Whitney Writes…

Arya awoke with her typical pounding headache the following morning. Thankfully, her bedroom was at least not spinning this time. She groaned as she sat up on her bed – she had apparently not even bothered getting into bed. On her bedside table sat a tall, thin glass of thick green liquid: her uncle’s hangover cure. She smiled, grateful for his ever present forethought. Even though he had likely been rushing out to leave for Solitude at first light, he had thought of his niece first. She picked up the glass and drank it in one, long gulp, shuddering only slightly at the taste.

The rest of their family apartments were quiet; Savos having left already for Solitude, and Tolfdir likely off preparing for a lecture. Briefly, Arya wondered what Brelyna was doing before the Destruction lecture, but she had an idea. Her friend was likely off flirting with that new Dunmer from Morthal, trying to get him to help her with her calculations for configuration again. So, Arya made herself her own breakfast, then tidied up, before heading down to the lecture hall.

The Hall of Elements was still quite empty upon her arrival, most of the students still lingering in the dining hall or reluctant to leave their warm beds. Instead of going to one of her typical seats near the back, Arya chose a seat closer to the front. She was hoping the second row wouldn’t be too obvious that she had an agenda, but she still received some curious looks as others began to fill the hall.

Brelyna had walked straight past her initially, only backing back up the aisle after a good ten seconds. Her dark gaze looked over Arya towards their usual corner. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” Brelyna murmured as she slid past Arya to plop herself down onto the seat beside her.

“I’m trying something new,” Arya said with a small shrug. She couldn’t meet Brelyna’s gaze or her friend would know something was up.

“Right…” Brelyna said skeptically as she pulled her leatherbound notebook from her satchel. “Because you’re the queen of trying new things…” Arya didn’t need to see her best friend’s face to know she was rolling her eyes.

A tall, woman, though short for an elven woman, entered the hall. Her golden hair was pulled back messily, her fur arm wrappings were stained, and her dark blue tunic was disheveled with the golden magical runes faint, barely legible. There were snickers from some of the younger students as she stubbed the toe of one of her tattered boots on a protruding floor tile edge and scattered her papers at the foot of the lectern. This Altmeri woman was the Destruction Master of the College, her skills were unmatched. But her presentation was always… lacking. The relentless rumors spread by Nirya Gaeaire certainly did not help Faralda Larethal’s image as one of the most powerful destruction mages in Skyrim, if not all of Tamriel.

The other students present snickered and Arya watched as the professor’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she knelt to collect her papers. Arya felt herself rising and pushing her way through those seated on the first row of benches, Brelyna’s shocked stare boring into her back. She figured is she was going to buck her uncle’s rules today, she might as well go all out.

“Thank you, Arya,” Faralda said quietly as Arya knelt beside her, gathering papers strewn about the stone floor.

“Of course,” Arya said, “I don’t understand why the others are all so awful to you.”

“They believe what Nirya says of me,” Faralda said simply as though it did not bother her. “Why let it bother me when I cannot change it?” Faralda said, answering Arya’s unspoken question. Arya ruminated on that question as she returned to her seat beside Brelyna.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Brelyna asked again, muttering in an astonished tone, looking Arya up and down.

“Just… watch,” Arya hissed, waving her friend off.

Faralda was slapping her hands on the lectern to gather attention. “If I can have your attention,” she called out, “I would like to begin. We are going to do a practical demonstration today, and I will need some volunteers.” Arya’s hand was in the air before Faralda had even finished her sentence. “Well, then, Miss Aren, I have long wished you would participate more in class and today seems to be my lucky day, please, come up front.”

“What…” Brelyna murmured to Arya’s back.

There was snickering from a few rows back, “Oh, if she’s doing it, then I also volunteer,” came the voice of Manuel. He did not even wait for Falrada to call him forth, the Breton student just rose from his seat and shoved his way forward. Arya stared at him as he approached, keeping her face unreadable, her expression blank. “I look forward to incinerating you for yesterday,” he sneered.

“You would be so lucky,” Arya said under her breath as Professor Faralda began to explain the practical demonstration the pair of them would be performing. Manuel was to perform any apprentice level destruction spell he had in his repertoire; whether it be Firebolt, Ice Spikes, or Lightning Bolt. Whilst Arya would perform a ward to protect herself. And then they would switch. She knew Manuel struggled with consistently casting spells of the apprentice level, so Arya knew she had time to think of what her own moves would be. Tolfdir had said to “show off”. But she also did not wish to lose control, thus nulling her point. And she assumed Amoo would never forgive her for killing Manuel. No patter how much he deserved it.

On the third try, Manuel managed to cast Ice Spikes. Which Arya deflected with little effort; though, she did make a show of not getting her ward up right away which rewarded her with an alarmed gasp from Brelyna.

When it was time for Manuel to ward up and for Arya to cast her spell, she had finally decided what she would go for. She would not just settle for one. As she swirled her hands before her, pulling the mana to her, Arya could see Manuel’s brows quirk in a brief momentary confusion. Anyone who had even remotely studied magic would be able to tell she was pulling more than an apprentice level spell.

Arya threw down the spell and a wall of flames erupted between herself and Manuel. She could see the terror on his face through the stable flames. Screams reverberated through the classroom. Arya began swirling her hands before her once more, pulling more mana to her. She stepped through the wall of flames – a thing that one should not be able to do, they burned indiscriminately – moving towards Manuel. He began backing away in alarm. Arya was aware of Professor Faralda waving her arms wildly at her. And all she could do was smile. This felt good. Arya shot Thunderbolt after Thunderbolt at Manuel’s feet, causing him to dance across the stone floor of the hall, without scarcely a second thought or breaking a sweat.

By the time a blue shimmer spread across her arms, Manuel’s hair had been singed, his robes burnt, his skin blackened and he cradled one arm. Arya stared at the shimmer – a reverse ward, to keep her magic in – and unballed her fists, releasing the mana she had pulled. The sounds of the hall were faint, muffled. Faralda was ushering the other students, who were all looking in horror at her, out of the hall. Ancano, her uncle’s “advisor” and the spy of the Thalmor, stood along one wall, watching her intently. She hadn’t noticed him arrive. What was that look in his eyes? Hunger? The typical Thalmor greed?

His presence stirred Arya back to her senses, she could barely make out what Faralda was saying through the ward.

“Are you quite finished?” she demanded. “In all my days… You could have killed that boy! But to suddenly cast that level of spell… No, I shouldn’t be impressed… Straight to your uncles with you!!” The professor spun away from Arya. “You, Miss Maryon! Take your friend straight to my office while I hunt down Tolfdir and the Arch Mage!”

Arya moved towards Brelyna and flinched at the way her best friend looked at her. As they exited the hall, Arya kept expecting her best friend to fall into step beside her, but Brelyna never appeared. Arya glanced over her shoulder and saw Brelyna following two steps behind her. She stopped, allowing her friend to catch up, but Brelyna stopped also. She was actually escorting her… Was she afraid of her?

On the stairs up to the level with the professor’s offices on them, Arya planned to round on Brelyna, demanding to know what her problem was. But she didn’t get the chance. Her friend shoved past her on the steps, blocking her path.

“What is wrong with you?!” Brelyna demanded. Arya stared at her, blankly. “You could have killed him, Arya!!” She waved her hands in a scoffing, dismissive manner “Not to mention the part where you can SUDDENLY PERFORM EXPERT LEVEL SPELLS!” Arya opened her mouth to speak. “And don’t you dare lie to me,” Brelyna spat, “you could barely put together a Novice spell three days ago.” She sneered at Arya. “And you can, what, suddenly perform more than a dozen Expert level spells back-to-back, without even looking like you’re trying? Do things Professor Faralda can’t?”

Arya bit her lip.

“Well?!” Brelyna shouted, “Aren’t you going to say anything in your defense?!”

Arya thought of her uncles. They were going to be furious with her. Would it be better to have Brelyna furious with her at the same time? Have it all over with?

“It was a lie that I couldn’t perform magic,” Arya said, finally.

“Obviously,” Brelyna spat. “For how long?” Arya gave her a questioning look. “For how long have you been lying to me?”

“I… I could perform Adept level magic before I was five,” Arya said softly.

Brelyna stared at her incredulously. “For more than a century?” she demanded in disbelief. “You’ve been lying to me for more than a century?!”

“I’m sorry, B,” Arya said quickly reaching for her friend’s hand, “but I couldn’t.”

“No,” Brelyna said, wrenching her arm away, “you could have. You just chose not to.”

“But Savos and Tolfdir-”

A look of hurt washed across Brelyna’s face. “What… did you think I was going to spy on you for them?” She shook her head when Arya began to open her mouth to speak. “You know what, no,” Brelyna said, “I don’t want to hear it. I can’t even look at you right now.” She pushed past Arya once more, retreating down the stairs. “Faralda’s office is up there, you know the way,” she spat, and disappeared down the spiral stairs.

Arya bit her lip as she watched her friend’s back disappear around a corner. Had she gone too far? She looked up the staircase where it curved into darkness to the level of professors’ offices, then she looked back down, past where Brelyna had exited the stairwell, where it returned to the main hall. She had been left to her own choice…

Sod it.

She hurried down the steps, rounding the bend in the spiral at haste, her boots thudding the stone. The entrance hall on the ground floor was empty, Arya hurried across it and darted up the staircase that led up to the Arch Mage’s apartments. She took the steps two at a time. She just wanted to be alone in her bed.

When she reached the top of the staircase, Arya hurled her magic at the locking mechanism and scarcely waited for the Dwemer bits to slid out of the way before ripping the door open and allowing it to slam behind her.

“Paba?” she called carefully as she stepped into the main chamber of their apartments. She was greeted by silence. Good. She crossed the main chamber and went to her bedroom, closing her door behind her and falling onto her bed. She traced the pattern on her blanket until her eyes drifted closed.

She jolted awake, her heart was hammering in her chest. Sitting up, Arya looked around her room. What had awoken her? She had been dreaming the dream she had had as a child again, all she could remember were the amber eyes that peered over the edge of the roof at her. Now that she thought about it, there had been something familiar about those eyes… something she could not put her finger on just yet.

“ARYA!” Tolfdir bellowed. That had likely been what had woken her. His voice was shaking with anger. She had only heard him have this tone one other time in her life, and she had not been permitted to witness the outcome. It was fuzzy in her memory, but she thought it had had to do with her father…

There was a banging on her bedroom door. Time to stop hiding…

She rose and moved to her door, opening it to see Tolfdir, the levelheaded man who had raised her and nurtured her since before she could remember. His face was red with anger. His body was trembling. At the sight of her, anguish washed over his wrinkled face.

“What have you done?” he said weakly, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“I…” she stopped herself. She had been about to say I didn’t mean it. But she had. “Surely nothing that happened to Manuel was more than what Professor Colette can handle…”

“What?” Tolfdir stared at her as though she had grown a second head, sinking down onto one of the sofas.

“Manuel’s injuries…” Arya started.

Tolfdir waved dismissively. “I don’t care about that whingeing little twit,” he said. He inclined his head. “Whilst, yes, that will create a minor headache for Savos, it’s nothing compared to the other comparative damage.”

“What damage?” Arya pressed. She was positive she hadn’t damaged the Hall of Elements in any manner. She watched as Tolfdir raked his hands through his silver hair.

“Savos is going to kill me,” Tolfdir was murmuring under his breath.

Arya crossed the chamber and sank down onto the sofa beside him. “Paba,” she said quietly, “what are you talking about? What damage?”

“If we had been honest from the beginning, perhaps this never would have happened,” Tolfdir said plaintively. “Perhaps you would have never felt you had anything to prove…” He stood abruptly. “How to contain this…” He began pacing the flagstone floor. “You’ll be confined to our quarters until Amoo returns home,” he said abruptly, “no classes, no lectures, no Arcanaeum, no Brelyna.”

“Well, that last one won’t be a problem,” Arya grumbled.

The week passed slowly for Arya. She stayed mostly in her own bedroom, as Tolfdir was prone to bursts of strong emotion. Sometimes he was so angry with her, he could hardly speak. Other times he was beside himself with grief. She often wanted to ask him what was prompting all these waves of feelings, but she thought better of it. Something told Arya that she would never hear the end of it once her uncle returned.

On the seventh day after the incident, as Arya had taken to referring to it to herself, she emerged from her bedroom once the warm sunrays filtering through had woken her. When she opened her bedchamber door, she was a bit startled by the view that greeted her. Her uncles sat at the dining table together, their heads close together in deep discussion, both clutching steaming cups of coffee. And a large, shaggy, grey dog lay on the floor in front of the hearth.

“Who is this handsome boy?” Arya asked eagerly, going to the hearth and kneeling beside the dog. It’s grey tail swished as it wagged across the stone floor when she cupped it’s face in her hands.

“That,” came Savos Aren’s voice, “is Meeko. I found him on my travels to Solitude, I was thinking another member of the family as in order.” Tolfdir cleared his throat expectantly. “Yes, darling, I’m getting there.” She heard the patting of a hand as she scratched behind the dog’s – Meeko’s – ears. “Arya, dearest one, come and sit with us. We have many things to speak with you about.”

Arya’s heart sank at the tone in her uncle’s voice. It was not a happy tone. This was likely not to be an enjoyable conversation. Though… Arya supposed it shouldn’t be, given that based on two separate accounts, she had nearly murdered another student during a lecture. She kissed Meeko’s nose and rose from the floor, going to sit at the table across from her uncle.

“About the other day,” Arya started, feeling it best to just rip the bandage off.

Savos waved his hands abruptly and dismissively. “What? No,” he shook his head, “we’ll get to all that later.” He took in a meaningful breath, reached across the table, and took Arya’s hands in his own. She admired, not for the first time, their complimentary skin-tones. “First,” Savos continued, “we need to talk about your mother.”

Arya’s head jerked up in surprise.

There was the sound of a faint explosion below their quarters. The tower shook. Glass tinkled. There were screams. Both Savos and Tolfdir looked at one another in horror, then they looked at Arya.

“Run,” they both said to Arya fervently.

“Take Meeko, and run as far as you can, little dragon,” Savos said feverishly. He pushed himself up from the table, leaned across it and kissed Arya’s head, before squeezing his partner’s hand and running for the apartment door.