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Chapter Text

Mirabelle Ervine was not having a good day.

            To be perfectly fair to Ancano, which frankly was more than he deserved, she hadn’t been having the best of times even before he entered the room. She’d been occupied with the new student intake, who had been due to arrive today. It had been bad enough two months ago, when she had to inform Savos that just three people had applied to the College this time round; it had been worse, earlier that afternoon, to tell him that just one of them had thus far made it there. The other two had said they would come on the basis that their families allowed it, which given it was Winterhold was perhaps already more than she could expect, even without one of them being a Nord, and the other a Telvanni. But as sunset approached, she felt she ought to just leave it at that, one student was fine, no matter that the overeager young lad had already nearly set fire to Phinis Gestor, it would all be fine.

            She’d been indulging in everything being just fine and dandy, a stack of unread correspondence – a letter from the Synod that looked as if it might be important; a letter from the court wizard in Riften that looked as if it might be less so – set to one side, a glass of some strong Dunmer stuff – was it sujamma? it was hard to remember when you’d imbibed half a glass of it – in her hand, when the door opened, and, only remembering to knock when he was already fully in the room, Ancano walked in.

            ‘Good evening, Ancano,’ she said, not really meaning it.

            ‘Good evening, Mirabelle,’ he replied, likewise. Then, gesturing towards the sujamma: ‘Really, Master-Wizard? Is that the example you set here?’

            ‘Ancano, I am tired, and if you have anything to say, I pray you will say it quickly.’

            The Altmer scowled and made to approach her, before catching the expression on Mirabelle’s face and deciding against it. ‘Where is the Arch-Mage?’

            ‘Hall of Countenance, I think.’

            Ancano smirked. ‘Very well. You will relay what we have said later. What I wish to discuss is my level of access to College material and business.’

            ‘I believe we discussed this, when you first arrived.’

            ‘I do not believe we reached a conclusion.’

            ‘I say the contrary.’

            ‘What of the Saarthal excavation?’

            ‘I have already told you, if you want all of the details now, you shall have to go down there yourself,’ said Mirabelle, who knew very well that he wouldn’t, for fear of getting his hands dirty more than anything else. ‘We receive a full report once a week. In between times, you will have to content yourself with what scattered comments we get from the scholars there.’

‘Additionally, you were going to speak with the Orc – the librarian.’

‘I have already spoken with Urag,’ Mirabelle said, wearily. ‘He said exactly what I said he would say. No, you do not have access to everything in the library. Even the Arch-Mage doesn’t, without good reason.’

‘Are my – benefactors not reason enough?’

‘Maybe the Empire bows to your every whim, Ancano,’ Mirabelle said at once, ‘but you will find that the Thalmor do not receive such treatment everywhere.’

The two of them sized each other up somewhat, in restless silence. While Mirabelle was a head smaller than Ancano, and increasingly tipsy, she managed to intimidate him enough for him to shrink a little, which pleased her.

‘I will remind you, Ancano,’ said Mirabelle, setting down her glass, ‘that you are here at the grace of the Arch-Mage –’

‘It was his pleasure, four days ago.’

            ‘And it will become much less so, if you continue to make unreasonable demands. You should appreciate the opportunity that you have been given. You already have more access than most.’

            Ancano knew, at least, when to give up for the moment; he bowed, coldly, and took a step backwards. ‘I shall speak with you another time, when you are more capable of thinking rationally.’ Then, sniffing: ‘I should also let you know that the two students have arrived. They are with the Nord, in the Hall of Attainment, and I am sure they will all be delighted to smell sujamma on the Master-Wizard’s breath.’

            Mirabelle held her composure enough for Ancano to leave the room, and for his footsteps to disappear in the stairwell; then she scowled at the door, set down her glass, and stood, looking around for something to clear her head. At last she found a bottle of water in a cabinet filled with ice wraith teeth, drank a few gulps of it, and made her way downstairs.

            Tolfdir had already shown the newcomers to their rooms, and given them their robes and time to change; when she reached the Hall, they were all sitting round him, chatting quietly but merrily, the perfect image of a new Winterhold intake. Mirabelle had to admit, if it weren’t for Tolfdir, the College would probably scare away any potential or incoming students at the first. He had a way with youngsters and novices that the other tutors and scholars... frequently didn’t. It made her smile, anyway, and she was grateful for it – and especially this time, when she didn’t feel as if she had the energy to give the full extent of her usual introduction.

            ‘Ah! hullo, Mirabelle,’ he said with a smile, when she appeared at the door. ‘Do come in! These are our new students. Brelyna Maryon, and Onmund. You’ve already met J’zargo, of course.’

            ‘Indeed. Welcome to the College, Brelyna, Onmund.’ The two were staring up at her almost in awe, and she found herself wondering what exaggerations Tolfdir had told them about her. ‘I see Tolfdir has already begun introductions. I can now give you a tour, if you would like, or wait until tomorrow, if you would prefer it.’

            ‘We can come now,’ said Onmund, from somewhere beneath his hood.

            ‘Very good. Follow me.’

            J’zargo had already been given his tour, and so stayed behind – much to Mirabelle’s relief. Brelyna and Onmund stood, and padded after her like little dogs.

            ‘This is the Hall of Attainment, of course,’ Mirabelle said, ‘and the Hall in which our students are usually housed. I myself live upstairs, as do three of our scholars, whom you will no doubt meet. Tolfdir, as you know, will be down here with you, as will our, our honoured guest, Ancano.’ She glanced to one side, as if hoping that Ancano might be there to hear the bitterness in her voice. ‘Our other Hall – I will show you over to the Hall of Countenance: it will be useful for you to meet our tutors. It’s beginning to snow again outside; are you warm enough?’

            The pair nodded, and Mirabelle led them outside. Night had fallen now, and the first wisps of snow glittered in the ethereal light that pervaded the College grounds, when daylight was gone. Though covered, the passages did not offer much shelter when the wind picked up, and, as they watched, a tall willowy figure emerged from the Hall of Countenance, pulled a dark scarf up over his chin, and strode quickly past them into the Hall of Attainment, his footsteps echoing, not even deigning to greet them.

            ‘That was Ancano,’ said Mirabelle: ‘you will have to introduce yourselves later, evidently.’

            ‘Tolfdir mentioned him, I think,’ said Brelyna. ‘Isn’t he one of the Thalmor?’

            Mirabelle nodded tersely, and hurried them into the Hall of Countenance. This was a set-up much like the other Hall, but, at present, there was a delicate scent on the air, the one that comes of casual alchemy, and a slight charge, that of faded destruction-magic; and in the centre of the room, a short Dunmer in impressive robes was wringing his hands a little, and looked up on Mirabelle’s entrance.

            ‘Ah! Mirabelle,’ he said, ‘you couldn’t have come earlier, could you? saved me from having to talk to our Thalmor delegate,’ he added, with a smile that Mirabelle could not help but return. ‘These must be the other new students. I met... J’zargo? earlier.’ Mirabelle nodded at the name. ‘Well, it’s wonderful to meet you. I am Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage. Welcome to the College; I trust you already know that you will receive a fine education here, one to last you a lifetime, or two, or three. Whatever your interests, you may explore them here; I must however draw a line at research or experiments that cause intentional harm to your fellows. And I would advise you not to do anything that might irritate the locals. We have enough to be dealing with as it is.’

            Onmund shuffled his feet a little, but nodded along with Brelyna and Mirabelle.

            ‘That, I imagine, is common sense, and something that you have no doubt already been told. I am afraid that I have some business to attend to, and so cannot keep you long; we shall have to get to know each other at a better time. As I said, it is a pleasure to meet you all, and I hope you have a rewarding time at the College.’

            The two students thanked him, mumbled some politeness of their own; then Savos made his apologies once more, and left. The students might have thought him just very busy; Mirabelle knew that his rushed flustered behaviour, though not unusual, was probably something to do with talking to Ancano. She wanted to know what the Altmer had wanted, whether he’d asked the same questions as he had to her, what Savos’s response had been; but she had a tour to lead, and so resolved to sate her curiosities another time. Preferably sooner rather than later.

            ‘Well!’ she said after a moment: ‘that was our Arch-Mage. I assist him in the running of the College. Let’s see who’s in here; it should be most of our tutors. – You’ve met Tolfdir, of course: he’s our Alteration tutor. He won’t have said it, but he is one of Skyrim’s pre-eminent Alteration experts. – I think Sergius might be on his way back up from Saarthal, with Arniel, but everyone else should be here.’

            She led them around the Hall, introduced them to everyone there – Drevis Neloren, who was doing alchemy, and was, for what felt like a change, currently fully visible; Faralda, pretending she hadn’t just been setting fire to bits of parchment for the fun of it; Phinis, who could well have been doing anything, you could never be quite sure; and Colette, who when she saw Mirabelle started complaining at once about a note left on her bedside table. Mirabelle fielded the situation admirably, and got all four of them to do a decent impression of being fine scholars, just for the benefit of the nervous newcomers. It wasn’t that they weren’t among the pre-eminent voices in Skyrim in their respective subjects, it was just that... well, spending most of your adult life in Winterhold was a sure-fire way to remove any inhibitions about showing your true bizarre colours.

            Leastways, Brelyna and Onmund didn’t seem overly intimidated, indeed they looked a little relieved, which usually meant that they would fit right in. Satisfied, Mirabelle walked them over to the Hall of the Elements, in the gathering snowstorm; she led them up to the Arcaneum, introduced them to Urag, who was as ever bent over some great tome which the rest of the College probably wasn’t even allowed to touch. He looked up, greeted them, gave a quick little spiel about not damaging books on pain of death, or whatever punishment awaited dog-earers, and went back to his research.

            ‘The Arcaneum is the most significant repository of magical knowledge outside of Cyrodiil.’ Mirabelle hesitated, and added: ‘Possibly also High Rock. – But you will not find yourself wanting for anything in here, and indeed, I recommend that you visit as often as possible, to supplement your learning.’ The prospect of having regular visitors made Urag frown a little, behind her, but he tried to hide it. ‘Just make sure you ask before you touch anything that looks valuable.’

            Brelyna and Onmund nodded, and cast a glance about the place – furtively, as if their very eyes might burn a hole in the books. (They needn’t have worried: nothing they could have done could have equalled the fire hazard posed by J’zargo earlier.) Then Mirabelle, conscious of Urag watching her, swept them out of the room, and back downstairs.

            ‘Well!’ she said: ‘I’ll conclude there, for the moment: it’s getting late, and I’m sure you’ll want to settle in. I trust you can make your way back to the Hall of Attainment?’ They nodded. ‘Goodnight, then: and do make the most of your time here, it’s certainly an opportunity.’

            The two students thanked her for the introduction, and, after a final look into the Hall of the Elements – which merited the attention: it was quite the most impressive part of Winterhold, and that was saying something – they ventured back outside, into the growing snowstorm. Mirabelle watched them go; and then she headed upstairs again, this time to see Savos.

            ‘The new intake seems pleasant enough,’ said Savos airily, when Mirabelle entered.

            ‘Oh! they’ll fit right in,’ replied Mirabelle, who was making a bee-line for her abandoned beverage. ‘Drink, Savos?’

            ‘Just a drop.’

            When the drinks were poured, Mirabelle took a seat, and, somewhat reluctant to bring up the subject again, asked: ‘What did Ancano want?’

            ‘More access to materials, like last time,’ the Arch-Mage said.

            ‘And you refused, I presume?’ Mirabelle continued, wondering, much to her chagrin, if she could in fact presume.

            Savos nodded. ‘He’s terribly insistent, but really, we can’t allow him privileges beyond what a member of the College is entitled to.’

            ‘I wonder what he’s after?’ Mirabelle murmured.

            ‘Oh! the Thalmor just want to poke their noses in every little nook, I imagine,’ said Savos.

            Mirabelle furrowed her brow, and left her sujamma untouched, trying to keep her thoughts in order just for a few moments more. ‘He’s looking for something in particular. Or it certainly seems that way. I don’t know if it’s for the Thalmor, or for himself, but I don’t like it. Really I wish we could have just refused him entry at the first.’

            ‘No doubt that would have netted us more issues than we have already with him.’

            ‘Oh! no doubt.’

            She ran her fingers down the stem of her glass for a bit; then, realising how tired she was, and seeing that the Arch-Mage had already made a decent start on his drink, she decided she’d drop the subject for the moment. She spoke briefly about the new arrivals; she mentioned in passing the unopened correspondence, which she’d look at tomorrow; then she and Savos touched glasses with a tired smile, and spent the rest of the evening in the comfort of light and increasingly meaningless conversation.          

Chapter Text

Arniel Gane dropped in briefly, the next morning, having come up from Saarthal with Sergius late the previous evening; Mirabelle read through the report that he had procured, and finding little of particular interest decided it was safe to show to Ancano. The Altmer glanced over it, sniffed, and muttered something like ‘really, archaeologists are the most tedious writers’, before swishing back to his quarters. Arniel hadn’t intended to stay long, but when Tolfdir spoke to him, the idea came up to let the new students have a glance at Saarthal. It may have been an ambitious and sizeable project, but there were surely little things here and there, already fully excavated, that they could have a look at?

            Arniel wasn’t sure he liked the plan, but Savos gave it his approval, and Mirabelle couldn’t see any harm in it: and so it was decided that the students would go down with Tolfdir the following day, along with Arniel. In the meantime, Tolfdir returned to the Hall of the Elements, where his class awaited him. – He said something about teaching them wards, but the various noises that came up from the Hall that morning suggested that a whole host of other spells had ended up being involved. It was not the best atmosphere in which to concentrate on reading, but Mirabelle was frankly used to it at this point.

            She started with the letter from Riften, which was five pages long, and had enough content for a small fraction of that. Wylandriah did tend to ramble so, and Mirabelle always had to resist the urge to go through her rampant errors with a sharp quill and a bottle of red ink, but she humoured the Court Wizard by at least skimming through the letters, if only because she was expected to reply. This one seemed to contain numerous incomplete thoughts regarding some uncertain experiment, and a request for several materials that either Mirabelle had never heard of, or they were misspelled. The fact that the letter amused her made up for everything else. After glancing over the entire thing, she set it aside, and pulled the seal off the letter from the Synod.

            This one was rather more interesting, if not much more comprehensible. A few months ago now, a member of the Synod had actually put in her person at the College, apparently under the impression that the College was keeping the Staff of Magnus in a cupboard somewhere. (The Staff of Magnus! assuredly Mirabelle would have known about it, and so would half the mages of Tamriel, if they had possessed it.) Now they were asking her what she knew about Mzulft, which seemed to be their next candidate for the Staff’s location; this amidst a whole trail of unnecessary details to rival Wylandriah’s writing, and a small amount of political babble concerning the Synod’s continuing weak project to take control of the College of Winterhold. – The only things Mirabelle knew about Mzulft were those that the Synod doubtless already knew: that it was a Dwemer city, stashed beneath the Velothi Mountains, no doubt partly penetrated by the usual crowd of explorers and bandits. – This knowledge didn’t seem worth repeating, so she drafted a polite but terse response, saying that she had no idea what connexion the place might have to the Staff, but they were welcome to go and investigate in their own time.

            That was for the moment the last of the correspondence; Mirabelle would finish her responses later. At present she wanted to know the source of a particularly loud bang in the Hall below. When she reached the Hall of the Elements, she found the air still smouldering with the remnants of some kind of fire spell, and the students grinning apologetically at a dishevelled, but equally jovial, Tolfdir – whose beard, Mirabelle noticed, was somewhat blacker than usual.

            ‘Ah, Mirabelle!’ he said, on noticing her arrival. ‘The students are getting very good at ward spells. And, as it turns out, I am a little worse than I was.’ He raised a hand to his beard. ‘The noise wasn’t anything to worry about. We’ll try to keep it quiet.’

            Mirabelle couldn’t help smiling. ‘Thank you. It’s good to see you all working hard, anyway.’

            ‘Oh, Mirabelle –’ Tolfdir added, when she turned to go: ‘the visit to Saarthal is tomorrow, correct?’

            ‘Correct.’

            ‘Very good. I shall have to keep an eye on them, I think. – But,’ and he turned to his little class: ‘it’s an incomparable opportunity. I think I shall see what books we have on the period, you can glance over them before you go.’

            Mirabelle smiled again, bade them goodbye, and left them to whatever chaos they were about to cause. Let them cause it: they couldn’t do too much harm, and if nothing else, the Hall of the Elements had withstood worse. It wasn’t among her chief concerns, or even minor concerns, at present.

            Her next destination was the Hall of Countenance: Drevis Neloren unfailingly took tea halfway through the morning, and she and some of the others joined him from time to time. The Hall already smelled of brewing tea when she arrived, and when she found Drevis, he was chatting with Arniel about something Dwemer-related.

            ‘Ah! Arniel,’ she said on entering the room. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about Mzulft?’

            ‘Mzulft?...’

            Arniel thought for a moment, while Mirabelle took a seat and greeted Drevis.

            ‘Not as much as I might like. Certainly it was a significant settlement, but hardly any of it is accessible. Not just the usual wear and tear, I think there were collapses. I haven’t actually been down myself. I ought to, one day, though I think it might require some work beforehand. – It’s surprisingly little-mentioned in the texts, though some think it might have been the location of the Dwemer Oculory.’

            ‘The Oculory?’

            Arniel shrugged. ‘That’s what people call it anyway, based on what little information we have. I know people in Cyrodiil have taken to calling it the Orrery, after the one at the Arcane University – there’s one in Hammerfell as well, I think, or there was – but there’s some debate as to whether they’re the same thing.’

            ‘But what is it?’

            ‘Some kind of Dwemer machine; will we ever know what they were all for? – The Imperial Orrery apparently draws on the power of the astral bodies to focus their energies and to grant temporary magical abilities. I don’t think anyone believes that they have ever got it working at its full potential. The Oculory – well, who knows whether it’s the same? We’d have to dig pretty deep, to find out.’

            While Arniel was speaking – his eyes glinting with scholarly passion – Drevis handed out the cups of tea, and took a seat with his fellows, before saying:

            ‘What’s the interest in Mzulft?’

            ‘Oh!’ and Mirabelle recounted, briefly, the details of the letter. ‘I don’t know why they’re looking down there. The last anyone heard of the Staff of Magnus... Well, it was rumoured the Mages’ Guild had it, for a short while, I think.’

            She looked across at Arniel, in the hope that he might have some better idea; but the man was equally baffled, and merely shrugged.

            ‘Certainly I’d go down to Mzulft, investigate it a bit, if I wasn’t already working on – well, my current projects,’ he said after a moment. ‘I don’t suppose the Synod would send be some Dwemer cogs, if we asked them to? They will assuredly find some, and I need at least five, I think.’

            Mirabelle had asked Arniel about his projects before now, to no avail, and she sometimes worried that by the time she found out what it was, it would be too late for him, or the College, or both. She didn’t know why she didn’t just outright stop him, or demand the details more strongly. Perhaps because he seemed mostly harmless, Winterhold students were always doing slightly odd experiments, they didn’t reveal details usually because they were simply embarrassed to, unless they managed to get whatever it was to work. Arniel’s specialisation was Dwemer technology, and while anything in that field was no small endeavour, nothing that involved a few cogs and an impressive stack of books was likely to cause much harm.

            Leastways, neither she nor Drevis put any questions to him; Mirabelle merely said: ‘Oh! I’ll put it in the letter, anyway. No doubt they’ll want compensation for the postage, if they agree to it.’

            ‘I’ll make sure they have it.’

            They fell silent for a bit, sipping at their tea, before Drevis said: ‘Anything I should know about the new students? I’m teaching them tomorrow, I think?’

            ‘Oh!’ and Mirabelle explained, briefly, the Saarthal project. ‘You won’t have them tomorrow, anyway. But when you do – they seem an all right bunch, a little overeager, they did manage to set fire to Tolfdir’s beard, but he doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear.’

            Drevis grinned. ‘That’s the Winterhold type I know and love. It’s a wonder Tolfdir still bothers maintaining that beard.’

            ‘It’s a Nord thing, I think.’

            ‘If they’re going to Saarthal, they’d better be careful,’ Arniel put in after a moment. ‘Lots of valuable stuff still down there. They uncovered a new door yesterday, seems to be some kind of enchantment on it, there’s probably something important behind it.’

            ‘Oh, Tolfdir will keep them in check, I’m sure.’

            The conversation lulled; the teacups were nearly empty; all three of them felt as if they ought to make a move towards their scholarship once more. And so they did, a little lazily, but not with regret: after all, their study was their passion. Mirabelle smiled, and left the Hall; she had a few more things to put in her letters, and it had occurred to her that perhaps the Arch-Mage ought to know about their contents – at least the one from the Synod.

            And it was just as she entered the Arch-Mage’s quarters, and thought on the matter of the Staff of Magnus, that an idea appeared on the edge of her thoughts – a vague reminder, some connexion she couldn’t quite place. It was vague enough for her not to act on it, but in the ensuing conversation she found herself increasingly trying to put her finger on it. Mentioning the Staff to Savos did not produce any unexpected reaction, she wondered what mistake she was making, what had triggered the thought; but despite the growing conviction that she was wrong to connect the Staff with Savos, the thought would not quite leave her mind for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

The three students left for Saarthal the next day, all bags of energy and excited faces, as they piled into the coach that had, the previous evening, brought back Arniel and Sergius; the horses trotted off down the road, into the grey damp morning, and the College was once again quiet. It was a wonder it managed to keep itself so quiet, with such an excitable bunch of experimenters within it. The fact that Ancano was looking down his nose at everyone probably didn’t help, though, on that particular day.

            The unanimous (if unvoiced) decision by the majority had been to ignore him entirely. Thus far it was working, if their intention had been to make him silently fume; if they had wanted him to leave them alone, it was perhaps not working as well as they had hoped. Mirabelle might have grown more quickly suspicious, admittedly, if he had been interested in more particular things: as it was, he poked his nose into literally everything, he even read the letter from Wylandriah with what was likely feigned interest, all of which gave him the appearance of being mad rather than sinister.

            It was wise to be careful, of course. Mirabelle made sure she kept track of him, kept track of what she thought he knew. He still hadn’t managed to gain access to the Arcaneum: that was one thing. She would sing Urag’s praises if she thought he’d appreciate them. The thought of the Altmer being so intimidated by a man he evidently saw as inferior amused her, and amused the others, when she hinted it to them. If they were going to put Ancano in his place, ridicule was quite possibly the way to do it.

            The day passed quickly, with nothing out of the ordinary, until the return of the students that evening, when Savos and Mirabelle were once again discussing recent news over a glass of something cosy. The class was making a lot of noise for such a small group, when they came clattering over the bridge and across the courtyard; Mirabelle glanced outside, wondering if they had brought someone else back with them, but to her surprise she saw that their number was actually diminished: Tolfdir was absent.

            Mirabelle relayed this information to Savos, who just smiled a little and said:

            ‘As long as they haven’t incinerated Tolfdir or something, he’s really quite valuable.’

Not a minute later, footsteps rebounded in the stairwell, and there was a nervously eager knock at the door.

            ‘Come in,’ Savos called out.

            Brelyna, Onmund and J’zargo all tumbled in; despite their long journey back, they were still sprinkled with Saarthal dust and a little charged with faded magic. When they saw Mirabelle and the Arch-Mage, they glanced at each other and fell silent, until Mirabelle bade them speak.

            ‘Tolfdir needs someone to go down to Saarthal,’ Brelyna said at last. ‘We’ve found... well, we’ve found something.’

            ‘What is it?’ asked Mirabelle.

            ‘I... we don’t know,’ Brelyna admitted.

            ‘Some kind of orb,’ Onmund put in.

            ‘Made J’zargo’s fur stand on end,’ said J’zargo.

            ‘But Tolfdir stayed down there with it,’ finished Brelyna: ‘and he wants you – Arch-Mage – to come and have a look. He says it might be important.’

            Savos and Mirabelle exchanged glances, the former looking less interested than anyone was expecting, the latter somewhat concerned.

            ‘Did Tolfdir say anything else about this orb?’ Mirabelle asked at length.

            They shook their heads.

            ‘Well, we don’t know anything yet. He said it might be possible to bring it up here for study,’ Onmund explained. ‘Anyway, he wants at least one person to go down and help him with it.’

            The boy was looking at Savos, and encouraging a more detailed response than he got. The Arch-Mage merely set down his glass, and said:

            ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I trust you would not have been told to speak to me, were it not important. I shall send someone down, don’t you worry.’

            The students hesitated a good few moments, wondering if that was their cue to leave or not. Mirabelle noticed their bafflement, and decided she had better give them a more concrete answer.

            ‘I’ll go, unless I’m needed at all tomorrow, in which case I’ll send Arniel down. It’s getting late now, but I should say that if Tolfdir is occupied tomorrow, then you will be taking lessons with Faralda, possibly also Colette; and that in between these lessons, it might be useful for somebody to ask Urag for books concerning Saarthal, and this discovery, ready for when I return. Certainly it sounds significant, whatever it is. Thank you for letting us know. – And you may return to your quarters,’ she added, when none of them moved, save for shuffling their feet a bit.

            They bade a respectful farewell to the Arch-Mage and his assistant, and headed back downstairs. Mirabelle watched them go; and it was only when she heard the door downstairs close, that she looked back at Savos, somewhat in surprise. The Arch-Mage had not been feigning disinterest, for whatever private intention: he really didn’t seem to think much of the matter. And if that were the case, Mirabelle knew him well enough to know that he was likely occupied by something else, something he wasn’t telling her. Something that had been niggling at him for a few days now, no, more than a few days. Even before the mention of the Staff of Magnus.

            She watched him for a minute or so, said nothing. The Dunmer was not an easy person to read: but they were friends, had been friends a while now, she had always thought she knew him. Lately she’d started to seriously doubt it, and it scared her a little, though she’d always shrugged it off as him being literal generations older than her – almost a lifetime, in fact.

            She said nothing, though: even with the alcohol, she was not quite uninhibited enough to question him, not yet. Maybe the physical presence of, or more details regarding, the find at Saarthal would get him talking. It is, after all, one thing to hear about a discovery, and quite another to see it with one’s own eyes.

            So once again she sank into ordinary conversation, the mundane. And when the evening was growing late, when the snow outside was glowing beneath the aurora, and she returned to her quarters, she had almost forgotten about Saarthal, and Tolfdir, and the students, and was reminded of it only when she was greeted by Arniel, back at the Hall of Attainment.

            ‘Now Ancano’s asking me about that thing at Saarthal,’ he said, almost jovially. ‘I don’t know what he expects me to know. I wasn’t there. He’d do better to ask the students, but they go round in a pack, I think he’s a bit scared of them.’

            ‘Oh! he’s been asking everyone about everything,’ muttered Mirabelle.

            ‘Seems pretty interested in this, if you ask me,’ Arniel replied: ‘though I don’t know who isn’t. That new girl – the Dunmer – seems to think it’s almost as big as this room, and bursting with magical energy. Well, bursting is the word she used.’

            ‘Oh!’ said Mirabelle, who had imagined it significantly smaller.

            ‘Anyway, I don’t know anything,’ Arniel shrugged. ‘Did you write back about the cogs?’

            Mirabelle nodded. ‘Don’t suppose you’re planning on telling me what you need them for?’

            ‘You’ll find out, if it works.’

            ‘That’s what everyone always says,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Anyway, I should go to bed. I’m going to Saarthal tomorrow, with a bit of luck. See what’s going on.’

            ‘It’s a bit of a mess down there. Probably more, now that lot have been running round.’

            ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine... I live in the Hall of Attainment.’ She grinned, and he returned it. ‘Night, Arniel.’

            ‘Night, Mirabelle.’

            And she might have gone to bed relaxed, but for the fact that as she headed round to her room, she saw Ancano suddenly pretend that he hadn’t been standing by his doorway eavesdropping: and there is nothing to set one a little on edge quite like one of Ancano’s fading smirks. Certainly he hadn’t found out anything, from their conversation, but she cursed herself a little for not noticing him there, and made a mental note to ensure that any future discussions were held definitively out of his earshot.