step forward when a sudden movement in the darkness to my immediate right catches my eye. On a low bench I hadn't noticed before sits a Bosmeri male, watching me quietly but intently. In what little light is here, I can see traces of unbridled hostility in his eyes, its source speaks volumes on his allegiances. Recently, we've had particularly bloody campaigns in Valenwood, the home of the Bosmer. "Wood elves" as the non-Elven races like to call them, and for appropriate reason once I saw Valenwood for myself. It was hard to believe that, if the stories are true, the Bosmeri race evolved from ancient Aldmeri immigrants from what is now the Summerset Isles. Harder still to believe the co-founder of the first Aldmeri Dominion was once their king. The Camoran Dynasty, a family of zealous usurpers and cutthroat leaders, had turned the province into a bloody free-for-all for centuries. A Thalmor-backed coup changed all of that, absorbing the province into the same kingdom as the Summerset Isles and restoring civility to a nation of cannibalistic tree-lovers. But given their nature, I would have kept the Bosmer separate. The Green Pact, the sacred rite that protected all the fauna in the province, meant nothing to us. If anything, it was an effective strategy to get the Bosmeri population to heel. Burning down trees, shrubs and other plantlife around the province did wonders to quell their rebellious spirits. But they didn't forgive us. Some of them took revenge themselves, resorting to killing a number of our agents and justiciars. That earned them nothing but the complete extermination of their bloodline, courtesy of the Aldmeri Dominion.

We watch each other, this Bosmer male and I, who looks to be around the same age as I. Hard to tell. It feels like a standoff, the respective histories of our people clashing silently in this dark and quiet foyer. I wonder if he belonged to one of the families that my predecessors purged in Valenwood. Perhaps his hatred for me, for us, runs deep as a result. I also wonder if he will try to attack me at some point while I'm here. Such possibilities may sound ridiculous, but when you spend as much time as I have within the ranks of the Aldmeri Dominion, you come to learn very quickly just how much of non-Aldmeri Tamriel hates you. And we have given them very, very good reason to do so. He breaks first, rising to stand. "Tsch, you people know how to clear a room," he scoffs as he walks away. His voice is much older than his appearances, like he's been smoking pipes for decades. And it's dripping with sarcastic venom. He steps to the foyer and looks down to the first floor. He raises his hand dramatically to cup his mouth, and loudly exclaims, "Listen up everyone, better hide your Talos shrines and statues! There's a justiciar on the loose!" He then breaks out into hysterics over his own joke. My only reaction is a blank expression. His theatrics do not amuse me, nor do they rile me up, as he clearly intended for them to do. I'm about to tell him exactly this, when the Redguard intervenes.

"Enthir." I sense an immediate change in her tone from the previous day. She sounds distracted, as if not entirely aware of the exchange taking place behind her. She is still seated at the bench, still eating. She hasn't made a move to leave nor has she turned around to properly address either of us. "There's no one here." An astute observation. I scared Oveld off when I left my room, Brelyna and Onmund all but sprinted out of here when I came upstairs. J'zargo had better things to do when I showed up, but didn't hide the contempt he felt for me either. Which means aside from us three, we seem to be completely alone here. "If you want to yell, I suggest you take it outside." Enthir has stopped laughing and has turned to face the Redguard's back. "Ahhhh, I'm just messing around. But I see your point. We wouldn't want our friend here getting offended and vaporizing people." He openly sneers at me now, a look I return in force. No longer is he hiding his disdain for me, so I won't do the same for him. "Yes, why don't you leave, Bosmer?" I almost resist goading him. Almost. "Surely there are trees and shrubs outside beckoning to you. It would be best not to keep them waiting for too long. Who knows what could happen to them?" Perhaps that was a low blow, knowing he likely lived through our partial destruction of Valenwood's vast acres of forests that his people held sacred. But the Bosmer started this provocation, and I will finish it. Anger flashes across Enthir's face, and he takes a menacing half-step towards-

"Ancano."

This gets the Redguard's attention. She sounds much more forceful than she did with Enthir. We both snap our attentions to her, and she's turned her head to stare me down. I momentarily startle at her calling my name. I hadn't expected it, and apparently neither had Enthir, who looks between the two of us as if working something out in his head. His narrowed eyes stay on me briefly before ultimately he decides keeping up this back and forth isn't worth it. He goes to his room - a door on my right - and returns with a small grey satchel bag that he hoists over his head and settles over his shoulders. Without sparing me a second glance, he heads past me down the stairs, and I hear the door to the Hall open and close much louder than it did with Brelyna and Onmund. She stands from the bench when he leaves, walking up to face me herself. Hands fisted on hips that are cocked to one side, reminding me too much of Mirabelle. "Will it be a mistake to assume you won't start fights with the other members of the College for no reason?" I'm mildly alarmed at how defensive I feel, the need to explain my actions to her stronger than it has any right to be. Why should I care? Why should what she thinks of me even matter? She's a human, a temporary being, an insignificant speck of life unworthy of the dirt underneath my- "I didn't start anything, Redguard, and certainly not without reason." My arms fold across my chest, and I am barely conscious of the movement. "In case your mind was elsewhere, your colleague decided mocking a Justiciar was a brilliant idea. Perhaps it is he who should think twice before provoking an agent who is here on behalf of the Aldmeri Dominion."

She rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands as she breathes deeply, and I can physically see the sag of her shoulders. Well, now. Perhaps her mind was elsewhere today. She appears distracted by something, exhausted and sleep deprived even. I almost want to demand a confirmation on what has her mind so preoccupied, but think better of it. It would be beneficial to me if these absent-minded tendencies keep up. "Good to know you're about as sensitive as they come," she mutters, and I squint my eyes at her. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her I'm not "sensitive" at all, but that might certainly prove her point. She returns to the table, grabbing her bowl and utensil. She takes a final bite as she walks to the other side of the foyer, to a small basin I hadn't noticed before. The table reminds me of the cooking pot, the source of the acrid stench that still hangs in the air. While the Redguard is distracted with whatever is happening on the other side of the foyer - I hear the faintest sloshing of water - I go to the cooking pot to inspect the contents. I lean forward to peer inside... and I am not sure what I'm looking at. This is definitely not Aldmeri cuisine, not even close. And it certainly isn't Nordic cuisine either. My eyes narrow, moreso from the spicy fumes wafting into my face than of careful inspection on my part. All I can see is red, and there's lots of it. Pale, rounded shapes that look like legumes are in abundance within the red liquid. But there are patches of pale white and even paler yellow interspersed within it. Small, black specks are dotted all throughout. It looks to be some sort of sauce or curry, but with the addition of... are those-?

"That would be shah'rakesh." The Redguard nearly makes me jump out of my skin and I whip around to the sound of her voice. I didn't hear her walk to stand a few paces behind me. She's rolling her neck and pressing her fingers into the flesh behind it, eyes closed and squeezing with each stretching motion. I frown at her, both at my lack of recognition of the dish in question, and that I was startled so easily. The word she used to describe the dish sounds exotic, and considering her background, I presume it originates from Hammerfell. The way she rolled the r in the second syllable was... not unpleasant to hear. But not a sound I want to get used to, much less hear again. I settle for telling her a simple truth. "This smells terrible." She blinks at me, unaffected by my insult. "It's a Hammerfell dish," she continues, confirming my suspicion. She walks around me to remove the cooking pot from the heat with gloved hands. "Stewed red lentils in a spicy curry with poached eggs on top." Ah. That's what those splotches were. She sets the pot onto the table, covering it with a large metal lid. "Meant to be served with bread, or eaten on its own. Some can handle the spice, but for others it's unbearable." I'm reminded of Onmund's face, leaking with condensation from every opening. The sniffling and coughing I heard from where I was downstairs, the laughter that followed it. The Nord wasn't accustomed to spicy food and handled it poorly, much to the amusement of his colleagues. This would be funny in a different time, a different life. Ancoril would find this funny, perhaps.

The sudden and unexpected thought of Ancoril makes me physically react. I straighten abruptly from where I was hunching over the cooking station. "Fascinating," my tone implies anything but. "Unfortunately, I'm not here for a cooking lesson, much less a history on Redguard cuisine." She briskly walks past me, not waiting to see if I will follow. "Then leave the cooking to the rest of us," she calls over her shoulder, and I take long strides to keep up with her as we make our way to the staircase. To my disbelief, she has no problem navigating the dark space with no support railings and limited lighting. "You'll be hard-pressed to find anyone with a tolerance for mudcrabs stewed with a sea grape reduction anyway." I don't say a word as we get to the first floor, and she goes directly to her room. I stand there momentarily stunned that she has more than a rudimentary knowledge of Aldmeri cuisine. One that could be chalked up to being in a learning institution, but I highly doubt these mages spend ample time cooking food of the edible variety. She disappears behind the door before returning shortly afterward with her black cloak, the same one she had been wearing the day I met her. She fastens it around her collar in a fluid motion, the cape flowing around her almost protectively. In the brightness of the space, I notice something I hadn't before - a choker clasped around her slender neck. Pale gold in color, the circular pendant contains a symbol I cannot see from where I stand. I'm almost tempted to get closer to her to see what it is, before remembering myself. What's gotten into me? What am I doing?

Without so much as a glance in my direction, she starts for the door and I follow. Stepping out into the courtyard, the frigid air hits me like a punch in the gut. But to my surprise, it is sunny outside. There is a severe contrast to the brightly lit day and the damnably cold atmosphere, a combination that should not exist in any climate or in any circumstance. The rays of the sun are weaker in the winter months, and it barely feels like the bright sunny day that it is. And as usual, the Redguard is unphased by the temperature extreme we've just been exposed to. She takes a moment to survey our surroundings. There is activity all around us. Students practicing wards - again? - with each other, professors and guards and other faculty walking to and from different doors. Some are even sitting at the tables and benches, doing Oblivion knows what. But they're all acting as if this weather is even somewhat enjoyable. Not for the first time, I wonder just who exactly I'm surrounded by, and whether the numerous wine and spirit bottles I've seen laying around don't have a practical purpose for keeping everyone warm.

I'm about to ask her if there's anything else these people do besides the same mundane routine over and over again, when she begins walking towards the Hall of the Elements. "We'll start with the Arcaneum, the College's library," she's all business, something I appreciate. If she had beaten around the bush, this would have been a much less efficient assignment for me. And I had yet to visit the Arcaneum itself, only passing through on my way to meet with Archmage Savos. As we approach the door, I find Mirabelle in the exact same spot that she was when I first arrived. Now more than ever I am convinced everyone here as a strict routine that they never seem to deviate from. This could definitely work to my advantage. Routines and schedules are easy to memorize. Easy to exploit. And easy to duplicate if need be. I'm sure the right time will present itself to act accordingly with this information. Mirabelle looks up from her book - fucking Doors to Oblivion again? How long does it take to read- to give the Redguard a small smile and nod as we pass. Noticing me in tow, her smile quickly fades. She closes her book and tucks it underneath her arm, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watches me. "Staying out of trouble and following the rules, I hope?"

I give Mirabelle my most charming smile. "My dear, about as much as I can manage." Without waiting for a reply, I follow the Redguard into the Hall of the Elements, the door shutting heavily behind us both.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Struggled a lot with this one. Hit my first writer's block with this chapter, but honestly not bad for 5 chapters in. I knew I was in writer's block when I started tweaking how the website looked instead of writing the chapter lmao. So far, Ancano's dream is my absolute favorite scene that I've written, and I happened to think of it on the spot as I was forming this chapter. Wow!

Thanks for reading!