Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was midnight, and an orc was snoring peacefully next to a fire's dying embers. The scene was perfectly quiet and still. Moonlight bathed the snow, curving gently over ruffles where there were footprints.

Awake, but unable to appreciate this simple beauty, was Rohah Catraso. She was bolt upright in her bedroll, blanket drawn up to her neck as if it were a shield from the night. She was also shaking like a leaf.

"Just a dream," she whispered to herself, but as soon as she said it, she knew she could never believe those words. Just a few minutes prior, she had woken up for no apparent reason. Then, a chill had passed through her, and she'd looked up from her bedroll to find herself eye-to-eye with a dragon. It was inches from her face.

Rohah had opened her mouth to scream, her first urge - to wake Norvosh up - but nothing except a strangled and much-too-quiet "Uhk" had passed her lips. It seemed her entire body had seized up. She could not recall any details about the appearance of the dragon, as focused as she was on her imminent doom.

The dragon, miraculously, had surged away, as if Rohah had scared it as much as it scared Rohah. It had paused, taken one last look at her, and flown away.

Presently, Rohah just regained her ability to breathe properly. She stood and staggered to the sleeping orc, the mercenary she'd hired only days ago.

"Norvosh," she half-whispered, terrified the dragon would be back any minute. "Norvosh! Get up! I think there's a dragon nearby!"

"A dragon?" the orc groaned, clearly still asleep. "You were dreaming. Go back to bed."

"I wasn't - there's a dragon here, I'll swear to any Divine you want, I'll swear to Malacath, I don't care, just get up!" She was now pushing the orc's shoulder relentlessly.

"Good gods, Rohah," Norvosh said, propping himself up by his forearms. While tired, his pronunciation of her name was closer to row-uh. "I don't see you being eaten or burned alive. Everything is fine. I'm going back to sleep."

And the orc was true as his word, snoring within minutes.

Rohah returned to her bedroll but was unable to sleep. Restless, she checked the ground where the dragon had been. There were no footprints. Had it been a dream? No. She knew the difference between dreams and reality. Did dragons have some magical, footprint-erasing ability the world was yet unaware of? Unlikely.

She stayed awake for the rest of the night, hugging her knees and shivering in the cold. The dragon did not return.

In the morning, Norvosh gave no indication he remembered Rohah waking him up in the middle of the night, and Rohah did not press the matter. She could not resist, however, glancing at the sky from time to time, paranoid she’d see a dragon swoop down at any moment.

A dragon here, now… exhausted as she was from lack of sleep, her brain was grinding back into action. There were, of course, dragons that had survived the Dragon War; they were in hiding. Their names and last known sightings would be recorded… where? Winterhold, yes, that would be the place to start.

When they finished breaking camp, Rohah stopped Norvosh and took a breath.

“Listen,” she began. “We should go back to Winterhold. I need to check something at the College library.”

“We’re close to the Stone,” the orc said, frowning. “Getting it was what you hired me to do. If we head back now, I’ll still want that payment.”

“Oh, yes - of course,” Rohah said, who had nearly forgotten about the Stone. “The Stone isn’t important now. Something else came up.”

There was a pause.

“You really did see that dragon,” the orc said, with surprising shrewdness. Rohah had taken him for a common barbarian, but he was remarkably quick on the uptake.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Rohah admitted with a half-smile, eyeing Norvosh with more respect. “I want to go back and find any records on dragons living near here. This is a fascinating research opportunity!”

“And what exactly are you going to do once you’ve got those records?” the orc pressed. “Wander around ‘till it invites you in its cave for tea?”

“I’m not going to be near it,” Rohah said, affronted. “Just - ”

“Just in its territory?”

Rohah frowned. “We’re already in its territory. It was here last night. It could have killed both of us, but it didn’t. I think it’ll leave me alone.”

“You think,” Norvosh repeated, in a tone that suggested polite disbelief. “Rohah, you’re going to get yourself hurt. Tell me you’re going to leave the damned dragon alone.”

“Sorry, Norvosh,” Rohah said, putting her hands on her hips. “This is too important. A dragon, in the fourth era!”

The orc’s shoulders sagged slightly in resignation, as if he’d expected this answer. It was silent a moment, then Norvosh sighed and -

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“Er - no offense, but weren’t you just trying to convince me not to go?” All the same, Rohah was privately glad the orc was volunteering to stay. She hadn’t seen Norvosh in real combat yet, but he looked quite capable. The wilderness was too dangerous for Rohah to go alone, and it would have been a challenge to find another mercenary willing to take the job.

Norvosh shrugged and avoided her eyes. “A sellsword’s got to make a living somehow.” The answer seemed evasive. Now it was Rohah’s turn to be suspicious.

“All right then,” she said, choosing to let the moment pass. “Let’s get moving.”

They were travelling lightly, so breaking camp didn’t take long. There was definitely a deeper reason for Norvosh agreeing to accompany her. Most smart sellswords would back out of a deal the minute they heard ‘dragon’, but the word had the opposite effect on the orc. Rohah had just enough patience to last until noon - which, she supposed, wasn’t very long at all.

“So, Norvosh,” she began, drawing out the first word. They were winding their way through a deer path, having abandoned the main road a day ago. “Are you sure there isn’t any other reason you’re willing to protect me from this dragon?”

They were both focused on navigating the forest, so Rohah had no idea what expression Norvosh might be wearing.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m not really looking for a relationship right now,” the orc deadpanned. Rohah felt her face go hot. She was glad they were looking at the path ahead, because she must have been bright red.

“That’s not what I - what I was talking about - I mean to say, if there’s - most sellswords don’t - ”

To her relief, Norvosh was laughing. “Relax, Cyrod. I’m only joking with you.” It was quiet a moment, then Norvosh said carefully, “I suppose you should know, but don’t go ‘round spreading this. I already told you my full name - Norvosh gro-Grotmulag. Well, I did a bit of digging on my family name, and it’s got ties to the Dragon Cult.”

“Really?” Rohah said, tripping over a root. “What’s the connection?”

“Well - it’s not completely certain,” Norvosh said quickly. “But there are good leads. The name itself is the biggest one. I suspect it’s an orcish derivative of rotmulaag - ”

“Words of power,” Rohah translated. “That makes sense. But that’s still barely any evidence - ”

“There’s more. See, I was born in an orc stronghold - I doubt you’d know of them - ”

“Try me,” countered Rohah. As interested as she was in Norvosh’s history, she took the orc’s doubt as a challenge.

He snorted. “Fine. Dushnikh Yal, in the Reach.”

Norvosh unconsciously picked up the pace out of excitement as he spoke. Rohah had to do an awkward half-jog to keep up. “I bought a good map from a khajiit caravan while I was still living at home, more out of curiosity than anything. The merchant said it was some adventurer’s before they got too old to bother. It had lots of dangerous places marked, with plenty notes attached. I had a good look at the area around our stronghold, and there’s this place, Nordic ruins, called Valthume, real close to us.

“I looked into it, because some Nordic ruins are supposed to have words of power hidden inside. There was this obscure text in the College library some nutter wrote about Valthume, way back in the Merethic Era. I actually made a copy - I can show you later. The text was rambling about some change in tributes. But there was this bit at the end, I have it memorized: The orcs have requested an audience with His Lordship. See to it they approach Him with the proper tributes. I doubt their kind knows our customs.”

Rohah waited, but that was all. “Not to rain on your parade, but… that isn’t much.”

Norvosh made a frustrated noise. “Listen, it’s different for you Imperials. Names are important in orc society. It’s the whole reason I’m bothering with this at all. Every orc family knows their origin, but mine does not. That alone is highly suspect. People don’t forget history unless there was something to hide.”

“I’d have to disagree with that,” Rohah said. “History is forgotten all the time.”

“Family history isn’t,” the orc growled. “You’re not an orc. You wouldn’t understand. If I returned to Dushnikh now with what I have, they would agree it’s proof enough.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because there’s wisdom in forgetting. Some history is better left alone.”

Rohah laughed. “You’re not making any sense. You tell me family history is important, but then say it’s better to not know. Which is it?”

She had the orc thoroughly nettled now. “You’re dense, Rohah,” he grumbled. “I’m no longer a stronghold orc. It would be insulting for me to come back with news that one of their most loyal families has origins in the Dragon Cults. They are better off not knowing. But I am. It’s my right to know.”

“Okay - alright,” Rohah said, not wanting to poke the dragon any more than she already had. “Let’s say you’re right. Your family is from a Dragon Cult. Are you hoping you might find some answers in this dragon we’re researching?”

“Something like that,” Norvosh admitted with a laugh. “I know it’s stupid.”

Despite herself, Rohah felt a tug of compassion for the orc. “No, it’s natural. It’s your family.” She glanced at Norvosh. His face was blank and calm, contrasting with his brutish features. An orcish helmet outlined his face, and a short black beard grew along his jawline. They did not speak again of anything important for the rest of the day.

In Winterhold again, Norvosh explained that he really was no good at poring over books, and besides, the lorekeeper hadn’t seemed to enjoy his presence the first time around, and would Rohah please make sure to keep an eye out for anything about his family. Rohah agreed, and they split up with plans to meet once they knew more about the dragon.

Rohah shivered against the cold, glad to step into the College. The place was unnaturally warm for such a large building, and she could only guess magic came into the equation. She passed a trio of students who were relaxing and talking amongst themselves. One was an argonian. She pushed open the door to the Arcaneum, and their voices faded behind her, making way for a relaxing atmosphere. Rows and rows of shelves marched ahead of her. The orc lorekeeper looked up to see who entered, and, recognizing Rohah, briefly nodded before returning to a book. She sighed, feeling an unknown tension melt away. This was where she belonged - not the harsh wilderness.

She had expected to be in there for hours, but her search was surprisingly quick. There was a section of the library dedicated to dragons, and in it, records detailing recent sightings and the names of fugitive dragons.

Deceased by report… no, the dragon she needed was very much alive. Slain by the Dragonguard… no… that wasn’t what she wanted either… Known to live. Perfect. She scanned the list.

Ahbiilok - Morrowind. No.
Mirmulnir - the Reach. Nope.
Nahfahlaar - location unknown, possible death in Stros M’Kai (disputed).
Paarthurnax - location unknown. Last seen fighting alongside Alduin as his lieutenant.

Rohah frowned. Only four? And none of them were last seen near Winterhold. She tried to recall what the dragon had looked like. It had been nighttime, so it was dark… but maybe she’d recognize it when she saw it…

There were papers with written descriptions of all known dragons, and an approximate sketch for each one. Her scowl deepened when none of them struck her as familiar. There must have been no records of the dragon she had seen.

Resigned, Rohah returned all the texts to their proper locations and stepped back into the biting wind, dreading having to explain to Norvosh that they had nothing to go on.

She slipped into the Frozen Hearth Inn to raucous laughter, where she would find her mercenary. To her surprise, Norvosh was hunched on a barstool, clutching something Rohah assumed was mead. A few men and women were seated or standing nearby, shouting with laughter that did not sound friendly. The barkeeper hovered behind the bar, looking torn between saying something or pretending nothing was happening. Nobody had noticed Rohah enter.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Norvosh muttered, barely audible. “I’m just here for a drink.”

“Oh, here for a drink, he says,” cried a woman, her friend giggling madly beside her. “Don’t you have any barbarian friends you can go back to?”

“He’s stinking up our tavern,” another woman agreed. This was greeted with another round of laughter.

Norvosh then did something very strange. He hunched - if possible - even lower, set the mead down, and pressed his hands into his pointed ears. His forearms shielded his face. He looked like he was attempting to block out the world. Rohah felt first a surge of pity, then of anger towards the townsfolk.

“What the hellya doing that for?” a man yelled, suddenly aggressive. He looked quite drunk. “Always butting in where you don’t belong, you orcish filth - well, we’ve had it! Go back to your stronghold! No one needs you here, no one wants you here!” The crowd was growing. Rohah was afraid there would be violence soon.

“What do you all think you’re doing?” Rohah said, at last finding her voice. She strode forward and stood beside Norvosh’s stool, glaring at the man who’d spoken. “Don’t you have any decency? He’s not done anything to you. Leave him alone!”

To her consternation, this was not met with surprise and averted, shamed eyes as she’d expected, but instead uproarious laughter. Norvosh peered up at her, hands still covering his ears. Someone - she could not tell who - called her a milk drinker. Rohah felt a twist of fear, realizing she was very much still small and weak. As a scholar, she never had much need for physical power. She needed to defuse the moment before it got ugly.

“Come on, Norvosh,” she said, tugging at the orc. “Let’s get out of here.”

She led the orc to the door, keeping a comforting arm around him that did not reach to his shoulder, as Norvosh was quite tall. The crowd tailed them, jeering and catcalling, but to Rohah’s relief they did not follow them out the door. Norvosh kept his arms over his face, and did not drop them until they were well away from the inn.

“Thanks,” he croaked, refusing to look at Rohah.

“Is it always that bad?”

“No,” the orc murmured. “They got a little too drunk today. Normally it’s just dirty looks, passive aggressiveness, you know.”

“That’s awful,” Rohah said, balling her fists. “You don’t deserve that.”

“Thanks,” Norvosh said again, voice a little stronger this time. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“I’m sorry it happened at all,” Rohah said fiercely. Norvosh grinned, and finally met Rohah’s eye.

“Did you find anything on the dragon?” Norvosh asked.

“What?” she said, confused, her brain taking a moment to switch to the new subject. “Oh. Yeah, about that…” She told Norvosh all about how she had found nothing. To her surprise, he didn’t seem disappointed by the news. Instead, the orc took it in stride and smiled.

“We’ll just have to find our own clues. Should we set off tonight? No sense waiting, you know.”

“I suppose,” Rohah said nervously. She was not enthused about going into this blind. But if Norvosh was confident they’d be alright, she’d follow. “Just one thing first. Why were you covering your ears?” She tried to keep her tone gentle, a purposeful contrast to the man who’d raised his voice against him on the same subject.

Norvosh glanced away. “It was just - you know, it’s just something that happens, I think, when I get overwhelmed. I don’t know why I do it. It just happens.”

“Okay,” Rohah said, wanting to ease off. She felt as though she were making the orc nervous. It was strange - Norvosh was tall, strong, and intimidating - a paragon of his kind. But as Rohah got to know him, it became apparent his personality was anything but fierce.

Chapter Text

Their return to the dragon’s territory was - mercifully - only two days of walking, as the weather had been kind enough to relent its endless barrage of snow and ice.

They had plenty of time to converse while trekking. While Rohah was endlessly fascinated with Norvosh’s upbringing and life in the stronghold, Norvosh preferred stories of Rohah’s research and discoveries. He liked hearing, for instance, how Rohah had once tried cultivating a Telvanni mushroom from a Morrowind sample. The experiment culminated in a sad little fungus that might have housed a squirrel. The orc laughed while Rohah pretended to be grouchy.

They were having one such conversation on the second day of their departure. Norvosh was explaining to Rohah how the hierarchy was ordered in a stronghold.

“We have our chiefs, our shamans, our blacksmiths and hunters,” he said. “Those are our main occupations. Most others will mine.”

“I’ve heard your chieftains are the only ones allowed wives and children,” Rohah said. “How does that work?”

Norvosh snorted. “Malacath’s toenails, Cyrod! That’s a myth to paint us as inbred barbarians. Chiefs are the only ones allowed to be polygamous, true, but no chief is going to stop their people from… er, procreating.”

“Malacath’s toenails?” Rohah said, amused.

“And his hairy pits, too. You got a problem with that?” Norvosh’s tone was light and teasing.

“Not at all,” Rohah said, grinning now. She opened her mouth for another quip, but the air had left her. She paled.

The dark shadow of a dragon was high above them, circling. Norvosh took notice of Rohah’s expression and looked up, yelping.

“Well, we found him,” the orc said.

“Malacath’s toenails,” Rohah said weakly, as the dragon began to descend. They were out in the open in a snowy tundra - there was nowhere to run.

“And hairy pits,” Norvosh agreed.

There was no time to prepare. Norvosh didn’t even bother reaching for his weapon, which Rohah supposed either meant he hoped the dragon was friendly, or believed there was no chance of survival. Perhaps both.

The dragon landed, shaking the ground. In the sunlight, its scales now clearly glimmered green-gold. It had four legs and a sabre-cat-like body, lithe and muscular. It raised its head, expression unknowable behind its reptilian features. They were caught in its yellow gaze.

Adrenaline was pumping through Rohah, making her limbs shake. She struggled to recall any Dovahzul she knew, having studied the subject in Cyrodiil, but could not in the heat of the moment. Instead, she settled with a “Hello!” that squeaked out of her.

“My name is Rohah,” she said, managing a jerky wave. “And this is Norvosh.” The orc stood quite still, mute as a statue, contrasting with Rohah, who was trembling so badly she felt she might dissolve into a puddle of nope-I’m-out.

“Zu’u Zokoraav,” the dragon said, eyes slits. “I am Zokoraav. Krosis. Apologies. It is not in my nature to interfere. Vos koros lein. I made a mistake showing myself to you five days prior. Niid trun. No matter. Time allows for one’s mistakes. The dov are uniquely aware of this. It is impossible to ruin a thread of time, for the ruination was always intended to occur. You joorre - mortals - refer to this as inevitability.”

Rohah barely followed along, taken off guard by the dragon’s polite tone. “So… you showed yourself to me… why? To comply with inevitability, the fact you were always going to do that?” Now that the dragon was talking philosophy and not eating them, Rohah felt more comfortable. This was something she could do.

“Yes and no,” Zokoraav said. “It would always have happened, yes. But why I showed myself to you was, at the time, I was using specific reasoning.”

“The reason being?”

“You stink of the kelle,” the dragon snarled, pacing. “The Elder Scrolls. They are imbued in your very being. I can taste their presence. They are not here physically, but they mark you. Baarkei. Obvious to a dov.”

Rohah’s mind went blank. “The Elder Scrolls - like the ones in Cyrodiil? I’ve never even been near one.”

“Meyus joorre. Foolish mortal. Tiid - time - is rarely linear. It will come to pass. Inevitability is not a threat, but an assurance.”

“But,” Rohah said, tilting her head, “if I died here and now, I would never come to even touch an Elder Scroll. So how is it you can smell them on me from the future while I’m capable of avoiding the event?”

The dragon chuckled. “Would you doom this timeline to win a debate? All tiid-kenlokke, time-loops, must be answered to. Reality is not kind to those that harm the dov. A timeline, a tiidtrin, these are what make up our universe, our kalpa. Doom a timeline, and the offshoot withers. Destruction on such a massive scale, caused by something so preventable - do you have the right, joor? The dov do not think so, and neither does the fabric of creation itself. You would only cause problems, and in the end, all loose ends will be tidied - despite your efforts.”

Now Rohah was getting quite lost, the dragon having led her in loops, timely or otherwise. “Wait. Harming the dov - are you talking about Dragon Breaks?”

“Do you view a dented sword as broken? Is a bruise a mortal wound? No. There have been many doomed timelines that ultimately correct themselves without the chaos of the Dawn Era. How many iterations of yourself do you believe exist? More than you might imagine. But it is the you here, now, that we are concerned with. The Maag, the alpha version, if you prefer.” Zokoraav was sitting now, catlike paws overlapping each other. Rohah remained standing, not wanting to be lower than eye level.

“I think I understand what you mean,” Rohah said. “What exactly does a doomed timeline entail?”

The dragon’s snout wrinkled into a snarl, but Rohah now believed this particular expression to be more frustration than anger. “Even the dov cannot see past time’s end. We understand a doomed timeline to be a... twisted version of our reality. A version in which events conspire that the kalpa cannot be reborn.”

“Wait,” Rohah said, suddenly alarmed. “I’m just a scholar. Plenty of people have handled Elder Scrolls before. It’s entirely possible I might take a look at one in the future. But it sounds like you’re saying my failing to do this would result in - well, the end of the world! I’m just one person!”

“You do not understand your role,” Zokoraav said, getting up to pace again. The uncoiling of his body held a kind of feral beauty. “The kelle are a part of you, a part of your very identity. This is different from a simple monk’s reading.”

“But my identity now doesn’t have any Elder - ”

“Linearity is not important,” the dragon growled, and Rohah fell silent, afraid of offending Zokoraav. “Is your identity in the future any less important than your identity now?”

“No,” Rohah said. “But one has more immediacy to me.”

“Paaz. A fair answer. Very well. It is not my place to challenge your fiilos - your philosophy. The dov have a weakness for such debate. Your friend is silent. Does he have nothing to contribute?” The dragon’s eyes flicked to Norvosh, who looked just as still as before.

“Nothing,” the orc confirmed. “Only, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right with you.”

“I will try to answer them.”

Norvosh cleared his throat, and when he spoke, it sounded like he'd rehearsed the question. “What do you know of the dragon who ruled Valthume during the time of the Dragon Cults?”

A low, bassy rumble filled the air - the dragon humming as he thought. “His name was Gaasgelah, and his Priest was Hevnoraak. I never spoke to them directly. From what I understand of his fiilos, he was the closest thing to an anarchist you could find in a dov. Why do you ask, Ogiim? He is long since dead. Aal qethhe praan.”

“I believe I am descended from members of his cult,” Norvosh said.

“Are you, then? Perhaps you will find answers in the ruins themselves. The dov prefer their records etched in stone. Deykraan agge. Paper is easily burned.” Zokoraav chuckled, a throaty noise that shot smoke out of his nostrils. “You said you had other questions?”

“Yes,” Norvosh said cautiously. “Do you mind telling us how you’ve evaded death or capture for so long? There were no records of you in Winterhold. We don’t plan on telling anyone, but it’s strange to us.”

The dragon bared his teeth, and Rohah interpreted this as smugness. “It was not intentional. I have a fiilos, and I follow it. Vos koros lein. Allow things to happen. I do not interfere. I am watchful - zu’u Zokoraav. I did not mean for you to see me. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. A misstroke in a painting can be beautiful when all is said and done. I am not regretful of my actions. Perhaps my time in hiding was meant to lead to this moment? Only the Maag Tiidtrin, the Alpha Timeline, knows for certain.”

The dragon’s evasive language was starting to give Rohah a headache, as interested as she was. “So you’ve been just a spectator for the past few eras? From what I’ve read, dragons have a natural instinct to seize power. Er - no offense intended, of course.”

“Vahzah. True. Dov wahlaan fah rel. Dragons were created for domination. I have struggled with my nature in the past. It is in our blood... But the dov are gone. Pahkriivah. Our age has passed. Drem ko kos. I find peace in who I am. It is enough for me.” Zokoraav paused to stretch. “There is little else to say.”

“Thank you for talking to us,” she said, taking the hint, but answering with a genuine smile. “It’s not often we - er - joorre get to converse with a dov.”

“I appreciate it as well,” Zokoraav said. “I am predisposed to solitude, but a good conversation is always welcome.”

“And thank you for the information,” Norvosh added. “I was at a dead end.”

“Valokein," Zokoraav said, his tone changing to one of dismissal. "Good luck on your journey. Vonok - goodbye.” The dragon drew himself up, stretching his wings. He turned and leapt into the air, beating them with wind as he took flight. They both watched him leave, not speaking until he was a speck in the sky.

“Well,” Rohah said, still slightly in shock. “You’ve got a solid lead now. To Valthume, then?”

The orc looked thoughtful. “Yes, of course… but I wonder what he meant by you being ‘marked with’ Elder Scrolls? Is that even possible?”

“Gods know,” Rohah sighed. “We should write all of that down so we don’t forget.”

“Right,” Norvosh agreed, hastily digging through his pack for something to write on, and scribbled on a spare bit of parchment. “Does this look good?”

Rohah read it quickly.

Dragon ruler - Gaasgelah, anarchist. Priest - Hevnoraak. Rohah imbued with ES? Doomed timelines prevent kalpa rebirth. Many versions of ourselves.

“I approve,” she said, handing it back to Norvosh. “Looks about like what I had to study back in Cyrodiil.”

The orc laughed, but quickly grew serious. “Are we going to tell anyone about him?”

“No,” Rohah said, frowning. “He trusted us to not tell. And he didn't mean any harm.” Rohah was relieved the orc accepted this answer.

“To Valthume, then,” Norvosh said. “It’s in the Reach. We’ll need horses.”

“I have money,” Rohah said. “If we return to Winterhold afterward to sell them back, we won’t lose as much.”

Norvosh was quick to agree. He seemed excited Rohah was still interested in accompanying him. For her part, the Imperial was excited that they would be able to explore a genuine Nordic ruin - one that doubled as a former hub for Dragon Cultists, no less!

What could go wrong?

They returned to Winterhold without further ado, and Rohah spent the rest of her money on two horses. Rohah had very little experience with the beasts, but she knew enough to ride, and Norvosh promised he’d teach her the rest. They purchased extra rations and a map and were soon on their way. According to the orc, it would be a month-long trip.

“We’re here,” Norvosh said, pointing at Winterhold on the map. He traced his finger down south. “We want to take this path, down past the Shrine of Azura, around the mountain, and down… We’ll stop in Whiterun for supplies, pass through Falkreath, and arrive in Valthume. Once we’re close, I’ll know the land better.”

The weather was harsh as they travelled southward. Biting wind kept them constantly shivering, despite their warm fur clothing. Snow, mist, and clouds worked in unison to blot out the sun. Rohah felt as if the huge expanse of tundra would never end. Mountainous terrain jutted from the ground in all directions.

The two passed the Shrine of Azura just as Norvosh had said they would. The enormous statue of the goddess stood out starkly against the muted sky. She had plainly been placed high on the mountain to be seen for miles around. Azura was known for her vanity, after all.

“When we come back, do you think we could visit it?” Rohah asked the orc, marvelling at the stonework, even from this distance.

“Maybe,” he replied. “It would be a hard trek up that mountain. And just between you and me, I don’t know if our horses are up for that.”

Rohah snorted. It was true - she did not have much money left over from her parents, so they had gotten the slowest and shoddiest of horses, old ones that tired quickly. At least they were doing the job. Norvosh had been kind enough to consider the purchase of the horses as his payment for the sellsword work. They really couldn’t be ungrateful, anyway - Rohah did not like the idea of travelling the whole way there on foot.

There was plenty of wildlife along the way. To Rohah’s relief, none of the animals bothered them. Packs of wolves travelled together, and watched them carefully, but did not attack. Sabre cats lounged alone. They saw bears in the distance, but steered clear of them.

“The wolves would be the biggest threat,” Norvosh commented. “Bears and cats can be ignored, but a desperate enough pack could target us. We’d win, but it’d spook the horses.”

“I’m more afraid of bandits and robbers,” Rohah admitted. “I haven’t seen any yet, but apparently they’re a big problem in Skyrim.”

“You heard right,” Norvosh grunted. “They’re a little like wolves themselves, really. Most will avoid us, but a desperate enough group of cutthroats would attack anyone.”

“I just hope we don’t run into any.”

Norvosh shrugged. “We’d be lucky not to. The best chance of being seriously attacked comes from choke points. Bridges, passes, forest paths. They’re for the organized criminals. We can avoid them if something looks off.”

Rohah pulled her fur cloak tighter around herself, shivering not so much from the cold as from the prospect of being attacked. “You’re the boss.”

As it so happened, they did indeed meet a group of bandits the very next day. There were four of them; three with nasty-looking steel weapons and another wearing robes. A mage, Rohah assumed. They barred their way, and the horses stamped nervously.

“This is a robbery,” one of the bandits told them sternly. She lifted her axe. “Hand over your packs and we’ll all be happily on our way.”

Rohah’s insides were shrivelling, but she tried to look defiant. Norvosh snorted.

“I’m a warrior trained in an orc stronghold,” the orc said calmly, his voice uncharacteristically lucid. “And my friend here is a College-trained mage. I don’t like your odds. So I will rephrase for you... move along, and you stay alive.”

The two stared daggers at each other. Norvosh slowly dismounted his horse, drawing his warhammer. There was something impressive about his lone figure standing against the bandits, covered head to toe in orcish armor.

The warrior snarled, but glancing back at her companions, she thought better of a fight. All three of her friends looked petrified. The bandits might win, but they would sustain heavy losses. It would be a pyrrhic victory.

“Alright,” she finally growled. “I can respect that. You can’t blame us for trying.”

“I sort of can,” Norvosh said.

Without another word, the warrior waved her comrades away. Norvosh did not put his weapon down until they were well out of sight. He remounted and they continued trudging on.

“That was terrifying,” Rohah said, finally ready to speak after the tension building in her had unknotted itself. She didn’t want to talk while the bandits were there - her voice was not exactly intimidating.

“A little,” Norvosh said, chuckling. “They were scared, too. No one goes into battle fearless. That group preys on the poor and defenseless. Anyone who might put up a fight, they’ll leave be.”

“I’m not actually a College-trained mage, though,” Rohah said.

Norvosh shrugged. “I had to bluff. You’re not exactly well stocked in the physical department.”

“Hey!”

The orc and imperial did not run into any more trouble until they got near Whiterun. It was visible in the distance. They made to cross a bridge when a group of armed soldiers rode to them on horseback, surrounding them. Rohah assumed they were a patrol. One soldier, most likely the captain, rode in front, and blocked their way.

“Halt,” the captain called. “You need to pay a tax to enter Whiterun Hold, levied by the Jarl.”

“How much?” Rohah asked, twisting around to reach for her pack.

“Twenty-five for each person - so fifty septims.”

She scowled. “We only have forty-four.”

The captain appeared to deliberate for a moment. “Hand over the coin and you can go on ahead.”

Surprised, Rohah tossed the sack to him. The captain counted out the money, then dumped it in his own pouch, giving Rohah the empty container. “Stay out of trouble.”

The soldiers rode off without incident. Relieved, Rohah urged her horse alongside Norvosh.

“That was nice of them,” she said. “Imagine if we were turned away.”

“Those weren’t soldiers,” Norvosh said, laughing. “Those were the bandits and mercenaries I told you about. The real guardsmen stick closer to the Hold.”

“They were robbers?”

“Why did you think they were happy with only forty-four septims?” Norvosh asked wearily.

Rohah grumbled. “But they were so well armed. They look like real soldiers.”

“They probably were, at one point,” Norvosh sighed. “Most likely they work under some corrupt noble who has no problem hiring goons to extort people. Don’t worry too much about it - you did the right thing. We wouldn’t have survived a fight, and our horses can’t outrun them all.”

“But now we don’t have any money at all,” Rohah said. “Those septims were for food.”

Norvosh sighed again, sounding more tired than ever. “We’ll figure something out.”

It took only hours to ride to the gates of Whiterun. They stabled their horses and entered the city. She had passed Whiterun while on her way to Winterhold, but hadn’t actually entered the place. It was pretty, in her opinion - the locals decorated their homes with bright colors, and the marketplace chatter was inviting. Dragonsreach stood tall, visible from every district in the city.

Rohah decided she’d have to trade in her fine clothing from Cyrodiil. She was sad to see it go, but they needed the coin. She now wore more common clothing befitting her financial status.

They had just enough to finally buy the supplies they needed. They also rented two rooms in an inn for some well-deserved sleep in an actual bed. By then the money had dried up completely.

By dawn, while most people in the city still slept, they were saddling their horses. Rohah felt bad they were pushing the poor beasts so hard, but they could not afford to wait another day - they had limited rations as it was.

In just a few day’s time, they were passing through the heart of Riverwood. The town was peaceful and quiet, and Rohah thanked the Divines no bandits harassed them. A few children had run out of their homes to watch them pass, eyes large as they beheld Norvosh’s finely crafted orcish armor. Rohah waved at them and smiled, wondering if they had ever actually seen an orc before.

Falkreath was their next landmark. Norvosh had grown quieter than Rohah had ever seen him. She chalked it up to nerves - they were about to find the truth of his bloodline. It would make anyone apprehensive. Rohah tried to cheer him up with jokes and songs, but while Norvosh smiled and listened along, he did not reciprocate. Riding during the day began to feel more and more like a funeral march.

When they passed Falkreath, Norvosh became a little more animated.

“I know this land better,” he told Rohah, grinning. “We’ll be there in no time.” The orc led the horses off the path and through the wilderness. Uncharted territory. Norvosh insisted he knew where he was going, so Rohah didn’t object.

Chapter Text

On the twenty-seventh day of their departure, they found Valthume. A small, cobbled path led to Nordic steps. The face of a man was carved into the central pillar of an arch - the symbol for catacombs, if she remembered correctly. What gave Rohah the creeps, more than anything, were the fires burning merrily in braziers.

“Does someone tend this place?” Rohah asked, pointing at the fire.

“No,” Norvosh said, smirking. “That’ll be the draugr.”

Rohah pushed the orc. “That isn’t funny! What if there are graverobbers inside?”

Norvosh was smiling broadly now. “I wasn’t joking. Draugr sometimes get up to do a little housekeeping. The undead Dragon Cult disciples are especially active.”

She shrank back from the stone entrance. “That’s horrific.”

Norvosh strode forward. “They’re only dead bodies. Stay close to me, and we won’t have any trouble. Unless you’d rather wait outside - that’s perfectly alright.”

Groaning like a draugr, Rohah joined Norvosh. “Fine. I should be there in case you get hurt. I’ve got a lot of healing experience.”

The orc’s eyebrows shot up. “Good gods, Cyrod! And you never thought to tell me? That’s important information!”

“Really?” Rohah said. “I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“It definitely is. It means you’re not useless!”

The orc laughed harder than ever before while Rohah shoved him, jostling his orcish armor.

They entered the ruins together, stepping quietly. Lit torches provided just enough light to see by. The lightheartedness from minutes earlier was starting to wear off as the gloomy atmosphere replaced it with a gnawing sense of dread. It was unnaturally quiet. Goosebumps erupted on Rohah’s arms, due only in part to the chill of the stones.

The sloping tunnel fed into a circular room that Rohah could only guess was a vestibule in ages past. A single chair rested in the middle of the room, occupied by a skeleton.

Rohah suppressed a yelp that threatened to burst out of her at the sight. The bones of the forearms were still laid on the armrests. She swallowed, revulsion churning her stomach.

A ghost materialized right in front of their eyes, and this time Rohah really did let out a shriek. Norvosh pulled out his warhammer, but the apparition made no move against them. Blueish energies swirled around its transparent form.

Its shape resolved into a male Nord. It raised its hands as if to surrender, showing them it meant no harm.

“Who are you?” Norvosh asked, his stance firm. Rohah checked over her shoulder to make sure there were no others sneaking up on them.

“My name is Valdar. My ghost rests here to keep intruders away. A Dragon Priest awaits you inside. Do not enter.” The ghost paced as he talked, his hands held behind his back. His voice echoed slightly, as if it was coming to them through a long tunnel.

“We’re not here to fight the Priest,” Norvosh said.

“The threat is bigger than you know,” the ghost warned. “He is plotting to raise himself as a powerful lich. You won’t come out alive.”

“We understand your concern,” Rohah said. “You’ve done your duty. We are forewarned. Whether we take your advice is our decision. Begone.”

The ghost dissipated.

“He accepted that?” Norvosh said, staring at the place the phantom had stood, eyebrows raised.

“I read a lot about ghosts in Cyrodiil,” Rohah said. “Their spirits only manifest on Nirn to accomplish specific tasks. He told us his - to warn visitors. Well, he succeeded, so I let him know, and he left. Easy as that.”

“Still want to go in?” This time, Norvosh’s offer was serious. Rohah shook her head.

“I said I’d come with you. We’ll make it.”

They walked together wordlessly, Rohah carefully keeping the skeleton out of her sight. Several urns and pots lined the walls. Rohah reached to look at what was inside of one, but Norvosh grabbed her arm before she could.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said, letting go. “Draugr are protective of their offerings. We shouldn’t make them any angrier than we have to.”

They proceeded down several hallways that twisted downward. So far it was all offerings; Rohah assumed this was where living descendants would place their trinkets to honor the dead.

Norvosh kept his warhammer raised, tenser than Rohah had ever seen him. They both scanned the floor and walls for traps.

The next room they reached housed a draugr. Rohah’s stomach did a flip and she backed off while Norvosh stepped forward. The undead monster had skin that looked dry but tough as wood. It gripped a rusted and crude greatsword in both hands. The thing stumbled forward, eyes burning with a blue light.

Its expected attack never came. Norvosh stood stock-still in a battle stance while it paused, apparently unwilling to strike at the orc.

By Arkay.

“Norvosh…” Rohah croaked. “Look at the teeth - ”

She did not need to finish her sentence. The draugr had a set of teeth that curled upwards - just like Norvosh’s. The draugr was an orc. Norvosh had been right.

Norvosh lowered his weapon, and the draugr did the same.

“Can it talk?” Rohah said, wrinkling her nose at the stink of death it carried.

“I don’t think so,” Norvosh said quietly. The revelation that this was one of his family members was clearly hitting him hard.

It was silent for a moment while living and undead stared at each other.

The draugr opened its mouth, and a single, guttural word fell out. “Rotmulaag.”

“That’s me,” Norvosh said. “Gro-Grotmulag.” The draugr gave no indication it understood.

“It’s not sentient,” Rohah noted. “But it recognizes you. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

“Let’s go with good,” Norvosh said, edging forward. He stepped around the draugr and walked to the edge of the room. The draugr shambled after him, stopping once it was five feet away from the orc.

“It’ll follow us,” Norvosh said. “Come on. We should continue further in. I want to see these stone records Zokoraav told us about.”

“I don’t like this,” Rohah said, joining Norvosh. She glanced back at the draugr that followed them every few seconds. “What if it turns on us?”

“It won’t,” Norvosh said, sounding strangely confident. “It knows I’m family.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t know I’m family.”

“Good point,” Norvosh said. “Then I name you Blood-Kin. You are welcome in my stronghold, and will be treated as a member of our community from here on out.”

Rohah stopped, and Norvosh had to pause as well. “You can do that?” she said, dumbfounded.

“I never formally renounced my home,” Norvosh said, grinning. “So - yes. Yes I can.”

They kept walking. “What does being Blood-Kin mean, exactly?” Rohah asked.

“You’ll be treated as one of us now. The same as if you were born an orc.”

“Please don’t tell me that involves arm-wrestling and brawling,” Rohah said. “I’d lose to an orc child.” Norvosh laughed at that, the sound echoing through the acoustic walls.

They reached another room. More draugr were assembled along the walls. The place was armed to the teeth with them. Groaning and growling, they woke and approached the duo, but none attacked. They were all orcs. Occasionally, one would utter a raspy “Rotmulaag”.

They travelled in such a procession through the crypt. More and more orcish draugr banded along after them. Rohah had to admit that if she hadn’t been so scared, the image would have been hilarious. Dozens of the undead clustered around them, eyes burning bright in the dim light. Moving forward became a deafening task as the clashing of dozens of suits of armor echoed and multiplied around them in the crypt.

Rohah had a scholar’s eye, so she was quick to note to Norvosh that the stonework had changed slightly.

More draugr were up ahead. Rohah expected them to join their impromptu parade, but was startled when they all rushed Norvosh, weapons held high. There were four of them. Norvosh - who, gods knew, must have been operating on muscle memory - shifted his body so their weapons struck his orcish armor. The resulting clang hurt Rohah’s ears.

They were both in shock that they had been attacked, but there was no need to react. Upon the hit, the undead orcs around them had surged forward, pushing the duo aside. A fraction of a second later, Rohah understood this to be protection - the friendly draugr were whaling on their attackers. Within seconds, the aggressive draugr had been hacked to pieces.

“By Arkay,” Rohah muttered. The crowd of undead orcs dispersed from their kills.

Norvosh stooped down, examining a fallen draugr. “Nords. They recognized us as intruders.”

“I would say so.”

“You said the stonework changed,” Norvosh continued. “I’m betting the orcs were placed on higher levels because they weren’t as trusted in the Cult. The Nords were buried deeper down - closer to their lich master. Let’s hope my family keeps playing bodyguard for us.”

Smiling nervously, she followed the orc further into the tomb. Whenever Nord draugr erupted from their graves, the orcs would defend against them. The orcs were capable fighters, and they had overwhelming strength in numbers. Not one of their draugr seemed to sustain any injuries after each skirmish.

How much time had passed since they entered? An hour? Two? Rohah was tired of the dim lighting and the rank smell emitting from their little company. She wished part of the draugr’s so-called housekeeping had included wearing perfume.

The group reached a long and wide hallway, unlike any of the others. Intricate carvings lined the walls and ceiling - depictions of the catacomb’s history. Norvosh glanced at Rohah, excitement kindling.

“Jackpot,” the orc said softly.

He took a torch from a sconce and passed the flames over the rough etchings, throwing the art into sharp relief.

It depicted the Orsimer and Nords warring. The two races charged at each other, the orcs in their heavy plate, the Nords in steel chainmail. Further along the wall, a dragon was shown diving from the heavens. A holy light encircled its head, and fire bloomed from its mouth. The line of flames split the Nords and orcs, preventing them from fighting. The artist had made it clear - this dragon was a god.

Following the flow of carvings, the dragon sat in a meditative pose while its Cultists bowed low on both sides. They carried offerings above their heads. Some were orcs, and some were Nords. Another section had the ruling dragon fighting another one of its kind. The two reptiles clawed at each other while fire spat from their jaws. In the end, the Cultist’s dragon was victorious. The opponent flew away in shame while the victor gloated over its celebrating Cultists.

“The dragon united the orcs and Nords,” Rohah observed.

“Rotmulaag,” a draugr behind her snarled, making her jump.

“Only I wonder…” Rohah said, trailing off for a moment. “Zokoraav told us this dragon was an anarchist.”

“What?” Norvosh said. He was crouched, looking at one of the orc warriors, clearly not listening to a word Rohah was saying.

“Nothing.” Rohah stepped back to look at the ceiling. The art continued its story. The worshippers were praying to the dragon once more. But some of the orc Cultists were fleeing the scene - abandoning its dragon master. A stronghold - an orcish stronghold - was shown, defended by the same runaways. The dragon god flew after it, breathing a torrent of fire. The former Cultists stood strong, and the final etching showed a spear thrust through the dragon’s throat. The holy light surrounding its head had died.

Rohah tapped Norvosh’s shoulder, and he glanced back. “Your family founded Dushnikh Yal.”

The orc looked at Rohah as if he hadn’t properly heard her. “They what?” he said.

In response, Rohah only pointed at the ceiling silently. Norvosh took a moment to observe them just as Rohah had, until he reached the final panel.

Norvosh looked down, a big smile growing on his face. “They defied their dragon - and won!”

His mood was contagious. Rohah grinned back, just happy Norvosh was happy. “They did! You’ve got some tough fighters in your blood.”

The orc was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I told them there was something. They must have buried their history out of shame… well, that’s not shameful at all! They killed a dragon, for Kyne’s sake!”

“Will you tell them now?” Rohah asked.

“Maybe,” he responded. “I’ll have to think about it...”

Rohah was inspecting the iron claw on the center pedestal. It was heavy, being iron, but perfectly crafted - she felt as if she were holding a casting of a real dragon’s claw. “What was this for?”

He passed it to Norvosh, who handled it with ease. “It’s a Nordic puzzle claw. There’s a password hidden somewhere on it…”

They were silent for a moment while Norvosh twisted and turned the claw, squinting hard.

“There it is,” he said. “See - look right below the first knuckle. There are three images. Only the Cult was supposed to know they were there.”

Rohah had to bring the claw close to her face. There were tiny scratches in the claw, nearly indistinct. “It looks like a dragon, hawk, and wolf.”

“Bingo,” Norvosh said. “That combination opens the door. The central chamber will be inside. Most likely, it holds the remains of the Priest.”

“Not a very good password,” Rohah observed. “You can guess it easily.”

Norvosh grinned. “Inputting a wrong answer springs traps.”

‘Oh’ was all Rohah had to say to that.

“We may as well take a look,” Norvosh said. He approached the door and started turning the locks, shifting them to the correct positions.

“Wait!” Rohah said. “The ghost said the Priest was trying to become a lich, remember? We’ve already gotten what we needed. We shouldn’t go any further than we have to.”

To that, Norvosh only said, “We’ve come this far.” And in what Rohah considered to be a moment of pure recklessness, the orc pressed the claw into the door.

“We’re going to die,” Rohah muttered as stone grated. The door began to sink, scraping stone against stone. When it hit the bottom, there was a loud report.

The opening led to a stairway. Rather reluctantly, Rohah followed along, their draugr militia close behind. The stairs twisted into an unlocked door, which led them into a large cavern. Four coffins were placed neatly together. A fifth and more ornate coffin rested in the very end of the room, slightly raised.

The lids of all five coffins burst open, and Rohah shuddered as four draugr crawled out. They were outfitted in better armor than the previous draugr, sets that had been well-preserved over the centuries.

Out of the fifth and final coffin rose a Dragon Priest, who levitated off the ground. Its rotting frame was protected by dragon scale armor that radiated magicka. It wore an iron mask that disguised its features, and carried an unassuming staff.

The scene dissolved into chaos. Their orcish draugr pounded forward, facing off against the four Nord draugr. Norvosh was charging the Priest, warhammer at the ready. The Priest’s inner circle of Nords were outmatched, but they were still fine fighters, and nearly a dozen of the orcs went down before the last Nord was dispatched.

The Priest, meanwhile, lifted its staff, and pointed it at the ground. Rohah wanted to scream at Norvosh to back away, but it all happened too quickly. Lightning sprouted from the ground, crackling in the air, broadening and lengthening until it created a deadly wall of electricity that Norvosh was too slow to avoid. Taking advantage of his mistake while Norvosh was in the thick of the lightning, the Priest Shouted, “Fus - ro dah!”

The rush of force threw Norvosh backward, skidding him across the stony floor. The orcish draugr stampeded to attack the Priest. “No!” Rohah cried, rushing at Norvosh’s prone body, terrified he was dead.

Rohah began thanking all the Divines, one by one, when Norvosh lifted his head, wincing. “He got me good.”

They both glanced at the Priest, who was facing off against the enraged draugr. The draugr were losing this battle - badly. Every hit seemed to deflect easily off the Priest’s armor, while walls of lighting lit the entire cavern, disintegrating several draugr each time it rose.

“They’re buying us time,” Norvosh said. He struggled to stand.

“You can’t fight like this,” Rohah said, anxiety balling.

“Sure I can,” Norvosh said, rolling his shoulders. The Priest was jabbing its staff at the last few orcs. “Watch and learn, Cyrod.”

The Priest disposed of the final orc draugr and turned its murderous gaze on Norvosh. Rohah backed away, shaking.

This time Norvosh was more careful. He circled around the Priest, hefting his steel warhammer. Rohah felt her entire body clench whenever the Priest used his staff, but Norvosh would always avoid the wall of lightning wherever it appeared. His movements were jerky, and once in a while, lightning would flash on his body, making him double over. The problem with the Priest was he couldn’t get close.

Norvosh stalked forward, and the expected lightning barred his way.

“What, no Shouts now?” the orc taunted.

“Daanik ah dov!” the Priest said in a raspy voice.

Rohah dug her fingernails into her palms, watching as Norvosh waited for the lightning to die down. He faked a run, and another lightning barrier rose up before him.

“It’s the only way, Rohah,” Norvosh called behind him. “Sorry.”

He dove through the wall of lightning, energy hissing and cracking around his armor, steaming as it burned his skin. Norvosh broke his fall with a roll. Lightning sparked along his body, but the orc didn’t seem to notice. The Shout flew over his head, as the Priest had expected an upright charge. Norvosh staggered up, and with the momentum of standing, thrust his warhammer through the Priest’s throat. There was a sickening crunch.

The Priest fell, and moments later, Norvosh fell too.

“Norvosh!” Rohah screamed, the name torn out of her. She ran forward, cursing - she had to wait for the lightning to die down before she could reach her friend. As soon as it dissipated, she dropped down, inspecting Norvosh. Lightning still flickered in places on his body, making him twitch involuntarily. The orc was passed out.

“Oh, no…” Rohah said, touching the armor. It was hot. “No, no, no no no… Not good, not good, not good - Norvosh, please wake up!”

With shaking fingers, Rohah began to take the orc’s armor off him. It took a long time - far too long. His skin was hot to the touch. Rohah took a deep breath and recalled the Restoration magic she knew.

Reaching for the magicka, her hands began to glow, and she labored over healing the wounded orc. She focused first on the parts that seemed to spark with lightning the most - his head and chest, mostly, which had been struck twice by the wall.

Her magicka depleted at a steady pace, but it seemed to be working. After a period of several minutes, Norvosh’s skin grew cooler, and the sparks diminished, then vanished completely.

Norvosh’s eyes fluttered open. “Rohah?” he said weakly, and tried to sit up. Rohah pressed a hand to his chest, preventing him from finishing the motion.

“Lie down,” she ordered. “I’m not done.”

There were severe burns that Rohah worried about, but she was not able to address them. Currently, she was preoccupied with siphoning away the worst effects of the lightning. Foul magic had done a number on his limbs, and unaddressed, it could leave him paralyzed. It took all her concentration to keep the flow of magicka steady, to avoid clouding her head with emotion.

At last, it seemed she’d done enough for the moment - Norvosh would survive, hopefully with the use of his limbs.

Rohah sagged, drained. “How do you feel?”

The orc experimented with his jaw. “Burned. Hurt. It’s hard to move. Did I kill the Priest?”

“Yes,” Rohah said. “I’m an excellent healer, but I just don’t have enough magicka to heal it all right now. We need a place where you can recover.”

“Stronghold,” Norvosh said. Speech seemed to take a lot of energy from him at the moment, but Rohah understood immediately. Dushnikh Yal was close nearby - Norvosh’s home.

“Just rest for a bit,” Rohah said. “I’m going to get us some food and water.”

“Wait,” Norvosh rasped, closing his hand over Rohah’s arm before she could go. “The ghost said… something about a lich.”

Rohah stiffened, a flash of fear flaring in her sternum. “Right! Oh, dear.”

She ran to the Priest’s coffin, scanning the room. A lich’s life force - or soul - could be stored in their chosen phylactery. The Priest seemed as double-dead as Norvosh had been able to manage, but Rohah needed to remove any possibility of a risen lich. Hopefully, it would be as simple as finding the container and destroying it.

Her search did not take long. Kept in a hidden compartment on the Priest’s coffin were three glass bottles. Rohah removed them, stomach flipping when she realized there was a dark brown liquid sloshing inside. Blood.

There was nothing special about the bottles themselves, but there was a definite sense of power radiating from the blood. Crossing to a brazier, she upended each bottle, the blood sizzling and bubbling on the coals. Though the bottles were only empty containers now, Rohah smashed them on the ground, just for good measure. She returned to Norvosh’s side.

“All done,” she said. “Just stay put while I go up.”

Norvosh nodded and closed his eyes, face relaxing as he released the tension.

Rohah began the trek upward. Only now, when the entire crypt was cleared out, did she appreciate its sheer scale. She passed room after room of catacombs. The dead Nord draugr made her nervous whenever she passed their motionless corpses, so she picked up the pace.

After getting lost twice, she at last reached the surface. The cool night air refreshed her and instantly lifted her mood. Rohah wanted to linger outside, but Norvosh would be waiting for her, so she resignedly delved back into the dungeon with their rations.

By the time she got back, she found the orc sitting comfortably on the edge of the Priest’s former coffin. He was tapping the floor with his leg, releasing nervous energy. Rohah handed him water and the sack of food.

“I’m feeling a little better now,” Norvosh said, pausing for a moment to guzzle water. “At least I can move. Hey, we should take a look at the Priest’s mask and staff. I didn’t want to touch them in case they were cursed or something.” He kicked in the Priest’s general direction.

“Food first, objects of questionable magical relevance later,” Rohah said, biting into an apple.

“Stendarr bless you,” the orc sighed, pulling out a slab of jerky.

“Lovely picnic we’re having, isn’t it?” Rohah said. “I’d sit down next to you, but I don’t want to touch anything those dead bodies touched.”

“It’s not a bad coffin,” Norvosh said, patting it. “Very well-crafted. Stony and bone cold. I even personally emptied it for you.”

“Very funny,” Rohah said, unable to resist glancing at the dead Priest. Its head was bent at an unnatural angle, thanks to Norvosh’s exceptional skill as a chiropractor. They wrapped up their ‘picnic’.

“I know we only came in here for information,” Norvosh said, “but there’s a lot of good loot in this place. We should take as much as we can.”

“Isn’t that graverobbing?” Rohah checked.

Norvosh shrugged. “Probably. But these guys were all Dragon Cultists.”

“Well, I’m sold,” Rohah said. She tentatively reached for the staff still clutched in the Priest’s bony fingers. A little squeamish, she gently tugged it until the skeletal grip loosened.

“Eurgh,” Rohah said, ever articulate. She inspected the staff. “No curse so far.”

Norvosh snorted. “Why don’t you give the mask a shot, then, while you’re risking life and limb in the name of science?”

Rohah dropped the staff in Norvosh’s lap, going to crack her knuckles and failing to produce any noise. “Maybe I will.”

She immediately regretted the decision - the mask seemed glued on to the Priest’s face. Rohah used their empty food sack to touch the mask, peeling it off the dried skin. She dropped it in the coffin Norvosh sat on. The Priest's face was as ghastly as any other draugr.

“I’m not wearing that until it’s sanitized,” Rohah said firmly. She’d had enough of this tomb. Norvosh laughed and set the staff down next to the mask.

“They’ve got to be important,” Norvosh said thoughtfully. “The Priest was using them. They don’t look like much, but…”

“They’re definitely enchanted,” Rohah agreed. “I can sense it. We need to go to Winterhold’s College to have them identified.”

“Let’s take what we want tonight,” he said. “Then we don’t have to deal with it in the morning.”

Several hours of dungeon-crawling later, their packs were chock full of pilfered treasure. They had combed through the area, finding trinkets and baubles, rusted weapons that had a chance of being restored, jewelry and coin, potions and scrolls, complete sets of ancient Nordic armor - some of which might even function, and even scrap metal and soul gems. There were a great deal of artifacts Rohah wanted to take with them, but the fact was the horses could only carry so much, so she contented herself with studying what he could. They focused on objects that Rohah could identify as magical. She was no master wizard, but she was not so incompetent that she could not recognize when something was enchanted.

There was also plenty of information to be had. Rohah made several rubbings, most from the carvings of Valthume’s history, and others of the curious runes inscribed on a rounded wall in the Priest’s chamber. She knew they were most likely written in Dovahzul. It would be interesting to see what the Cultists had to say. Most likely more rambling about their dragon overlords, but still, it was history, and she’d like to have it recorded.

They set up bedrolls in the crypt, close to the entrance. They wanted the safety of its walls, but both of them felt sleeping closer to the actual catacombs was a bad idea. Rohah in particular wanted to be nowhere near those rotted bodies.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Norvosh loaded more of their items onto Rohah’s horse, since the orc and his heavy armor weighed far more than Rohah, and the goal was to not kill their horses. Presently, they trudged along a dirt path. Norvosh estimated they would be at Dushnikh Yal by evening.

The orc tried to hide his injuries, but Rohah noticed how he grimaced when he had to bend or twist his body. Rohah had a bad feeling the burns were worse than he let on, but her own magicka was drained from last night, so she doubted she could help for some time. Norvosh had even foregone his armor to cool down. They were going to be in the stronghold soon, so hopefully she could finish healing there.

Spending her time worrying seemed to elongate their trip’s length. Cool relief swept through her at the sight of Dushnikh Yal in the distance, almost dampening the heat of the sun.

Sentinels awaited them at the gates of the stronghold - two orc archers, bows readied.

“Halt!” one ordered. She had her arrow pointed at Norvosh’s heart, and Rohah was keenly aware of her friend’s lack of armor. “Name and business.”

“Good to see you, Umurn,” Norvosh said, throwing back his hood and grinning. The archer gasped.

“Norvosh!” she said, relaxing the bow’s string and dropping the weapon. “I didn’t recognize you. Give me a moment and I’ll open the gates.” She disappeared into the stronghold. The other orc archer looked nonplussed, but left to help her ally.

Norvosh glanced at Rohah, smiling. “That was Umurn, my friend’s niece. She’s also the daughter of the chief. I don’t recognize the other woman.”

After a pause, the gates creaked and were slowly drawn open. Norvosh led the way into the stronghold, still on his horse, Rohah trailing after him. Umurn and the other archer reappeared at their side.

“Are you here to stay?” Umurn said, a hopeful note in her voice. “Everyone’s missed you and Ghorbash.”

“I’m sorry, but… it’s just a visit,” Norvosh said guiltily. “So Ghorbash hasn’t returned yet?”

“No,” she said. “But we got a letter from him. He’s doing well. Who’s your friend?”

“My name is Rohah,” she said, answering for herself. “I’m a scholar from Cyrodiil, and I hired Norvosh as my mercenary for research.”

“You’ll have to tell us all about it later,” Umurn said, though Rohah could tell she was directing the statement to Norvosh. “You can go stable your horses - Khargash, help them unpack. I’ll go tell dad!” She dashed away, surprisingly fleet-footed for someone her size.

Their horses were exhausted from the trip, and Rohah imagined they were grateful to finally have the weight off their backs. The three of them worked quickly, especially the orc archer apparently named Khargash. She was young - Rohah estimated her to be eighteen or nineteen.

“Are there any non-orcs in your stronghold?” Rohah asked her, interested.

“No,” she said. “Imperial soldiers and khajiit caravans come to trade with us regularly, though. Stormcloaks used to try to trade with us, but stopped trying when they figured out we would only turn them away.”

Dushnikh Yal was pro-Empire, then. Rohah was pleased to hear it, being an Imperial herself.

They had no time to rest; several orcs, all Norvosh’s age, burst into the stables, laughing and shouting at Norvosh. Her friend was pulled into hugs and asked how he was and pounded on the back (which made Norvosh wince), and Rohah had not one clue what was happening or who any of these people were, but Norvosh had a big dumb grin plastered on his face, so that was good enough for her.

His entourage pulled him out of the stables, fast enough that Rohah had to jog after them. The archer named Khargash seemed to be in the same predicament as Rohah; she must not have known Norvosh while he lived here.

The dozen or so orcs led the way to a longhouse, which Rohah assumed must be where the chief lived. Inside were more people that knew Norvosh. Everything became a blur of surprised greetings and reuinitings, and Rohah was unable to keep track of everyone’s names past the chief. She felt a bit awkward, standing alone while all the orcs were having a good time.

“It’s good to see you back, even if it’s just a visit,” Burguk the chief told Norvosh, clasping both his hands affectionately.

“Good to see you too,” Norvosh said happily. “We should talk soon - I have a surprise for you.”

The rest of the orcs clamored for Norvosh’s attention.

“Norvosh, did you know I’m a proper blacksmith now?” one said excitedly. “I can show you a mace I made - ”

“Ghorbash mentioned you in a letter! He hopes you’re doing well!”

“Nagrub has been doing well as my apprentice. He was just a baby when you were still here, and he took down a deer earlier today, all alone!”

“Oglub died a week ago,” one said sadly.

Time and time again, Norvosh was asked to tell them his story since leaving the stronghold. He told a few stories Rohah hadn’t been around for, people who’d hired him as a sellsword for various reasons. When he got around to Rohah’s role, he described their failed retrieval of a Stone of Barenziah and their trip to Valthume, but omitted the dragon and his discoveries about his bloodline. Possibly he thought they wouldn’t believe him. He also revealed he’d made Rohah Blood-Kin, inviting interested glances her way.

The center table was set, and a cook served food to everyone present: rich potato and venison stew with noticeable spice, roasted nuts that were meant to be cracked open and shells dropped on the floor, boiled cabbage, a medley of fresh fruit, hard breads and cheeses, heavily salted wild game, and alto wine. Rohah ate next to Khargash and across from Norvosh.

After greeting Norvosh, the tribal orcs turned their attention to Rohah. She answered a deluge of questions about Cyrodiil and her scholarly work. Rohah could not help but be reminded of Norvosh on their first few days of meeting; she now knew where the orc’s curiosity of other cultures originated.

Rohah was distracted by Norvosh, though. With the focus of the conversation on Rohah, the fire seemed to have died in her friend’s eyes. He had hunched himself down, looking feverish. Rohah began running ideas through her mind on how she could help without being rude to their hosts. Norvosh looked sick. Whenever the conversation pitched in volume, Rohah detected the tiniest of jerks in his head, as if each noise were a physical blow.

Unable to stand it anymore, Rohah jumped up and crossed to the other side. Before she came around, Norvosh sank to the level of the table and pressed his forearms into his ears, much like the time Rohah had seen him in the tavern. She reached him and touched his shoulder lightly, causing the orc to tense and look up.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Rohah said quietly. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?”

Nodding mutely, Norvosh stood and left the longhouse. The scene did not draw as many strange looks as Rohah had expected, only understanding glances. She supposed the stronghold would know this about Norvosh too. Outside, it was beginning to be twilight. The twin moons lit their path.

They walked in silence for some time before Norvosh dropped his hands and shuddered. “My head is spinning,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around himself, looking off-balance.

“Wait,” Rohah said, stopping Norvosh. She reached forward and pressed the back of her hand to Norvosh’s forehead. It was sweltering. “You have a fever. Who’s the healer in your stronghold?”

“Murbul,” Norvosh said, voice quiet. “Our shaman. Divines, I feel like I’m about to vomit.”

“Let’s hurry, then,” Rohah said, anxious. “Lead the way.”

Norvosh walked slowly, and Rohah became aware just how much riding the horses had been able to mask his condition. At one point they had to pause while Norvosh doubled over, but the moment passed and they continued onward.

They reached a small hut, the entrance barred with furs. Rohah held them open so Norvosh could pass, then followed in after him. A woman stood across from them, back turned, apparently mixing something in a mortar and pestle.

“Welcome back, Norvosh,” she said, without turning to see who’d come in. Rohah was surprised.

“How did you know it was him?” Rohah asked her.

In response, she pointed at a mirror she’d failed to notice. Oh.

Norvosh all but fell on the sickbed provided in the hut, clutching his abdomen. The wisewoman, Murbul, checked his temperature just as Rohah had. Immediately understanding, she set to work crushing various herbs and ingredients together, giving Norvosh a flask of water to drink in the meantime.

The orc groaned and struggled to sit up, drinking messily. Water dribbled down his chin, but he seemed in far too much pain to care.

Norvosh leaned forward, pulling his shirt up and off. His torso was well-muscled and rippled when he moved. The torchlight illuminated his green-gray skin and casted soft shadows wherever the muscles dipped. Burn marks stretched across his body diagonally, travelling from his legs, up to his abdomen, and curling around his chest. They were an angry red, contrasting with his healthy skin, and when Norvosh clutched his pectorals where the burns were most severe, they turned an ugly white.

“Oh, gods,” was all Rohah could say.

Murbul turned around, saw this, and cursed. “When did you get those?”

“Yesterday,” Norvosh said, voice faint. “Last night.”

“Drink this for the fever,” she said, thrusting the brew she’d just concocted at him. Kneeling by the bed, she took a breath to steady herself. “The wounds are infected. Before I can heal the burns, the infection must be stopped.”

“Oh, lovely,” Norvosh mumbled, apparently not entirely present, but still retaining some of his good humour. He sipped at the potion she’d provided him.

“Wait,” Rohah said. “I have experience with this. I used to heal Imperial soldiers in Cyrodiil.”

The shaman gave her a curt nod. “Together, then.”

She joined her at the bedside, and they worked in silence, pulling on their reserves of magicka. Rohah’s hands hovered inches from Norvosh’s chest, and she cringed as the magic worked, bringing the pus and filth out of the burn site. Norvosh’s breathing, formerly strained, became gentle and slow. When Rohah glanced at his face, he had his eyes closed.

“Get a wet cloth,” Murbul said, catching her breath after several minutes of intensive healing.

Rohah obeyed, soaking a rag. She sponged Norvosh’s burns, cleansing the area of the infection they’d pulled to the surface. Both Norvosh and the bed became sopping wet, but the orc sighed at the cool water coming into contact with his burns.

Weary, Murbul stood. “Get to work on closing his burns, Imperial. I need to make more potions for him.”

She nodded and returned to Norvosh, examining where the burns were greatest. Rohah tapped back into the flow of magic, urging the burns to heal. The only sounds in the hut were the hum of insects outside and the scraping of the mortar and pestle inside.

Rohah traced over a particularly nasty patch of skin, hands glowing. The discoloration faded and then vanished entirely. Broken skin knitted itself back together.

“Why,” Murbul burst out angrily after a span of quiet, “did you let his burns get this bad? You should have treated him immediately.” Rohah jumped when she realized the shaman was talking to her.

“I didn’t know they were this extensive,” Rohah protested. “And most of my healing training was for after the fact. Several days after the injury, usually. This is par for the course for me.”

“Your training was obviously lacking, Imperial,” the shaman said, sneering. “Prevention is the first step. Healing is meant to be a safety net when, and only when, prevention fails.”

Rohah scowled, irritated that she was being told off as if she were a child. “I did my best! The burns were from lightning. Norvosh would be paralyzed if it weren’t for me. I had to heal that before I could get anywhere near the burns, and my magicka isn’t unlimited.”

The shaman huffed.

“And speaking of that,” Rohah continued tiredly, “I think I’m all out.” Norvosh’s burns were much better now, though. They would scar, but Rohah was confident that could be fixed, too, if she could learn how to work with scars. Her restorative training thus far had put the focus on keeping the patient alive.

“I’ll take over and finish his healing,” Murbul said. “Go tell our chief Norvosh will be in recovery for today and tomorrow.”

Rohah stood and took a last glance at Norvosh, who was accepting another potion from Murbul, then exited the hut.

Chapter Text

The chief, Burguk, offered Rohah room to sleep in a longhouse with other orcs, but she declined. While it sounded like a fascinating experience, she wanted her own space for some time. So instead, she slept in a guest room the orcs had built, meant specifically for travellers.

And sleep she did - Rohah was out cold well into the day. The repeated drain on her magicka must have tired her. She woke when Norvosh came in, apparently curious how she was doing.

“It’s nearly noon, Rohah,” Norvosh said while she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be recovering?” Rohah asked, yawning.

“I’m all fixed,” Norvosh said, patting his sternum. “Sort of. I have scars. But I’m not injured any more.” His tone was a bit wistful, as if he was doing his best to be grateful, but wished for more. Rohah couldn’t blame that. Last she’d seen those burns, they were… intense, to say the least. Any scarring would be enormous.

“So you feel fine now?” Rohah checked.

“Yep,” Norvosh said. “I’m here to see if you’re ready to go back to Winterhold today. There are a couple things we need to do first.”

“Such as?”

“Selling the loot from Valthume,” Norvosh said, grinning. “Some stuff we’ll donate, because, well, this is our stronghold. But anything valuable means coin for us. It’ll be a smooth journey back.”

“Wow - yeah,” Rohah said. The idea of them getting money was taking root in her. Her thoughts drifted to the College of Winterhold. “How much do you think we’ll get?”

Norvosh shrugged. “A few thousand. We’ll need to spend some of that on supplies, though.”

A few thousand. Rohah could barely keep her excitement from spilling out. With that much, she could afford tuition for the College. She’d never given much thought to it, because it seemed so far-off to her, so impossible... but with that kind of money...

“We’ll have to decide how to split it, of course,” Norvosh continued.

“What do you think about joining the College?” Rohah said, entirely off-topic. The orc frowned.

“You mean, of Winterhold? I’ve never thought of it.”

“But it’s the best educational institution Skyrim has,” Rohah said, determined to wring an answer out of him.

Norvosh sighed and allowed himself to slide down along the wall, coming to a rest on the ground across from Rohah. “I’ve tried magic before. I don’t think it’s my thing - too volatile. Are you planning on applying?”

“Yes,” Rohah said, almost nervous how certain she was. “I didn’t have the money to, before. Or, more accurately, my parents didn’t have the money.”

“Then what we do is simple,” Norvosh said.

“It is?”

Norvosh ticked off his fingers for each action as he spoke until all five digits were up. “We sell the loot. Buy supplies. You enroll. Sell the horses. Then we split whatever’s left fifty-fifty.”

“Well,” Rohah said, taken aback, but smiling. “Yes, that sounds perfect!”

As it turned out, Norvosh had something to do first, and he insisted Rohah come with him. They stood before Burguk the chief, who welcomed them into the longhouse warmly. When Norvosh said they would have to be going within the day, Burguk promised them one last meal before they had to hit the road and sustain themselves with dry foods.

“There’s one more thing,” Norvosh said to Burguk. “The ruins I explored with Rohah - the ones I talked about last night - are called Valthume. They’re the same Nordic ruins just a day’s journey from here - you know the one. We cleared it entirely of draugr.” Burguk’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “We took some things from it, but we only had two horses. There’s plenty of goods left over, and it will be a while before looters notice the draugr are missing.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Burguk said, grinning. “I can send some of my warriors today.”

Norvosh nodded. “Consider it a gift for the tribe. I hope I’ll see you again someday.”

Burguk got up and hugged Norvosh while Rohah stood awkwardly to the side. When they broke apart, Burguk glanced the Imperial’s way.

“You helped heal Norvosh after he got hurt there, right? You have my tribe’s gratitude.” Rohah accepted an outstretched hand to shake.

They left the longhouse. Norvosh wanted to start selling their gear, and warned Rohah it would likely be a boring affair, but she wanted to come.

It was boring, but not excessively so. They brought sacks of their items to various orcs, each of whom worked different professions and had differing amounts of interest in their loot. Each and every item was haggled upon. Norvosh called on Rohah to make judgement calls on some of their enchanted trinkets, and several artifacts she was able to price, but beyond that, she wasn’t much help.

They gave away some of the less valuable things. Nordic weapons and armor in particular, no one seemed to want, so Norvosh handed them to the blacksmith, telling her she was free to melt them down, or display them, or whatever a smith uses run-down weapons for, anyway. Rohah wasn’t too thrilled about ancient tools being destroyed, but what else were they going to do with them?

The magical items were their most valuable finds. The mages of the stronghold were keen on getting their hands on the old Nordic enchantments. They were curious what kind of magic might have been worked on them. Beyond whatever information those enchantments could offer, the material of the necklaces, bracelets, earrings, torques, rings, amulets, and other kinds of accessories were valuable by themselves. Rubies, garnets, gems of all colors, sizes, and shapes - plus more common metals, like silver, gold, and moonstone.

Once they finished replenishing their depleted supplies, the sun began to dip down. Norvosh hid their sacks of coin underneath the rest of their equipment, stuffing it cleverly so they wouldn’t clink. Would-be robbers might avoid them if they didn’t look wealthy enough, Norvosh explained. He did, however, allow them to carry enough for any future ‘tolls’.

In total, they had over ten thousand septims. It was too heavy for their horses to carry, so Rohah paid a small fee to one of the stronghold mages in exchange for an alteration spell that made the gold lighter.

Their journey to Winterhold went largely unimpeded. They avoided several groups of horsemen along the way, fearful of being robbed again. Their supplies were never as low as before; they had plenty of money to purchase extras at rest stops, towns, and cities.

Despite their wealth, Rohah wanted to control their spending. The College tuition was expensive - if she remembered correctly, eight thousand septims. She hoped Norvosh would be alright with the use of the money. It was surprising that the orc had agreed at all to her enrolling using the majority of their haul. He must have known how much it would cost.

It began to rain while they rode past the Shrine of Azura. Rohah pulled her cloak tighter around herself and threw the goddess a filthy look. The journey back was actually faster, despite the weather. They didn’t have to stop long to buy supplies at rest points. Two days were shaved off their time.

Norvosh seemed more comfortable with Rohah while they travelled. He opened up more, relating stories of home, of his work, of his travels. Rohah learned Norvosh had worked for many different people as a mercenary. Many were just travellers, looking to reach their destination without a fuss. Some enlisted Norvosh’s assistance in killing things - whether it was a feral wild animal threatening livestock, a company of bandits extorting innocents, clearing a skooma den of its addicts, or even destroying a coven of vampires.

“Vampires?” Rohah said in disbelief, interrupting the orc as he listed the jobs he’d done over the years.

“Yep,” Norvosh said. “Vampires. I was handed a solid silver warhammer enchanted to burn enemies and told to join a group of Dawnguard for some extra muscle.”

“Did anyone get bitten?”

“No. The Dawnguard are good at what they do. It was a surprise attack. We took out most of them in their sleep. Had a little trouble with the leader of the little group, though. She had all sorts of weird vampire magic - don’t look at me like that, how am I supposed to know what spells she used?”

Rohah snorted. “At least describe them?”

“Lots of red,” Norvosh said helpfully.

“Probably some kind of life drain spell, then.”

“Apparently it didn’t work,” Norvosh said, pointing a thumb at himself, a very much alive orc.

She also learned Norvosh’s childhood friend, Ghorbash, had joined the Imperial Legion years ago. No wonder he missed him so much. Every so often, his name would crop up in conversation, and Rohah would feel a twinge of pity for her friend.

In comparison to Norvosh’s tales, Rohah’s seemed uneventful. She talked about the city library she’d frequented, her family, the White-Gold tower and its compendium of Elder Scrolls that famously went missing, the various shops she liked to visit, the bay, but most of all, her studies. Rohah had taken an interest in magic from a young age, and had begged her parents for a tutor. Her parents, apprehensive of the danger magic posed to a young child, had only allowed her to study Restoration and Illusion, which they deemed the safest of the schools.

“No, no - I didn’t mind at all,” Rohah said, when Norvosh had expressed disappointment that her training had been restricted. “My mother was a Priest of Arkay, mind you, she had a very good understanding of magic and what it was capable of. I can’t resent her for trying to keep me safe.”

On a calm day, they arrived in Winterhold. Not much had changed in the two months they had been away from the chilly town. They immediately sold their horses back, adding a small pile of gold to their impressive hoard. The stable master looked genuinely surprised they’d made good on their word to return with the horses.

“I want to apply today, as soon as possible,” Rohah told Norvosh as she slid a few coins to the innkeeper for lodging. “Term will have already started by now, so I might need to play catch-up.” The innkeeper pointed at two rooms they would be staying in.

They both moved to find empty seats, passing by a robed Nord and Redguard who were chatting happily. They sat down to eat a meal. After a minute or two, Norvosh set his fork down and frowned, the clattering of the utensil causing Rohah to look up.

“Rohah, I’ve been thinking, and I want to see my family again,” Norvosh said. “Now that I’ve got the money to stay a while… I think I just want to go home and relax for some time. Take my mind off this mercenary business.”

“What - you’re leaving?” Rohah said, pausing mid-bite. “When?”

“Soon,” Norvosh said. “Not immediately, but… I suppose once you’re accepted into the College. You won’t need my help anymore, you know.”

Rohah felt hollow, and did not know what to say for a moment. Her appetite was gone. She’d known Norvosh for only two months, but it had felt like the beginning of a good friendship, and now he would be leaving.

She must have looked rather put out, because Norvosh smiled and said, “I’ll write to you if I can. It won’t be goodbye forever.”

“I can work with that,” Rohah said, relieved. “Thanks for putting up with me for all this time.”

“No problem.”

After eating, Rohah left the inn and headed for the College. The imposing structure loomed over the small town, balanced precariously on an outcropping of rock, looking as though one good gust of wind would send it toppling into the Sea of Ghosts. As she crossed the bridge, she could make out several dark smudges she assumed were the students. The stone under her feet was crumbling, and she could not help but bite the inside of her cheeks until she was safely on the other side. It was likely magically reinforced, but that knowledge would do nothing to assuage her fear. She approached the closest group of students - an Argonian and two Nords.

“Excuse me,” Rohah said, glancing between the three of them, and feeling a bit awkward with their stares on her. “I’m looking to apply to the College. Who do I ask about that?”

One of the Nords answered. “You’ll want to see Mirabelle Ervine, the Master Wizard. Do you want me to show you where she is?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Rohah said, grateful. The Nord stood, and Rohah followed her, appraising her College robes. The uniform looked warm and comfortable, and suddenly Rohah’s own stained and travel-dirtied clothing felt inadequate.

“My name is Rohah, by the way,” she said while they took a turn into one of the castle’s entrances.

“I’m Stilde,” the Nord said, opening the door for her courteously. The heated air inside the College hit her, and for the next few seconds while the cold left her, the only thought in her mind was of how much she loved magic.

“What do you plan on studying?” Stilde asked, her voice echoing in the stairwell while they travelled up the floors.

“Restoration, I think,” Rohah said. “I’ve got a bit of skill in Illusion too, but less interest.”

“Lucky,” Stilde said gloomily, pushing open a door to a hall. “I haven’t got any talent with those sorts of magics… yesterday I was supposed to be calming a baby frostbite spider, and it bit me. Our Alchemy teacher had to get me an antidote, I was swelling so bad. Guess I’m allergic. Well, here you are.” She had reached a door, and pushed it open without preamble.

A Breton woman, this one older than Stilde - perhaps in her forties - was reading a book inside. Without looking up, she said, “Come in, come in,” placed a bookmark at her spot, and shut the book. Stilde left, her footsteps loud in the quiet building. Mirabelle turned her head up expectantly.

Rohah entered nervously, glancing around the room. It was certainly an office. Shelves lined the walls, packed with neatly arranged notes, novel-length tomes, and dusty spellbooks. Upside down, Rohah could read the title of the book Mirabelle had been reading: Night of Tears. Covering her desk were sheets of parchment, spread out neatly in front of her. Behind Mirabelle, and illuminating the room, was an arched window that provided an excellent view of the whole grounds.

“Hello,” Rohah said. “I’d like to apply to the College.”

Mirabelle nodded, pulling out a drawer and leafing through sheafs of paper. “Full name?” she asked, all business.

“Rohah Catraso.” She also spelled out her first name, knowing it was bound to cause confusion otherwise.

The Master Wizard spoke as she wrote on a small note. “The year began three weeks ago. Assuming you are alright with that - ”

“ - I am - ”

“ - you will be able to proceed as normal. Tuition is eight thousand septims for a full year.” Mirabelle slid a lengthy paper to Rohah. Already penned on the parchment was a contract spelling out the conditions of her enrollment. “Please read this over, and if you are decided, fill out the form.”

It was silent for a few minutes while Rohah read. She pulled out a chair, scraping it against the floor, and sat heavily. There was nothing dodgy in the contract, so she signed, formally agreeing to fork over nearly her entire fortune from Valthume - not without regret.

She handed it back to Mirabelle, who tucked it into a drawer and stood. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.” Rohah let her pass, then trailed after the Master Wizard.

“Normally you would get your schedule along with everyone else at the start of the year,” Mirabelle said as they walked, “but as you are beginning later, I would ask you to meet with me tomorrow to sort that out. Do you know what you’re interested in studying?”

“Restoration for sure,” Rohah said. Mirabelle’s eyebrows twitched nearly imperceptibly, perhaps in surprise. They were outside, back in the cold, crossing the grounds to reach another section of the castle-like College.

“You needn’t worry too much about your field of study. The College - ” she was interrupted by a loud BANG. Rohah jumped and looked over her shoulder - a Dunmer was sitting stretched-out on the ground, covered in soot and looking quite shocked. His Nord friend was laughing, though, and the Dunmer joined in after being helped to his feet. He noticed her staring at him, and waved, sending ash cascading onto his friend. Rohah struggled against a giggle.

Mirabelle continued as if nothing had occurred. “ - the College is flexible. Our professors will be more than happy to accommodate you.” They entered into a circular room that seemed to spiral upward endlessly. In the center was what looked like a large stone fire pit, but instead of flames, a beautiful blue mist seemed to breathe out of the stonework. It felt - no, looked - oddly alive.

“Your room is number thirty-two, on the fourth floor. You’ll find your College robes in the wardrobe,” Mirabelle said. “Again, find me in my office tomorrow in the morning for your schedule.”

“Thank you,” Rohah said, and began to climb the steps. So far, everyone here had been rather nice to her. She liked Stilde especially.

The light from the middle of the room rose along with Rohah as she ascended. She paused on the fourth floor to take a better look at it. Its glow tinted the entire area a gentle blue. Rohah passed a hand through the mist, careful to not lean too much lest she fall over fifty feet, and found it did not feel like anything at all. Her hand disturbed it as if it were physical, however, and she amused herself for a minute by swirling the energies around in the air before they lifted out of sight.

In room thirty-two, she found clean College robes and changed into them. Rohah took a seat at the desk, dipping a quill into ink and scratching out a letter. A torch brightened the room enough for her to write, but she believed it was magical in nature, because the lighting was suspiciously uniform.

Rohah finished her letter and gave it a quick read-through.

Dear mom and dad,
I wrote to you as soon as I could. I’m in Skyrim, and I’m okay. When I got here, I hired a mercenary like you asked - his name is Norvosh, he’s an orc and quite nice, plus he’s helped me out of more than one jam. I never got a chance to study the Stone of Barenziah, but I think I’ll be abandoning that pet project anyway.
Long story short, we went on a bit of an adventure in a Nordic tomb. We earned a load of gold, and I’ve used it to enroll in the College of Winterhold for just one year. I don’t intend to settle down, but I think some extra training and more time abroad will really help me.
I’ll be home sooner than you know, and I can tell you everything in person. I love you both. Say hello to Stooge for me.

-Ro

She smiled at the last line. Stooge was their tabby cat, who routinely caused trouble, whether by strategically placing dead mice in the house, sending neat stacks of papers flying off tables, and last but not least - yowling in the middle of the night as if in pain, sending Rohah leaping out of bed, only for her to find out Stooge had simply been lonely.

She’d spared them several details she knew would only make them worry, such as the fact the Nordic tomb mentioned had held a Dragon-Priest-slash-lich, or that a literal dragon had scared her out of her wits twice.

Rohah folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket, then left her room, quietly coming down the steps. When she reached the ground floor, she stopped dead.

A snowy-white cat was watching her from the foot of the door. Its eyes were a light gold. The cat was staring at her, straight in the eyes, and Rohah felt an irrational fear freezing her in place. She felt certain the creature had a calculating intelligence behind those slitted eyes, far more than what was natural. Overwhelming instinct told her a wrong move would be disastrous. Rohah did not dare to breathe, and nor did she look away.

After a moment of silence that seemed to last an eternity, where human and animal locked eye contact, the cat shifted its gaze and trotted up the steps, tail twitching. The spell was broken, and Rohah blinked at its retreating back. It was just a cat now… just a dumb cat.

The cat was probably just like her Stooge back home. Cheered by this thought, Rohah stepped out of the College. As much as the logical part of her brain insisted everything was fine, she kept glancing back uneasily, certain the cat’s pale yellow eyes would be on the edge of her vision.

It took several hours for Rohah to track down a courier willing to take her letter all the way to Cyrodiil. Even then, she had to pay a large sum of gold to convince him, and the man warned her it could be a month or more until they got it. She had to send it, though, or else her parents would have eventually gone looking for her themselves.

Chapter Text

“So you’re telling me,” Norvosh said, staring at the table between them, a hand on his temple as if he had a splitting headache, “that you just spent nearly all of my gold for a single letter?”

Rohah and Norvosh were sitting in the inn again, halfway through a meal Rohah already knew would go uneaten. She’d been relating her day to Norvosh, chuffed about finally joining the College, when she’d reached the point where she had sent a letter to Cyrodiil. She had almost forgotten the money was meant for Norvosh, and her formerly enthusiastic demeanor had quickly gone quiet while recounting.

“They’re my parents,” Rohah said, guilt worming in her gut. “They asked me to write as soon as I could.”

“Rohah, I can’t believe you. We had an agreement. Eight thousand went to you for College tuition, and I got the rest.” Norvosh’s voice sounded strained, as if he were trying his best to keep himself calm.

“Look, I’ll pay you back,” Rohah said, glancing around the inn furtively. “I’m sorry, I really am. But you must understand about family, you’re an orc, aren’t you?” Her tone was desperate.

Norvosh scowled, apparently unmoved. “Why couldn’t you have taken it out of your own share?”

“I’d already signed, hadn’t I? It’s set aside for tuition.”

He groaned. “That letter was a stupid move, you must know that. How are you going to pay me back? You don’t even have a plan!” he added angrily, when Rohah remained silent. “Figure something out, Cyrod, and don’t talk to me ‘till you have.”

Rohah was so miserable with herself, she did not try to argue or stop Norvosh, who had stood and stalked away to his room in the inn, swearing under his breath. A few patrons glanced Rohah’s way. She left some coins on the table and abandoned her food, too depressed to finish it. She walked mechanically back to the College, stewing in her own thoughts.

I shouldn’t have. She knew that. Why hadn’t she stopped to think before acting? Did she just assume Norvosh would have been fine with the use of the gold? No, he had been very plain about what he wanted… Rohah had just been too self-absorbed to remember it. How on Nirn was she meant to pay him back now? She wished she could run out and stop the courier, who was already on his way to Cyrodiil.

Her feet carried her across the bridge, and she was so preoccupied, the dizzying drop failed to scare her. Stilde, the Nord woman she’d met, waved at her as she passed, but Rohah could only muster a feeble smile in return.

She ascended the stairs and pushed open the door to her quarters, then laid spread-eagled on the bed and looked blankly at the stone ceiling. What a mess. How was it possible she’d started this day eager to enroll? Now there was a hollow pit in her stomach, and it wasn’t just because she had barely eaten.

Rohah rolled over on her side, laying there for a long time before sleep took her.

Mirabelle was speaking to another student when Rohah came to her office the next day. She waited by the door and became very interested in a painting on the wall while the young Nord was told off by Mirabelle.

“ - aware this is the second time Sergius has complained to me? We’re not even a month in and you’re causing disruptions. I know your parents, and if this behaviour continues - ”

“Professor, it was just a joke, that’s all,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean for it to break, it was an accident - ”

“An accident that cost us research materials due to your carelessness,” Mirabelle said, cutting him off.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Nord repeated.

“I’m letting you off with a warning now, but act with more caution or I may write to your parents. Good to see you, Rohah,” she said, without so much as a pause. “Off you go, Gormir, and don’t let me hear from Sergius again.” The Nord exited, looking slightly abashed.

“Sorry for the interruption - Gormir had smashed a soul gem,” Mirabelle said. “He’s really quite talented at Enchanting, I watched him break a powerful flame enchantment myself, but the boy has no subtlety. Now, let’s see… your schedule… yes.”

Rohah took a seat on the now vacated chair. “What am I deciding on exactly?”

“Your major areas of study, first, and then your electives,” Mirabelle said. “What are you most interested in?”

“Restoration and Illusion,” Rohah said. “That’s what I’m best at.”

Mirabelle’s face almost twitched in a smile, and the motion made her seem more human. “But are you interested in them?”

“Yes,” Rohah said firmly.

“All right, then. Our four core courses are Destruction, Alteration, Conjuration, and Enchanting. We have three electives, which are Alchemy, Restoration, and Illusion. If you’re sticking with your choice, you’ll be taking six classes. You can take Alchemy if you wish, but I wouldn’t recommend it, as taking all seven can result in heavy workloads.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Rohah said, while privately thinking that she’d be lucky to brew anything but soggy ingredients if the opportunity was presented to her.

“Six, then,” Mirabelle said, “with a focus on Restoration and Illusion. Generally classes meet twice a week. Given that students have Middas off, you’ll average at three classes a day. Restoration and Illusion classes will be ninety minutes, and the rest will be fifty. Sounds good so far?”

“Yes.”

Mirabelle then wrote up Rohah’s schedule, which she folded carefully and placed inside the pockets of her College robes. Rohah left feeling inexplicably pleased, despite the argument of last night weighing on her.

She returned to her quarters on the fourth floor and checked when her first class was. Alteration, tomorrow - Morndas - at 9 AM. She’d need to get a watch at some point. Rohah’s heart sank at the prospect of spending more gold. Maybe she could make do without.

Rohah left her room, leaving her schedule behind. To her surprise, Gormir was on the third floor, lingering near a closed door and looking as if he were working up the courage to do something.

“Hey,” Rohah said, and he jumped. “What’re you doing?”

“Who, me? Nothing,” he said. “I, ah, was just about to head down. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she said, grinning. They both moved for the stairwell. “I saw you getting told off by Mirabelle.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, snorting. “It wasn’t an empty threat when she said she knew my parents… they grew up here together. Makes it hard to do anything without them knowing.”

“She told me you were good at Enchanting,” Rohah said.

“She did?” Gormir said, surprised. “Did she say anything else?”

“Yeah, she said you’d broken a powerful flame enchantment once.” Rohah could tell he was struggling to not look too pleased with himself.

“Yeah, well. Sergius is a pretty good teacher. He’s a bit grumpy, but maybe that’s just his old age showing. Hey, I haven’t seen you around - are you new?”

Rohah nodded. “Mirabelle was making my schedule. I have Alteration first thing tomorrow with Professor Tolfdir.”

“With Tolfdir?” Gormir said, suddenly interested. “Did anyone tell you about it?”

“Um - about what?”

“Mirabelle didn’t even mention it to you? We’re going on a short trip to some Nordic ruins tomorrow called Saarthal. Tolfdir’s bringing us and a few other classes for some ‘hands on experience,’” he said, etching lines into the air to indicate quotes. “There’s going to be actual draugr - can you believe it?”

Rohah, who had already been through one too many Nordic ruins, and seen enough rotten draugr to last her a lifetime, smiled and agreed with Gormir that it sounded amazing. He began to ramble on about the trip.

“ - and there’s certainly going to be all sorts of ancient enchantments and curses in there. Traps, torcs, trinkets - and probably some other things that don’t start with ‘t’. I wonder what kind of enchantments they might have used on their armor? I’ve seen some dead draugr brought to the College for study before, their armor has always been intact, maybe they had some kind of durability enchantment so it would last, what do you think?”

And Rohah, who was only half listening, felt a jolt go through her as he spoke. Of course… she had forgotten them entirely, and they were half the reason she came to Winterhold. There had been so much going on, and she hadn’t thought about them in a whole month, but Gormir's soliloquy had reminded her. Rohah broke into a run.

“I’ve just remembered something! Nice to meet you!” she called over her shoulder to a bemused Gormir as she dashed away, robes flapping wildly, but positively beaming. She was headed straight for the inn, where she and Norvosh kept their haul from Valthume.

She entered, panting only lightly, and saw Norvosh deep in conversation with the innkeeper. He turned away from Rohah, disguising his shift in position as innocently scooting closer to the bar table. Familiar guilt rose again in her, but this time she pushed it down and squared her shoulders. I’m trying to fix this, you know, she thought bitterly as she entered her rented room.

The money was gone. Looked like Norvosh had moved it to his own room, apparently suspicious she’d waste more of it. Rohah lifted her true quarry from their bags, the battered mask and staff of the undead Dragon Priest. She tucked them under her arm. Norvosh did not look her way when Rohah left the inn, and she could not detect any difference in his behaviour, except perhaps that he was speaking with unwonted loudness.

It didn’t take long for Rohah to track down Sergius, the Enchanting instructor. He was in the Arcaneum, reading a book, and he was rather irritated when she interrupted him. His vexation disappeared almost immediately when Rohah presented him with the Priest’s items and asked if he could please help her identify their enchantments.

Though both objects rested in his lap, it was clear Sergius had eyes only for the iron mask. He lifted it up into the light and tapped it, turning it over several times.

“I don’t know who you are, but what you’ve got here is very rare,” Sergius said. “This is a genuine Dragon - ”

“ - Priest mask, I know,” Rohah said. “It’s sort of a long story, so don’t ask. But do you know what it’s enchanted with?”

“It makes the wearer completely immune to disease, and poison by extension, I imagine,” he said. “‘Course, it’s not determining the enchantment that’s a challenge… It's figuring out how those ancient Nords did this that’s beyond me. I’d love to study this beauty.”

He spent several minutes examining the mask, and was only drawn out of his reverie when Rohah said hesitantly, “Sir - the staff?”

“Oh, yes. The staff holds a simple lightning enchantment, creates a wall of electricity. It’s not nearly as valuable as the mask. Strong, yes, but its enchantment is not difficult to replicate... You didn’t try either of these items before coming to me, did you?” he asked sharply.

“Uh, no. Of course not,” she said, the Priest’s grisly visage appearing in her mind’s eye.

“Good, good. Well, you’d best have these back,” Sergius said, handing her the staff and mask reluctantly.

“Do you know where I could find the Arch-Mage?”

Several flights of stairs later, Rohah had reached the Arch-Mage’s quarters. The College’s symbol - a lidded eye - was embossed on the door, and it made her hair prickle as she knocked.

“Enter,” a voice said smoothly.

She pushed open the door and almost gasped - the inside was beautiful. Arches soared up to the ceiling to enclose a small garden. Bright werelights seemed an acceptable replacement for the sun, as the plants springing up out of the ground were clearly flourishing. Shelves lined the walls, packed with all sorts of magical objects - staves, soul gems, scrolls... Her eyes moved past the display and fell on a Thalmor. The sight of him was less welcome than the rest of the room, but even so, he looked as though he fit right in with his elegant robes. On his right, a Dunmer who was clearly the Arch-Mage sat on a chair.

“I’m sorry - were you seeing the Arch-Mage?” Rohah said cautiously to the standing Thalmor.

He sneered at her. “I was just leaving.” Rohah moved aside to let him pass, and waited until the door closed behind him before she approached the Dunmer.

“That was my advisor, Ancano. Was there something you needed?” the Arch-Mage said. His red eyes unnerved her. Rohah recalled his name was Savos Aren. She had looked over her schedule earlier to try and learn her teacher’s names, and his was first on the list.

“Yes. I was wondering if you would be interested in buying this,” she said, lifting the mask, “for the College.”

Savos’ demeanor became less friendly. “I don’t spend my days cutting deals with every treasure hunter that crosses my path, you know.”

“Sir, it’s a Dragon Priest mask,” Rohah said, handing it to him. He accepted it, eyes widening.

Savos held the mask reverently. When he didn’t say anything for a few moments, Rohah scratched the back of her neck nervously and told him, “It belonged to Hevnoraak.”

“I understand you enrolled yesterday?” he said, not taking his eyes off the mask.

“That’s right, sir.”

“What would you say if I halved your tuition in exchange for this mask?”

Rohah’s heart seemed to skip a beat, and she grinned. “That sounds perfect.”

“Excellent,” he said, at last tearing his gaze away to look at her. “I’ll be off to make the arrangements with Mirabelle right now. Would you like to come?”

“No, sorry, sir, I have to be somewhere else,” she said.

They both left his quarters together, walking in silence until their paths diverged. Once Rohah was sure he was gone, she sprinted out of the College, elated. She was finally going to make it up to Norvosh! Rohah accidentally whacked a few walls with her staff in her haste.

She passed by Gormir as she ran. He was walking in a group with Stilde, an Argonian, and a Redguard, who paused their conversation to watch her tear past.

“Why’re you always in such a hurry?” Gormir yelled after her.

“Tell you later!” she shouted back, her grin returning.

Heads turned as Rohah burst into the inn for the second time that day, her short windswept hair obscuring her vision. She brushed it aside impatiently and poked her head in Norvosh’s room. He was whittling a chunk of oak wood with a dagger. Shavings littered the floor around his feet, and an open book rested on the nightstand.

“Norvosh,” she said brightly, ignoring his scowl when he looked up. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I talked to the Arch-Mage and we, um, worked things out. He agreed to halve my tuition, so I only pay four thousand septims now. The rest is all yours.”

Norvosh’s mouth hung open, and he momentarily looked struck dumb. Then he closed it and his face split into a smile. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

He dropped his dagger and the wood, jumped off his bed, took two bounding steps toward Rohah, and hugged her with enough force to break her ribs.

“Air,” she gasped. He let her go with a rueful smile, and she stumbled backward, grinning.

“That’s so great, Rohah, I...” But apparently he did not know what to say, and instead shook his head as if shaking off a fly. “How did you convince him?”

Rohah shrugged. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“And why are you holding Hevnoraak’s staff?” Norvosh asked suspiciously.

“Erm…”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned. “You sold the mask, didn’t you? That’s how?” Rohah’s expression was all the answer he needed. Norvosh snorted but looked pleased all the same.

“It was for a good cause,” she said. “I’m going to head back up to the College, I want to start translating the runes we found.”

“All right,” Norvosh said. “I’m going to start packing my things. I want to leave by dawn tomorrow.”

“That’s perfect, I can say goodbye before the draugr get me. Oh - didn’t I tell you I’m venturing into another Nordic tomb tomorrow at nine?” she said, laughing at the look on his face.

“You hadn’t mentioned it, no,” he said, joining in after a pause. “What is it, some sort of horrific College field trip?”

“That’s surprisingly accurate,” Rohah replied, grinning and just happy Norvosh was speaking to her again. It was hard to imagine that she’d ever been worried if their friendship would survive.

“Well, don’t get yourself hurt,” Norvosh said, a little more seriously this time. “Those ruins can be deadly.”

“I’ll be okay, the whole class is coming,” she said. “Besides, don’t you think I can protect myself?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Rohah spent the rest of her evening poring over her rubbings she’d made from Valthume. It was slow, tedious work, checking and double-checking each rune to make sure she got it right, then running through a dictionary of known Dovahzul words to find a match. The sun was turning the sky a dusky orange by the time Rohah had penned the last Tamrielic word to the page.

here lies Yngnavar Ghost-Bear who did seek glory on the battlefield of sorrow but instead found death and dishonor

“Cheery,” she muttered to herself.

Since she had no use for the knowledge herself, she donated the rest of the rubbings and her translation to Urag, the orc librarian, who was more than happy to accept them once she’d told him where they came from.

“Our knowledge on the ruins of Dragon Priests is scant, so it’s good you had the sense to record what you saw,” he told her.

All things considered, Rohah thought happily as she sank into her bed that night in the College, looking at the staff leaning on the wall across the room, and remembering Norvosh’s expression after she’d sold the mask, maybe those Dragon Priests weren’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

That morning, Rohah woke up early to see Norvosh off. She found she had not been able to articulate exactly what she was feeling while she watched him go - perhaps it was a panic at feeling alone in this huge province again, or worry for his welfare on the open road, or maybe the simple pain of watching a friend leave. She’d settled for a simple good-bye she knew she’d regret later. They were the only words she could get out.

Rohah went down for breakfast in the College for the first time. She was relieved when both Gormir and Stilde recognized her and waved her over - she’d been worrying mealtimes would be a lonely affair.

She introduced herself properly. Several others were sitting at the table, who did the same.

“My name is Feather,” an Argonian said. It was not hard to figure out why she was named this. A copious amount of brilliantly colored feathers sprouted from her head, cascading down all the way to her neck. The burst of color was like a splash of paint against their drab College robes.

A Redguard, sitting next to Gormir, introduced himself as Cinnari. He had a languid smile and a relaxed air about him that put Rohah at ease. He spoke placidly, but his expression betrayed genuine excitement for the coming journey.

Last was Odaryn, the Dunmer who had covered himself and Gormir in ash the last time Rohah had seen him. He seemed to remember this incident too, and grinned at her conspiratorially as he spoke. “You’re coming to Saarthal, right?”

“Yeah, can’t wait,” Rohah replied. “What are we doing there?”

It was Feather who answered her. “Practicing our spellwork on the draugr. Learning the place’s history. Stuff like that. Do you think they’ll let us take souvenirs? I could sneak a hand out in my robe… put it under Gormir’s sheets...”

“Please don’t,” Rohah said, wrinkling her nose. “Draugr fresh out of the coffin smell just awful.”

“You’ve seen live draugr before?” Odaryn asked her eagerly.

“A few,” she said vaguely. “They’re really not all that interesting. You’ll be sick of them by the time we get back - trust me. Anyway, Gormir told me there’ve been dead ones brought to the College before - right, Gormir? Gormir?”

“Huh?” he said distractedly. Gormir was busily stacking apples on Cinnari’s head, the latter of whom was holding extremely still.

“Never mind,” she sighed, while Feather, Stilde, and Odaryn sniggered.

“Twenty minutes ‘till we leave,” Stilde said, checking her watch. “Tolfdir said it was going to be about an hour's walk to Saarthal.”

“I hope these robes keep us warm, the weather’s foul,” Odaryn said, looking at the frosted windows and squinting his red eyes as though the wind was already blowing into them.

“It’s not that bad,” Stilde said dismissively.

“‘Course you’d say that, you’re a Nord.”

Stilde opened her mouth to fire back, but she was interrupted by a large quantity of apples crashing down on their table.

They walked along a partially paved path deeper into the more wintry parts of Skyrim. A light snow disguised the edges of jutting cliffs. The professors had warned them before leaving that straying from the path could be fatal. The icy terrain underfoot, lowered visibility, and sheer drops were a perfect combination to permanently injure anyone, mortally or otherwise.

Creatures kept their distance, intimidated by the size of their company. Dozens of students, clustered in motley groups, followed behind the four teachers leading them to Saarthal. Rohah recognized Tolfdir, their aging Alteration instructor, and Sergius, the cranky Enchanting teacher. There were two women she didn’t know. Stilde informed her the Altmer woman was Faralda, their Destruction teacher, and the Breton woman was Colette, who taught Restoration. Rohah took particular interest in Colette, as she would be the professor for her best subject.

Rohah walked with the same group at breakfast, on the right of Stilde. So far the frigid weather had discouraged conversation. With every exhalation, Rohah could see her breath plume out in front of her. Her robes and gloves were doing a good job of keeping her warm, but the exposed skin of her face was burning against the open air. She expected it to go numb soon.

Tolfdir and the Nord students had the least trouble; Odaryn hadn’t been joking. Rohah felt a twinge of jealousy seeing them unconcerned about the weather. Some of them didn’t even have their hoods up!

The road began to slope downward. Rohah was careful where she stepped, all too aware that a single patch of ice could send her tumbling. Saarthal soon came into view. It was much less grand than she had hoped. Crumbling stonework dotted the miniature valley the tomb occupied. Fresh timber supported some of the more precarious buildings, apparently in a recent effort to preserve what wasn’t already rubble.

The students quieted when the teachers brought them to a stop just over the ruins.

Tolfdir pointed down below. “See the intact door? It’s been magically reinforced to last over the years. We’ll enter through there.”

Everyone tromped down the stairs leading into the sunken city. They were instructed to fall into single file, as the wood was rotted and might not bear all their weight.

Once assembled by the iron door, the Altmer professor Faralda turned to address the students. “Our walk through will hardly go unnoticed by the draugr inside. They will attempt to defend the crypt from us. You have permission to use any spell you can think of to fight the draugr. To prevent accidents, we will be advancing through the crypt at a slow pace, to avoid waking too many of the undead. If you are careful, nothing will go amiss, but us teachers will be watching closely to intervene if our assistance is needed.”

“We don’t do this sort of thing every day,” Tolfdir interjected, “so I would ask that you remain mature and respectful to ensure we can have similar trips in the future. Anyone behaving inappropriately will be asked to leave.”

“Like we’d let you see if we were,” Feather muttered, too quiet for the teachers to hear over the whistling wind.

Rohah felt a rush of apprehension as Faralda opened the door. She followed behind Stilde, who was craning her neck to get a better view over the heads of the other students. The inside of the crypt was in notably better condition than the ruins outside, which had spent centuries in the company of the elements. Rohah wondered when the last time the building had seen a person was. The temperature was not much different than outside, but the absence of wind helped warm the students.

Tolfdir threw up a werelight as casually as one would swing a lantern to stave off darkness. “As you all know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements. Most of the city has been lost - we saw how small and desolate the outside looked. This burial crypt has remained mostly untouched, so it will give us the greatest understanding of the ancient Nords and their culture.

“The upper levels of the crypt are reserved for both the offerings of Nord descendants and the destruction of potential intruders. We’ve already broken the enchantments for the traps as a safety precaution. If you are observant, you will be able to feel the remnants of magicka they left behind.”

They passed through several rooms, following a general path downward. The crypt was much nicer than Valthume, as far as burial sites went. At least it was structurally sound. It was hard to feel any sort of dread from their dismal surroundings, not when she was clomping along with a mass of students and led by capable teachers. Tolfdir continued with a rambling stream of information about the long-dead Nords and their customs. Sometimes they were allowed to touch various objects they might have used. Rohah abstained, unable to get an image of decaying draugr grasping the Nordic tools out of her mind.

“This place is weird,” Odaryn said to their small group, glancing around as if he’d never get a better look.

“When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” Rohah told him.

Tolfdir at last announced they were likely near the first of the draugr, and advised them to prepare for combat. He was proven to be right when, within the minute, they entered a room where several of the undead charged them, crude weapons held high.

Flashes of light flared, and the students easily repelled the draugr. One was hit straight between the eyes with a well-aimed firebolt. Another running with a halberd was forced to stand in one position when ice crept up its legs and held it in place. A third draugr dropped its weapon and cowered, as though assailed by invisible enemies. After the initial attack, a second wave of magic rolled through the students, finishing off any draugr left standing. Rohah had not succeeded in creating even a spark, though she’d reached for the Destruction energy.

“Nice shot, J’zargo!” a Nord teenager said, and high-fived the smirking Khajiit.

“These are your ancestors, Gormir?” Feather said quietly over a dead draugr, a mocking grin looking strange on her reptilian features. “I can see the family resemblance.” Odaryn snickered, and Rohah suppressed a smile.

Gormir scowled at the jibe. “Watch it.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Rohah complained.

“Ah, you’ll get your chance,” Feather said unconcernedly, whose ice spike had taken a draugr through the chest.

“That was excellent work,” Tolfdir cried. “Let’s keep moving!”

It took two more waves of draugr, which were efficiently massacred by the students, for Rohah to realize she was unable to do anything remotely related to Destruction. It was immensely frustrating; she could feel the potential for her spellwork, as if she were on the edge of casting it, but actually executing it did not work. Frost, fire, lightning - nothing functioned.

She glanced around. The teachers were distracted by the draugr up ahead. Rohah raised a hand and tried to command a flame to flicker over her palm. The magicka held back, unwilling to be used. She creased her brow and pushed harder. Nothing.

Puzzled now, Rohah tried summoning her Restoration magic. Her hands glowed as usual, ready to patch up an injury. She let it fade away. Come to think of it, she’d never tried using Destruction magic - her parents had been adamant she stayed away from it. Was she just untrained?

“You good?” Stilde murmured under the cover of the students’ echoing steps.

“Fine,” Rohah said quietly. “I’m just not able to do any Destruction. Not sure why.”

Stilde shrugged. “Try a different school, then. They said any spell.”

“Good point.”

The next batch of draugr they confronted, Rohah used a simple turn undead spell. She’d never been able to try it before, but she knew the theory, and she was rather skilled at Restoration, so she expected it to work. It was a shock, then, when all it succeeded in doing was making a draugr falter for a moment before it broke free of her influence. Odaryn came to her rescue with a lightning bolt that travelled in a deadly arc to fry the attacking undead.

She’d barely made it pause! That spell was supposed to have a much greater effect. Rohah was troubled, but she tried not to show it in front of her new friends, who seemed to be having a good time in the crypt. Apparently she wasn’t as good as she thought. Rohah resorted to using Illusion magic on the draugr, with similar results.

Her poor performance was making her wish she was back in the warm College, reading a good book. At least the rest of them were having some success. Feather looked like she was downright enjoying herself whenever a draugr came her way. Stilde had missed with one of her spells, and - panicked with the draugr so near to her - had clocked the undead right around the head. She’d finished it off with a second spell while it laid on the floor stunned, looking sheepish while the rest of them roared with laughter.

After several more draugr attacked them, they reached a chamber with many split-off points.

“We’ll divide into four groups here, each led by one of us teachers,” Faralda said calmly. “The crypt is enormous, so I don’t expect us to cross paths again until we exit.” She divided them swiftly. The students who wound up with Colette looked the most unhappy. Rohah and the rest of her friends were with Tolfdir.

“We’re going to be listening to facts about Nordic architecture all day,” Feather mumbled.

“Could be worse,” Cinnari said lightly, glancing furtively at Colette’s group.

“What’s wrong with her?” Rohah asked him as their group began to move toward one of the doors.

“She’s a terrible teacher. Nosy and incompetent. Not a good combo.”

Rohah frowned, hoping it wasn’t true. She had been looking forward to her first Restoration class.

With fewer students to shepherd, Tolfdir made quick progress through the crypt. He was surprisingly agile for an old man. She had to agree with Feather; he had a tendency to ramble on, but to his credit, most of it was somewhat interesting. Rohah would know more about Nordic burial sites than she ever wanted after this trip.

Rohah was relieved to feel as though she were getting better at turning the undead that appeared. The practice with her Restoration helped substantially. She still couldn’t produce any Destruction, which disappointed her. At least she was able to make the draugr slow their attacks. She’d heard of Restoration masters so powerful that they could turn a dozen undead to dust with one spell. Rohah wondered if that could be her someday. Maybe if she studied hard enough.

The next few rooms they entered housed no draugr whatsoever. Tolfdir began to look visibly confused by the time they passed through their fifth empty room. They reached a door that led to a long, wide hallway.

“This is strange,” Tolfdir told them. “Stay close together. I’m not sure what’s up ahead.”

Rohah blinked, drawing closer to Feather, whose expression hinted that any draugr in their way would be unceremoniously blasted from this world.

The hallway fed into the biggest chamber Rohah had seen yet. What immediately drew her eye was the floating orb in the center. It was dark, with bright, alien designs etched on its surface, suggesting it was lit from within with blue light. It hovered above a glowing turquoise dias, bobbing gently and spinning in place.

The sight sent chills down her back.

“What the…” Tolfdir said, trailing off.

A coffin burst open. Rohah only just realized it had been lying close to the orb. She half expected a Dragon Priest to rise out, but it was a regular draugr. It snarled at them and rushed forward.

A multitude of spells from the students pummeled the draugr. It stumbled backward, but did not fall. Even more aggravated this time, it recovered and leapt for them. Students gasped - shouldn’t the draugr have been dead by now?

Tolfdir shot a glob of ice at it, which struck the draugr on the chest and stuck there, expanding until it covered its arms and threatened to tip the undead over. It stood there in silent fury. Cracks began to appear in the ice.

“It’s protected by the orb,” Tolfdir said, voice calm. “If you focus, you can sense the connection between the two. Those of you skilled in Destruction, please throw everything you’ve got at the orb. I’ll take care of the draugr.” He lobbed another ice spell at the draugr, who had nearly broken free of the first one.

“Um - what should I do, sir?” Rohah asked him while her friends and several other students hit the orb with all they had. The other side of the room had become a multicolored light show.

“Help me contain the draugr.”

She nodded and used a turn undead spell on the growling draugr. It took only one step backward - a difficult task when half your body was encased in ice. Her spells were weak, but she hoped they were helping Tolfdir keep the draugr at bay.

The draugr groaned, and though Rohah could not see a physical change, she sensed something had broken. Its protection was gone. Tolfdir, not missing a beat, hurled a firebolt and killed the draugr for good. He stopped the students from attacking the orb.

“Well, wasn’t that exciting?” he said, unruffled, as though they had not just done battle with an invincible undead. Tolfdir walked around the dias, examining the strange object.

“What is it?” Gormir asked, hushed. “It feels like it’s… I dunno… radiating magicka.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Tolfdir said pensively. Rohah could feel it too. The artifact had a strange aura about it that made her feel shaky. It was emitting a faint sort of hum that she could hear with both her ears and her mind. “This is utterly unique. We must bring it back to the College. Are any of you at all capable of Alteration? Raise your hands.”

Everyone’s hands but Rohah’s went up. She turned pink. It wasn’t her fault she’d never learned it! Her parents had just been a little overprotective.

“Good. Help me levitate the orb. Unless I am mistaken, we will have no trouble removing it from its platform. Rohah… why don’t you return to the College? We’re nearly wrapping up anyway, and the Arch-Mage will want to be informed of this.”

Rohah bit the inside of her cheek. He was only asking her to carry the message because she was the most useless apprentice. His voice was kind as he said it, but that almost made it worse.

“Yes, sir,” she said, trying not to let her embarrassment show.

“Thank you. Please be quick, and tell Savos everything that happened. And don’t let news of this reach anyone else, not even Mirabelle. Only the Arch-Mage should know for now.”

Avoiding eye contact with her friends, Rohah trotted out of the room and retraced their path to the surface.

Rohah had hurried all the way back. Thankfully, the trip was short and uneventful. She pushed her way into the College, happy beyond belief to be back in the warmth of the building. Without the students to fill the halls, the place was eerily quiet.

She recalled how to find the Arch-Mage, taking the same path as last time. She met no other people along the way. Rohah knocked on the oversized doors and was granted entry. She beheld the beautiful garden again.

The Arch-Mage was sitting and talking with the Thalmor advisor, Ancano. After a brief sense of deja vu, Rohah found her voice. “Sir, we, um…” she trailed off, glancing at Ancano. Tolfdir had warned her that this information was for Savos’ ears alone.

“Yes?” Savos said, prodding her.

“We found something in Saarthal,” she said, deciding to be honest. “Tolfdir said only you should know about it. We should talk alone.”

Savos frowned and leaned forward. “Very well. Ancano, you’re dismissed.”

“What?” the Thalmor said sharply. “I am your advisor. This sounds like a matter we will be better at resolving together. I see no reason to separate us.” He enunciated every word clearly.

“Yes, you are my advisor,” Savos said wearily, “and I value your opinion. But I am still the Arch-Mage, and I only hear your opinion at my discretion. Rest assured if I need to be advised on this issue, I will come to you.”

“I insist on remaining here. If nothing else, the Thalmor should be aware of whatever this young woman has to tell us.”

“It’s not that big a deal - just go,” Rohah said, frowning. Savos gave her a warning look.

“You’re dismissed, Ancano,” Savos said, a little more firmly this time.

The Altmer gave Savos a searching look, which the Arch-Mage returned with a stony expression of his own. After a pregnant pause, he stood and swept out of the room without further argument. He sneered at Rohah as he passed.

Once Ancano was gone, Savos sagged in his chair, apparently releasing a tension. “Sorry about that. I hope Tolfdir has good news?”

“Of a sort. I was sent to deliver the message. We found some kind of floating orb in Saarthal.” Rohah recounted everything that happened from when they entered the orb-room, and ended with how Tolfdir and his students should be on their way with the object in tow.

“Strange tidings,” Savos murmured, rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache coming on. “Thank you for telling me. You may go.”

She was at the door when Savos called after her. “Rohah, was it?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful around Ancano. You know he reports to the Thalmor. He could make life unpleasant for us. Watch what you say around him.”

“I’ll remember that, sir.”

Rohah descended the steps back into the Hall of the Elements. She jumped and let out an involuntary yelp when Ancano seemed to materialize out of thin air, scaring the living daylights out of her.

“You there,” he said, taking advantage of her surprise. “What exactly did your group find at Saarthal?” He was over a foot taller than Rohah, making the question more of a threat than perhaps it really was. His black, ornate Thalmor uniform lent him an authoritative air.

She swallowed. “Like I said, I can’t really… you know…”

“The Thalmor are very interested in what goes on in this College. We will be most displeased if we are left uninformed.”

This Altmer didn’t miss a trick. It was a casual statement, but the way he said it sounded like a threat. Rohah wavered for a moment, then said, “Look, I honestly can’t tell you - it’s just not my place. I’m only doing what Tolfdir told me to. I suggest you ask him.”

“Oh I shall,” Ancano said softly, turning and leaving the hall. She watched him go. He didn’t look back once.

Rohah felt weak, as though she’d run all the way to Saarthal and back. She felt a rush of sympathy for Savos. Now she knew firsthand what he had to deal with. How did he manage it?

She bought some mead from the local inn to take the edge off and returned to the College grounds to wait. If only she could have stayed with the rest of her group. What might she be doing now if she had? Offering moral support while her classmates struggled to levitate a giant orb?

Her wait was punctuated with memories of the embarrassments of the day. First she’d failed to give Norvosh a proper goodbye. She hadn’t even casted a single Destruction spell. She was sent back alone to the College because she was the only one in the class who didn’t know how to work with Alteration magic. Then of course she had to have been accosted by that stupid Thalmor, who terrified her.

And the day wasn’t even over yet. She vaguely recalled two other classes on her schedule - Destruction and Enchanting. How was she meant to do well in those classes? Rohah couldn’t wait to go to bed and start over tomorrow.

At least stewing in her own pessimistic thoughts helped pass the time. Before she knew it, she saw a large, floating orb in the distance, the students circled around it like wolves around prey. Tolfdir led them. They passed through the town, inviting exclamations and stares from the residents of Winterhold. The group marched up along the bridge, and once they got close, Rohah could see strain showing on their faces. They must have only gotten this far because there were so many of them supporting the object.

Rohah did not try to engage them in conversation, but trailed after them as they entered the Hall of the Elements. Tolfdir directed the orb onto the center focal point of the College, the same kind of blue beacon that lit Rohah’s quarters.

The focal point accepted the orb as if it had been waiting for it. Tolfdir and his students immediately staggered. The trip had taken a major toll on them.

“Thank you for helping me,” Tolfdir told them, recovering first. “I’m unsure if I could have moved that on my own. It was a group effort, and you all contributed. I can’t say how proud I am. Please get some rest before your next classes. I’ll inform your teachers of how well you did.” The group scattered, looking tired but happy.

Rohah noticed how she hadn’t been included in his praise.

The door from outside opened, and Rohah swiveled to see Ancano enter. He surveyed the orb, a hard expression on his face. She took the cue to leave, unwilling to be near an irritated Thalmor.

She opened the door.

“I assume this is the discovery in Saarthal your apprentice was unable to tell me about,” Ancano said coldly.

Rohah paused. She was hidden by a stretch of wall next to the door. If they were talking about her, she may as well eavesdrop.

“My instructions, Ancano,” Tolfdir said. “I’m sorry if it offended you in any way. This orb is a magnificent discovery, and I couldn’t risk anyone’s ears but Savos’ catching wind of it before it got here.”

“Be as that may, the need for discretion ends when I am involved. I am both advisor and - ”

“You’re with the Thalmor, I know,” Tolfdir said, cutting him off with an edge to his voice. “You don’t need to pull rank on me. I know of your position. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit apprehensive of working with you.”

It was silent for a moment, save the hum of the orb. Rohah could almost imagine a staredown. Then Ancano said delicately, “We are working to observe and improve this College where we can. I cannot do my part unless you acquiesce to keep me informed. I have this institution’s best interests at heart.”

“You know full well I don’t believe that.”

“Then you are sadly misinformed.”

Rohah heard footsteps. She exited quickly before either of them could see her, shutting the door quietly to disguise her presence.

Her next two classes were terrible, as expected. During Destruction, Faralda had them practice their aim with fire magic against far-away targets. Everyone’s firebolts were going awry and dissipating in the distance - except for Rohah’s, but this was only because they were nonexistent. Just as in Saarthal, she was unable to produce anything, not even smoke.

Feather and Odaryn were lobbing bolt after bolt at their targets, hitting them occasionally only through their sheer quantity of projectiles. Stilde grew frustrated when her fire did a kind of wiggle in midair and zoomed off into the sky. Gormir was desperately stamping out a fire by his foot. Cinnari had spent a long time squinting at the target and making strange hand gestures, but when he finally sent out a bolt, it struck the target square in the center.

“Now that’s how it’s done!” Faralda crowed.

And of course, Rohah could not even attempt to hit the target.

“I just can’t do it,” Rohah told her helplessly when Faralda passed by. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Why can’t I even make a little bit of fire?”

“Keep trying, and it’ll click eventually,” Faralda said. “Don’t obsess over it. It’ll happen when it’s ready.”

But Rohah doubted her.

At the end of class, they were given an assignment pertaining to the classwork; a short answer on what factors contributed to keeping a magical projectile on its flight path, due next class. Rohah wrote it down in her notebook glumly, figuring she could maybe ask Cinnari for help later. He was pretty approachable.

Contrary to Destruction, Enchanting was almost entirely theory-based. It was a welcome reprieve, despite the boredom that long lecturing commonly entailed. Sergius had a fairly interesting lesson concerning the actual makeup of a soul gem, and why exactly that material was capable of holding a soul. Gormir seemed unusually bright-eyed, asking plenty of questions, which without fail resulted in wandering digressions from Sergius. It was a note-heavy class, so she tried to keep her writing organized while their teacher spoke. Mercifully, he did not assign them work.

Rohah ate dinner at the College. She was relieved she could finally sleep and get this day over with. Tomorrow she’d have Restoration and Illusion, her best subjects. Rohah didn’t join the rest of the students in examining the orb from Saarthal, instead electing to return to her bed for an early sleep. Stilde was of a similar mind.

“I got enough of the Eye while we were carting it here,” Stilde said grumpily as they ascended the steps to their quarters. It turned out Rohah and Stilde’s rooms were both on the fourth floor.

“The Eye?”

“Yeah, the Eye of Magnus. Like the god of magic. That’s what Mirabelle called the orb. Well, good night.”

“‘Night.”

Chapter Text

Rohah was in the Restoration classroom with the rest of her peers by seven o’clock, but their professor was nowhere to be found. There was, however, a scared-looking dog in the corner of the room which eyed the students beadily. It held up one of its front legs, which was heavily bandaged from chest to heel. People were murmuring about it, so Rohah presumed this was not a typical occurrence in the classroom.

To her surprise, Gormir was attending the class with her. He was the only person she recognized, so Rohah claimed a chair next to him.

“I didn’t know you took Restoration,” Rohah said.

“My parents made me.” He certainly didn’t appear excited for class to begin.

“I know the feeling. What’s that dog doing here?”

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Healing practice?”

“The poor thing is limping.”

The door burst open to admit Colette. Their middle-aged Restoration teacher was a bit of an alarming sight. She had a wild, harried look in her eye. It was enough to draw Rohah’s attention away from the injured dog.

“Settle down, settle down,” she said, though they were all in their seats anyway. “I was held up by an anonymous student who thought it would be funny to spill a Stinking Potion outside my office. Now, I don’t know who here is taking Alchemy, but this behavior - ”

She began a long-winded rant involving responsibility, maturity, professionalism, and other terms that Rohah thought were likely to result in a second Stinking Potion upended her way. Her voice gave Rohah the impression she was consistently out of breath.

Rohah stifled a yawn and risked a glance around the classroom. The other students looked glassy-eyed. Gormir was struggling to keep his head off his desk, which was a remarkable contrast to his liveliness during Enchanting. Cinnari hadn’t been mistaken - this class was going to be painful.

Colette’s entire rant was likely only a few minutes, but it felt like triple that. When she at last finished, she put her hands on her hips and drew a breath. Rohah braced herself for another wave of lecturing, but to her relief Colette only said, “Now that we all know what’s expected of us, I believe we can move on to today’s lesson. As you can see, this dog is injured. He was caught in a hunter’s trap by accident several days ago, and has been lamed in one foot.”

Despite herself, Rohah leaned forward over her desk to get a better look at the dog. It was trembling, almost imperceptibly.

“Since we’ve been studying dog anatomy these past few days - ”

“Weeks, more like,” Gormir mumbled.

“ - I thought it would be prudent for all of us to get an idea of what healing the real animal looks like. We will not be able to restore function to its leg; it has been too long since the original injury. We can still, however, do a great deal of good for the poor beast. That’s what this discipline is for.”

She turned to face the class fully. “Firstly, since you all should have been studying your notes, which of the dog’s muscle groups must have been damaged by the trap? Raise your hands.”

Rohah put hers up. She knew this. She’d studied hard in the Imperial City. Since no one else’s hand was up, Colette was forced to nod towards her.

“The perforatus muscles,” Rohah said promptly. “Flexor muscles that move the toes. The dog might still be able to use the leg to walk, but not as effectively, and certainly not now while any pressure is still painful.”

Colette shook her head with a small smile. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. It is instead the teres muscles which have been injured. And without their assistance, he is permanently lame in that leg. Thank you for volunteering.”

“But I’ve been watching it before you got here,” Rohah objected. “He’s still able to move his injured leg forward and back. Besides, the teres muscles are situated near the shoulders, and the bandaging goes nowhere near them.”

“Is that so?” Colette said coolly. “You are new, aren’t you?”

The entire class was watching attentively now.

“Yes,” Rohah said, defensive. “Why does that matter?”

“Then I would expect you to understand that this class has gone over anatomy thoroughly before you arrived. At the moment, I could guarantee any one of us knows much more than you on the subject.”

The students swiveled to look at Rohah, whose mouth was working as though she’d have liked to say a thousand different things to Colette. It was silent for a long moment before Rohah pressed her lips together and slumped back into her seat, seething inside.

Satisfied she would not argue back, Colette hurried to the injured dog. Her shadow threw it into a slight darkness. It pressed itself closer against the two walls, baring its teeth, though not a sound escaped it yet.

“I’d ask you all to remain in your seats,” Colette said, rubbing her hands together. They began to glow. The students leaned around each other, the ones in the back half-crouching on their desks to get a better look.

Colette advanced on the mutt, her glowing hands and the terrified dog creating an eerie scene. The trapped animal had its tail tucked firmly under its body. It started to growl, a low, constant sound.

Their teacher hesitated only briefly before leaning down, closing in on the dog. It barked and lashed out, surprising Colette enough to make her jump back several feet. Gormir covered his mouth to hide a smirk. The light from her hands faded.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” Rohah snapped at Colette, her anger toward the professor not having cooled.

Colette heaved a breath, glaring at her scornfully. “Well, if you’re so knowledgeable, perhaps you could demonstrate how to heal this dog for the class?”

“Fine,” Rohah said, standing up and pushing her desk out of the way. “But you have to stand on the other side of the room.”

“Of course,” Colette said sweetly. “I’ll be watching.”

Once Colette had retreated far from the dog, who was now clearly shaking, Rohah sank to the floor facing the animal.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said quietly, eschewing direct eye contact. “You’re okay. I’m going to heal you, and you’ll feel much better. Don’t worry.” Rohah tried to ignore the fact that the whole class was listening. She avoided envisioning Gormir’s face while she spoke to the dog in comforting tones.

As she repeated reassurances, she drew on her magicka to work a simple calming spell. Rohah inched closer to the dog the whole while, speaking softly, calming it with both her magic and her body language.

Rohah opened a space where it could run; she didn’t want the poor thing to feel trapped. She reached for its paw slowly, and was relieved when it let her hold it gently. The dog was breathing shallowly, eyes darting from her to the other people in the room.

“Keep still,” she told it, knowing it wasn’t able to understand her. “I’m going to unwrap your bandage. It might hurt a little, but I’ve got to see the injury up close.”

As promised, Rohah took hold of the bandage and began to unwind it, keeping the calm spell steady. The dog still looked afraid, but did nothing except twitch once the cloth slid off its leg. She placed it on the floor and inspected the wound.

Like she’d predicted, the forearm had deep, zigzagging gashes. It must have tried to wrench itself free from the trap. The perforatus muscles were torn. Any movement of the dog’s digits would be impossible. Without interference, it would be stuck with a lifelong limp.

Rohah hesitated. Could she heal it all? It would be a big job. She’d tire herself. But she wasn’t about to show any weakness in front of Colette. There was more than this dog’s leg on the line.

Prepping herself, she lifted the paw and let the magicka flow, the energy lending her hands a bright shine. Rohah maintained the calm spell at the same time, grateful for her previous instruction in Illusion. The dog whined, its leg spasming while the inner muscle churned, so she kept her grip on the paw firm.

Rohah knew what the leg was supposed to look like. She knew how to use her knowledge and magicka in sync to heal the wound. She knew how to keep the dog calm with her voice and a spell. Her real test came from doing these things simultaneously, for minutes on end, without a break or any sure indication of success.

“You’re doing great,” she told the dog, her voice cracking on the last word. “Just keep steady now. Home stretch.”

The skin closed itself over the open flesh, and the last of her magicka fled her mind. Absolutely drained, Rohah leaned back on her haunches, knuckles dragging against the cold stone floor. She slowly became aware of many pairs of eyes on her.

Swallowing, mouth dry, Rohah cleared her throat to break the silence. “I finished. The dog is better now.” Her voice was scratchy.

The dog sniffed at its leg, as if confused why the bloody mess was gone. Rohah smiled weakly and took its paw in her hand again, placing it on the floor.

It initially resisted, as if believing the injury was not truly healed, but soon realized there was no pain on contact with the ground. The dog walked tentatively on all fours, then, trusting its paw, trotted around Rohah happily.

Gormir whistled, and it broke the ice. Rohah looked up in a haze to see her classmates clapping, every one of them clearly impressed with her. The only person looking displeased was Colette, who was reluctantly bringing her hands together with pursed lips.

“Yes, well,” Colette said, collecting herself after the tumult died down, “very good, er - what was your name again?”

“Rohah,” she provided.

“Rohah. Yes. Well. I’m pleased you were able to heal the dog. It clearly took a lot of talent - ”

“And skill,” Gormir said from the front row, not even making an effort to be quiet.

“Thank you, Gormir,” Colette said tersely. Rohah grinned at her friend. He gave a thumbs-up back.

The rest of the lesson devolved into a whole lot of reading. Colette had them memorizing anatomy from textbooks, which was exceptionally dull. The dog stuck by Rohah’s side the entire class, sitting patiently by her desk. She ruffled the fur on its neck while she labeled parts of the human skeleton, figuring if she had to have made an enemy today, at least she’d made a friend too.

“That was amazing,” Gormir said fervently when they walked out of class. The dog stuck to Rohah’s side like a burr, tongue lolling. Colette had informed Rohah the dog belonged to Hervar, Winterhold’s best tailor, and Gormir had offered to come with her to take the dog to its proper owner. She was interested to hear that Hervar had made many of the College robes, though their enchantments were the work of Sergius.

“I wasn’t about to admit defeat in front of that woman,” Rohah said.

“Still - healing the leg entirely? Colette couldn’t have managed it, she said so herself!”

“That’s because she’s a fraud. Did you see how she approached the dog? She should be ashamed to call herself a healer.”

Gormir made an indistinct noise. “She’s not going to like you at all.”

Rohah smiled grimly as they passed the grounds and crossed to the bridge. “I intend to do more than irritate her. I’m going to talk to Mirabelle about this.”

“Not a bad idea,” Gormir said.

He was quiet for a bit while they entered the town, so Rohah decided to switch the subject. “You know, I’ve been thinking. You were up to something on the third floor two days ago, weren’t you?”

Gormir’s entire body flinched as though he were struck. He blushed, and that was all the admission Rohah needed. His cheeks were slightly depressed, as if he were biting them.

“Come on, you can tell me,” Rohah pressed, grinning.

“If I tell you,” he said, “you have to tell me why you were running around yesterday.”

“Deal,” she said, so quickly that Gormir looked as though he was regretting the offer. “You first.”

He sighed, waiting until two locals on the path passed out of earshot before speaking as though he had to force every word out. “If you must know… I was there to…”

“To?” she prodded.

“To ask Cinnari if he wanted to go out somewhere,” he said rapidly. His face was so red that Rohah was surprised his head hadn’t caught fire.

“Like a date?” she exclaimed.

“Not so loud,” he hissed. “Yes, like a date. Please don’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” Rohah said, her grin broad.

“Well?” Gormir prompted her, eager to change the topic.

“What? Oh… yeah… I had made a stupid purchase with my friend’s money. I found a way to pay him back, so that’s why I was running back and forth.”

“That wasn’t a fair deal. You got to know about my love life, and I had to listen to your financial issues.”

“No refunds, I’m afraid.”

They arrived at the tailor’s house without any trouble. Vividly colored garments hung just beyond the windows, partially obscuring a spacious room inside. Hervar was beyond relieved to see his dog whole again. By unspoken agreement, Rohah and Gormir did not mention that Colette wasn’t actually the one who’d healed it.

While they trekked back up to the College, Gormir suddenly stopped at the base of the bridge, frowning. Rohah turned towards him.

“Do you feel that?” he asked her, blinking.

“Feel what?” she said, staring at him.

“It’s like… this faint buzz… never mind,” he said, when he saw Rohah’s puzzled face. “Maybe I’m imagining things.”

She shrugged. It was lunchtime, so they joined the rest of their friends. Rohah smiled awkwardly while Gormir told them all in great detail what happened during Restoration. Stilde clapped her on the back hard enough that she choked on a bite of bacon.

“Sorry,” Stilde said, grinning even as Rohah swallowed painfully, the bacon scraping her throat. “But it’s about time someone called her out on her bull. I’m so glad I didn’t take that class.”

Rohah planned to talk to Mirabelle about Colette after classes were over. She still had Conjuration and Illusion. The former was surprisingly fun - their teacher, Phinis, had them practice conjuring wolves out in the grounds. The air became full of shimmering blue light as the students gave it their all. Cinnari was notably the first person to succeed.

“Why’s every teacher obsessed with canines today?” Stilde said after she’d successfully conjured a gray wolf.

“I wouldn’t know... But they are rather nice, aren’t they?” Rohah said, crouching down to pet Stilde’s familiar.

“Mine’s having a snooze,” Feather said bitterly, pointing at a ghostly wolf which was clearly asleep. Rohah resisted a laugh.

“More spellwork, ladies, and less talking!” Phinis said from behind her, making her jump.

It took Rohah a long time to conjure anything. The spell kept slipping from her mind, likely because she had blown most of her magicka healing the dog. Once Rohah conjured her familiar, she was more relieved than she’d have liked to admit - since she was already a failure in Destruction, adding another school to that list would have been pouring salt on the wound.

They didn’t get much of a break before Illusion began. Rohah had been expecting she’d be alone in the class, but both Stilde and Feather came with her. She could see Stilde taking Illusion, but the Argonian had struck her as one to ignore the school entirely.

“I didn’t think you’d take Illusion,” Rohah told her while they sat in Drevis’ classroom, waiting for the seats to fill up.

Feather smirked. “You know why my name is Feather?”

“Your hair?” Rohah guessed, glancing up at the colorful feathers.

“In part. It’s my translated Tamrielic name, short for Feathered-Trouble-Maker. That’s because I created a lot of problems at home with Illusion magic. So my parents sent me here to put it to good use.” She grinned, the expression stretching strangely across her lizardlike face.

“Oh,” Rohah said, unsure how to respond to that.

“Your parents had good judgement,” a disembodied voice said. A moment later, a Dunmer materialized from thin air. One moment there had been nothing, and the next an elf was standing calmly next to them, his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Professor,” Feather said, while Rohah recoiled. Stilde snorted.

He chuckled. “I love doing that to new students.” Drevis raised his voice, walking back around to the front of the room. “We’re going to be working with the frostbite spiders again, folks. I’ll also remind everyone that they’re still technically College property, so don’t hurt them, no matter how repulsive they might be.”

“Why does the College need them?” Rohah asked, wrinkling her nose at the idea of handling giant arachnids.

Drevis smiled at the question. “Their eggs and venom help our research. Plus, what we’re doing now - practicing magic on them.”

They trooped to the room where the spiders were kept in individual cages. The spiders weren’t as big as Rohah was expecting. Each insect was about the size of her head; they could not have been more than a few weeks old. Rohah chose a green-gray spider with black markings.

Drevis instructed them in how to cast a fear spell, warning them the spiders might move faster in their cages than expected. Rohah was the third to succeed in making her spider scuttle around its enclosure frantically, beaten only by Feather and some Nord girl named Sodrirre. It was actually quite fun; she had no great love for the overgrown bugs, having read of their willingness to prey on people, and felt a kind of vindictive pleasure upon seeing hers curl itself into a defensive ball. Drevis paced around the room, commenting on their spellwork. Rohah hid a proud smile when he complimented her success. Finally, some luck!

“That was great work, everyone,” he said warmly once their time was up. “I think you’ve all got the general idea. Next class will be the last time you have to deal with the spiders. They start resisting commands once they’re grown. Syth, you did really well this class, I can tell you’ve worked hard. Keep it up.”

“I’m off to see Mirabelle,” Rohah told Stilde and Feather as they left the room.

“Tell us how it goes,” Stilde said.

“Count on it.”

The Master Wizard wore an impassive face while Rohah explained Colette’s behavior. When she finished, Mirabelle did not speak immediately, but rubbed the bridge of her nose as if she had a headache coming on.

“The answer is complicated,” she said at last. “I know you may be frustrated with Colette, but she is only a reflection of the College’s - er - views.”

“And what views are those?” Rohah had a sinking feeling. Just by Mirabelle’s tone, she could already tell nothing good would come of this conversation.

Mirabelle sighed and rested her hand back on the desk. “Simply put, the College looks down on Restoration. Restoration is associated with healers and priests, and, well… When mages see the College, we want them to see us as an educated, elite order - not another Temple of Stendarr to heal the common folk.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Rohah said heatedly. “I’m both a scholar and a healer. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Ridiculous to you. Most of the faculty here would disagree. There’s just no interest to back a stronger focus on the school. In fact, the only reason we have it in the curriculum is because the previous Arch-Mage wanted it there. If I could help you, I would.”

“Isn’t there anyone who could teach me?” she pleaded. “Some tutor you could hire? I’m not going to learn anything under her.”

She shook her head slowly. “I can’t. Savos would veto it. It’s a shame, but he has a point. The elitist attitudes you’re hearing about now are what keep the College alive. They’re why people travel from all over to learn here rather than get an apprenticeship at their local temple. They might even be why you came.”

“Maybe,” Rohah said, subdued. What was she meant to do now? She’d joined specifically to master Restoration!

Mirabelle had the ghost of a smile. “And even if the Nord townsfolk here distrust us, they don’t get too loud with their complaints, because we’re the reason they get any travellers to keep the money flowing. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Rohah. You’ll find no masters of Restoration in the College.”

Rohah left her office wordlessly.

She entered the Hall of the Elements to find Stilde and Gormir huddled around the Eye of Magnus, backlit by the soft blue light.

“Hey, Rohah, good to see you,” Stilde said, waving her over. “Gormir’s hallucinating.”

“I’m not!” Gormir said angrily. “Rohah, that buzz I heard - it’s coming from the Eye, I’m certain of it!”

As she drew up, she knew exactly what Gormir was talking about. It was the hum she had heard before - but then, it had been faint. Now, it was loud enough that she was surprised it wasn’t echoing around the stony hall.

“It’s more like a hum,” Rohah decided.

“You hear it too?” Gormir checked.

Rohah nodded. “Stilde, just listen hard. I think it’s more in your mind than in your ears.”

The Nord frowned and bit her lip while she concentrated. They watched her eagerly.

“Yeah…” she said slowly. “I think so. Maybe. It’s like... I feel like I hear it, but at the same time, it’s not really there.”

“I’m just glad I’m not imagining anything,” Gormir said.

“It’s strange,” Rohah said, gripping the stone platform the Eye hovered over. “It almost sounds… agitated.”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s a giant floating orb,” Stilde said, frowning at it.

“A magical giant floating orb.”

“Same difference,” she replied, sounding uneasy.

“We’ll hear if it has any significance sooner or later,” Gormir said reasonably. “I’ve seen people prodding it. If anyone blows up, we’ll be the first to know.”

“Gormir!” Stilde said, swatting at him. He ducked away, grinning.

As the days passed, the hum of the Eye became more noticeable. Every student had heard it by now, to varying degrees. People whispered in the halls about what it could mean; why had the Eye been so quiet, and why was it audible now? There were plenty of theories, the most popular of which being that removing the Eye from the crypt had unleashed a terrible curse upon the College.

Their professors and residing scholars had taken an interest as well. The Eye didn’t go an hour without some researcher examining it, running tests, taking notes, or flinging spells its way. So far it had shown no changes to any stimuli. The students had to get used to not being able to access the Hall of the Elements at random intervals during the day, due to dangerous experiments taking place within.

Rohah did not care at all for the Eye, and wished it was gone only so the student body could move on to some other subject of conversation. She had bigger problems; namely, her struggle to accomplish anything worthwhile in Destruction. She had half a mind to go to either Feather or Odaryn for advice - they were both excellent with the school - but Rohah found she was too ashamed to even ask. What kind of mage could not even summon a basic flame spell? Her, apparently.

She enjoyed minor successes in Conjuration and Enchanting, but flopped in Alteration. No surprises there. Of course, Rohah excelled in Illusion, which was quickly becoming her favorite class.

And Restoration… that was a whole other beast. For the most part Colette ignored her, but she got nasty fast if they were forced to interact. Rohah knew better than to start anything after one-upping her during her first class, so she kept her head down and did her work, no matter how indignant it made her. Their classwork was dreadfully dull. Nothing exciting past the dog had happened; they now copied notes from a man-and-mer anatomy textbook with fanciful handwriting. Gormir theorized the soulless work was her way of regaining control over the classroom, and Rohah was inclined to agree.

Rohah needed a Restoration teacher.

But not Colette.

“Hey, Rohah,” Gormir said, poking his head into her room. “Me, Feather, Odaryn, and Stilde are going to head out into town. Did you want to come?”

“Sure,” Rohah said, scrambling out of bed and laying her half-finished soul gem essay on the nightstand. “No Cinnari?”

He blushed. “I asked him. He’s busy with his Conjuration work.”

“But it’s not due until Tirdas.”

Gormir shrugged. “That’s what I told him. He’s pretty serious about that class.”

She walked with him to meet the others on the grounds. Rohah thought a local of Winterhold might have a heart attack if they saw the lot of them - five young adults fresh from the College, surely out to cause trouble.

“How’d it go with Mirabelle?” Stilde asked her while they crunched through a thin layer of snow.

“Not well,” Rohah sighed, and recounted the fruitless conversation.

“Makes sense they’d appoint Colette if they don’t care,” Gormir said. “I’ve always wanted to drop Restoration anyway, but my parents would find out.”

“I just want an actual teacher,” she said glumly.

Stilde bumped into her shoulder, nearly sending Rohah sprawling into the snow. “Hey, cheer up. It’s the weekend. You won’t have to think about her ugly mug for another three days.”

They first browsed the blacksmith’s wares, admiring the beautifully crafted arms and armor. Fenlok the shopkeeper watched them suspiciously, and did not leave his merchandise unattended until they were gone. Odaryn had to drag Stilde away from a small collection of knuckle dusters and concealable punching-knives you could secure on a closed fist.

Gormir convinced them to go check on the dog from Restoration. Rohah was also curious how it was doing. Hervar the tailor was pleased to see them again, and let them inside. There was no trace of the vicious wound the dog had sustained earlier in the week.

“It looks fine now,” Odaryn commented.

Rohah stroked its head. The dog gave her hand a tentative sniff, then licked her.

“Oh, gross,” she complained, backing away from the dog swiftly and wiping her hand on her robes. Hervar laughed.

They visited a general goods saleswoman, then an aromatic soap-and-perfume store, then finally a local artist with exceptional skill in wooden sculptures, joking and laughing the night away the whole while. There was not much to do in Winterhold, but with a group, just spending time in each other’s company was enough for Rohah.

At last Feather suggested heading to the Frozen Hearth to warm up and get some drinks, to which they all agreed. Odaryn carried a remarkably lifelike carved sabre cat he’d purchased from the last shop, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. It was painted with vibrant colors.

Stilde ordered their drinks and passed around the mead cheerfully. In the warmth of the tavern, surrounded by good company, Rohah was happy to forget about her troubles and live entirely in the moment.

It was getting dark by the time they left to return to the College. Rohah shivered against the sudden blast of cold after being in the Frozen Hearth for so long.

When they crossed the bridge to reach the College grounds, Rohah stopped dead in her tracks, staring. The cat was back - the bone-white cat with its pale yellow eyes. It was standing beside a pillar in the snow, glaring at her.

“You good?” Stilde asked her.

“That cat,” Rohah said, pointing at it. It had not moved an inch. “I’ve seen that cat before.” Her voice was an octave higher than she intended. Her heart was beating quickly.

It padded towards them, its steps light.

Stilde smiled at it. “It’s just a stray that wanders around the College from time to time. The students probably feed it. Here, kitty,” she added coaxingly, crouching down and holding her hand out.

Rohah watched apprehensively while the cat leaned into the touch, purring. It was just a normal cat. She must have been going insane.

“She’s cute,” Gormir said, bending over to scratch its ear.

“I suppose,” she said, plodding forward to close the distance between them. The cat weaved around Stilde’s arm to greet Rohah. Hesitantly, she rubbed under its chin. It closed its lamplike eyes. She could feel its throat throbbing with the force of its purr. The white fur was silky. There was no evidence of the fearful intelligence Rohah had sensed last time.

“Are you afraid of cats?” Feather asked, noticing her unease.

“No, otherwise I’d have dropped out once I saw J’zargo in my class.”

Feather snickered appreciatively.