#Estormo

[barvin0k]

more of estormo x ancano 🤪

[silusvesuius]

[jiubilant]

cw: horror elements

He’d been a scrib of three, sticky-fingered and clinging to his sister’s skirts like an anther-burr, when first he saw a war-wasp of the Dres. In less than seven years they’d be extinct: their cliff-hives burnt, their grubs smeared across singed flagstones or speared wriggling on An-Xileel pikes. But it had been a bright morning—the dust had glittered in the air like motes of kanet, like the specks the goldsmiths blow off their tables—and the messenger from Bal Foy had circled his glorious mount three times above the marketplace, like a victorious chap’thil, before landing her in the middle of the street.

“Give her a pat,” he’d said, laughing, to the children clustering round—and the adults, too, a few merchants and house-servants whose stern faces broke with smiles. “She’s polite, my Khes.”

He ran, that scrib of three—not towards the great wasp grooming her feelers in that circle of hands, as oblivious to her admirers’ attentions as Benitah, but to a basket of comberries abandoned at a fruit-seller’s stall. The first fistful he stuffed in his mouth. The second he stretched above his head, high as he could reach.

“Khes!” he’d called, his voice shrill and garbled with fruit. He remembers the moment even now. Juice dribbling down his wrist. Dust in his throat. His little heart surging upward with that cry, as if on jeweled wings. “Khes!”

The wasp turned her alien head, broad and shining as a bonemold shield. Her feelers whiskered over him. Out flicked her wings once, twice: sheer and strong as wevet, fluted like stained glass into a thousand fiery panes.

“Hold your hand out flat, hla!” the messenger called.

He did. The mouthparts that could crush a Nordling breastplate descended to meet it. Delicately, like a lady reaching into a bowl with finger and thumb, the wasp took a single berry from his palm.

* * *

He wakes in his cold dormitory cell feeling stiff, sore, and improbably cheerful. Mzulft and its horrors, the Synod included, are behind him; it’s up to Mirabelle, now, to decide what to do with what they’ve learned. A magic staff in Hjaalmarch—perhaps the first item of import, he thinks with amusement, to ever come out of Hjaalmarch. And the Thalmor know nothing about it. And he’s rising late from a bed, not a bedroll, with the fading idea that he’d dreamed something pleasant.

“She’s stung me to the heart,” he sings in soft Velothis over his washbasin, scraping off the journey’s stubble with his shaving-knife. The ancient song comes to him in snatches, like the dream. “She’s stung me, jewel of the sky, armored queen of the valleys of the Shir”—someone raps on his door, probably one of the prentices with a question about a translation, and he takes some smiling liberties with the next line—“one moment, per favore, s'il vous plaît—”

“Break it down,” says a curt voice.

The door crashes open. He makes a startled, absurd swipe with his shaving-knife at the first of the intruders—black robes, beaky buttons that glint gold in the firelight—before a burst of magic shivers through him like heat-lightning. He hears a thump. Himself, he realizes with belated surprise, hitting the chilly floor.

“Is he immobilized?” the voice asks pleasantly.

A chorus of subordinate voices, at least three: “Yes, Secretary.”

They’ve never gone this far, thinks the man on the floor, struggling to budge limbs that have gone rigid and heavy as kedge-anchors. Something’s emboldened them at last. A heavy-gloved hand dips into the neck of his nightshirt and fishes out his Company chain.

“Justiciar Ancano was right!” the young Dominion agent attached to the hand exclaims. He dangles the pendant in the light. “East Empire Company. A factor’s clerk. A pleasure, Master”—he squints at the inscription on the copper, above the tarnished ship—“Ramo, to properly make your acquaintance.”

That’s right, the clerk thinks. They’d bungled his name on the thing. Probably in the records, too. A laugh escapes his spell-sealed lips as a stifled huff.

“Kick him,” the pleasant voice suggests. “Oh, cousin. To scribble and scrape for the mayfly enterprises of men!”

Someone does kick him. He finds himself facedown on the hearth, seeing nothing, hearing creaks and thumps and curses as the Thalmor toss his room. One rummages through his sea-chest, takes something out, slams it. His ewer shatters. Floorstones scrape in protest as they’re pried up; the thieves’ Altmeri chatter grows excited, then. They must have found his papers. The clerk scrabbles through his mind for what little Altmeris he knows—

“Closer to the fire,” says the pleasant one in Cyrod, perhaps for his benefit. The clerk’s heart petrifies like his limbs. “He fell. A terrible accident. Put his cane—yes, there. As if he’d been trying to reach it.”

Someone drags him closer to the hearth. Flings his arm into it like a peat-brick. The heat bakes his hand. “I can seal his heart-valves to be sure—”

“Don’t be a fool,” snaps the pleasant one. “That shrieking cat who heads up Restoration would notice. Let us defer, out of respect for our cousin, to Velothi custom—”

The click of the closing door.

The silence.

He can breathe, the clerk thinks, breathing fast. He can blink. Involuntary motions, then, are not suppressed by the spell—only those that he wills. Sitting up. Crying out. Smothering the fire nibbling, with increasing interest, at his sleeve.

It was once said of the war-wasps of the Dres, he recalls with faint amusement, that the venom of their stings worked much the same. One was advised, perhaps as a way to bide one’s time before the end, to battle the enervation in increments: try wriggling a finger. A toe.

Something pops in the fire. The cell begins to smell of smoke and singed hair. He wonders whether the jerk of a limb exposed to flame, to that sharp, betraying sting, is involuntary—no, it seems not. The pain scourges his arm, his ear, the side of his head.

A finger, he thinks, concentrating all his awareness of his body into the palm of his lifeless hand. A toe. A terrible accident, they’ll say when they find him. Don’t think it. Hold your hand out flat, hla—

A strained rap on the door. “Magister?”

Relief crashes through him where the magic holds him fast. His thumb twitches free of the spell. It makes less noise than a crumb of peat shifting in the hearth.

“Magister,” calls the voice, dear and strangely small, “the—the Master Wizard, she wants you in the quadrangle—”

“Brelyna,” a familiar brogue interrupts, “J’zargo does not think he’s in.”

Her voice rises nearly to a wail. “Where is he, then—”

They’re going, the clerk thinks, gripped by a panic more searing than the flames climbing his sleeve. His hand jerks. It hits his cane, which the Thalmor had propped so tellingly on the fireplace-jamb.

The cane wobbles. He holds his breath.

Then, with a magnificent scrape, it clatters to the floor.

A silence.

“Is it unlocked?” asks Brelyna.

The creak of the door. A gasp. The panicked squeak of boots. Then someone throws the contents of the washbasin on him: a shocking blue chill, like a plunge in pack ice. He breathes out. His shaving-knife swirls past his head on a runnel of suds.

“Turn him over.” J’zargo’s voice, sharp as claws. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t think so.” Magic crackles in the air above his head. “I, I think he’s—didn’t Master Neloren show us how to dispel this? Let me try—”

Something heavy and sluggish evaporates from the clerk's bones. He stirs with some difficulty, blinking soap from his eyes, and finds himself in a circle of worried hands: J’zargo lifting his head, Onmund buffeting the last of the fire, Brelyna slapping his ridiculous half-shaved face.

“Hlai,” he rasps, laughing, trying to raise his arms to fend them off. They’ll beat him to death. Ai, a terrible accident. “Hlai, I’m not a rug—”

“You look a rug,” snaps Onmund, terse as ever. The clerk recalls that he’s wearing the nightshirt patterned with fleurs. “What happened? Who spelled you?”

The less they know, the better. The clerk flexes his hands, then his face, breathing with great care around the boot-shaped ache in his side. “Shouldn’t you”—the fire’s ghost gnaws his arm when he bends it, and he winces—“be in class?”

“In class?” Onmund sits him up so roughly that they nearly knock heads. The boy’s hands, the clerk realizes with a start, are shaking. “We were in class. Don’t you know what’s happening outside?”

Brelyna sits back in the mess of hearth-ash and washwater, rubbing her crumpling face with both hands. Her voice wavers like a shrill flute. “I thought you were dead, too.”

“Too?” The clerk, blistered and dripping, stares at his pupils. “Who’s dead?”

A muscle jumps in Onmund’s ashen face. J’zargo flattens his ears and looks away. It’s Brelyna, choking on overwhelmed tears, who answers.

“The Archmage,” she sobs. Outside, muffled by the dormitory walls, a scream pitches above the cries of gulls. “The Archmage.”

[undersaarthal]

average day at the thalmor embassy

[mazurga]

Estormo

[morpheus-somnium]

ondolemar, un-enthusiastically: we are like a big family. and i'm the mom and elenwen's the dad-

elenwen: why am i the dad? what gender roles are pushing here?

estormo: i know they're probably thinking i'm the son, but I'm not. i'll be the gay emo cousin.

ancarion: i will be the son! the hotshot! who's only dream is .. to be a star 🌟

captain valmir: i feel like i'd be the fresh out of jail uncle.

ancano: and i'm the sassy aunt who talks shit about everyone 🍷

[whitegoldtower]

I’m horrid, I know.

[anich17]

my old silly sketch of fem!Estormo + fem!Ancano from 2022.

Love 'em

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork Heart pt24

Part 23 here

———

Wyrm: *sitting at his desk, swaddled in a thick blanket and staring at voryn in awe as the chimer repairs his mechanical arm with the parts he’d taken from Mzulft* how did you do that?!

Voryn: *smiles as he tests the new joints he’d made with tiny dwemer spheres, making it function like a ball jointed dolls limb* Ah, I suppose you don’t remember any of sotha sils work, he was very fond of the dwemer and like myself and neht, befriended them. Seht was a brilliant scholar and architect, he thrived with our deep elven cousins and would often accompany Nerevar and myself on our visits to Dumac. Though… that was of course before everything went wrong between our people. *sighs and lifts the blanket from Wyrms body before fitting the arm to him* But, I did learn a thing or two from them myself.

Wyrm: Its beautiful. *smiles up at him* what was he like? Dumac?

Voryn: He was kind, always welcoming and excited for our visits. There were times he’d rush from his throne and take the lift up to greet us before we even had a chance to climb from our silt striders. He was fond of games, food, drink. Everything was fine until Kagrenac ruined it all… *sighs* He was closer with Neht then me, I’m sure he can tell you more but… I know it broke his heart when Dumac sided with the grand architect over him.

Wyrm: I think, he maybe thought he was doing what was best for his people, maybe he thought it’d benefit the chimer too? As a leader he’d have to put his people first right?

Voryn: not when doing what you think is right spits in the face of the gods. The good daedra warned them, the aedra warned them. And they ignored it all. And look at what happened to them. *looks down at the arm as he adjusts the shoulder harness*

Wyrm: *his Pearl eye flashing blue for just a moment* they’re screaming.

Voryn: *eyes snapping to look at him again* what?…

Wyrm: *literally didn’t even notice he’d spoken or remembered doing so* what?

Voryn: you just? I… never mind. *smiles deciding not to press further* can you move your arm for me? Let me see if it needs adjusting.

Wyrm: *looks down at the arm and tries to flow his magic through it only for it to grasp onto nothing, leaving it hanging there, limp* it’s? It’s not working.

Voryn: hm. *rubs his temple and closes his third eye* Perhaps I missed a step, no I’m sure I didn’t. I labelled the tendon wires correctly and the spheres should activate with the condui- The conduit oh gods I’m stupid this won’t work.

Wyrm: I? A conduit?

Voryn: Yes. Aetherium. *sighs* Though that material is more precious than ebony. Only the deep elves knew how to harness it, never mind refine it small enough to fit inside of the shoulder mechanism.

Wyrm: oh! I have some!

Voryn: i- *opens his third eye in surprise* you do?

Wyrm: *nods and smiles sliding out of his chair and running to his rucksack, only to finally notice everyone else’s bags minus voryns and nehts are missing* huh?…

Voryn: Wyrm?

Wyrm: *pulls the small aetherium shard from his bag before looking at Voryn with tears welling up in his eyes* m-my friends are g-gone? Wh-where’s their stuff?

Voryn: *finally notices their stuff is gone too, thinking they must have left when they were napping* Oh Wyrm, I’m sure it’s fine come, come here don’t cry.

Wyrm: *shakily walks to him, body still weak and sore and now his heart hurting equally as much making Voryn grimace a little in pain* th-they left me… d-did I do something wrong? I thought… I… m-maybe they weren’t, my friends. M-maybe they decided their debts were paid and they didn’t want to put up with m-

Voryn: *pulls him into his lap and holds him close* Shhh. Deep breaths now, let’s not spill more tears just yet. *dries his eyes already seeing them spill* I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation- *looks at the door as nerevar enters* Speaking of which.

Nerevar: *holding dinner for the three of them* Oh! Good you’re awake- *goes quiet seeing wyrm on the verge of a heart wrenching meltdown that could potentially kill Voryn if he’s not careful*

Voryn: Where’d the others go? Neht. *strokes Wyrms hair back behind his ears as he turns his attention back to him*

Nerevar: *deciding it’d be best not to tell the whole truth* The arch mage had some work for them. Said it was related to Ancano but wouldn’t let me press for details. They wanted to have Wyrm join them but, well neither of you are fit for travel or battle at the moment. They should be back in a couple days. *walks to the desk setting the food down* and you both should be restin-

Wyrm: *shakily grabs his wrist, barely holding in the hiccups already developing from how hard he’s trying to keep himself calm* th-they’re coming back?…

Nerevar: *realising what’s causing him distress finally* Yes I- Oh Wyrm no, no they wouldn’t abandon you, they wouldn’t leave forever without saying goodbye. *kneels down to display more comfort and sympathy in his posture* they’ll come back and everything will be okay.

Wyrm: *sniffles and nods feeling more at ease now* o-okay. *let’s go of his hand and rubs his eyes feeling silly for getting so worked up* i-i was scared I’d lost my friends again…

Voryn: again?

Wyrm: *nods and points to the boxes on his shelves* I had to pull them apart… A-ancano stole my book one night and- I lost control of myself when I couldn’t find it… they nearly destroyed the arcanum with them, s-so savos made me pull them apart… I only got to keep mr wrench. *looks at the dwarven spider now holding onto the aetherium shard waiting for instruction* and Onmund, J’zargo and Brelyna are nice too but… I’m scared I’ll annoy them too much and I was scared- i-i annoyed or upset the others into leaving too.

Nerevar: *clenching his jaw ready to snap Ancanos neck and feeling anger rumble within his chest that anyone could find him annoying* Oh wyrm, no…

Voryn: *picks up the blanket and wraps it around wyrm once more* Theyd never find you annoying little scrib, we’d never find you annoying either. *gently unbuckles the arm from him* Why don’t we have dinner and I’ll finish your arm before bed? I think I remember how to install the conduit.

Wyrm: y-yes please. *blinks looking up at the door as it opens allowing Enthir to help Urag into the room to join them for dinner* papa!

Urag: *looks over to see his sons tear stained face* … *picks up his cane* Which one of you did it?!

Enthir: BABE NO!

*a few hours later*

Wyrm: *Unable to sleep, nestled in bed beside voryn, everyone agreeing it’d be best for him to stay close to the high councillor in his sleep until they can figure out what’s causing his nightmares* … *rolls onto his side and looks over at his desk and his new arm glowing ever so slightly with the aetherium powering it, but still brightly enough to illuminate nerevars empty bedroll beside it* huh?… *sits up and slides out of bed, whole body wobbling as he gets his bearings* nerevar?…

???: the labyrinthian?…

???: there’s no way they’ll come back alive why did you lie to him like that?

Wyrm: huh?… *walks to the hole in his wall and peers out to see nerevar, Urag and Enthir standing in the arcanum, their only light the bright glow of a magelight between them*

Nerevar: would you rather I tell him they left towards certain death to protect him? He was on the verge of tears thinking they’d abandoned him how could I possibly hurt him like that?

Enthir: He’ll need to know the truth eventually-

Urag: he’s right… *sighs* he’s not well, and if we deliver him news like this while he’s still vulnerable it might kill him, or kill everyone else with whatever this curse is that’s afflicting him… *looks up at nerevar* But they’re a capable bunch… don’t particularly like any of them but… they kept my boy alive. And he likes them… he’s got a good sense for people. I’m sure they’ll come back fine… *glances slightly at the hole in the wall letting them know he’s aware Wyrm is spying*

Wyrm: *quickly ducks away from the wall as Enthir and neht turn to look* oh no… oh no no no- *hurries back to bed and climbs in trying to come up with a plan to leave unnoticed*

Voryn: *jumps a little feeling the dunmer scurry under the covers* wyrm? Are you okay?…

Wyrm: y-yes I- h-had to use the bathroom I’m okay. *snuggles up close and pouts a little as voryn pulls him closer, realising how hard it’s going to be to escape without waking him up now*

Voryn: *yawns sensing a some distress from Wyrm but chalking it up to his friends sudden absence or a possible fear of the dark or even going back to sleep and the potential nightmares returning* okay, go back to sleep little Pearl…

Wyrm: okay… *sighs and snuggles in close, his ears twitching as he hears the door open and nerevar enter again*

Nerevar: *walks to the bed and leans down kissing voryns lips softly and earning a soft tired smile in response* did I wake you?…

Voryn: mmm, no, Wyrm just needed the bathroom. *opens his eyes and yawns with a content sleepy expression*

Nerevar: *looks at him and then Wyrm before smiling as he sees the young dunmer clearly trying to fake being asleep* I see. *leans down brushing his fringe out of his face and giving his forehead a soft kiss making Wyrm scrunch up his nose in surprise as he struggles to keep up his pretending* good night little dragon. *chuckles softly before giving voryn one more kiss and returning to his bedroll*

Wyrm: *sighs and relaxes again back into voryn as he tries to formulate a plan, only to realise he actually needs to use the bathroom now* …Aw biscuits.

*a few hours later*

Wyrm: *testing the movement in the fingers of his new arm one more time before pulling on his cloak and picking up his bag* okay… *places his hand on the door knob and looks back at his room one more time to see Voryn & Nerevar fast asleep* …I’ll come back… *opens the door and walks into the arcanum before walking to his fathers room and peering in to find Enthir & Urag, both sleeping soundly* …I’m s-sorry papa… *places a note on the night stand* I love you… *creeps out of the room and through the library before heading down the stairs and out into the courtyard, the cold night air chilling his weakened body to the bone* I can do this… *walks towards the bridge slowly, heart in his throat, and then nearly exploding out of his mouth as strong hands grab him from behind and he screams in fright before spinning around and slapping his assailant hard across the face with his mechanical hand* LET ME GO!!! *pulls away as the tall figure staggers back revealing who he already knew they were*

Ancano: *holding his face in surprise at how much that hurt* Gods you little-

Wyrm: Don’t you touch me! Don’t you EVER touch me again! *staggers back holding onto his bag strap tight* e-everything bad that’s happened to me! It’s all been your fault!

Ancano: *eyes flashing with intrigue at his little pearls sudden bravery* My, my, where did this attitude come from? All my fault how? *steps forward*

Wyrm: FUS-

Ancano: What th-

“RO DAH!!!”

Voryn: *jolts up in the bed to see nerevar already on his feet holding his sword* What- Wyrm?! Where’s Wyrm?!

Nerevar: he’s in danger it came from outside!

Enthir: *already running out to the courtyard pulling on his slippers as he goes while Urag follows after him and the rest of the college emerges*

Urag: *holding the note from his night stand and moving as fast as he can as tears cloud his vision* no not again- not again please! *hurries out to find snow cleared from the court yard by a great force, and his son, and nobody else in sight* Pup…

*meanwhile*

Wyrm: *running through the village as lights illuminate windows, everyone waking up from the blast, his body already beginning to lose steam from just how weakened he really is* no- come on- please- *reaches his arm out for nerevars horse as he approaches the stables, the cold air stinging his lungs and blurring his vision… the pounding of his heart doing wonders to block out the sound of crunching snow as a strange figure approaches and bashes him in the head with the blunt end of their spear, knocking him unconscious* Ugh- *collapses in the snow*

???: *stares down at him before gently rolling him onto his back and fixing his cloak to keep him warm* I thought you were supposed to be smarter than me, Seht… why would you be so foolish?… *looks up hearing panicked voices of his loved ones approaching* They will return… They are not careless with your heart. *smiles down at him before suddenly disappearing with the chime of a bell*

*meanwhile*

Ancano: *nearly falls off the ladder entering the midden before dropping to his knees and gritting his teeth as he splints his broken arm* Little-sh-shit. Wh-when did he learn how to do that? Ngh- *coughs up what he firsts thinks is phlegm from being hit so aggressively, only to taste blood on his tongue* It seems I’ll need to teach you some manners again, little Pearl… *smirks* at least 3 of my problems will be out of the picture permanently… now to get rid of the other 4… *resets his broken arm and holds in a pained groan*

*A few days later, in the depths of the labyrinthian*

Taliesin: *laying prone next to Kaidan & Inigo after being ambushed at the end of the barrow by estormo, fairly certain his friends are dead, unable to move, only stare up at the other high elf as they take the staff of Magnus from his paralysed grasp* i-I’ll s-slaughter y- you once th-this wears off.

Estormo: *smirks down at him, twirling the staff in his fingers* it’s a shame. You’re not even worth enough to earn me a promotion by killing you. But, I suppose I’ll enjoy it regardless~ *raises up the staff bludgeoning him in the head with it repeatedly until he goes still* that felt good. *looks back at his men awaiting his orders* alright, let’s get going. *pauses thinking he heard a bell chime* …

Guard: sir?

Estormo: …Its nothing. *feels a chill run down his spine remembering the stranger in the blizzard* let’s go… *walks out of the barrow with them, oblivious to the hooded stranger walking to team dragonborns aid*

???: *stands over the three of Wyrms friends, poking them with the real staff of Magnus and smiling as they sense life* Your time hasn’t come yet. Seht needs you still, Wyrm needs you still… *leans down and gently starts healing them all the while looking at the door where estormo left*

Taliesin: *groans softly in his unconscious state* wyrm… my… little moth…

???: *looks back at him and smiles warmly, the oil lamp light illuminating their half gold and blue lips* He misses you… he ran to your rescue despite knowing he’d die before reaching you… *strokes the high elfs cheek, cleaning the blood away* please, don’t break his heart… *looks back to the doorway sensing estormos presence fading* For being such a dickhead, you’d think he’d know a dick just by holding one, even if it is a bit pointy…

[helgiafterdark]

[barvin0k]

hello hai

escano content for fans of f@cked up pairings 🤌 enjoy

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

Ancano had one friend in the world and he threw him away to play with a magical nuke. Estormo didn't do it bc Ancano outranks him, Estormo did it because he just wanted to see Ancano happy for once.

[jiubilant]

it's like the college of winterhold in here

[thequeenofthieves]

Elenwen: Estormo, keep an eye on Ancano. He’s going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Estormo: Sure, I’d love to see Ancano get punched.

Elenwen: Try again.

Estormo, sighing: I will stop Ancano from getting punched.

[fus-ro-dammit]

Who is estormo? My knowledge on thslmor is limited

During the Labrynthian quest in the College of Winterhold line, he is the Thalmor that meets you by the exit and tries to stop you.

Ancano (the main Thalmor guy in that quest line) told him to try and stop you from coming back with the Staff of Magnus.

I Hate Him because he is in my way while I’m trying to do things, he uses lightning magic (storm magic, eSTORMo) and he is all around a gentleman I would rather not bother with.

Thank you for the question. Have a day.

[oblivions-dawn]

The Curse of Elanor

As part of an amazing art trade with the awesomely talented @crysdrawsthings, I wrote about the silly OC Elanor! It was so fun [and hilarious] tackling a character that just EMITS clumsiness and chaos. Please go check out Crys and follow them for stunning art if you haven't already!! Always a joy to see you on my dash friend! I hope you enjoy~!

            “Elanor.”

            The Altmer twitched at the sound of her name in that cruel, bored voice. She glanced over her cup of tea, a wary sip at her lips—only to find Elenwen far more interested in the book in her hands than the Thalmor across from her.

            “Find something useful to do,” the woman quipped.

            “Such as?” Elanor asked thinly, biting her tongue to stop herself from distastefully insulting the First Emissary out of spite.

            Elenwen flipped the page. “Perhaps Estormo can distract with his little project.”

            Ah, Estormo. Ancano’s friend and assistant. He was stuck here in the Thalmor Embassy with the rest of them, although Elanor was certain that he would rather be at the College of Winterhold—she knew she would. She swallowed the rest of her tea with a large, forceful gulp, then went off to find Estormo.

            He was, for once, surprisingly easy to find; he was pouring over tomes and alchemical equipment and magical energies in the general laboratory, where he muttered to himself in deep concentration. Elanor, with her hands behind her back and a pep in her step, approached him confidently.

            “Estormo—”

            The Altmer man screamed in fright and whipped around, his eyes wide with fear as he clutched his chest. Elanor blinked, uncertain of the reason behind his reaction. Surely, he had heard her come in? She wasn’t exactly quiet.

            “Knock next time, would you!?” he snapped in huffy exasperation. “My research is very delicate, and I will not have some lowlife ruin it!” She pursed her lips at the insult, which throbbed painfully in her chest. Nonetheless, she was silent as he composed himself, his tone softening. “For what reason am I being disturbed?”

            Elanor stiffened. “I was told to assist you?” She sniffed dismissively. “Whatever that means.”

            “Assist me?” He glared in disapproval. “What could a peasant like you possibly . . .” His expression faltered, an idea alight in his eyes. “Perhaps you aren’t so useless after all. Quickly—stand here.”

            Elanor followed his finger and briefly observed the crude chalk circle he had drawn on the floor. She stood in its centre and tried to make sense of the runes before her thoughts were broken by Estormo again.

            “Oh—and hold this. Don’t drop it.”

            He hastily handed her a skull, although it was without its lower jaw and had an amethyst and sapphire in its sockets. Elanor stared at the intricate swirls that had been carved into it with immense interest. It reminded her of the skull she had gifted Elisif, and wondered if Potema had given the Jarl of Solitude a piece of Oblivion or merely killed her off. The memory brought a smile to her lips.

            Estormo’s soft yet passionate murmurs brought Elanor out of her reminiscing. She raised a golden brow.

            “Do you even know what you’re—”

            “Shh!”

            Her mouth snapped shut. His eyes were closed in concentration as he made vague hand movements towards her. Then, he fell silent.

            Nothing happened.

            “That—That should have worked!” Estormo crossed his arms and huffed as he tapped his foot, frustrated. “Why won’t it—?”

            Elanor idly placed her hand on the crown of the skull.

            Crack!

            Both of them jumped at the sound. The skull now had a massive fracture down the centre. Elanor lifted her hand—and it crumbled into pieces to the floor. For a long moment, neither of them dared to speak, stunned.

            “What a shitty skull,” Elanor finally said.

            “You—” Estormo’s face became a deep shade of angry red. “You ruin EVERYTHING!”

            “Elanor.”

            Her eyes snapped towards the voice. Her stomach sunk when she saw Elenwen, who looked on with disapproval.

            “Perhaps you would be of better use in the kitchens.”

            And so she went to the kitchens—and, in less than five minutes, proceeded to spill an entire cauldron of soup onto the floor.

            “Elanor! Go write for our scribes.”

            Everything was going rather well for her—until a shiny beetle scuttled across her desk, and caused her quill dug too deeply and tore several pages of beautifully crafted parchment.

            “Oh Elanor. Can’t you do anything right? Clean it up.”

            Out of frustration, she knocked expensive ink all over a stack of books and missed her intended target: the scribe’s hand. No matter what she did, Elenwen’s sharp voice rang across the space and pierced her pointed ears. The Thalmor Embassy was a sliver of Oblivion in Nirn that Elanor desperately wished she could crush beneath her own hands.

            “That’s quite enough out of you. Go to your room, Elanor.”

            With a flare of her nostrils, she began to trudge to her room—then Elenwen stopped her.

            “And take this,” she snipped as she shoved a letter into her gloved hands.

            Elanor’s interest was piqued as she went to her room, her eyes pointed at the scroll tied with a silky blue ribbon. She entered her room and shut the door behind her, then sat on her bed. She tugged on the ribbon and it unravelled with ease. She unfurled the scroll, then gasped. She recognised the elegant yet straightforward handwriting.

            Silence elapsed as she read Ancano’s letter. Sadness swelled in her chest. He was just as cruel as ever; although it was merely a letter, she could hear his sneer as if he was beside her.

            “Thuri.”

            A small scream escaped Elanor’s lips. With her attention torn away from the contents of the letter, she turned to find—to her surprise—Alduin. Somehow, the dragon had fit his very large head through her window—and without her notice. Her red eyes gleamed down at her.

            “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, his voice gruff yet genuine. “I could sense your so from across Taazokaan.”

            Elanor gaped openly at him. She had a million and one questions to ask him, and they all rushed her at once at a dizzying speed. How in Oblivion did he get through the window with his massive head? Was she projecting that much, or was he just messing with her? Was he really here for something so simple, so human? And why on Nirn would a dragon—much less the World-Eater himself—involve himself in such petty matters?

            She had no answers—and frankly, she didn’t want them. She simply held up her letter and watched as his eyes darted across the page, his expression unreadable.

            Then, he opened his mouth, and moved forward. She quickly snatched the letter away just as his jaws clicked shut.

            “Don’t eat it!” she screeched.

            “It’s upsetting you, thuri,” Alduin argued as his nostrils flared. “A dovahkiin should not suffer from such petty—”

            “It is not petty. I’m sad because . . . because I miss him.” Elanor’s shoulders dropped as her eyes skimmed the letter again. “I really miss him.”

            “You . . . joor mey.” He shook his head. “He is cruel with his words. You are worthy of more than that.”

            “See, and this is why it’s my letter and not yours,” Elanor defended. “I understand him. You don’t. Because you’re an idiot.”

            Alduin bristled, his eyes narrowed. “I am not—”

            The door burst open. Elanor whipped around to find Elenwen. Panic clawed at her throat. How was she going to explain why a dragon was—

            “Elanor,” the woman huffed. “I have an assignment for you.”

            “Uh . . .” She glanced over her shoulder—and found that Alduin was gone. She was bewildered. Had she imagined his presence? No—that was impossible. She wasn’t that crazy. She knew what crazy was—and it certainly was not her. How he had appeared and disappeared was a mystery to her, and one that she would have to solve another time. She nervously turned her attention back to Elenwen. “An assignment?”

            “Yes.” She clasped her hands behind her back, her face settled into a blank slate. “I’ve received word that you’re . . . needed at the College of Winterhold. Savos Aren is proving extremely difficult as late, so it was suggested that you and Estormo go and investigate with Ancano to find the root of the Arch-Mage’s newfound arrogance.” Her glare hardened. “This mission is the upmost importance, and I will not accept failure. Are we clear?”

            Butterflies fluttered in Elanor’s stomach. The College of Winterhold? With Ancano? The news was so sudden that she had to repress the urge to cackle with joy. Nirn was on her side after all, for not only would she see Ancano on a daily basis again, but she would get out from beneath Elenwen’s snobby nose. Perhaps, when she returned, she would curse that nose of hers to never smell again.

            Emboldened by this news, Elanor allowed a wide smile to stretch her lips.

            “Yes, First Emissary. We are crystal.”