Whitney Writes…

“You must get up, little one,” the voice was saying. It was gentle, sweet, comforting. Loving.

“But… it hurts,” the little girl whimpered.

“I know it does, my love,” the voice said again. “But we must get up and try again when we fall.”

“And if I fall again?” the child challenged.

“Oh, Arya,” the woman said in a mock scold, “why else would one fall if not to learn how to lift themselves up once more? Do not fear failing, nor falling, my daughter; but spread your wings and soar.” Her mother bent and kissed the top of her head. “Time to rise, my little dove.”

There was a warm, wet sensation on Arya’s forehead. She pried her burning eyelids open. Two warm, brown eyes bore into hers. She was aware of the tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, down her temples, and into her hair. Arya wiped them away with the back of her left hand and moved to push herself up with her right hand. Her right arm did not move.

Arya sat up, groaning as a searing pain shot through her right shoulder. She surveyed the damage. “Perfect,” she murmured, “dislocated.” Meeko whined in front of her. She met his warm gaze. “I don’t suppose you know how to reset this, do you, boy?” He let out a huff. “I didn’t think so,” she sighed. “Come here, you,” she motioned for Meeko to come closer to her with her good arm. He obliged and limped over to Arya.

She felt him over with her good hand and found a deep gash in both his hip and shoulder. He yelped softly at her touch. She covered the cut on his hip gently with her palm, careful not to actually touch it, and pushed a steady flow of warm energy into it. Once full, she moved over to his shoulder. He licked Arya’s face as they wounds began to slowly shrink and the skin began to knit itself back together.

Arya smiled, burying her face in his warm, grey fur, then kissed his wet, black nose. She then looked around their surroundings. It was dark, and dingy. And somehow smelled wet and cold. She thought back to the dream she had been having before Meeko had woken her. Her mother. Arya had daydreamed about her mother all the time growing up, wondering what she had been like. But she hadn’t actually dreamt of her, remembered her, in… well… perhaps she never had. What a strange thing to realize… she thought. Her mind began turning over on itself then. Did she remember her mother? Did she remember her father? Her life before Winterhold, and Amoo and Paba? Surely she did. She must. Mustn’t she?

She pushed the thoughts firmly from her mind. Those would not help get her out of here. “Well,” she said to Meeko, “this is the Midden. Basement – or dungeon, depending on who you believe – of the College of Winterhold. I haven’t been down here in years, not since I used to sneak down here to see the Augur. It would tell me jokes and silly stories.”

She spotted a roll of linen lying along the icy wall out of reach. “Meeko, can you get me that?” Arya asked, pointing at the linen. Meeko cocked his head and turned and loped down the rough hall. When he returned, he dropped it gently into Arya’s lap. She unwrapped it and began to fashion herself a sling.

Arya glanced up at the trapdoor above her, remembering her uncle’s likely death. She closed her eyes against the memory – it had felt the same as the one involving her mother – and pulled herself to her feet. Various parts of her groaned in protest, but nothing – save for her shoulder – appeared to be out of place. She tapped her thigh with her fingertips, calling Meeko to her, he obliged, and the pair started off down the icy passage.

They arrived at the ‘L’-shaped balcony with the path to the door that lead up to the Hall of Countenance, back up in the college, and they skirted quickly back down the steps, leaving the last remnants of the man-made structure behind. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering the times she and Brelyna had snuck down here and reenacted the nefarious pirate tales they were always reading in the books that Urag would “smuggle” in for them. Being an adult now, Arya presumed her uncle had been fully aware that Urag was acquiring the girls novels.

A few skeletons roamed in the courtyard of snow below, near the waterfall. Arya cast Muffle on both herself and Meeko, then summoned a Flame Atronach and positioned her in the passage, leading away to the Ancient Alter. The skeletons turned at the clashing sound of the Atronach’s sudden appearance, and obligingly went to go investigate. With her distraction working, Arya dropped down from the ledge into the courtyard below. She cursed quietly at the slosh of water that came of and over the rim of her boots; she hadn’t noticed that from above. She turned to encourage Meeko down, but saw him navigating his own way, hopping down some ledges like a little mountain goat.

With Meeko on her heels, she darted across the lower chamber and came to another flight of steps carved into the rock. The stairs lead to another ledge, and another fall; one could get lost and die down here if they didn’t know the way. She followed the dark passage, turned left at the arm bones displayed upon the dirt wall, and came to a door.

“Here we are,” she said softly to Meeko, “the Midden Dark… so cleverly named.” She looked down to the dog at her side, “If we drop off the ice bridge before we cross it, we’ll land in the cavern that should have this hidden exit that Amoo mentioned. That way, we’ll avoid the other Dremora, skeletons, spiders, and Divines know what else is down here in the century since I’ve been down here…” She gave a shudder. “Sound like a plan?”

Meeko whined in what Arya assumed to be agreement. She pulled open the ancient wooden door, it’s iron hinges screaming in protest, and the two of them descended still more steps. Around the corner at the bottom, stretched the bridge made of ice. Arya turned to her left and hopped down to the rocky ledge below. Meeko followed nimbly, landing directly beside her with ease and Arya could not help but smile with pride at her healing skills.

“Now, if only that translated to dislocated shoulders,” she whispered to herself.

The pair continued hopping from rocky ledge to rocky ledge until they reached the cavern floor below. A deafening roar came from above and Arya looked up to see the frost troll flailing its arms in rage.

“Well, he’s new,” Arya mused. The troll spotted them below the bridge and roared again. It lunged forwards and lost its footing. The beast roared still as it fell; only falling silent when its big head cracked open against a rocky ledge. It landed on the ledge just above Arya and Meeko; she flinched and spun away from the sight of its skull cracked open.

Arya shepherded Meeko toward the gloomy cavern exit with one last ledge before them. They dropped through the opening, landing in soft drifts of snow. Arya was immediately blinded by the swirling snow, “Meeko!” she hissed, her left hand flailing against the snow, searching for fur. After a moment, her fingers finally found his warm for and Meeko woofed softly to soothe her as he moved closer. She couldn’t see anything between the snow and the darkness. The twin moons were buried between layers of clouds.

A feeling of defeat washed over Arya and she sank down into the snow. Her shoulder ached. Her home was all but destroyed. Her best friend was dead. Her family was dead. She had a sudden pang of missing her mother. Where had that come from? Arya summoned her Flame Atronach as Meeko curled tightly in beside her. Not to mention she had no idea what direction was which in this weather. That was just the last thing they needed, her marching them out into the Sea of Ghosts.

“At least I have you,” she said to Meeko, stroking his face and twining her fingers through his long fur. “And we won’t go cold tonight.”

Arya awoke in the morning with the sun kissing her cheeks. The skies were clear, her head was clear. Before her loomed the isle that held the massive arches of Skytemple Ruins. So we are facing north, she thought, we would have wandered out to sea if we had continued on last night. Arya stood, wincing at the ache still in her shoulder and kicked some snow onto the embers of her Atronach.

She moved east, out of the cavern she and Meeko had slept in and followed the curve of the monstrous pillar of rock that the College sat upon. Seeing its precarious perch, Arya wondered at the fact that it had survived centuries. But then she remembered the history of Winterhold; it had not always been like this. It had once been a thriving metropolis, challenging Solitude and Windhelm for populace.

Dropping from the rocky ledge, she now stood on a solid, snow packed hill. Across the gorge, Arya could see the tiny remains of the town of Winterhold. The residents were probably thrilled at the attack on the College. Likely celebrating it “getting what it deserved”. She shuddered at the coldness of it. Arya knew she was not the biggest fan of the human population, and that they did incredibly stupid things, but she would never wish such an event on them…

Taking a deep breath, she turned herself southeast and climbed the remaining hill that overlooked the Sea of Ghosts. She couldn’t see any horkers, snow foxes, or any other living creatures. She supposed that was good, but no one wanted to traipse out into a wilderness with no signs of life. Arya crossed a small rock cliff without a second thought, which brought her to another open plane. She rounded the edge of a boulder nearly three times as tall as her and saw another hill, sloping down into the gorge that separated the College from Winterhold.

“We’re almost there, Meeko,” Arya said patting his head. Meeko cocked his head as though to say “Almost where?” Arya pointed up the steep hill before them. “That’s the mainland of Skyrim,” she said. “For… whatever that’s worth.”

She slid down the snow-packed hillside, skidding to a halt at the shoreline. Arya crouched low to the ground and surveyed the area again for horkers and sabre cats. Still seeing no signs of life, she crept into the shallow water. Even through her hide boots she could feel the icy grip of the sea. As the water got deeper, Arya stood normally. Her foot slipped on the rock, hidden beneath the surface and she was suddenly sinking into chest-deep water. Arya gasped at the shock of the abrupt temperature drop, the icy pain of the freezing water gripping her chest like a vice. She tried to calm herself, slow her breathing, to stop the panic. It was just the cold constricting her lungs and chest, nothing more. She looked around for Meeko and saw him loping further down the coast where he could cross at water that barely covered his paws.

“Damn smart dog,” Arya said with a grimace through violently chattering teeth. She could feel everything on her body beginning to shake with the cold enveloping her body.

She pushed herself forward off the rock, through the icy waters towards the opposite shore. The soft tinkle of the ice that was crystalized over the sea cracking as she went was the only thing covering the sound of her teeth chattering. With some effort, Arya finally pulled herself onto the sandy, rocky shore of mainland Skyrim. With some effort, she stood up, her clothing sounding like cracking ice. She cast a minor healing spell over both herself and Meeko to dry the pair of them off. Meeko barked appreciatively as Arya pulled her hood down around her face. She turned to the east and the two of them made their way along the coastline, looking for a less challenging route up the steep snowy hillside.

Arya felt her heart growing heavy the further she walked. She hadn’t been outside the College in years. She hadn’t been without her uncle, Paba, or Brelyna in well over a century. And now they were all being left behind in the ruins of the College. Her uncle and Brelyna were dead, and the Divines and Azura only knew what had befallen Paba.

Arya was yanked from her reverie by the abrupt ending of the cliffs to her right. She was standing at the base of another steep, snow-packed hill, but they were in the open now. Exposed. Arya could see all the way up to the road on the crest of the hill. And there was a figure standing up there. She cursed and dropped to the rough sand behind the rocky ledge of a small tidepool.

“I only have my magic to defend me, Meeko,” she whispered. But then, she remembered that she was no longer pretending to be an inept magician. If they were attacked, she could lit the bold, evil-doer ablaze and send them to Oblivion in the blink of an eye. She pulled Meeko to her and hoped to wait for whomever was up there to depart.

There were crunchy footsteps in the snow drawing closer a few moments later. Had he seen them? Arya cursed herself for not being more careful. She should have been paying attention, not daydreaming. Meeko’s ears flicked back, listening; his black nose twitching, sniffing.

“Hello?” called a strong male voice from just above them. His tone was gentle, worried. He sounded familiar… Arya racked her brain, something about a dungeon cleaning beat stood out to her. Manuel’s friend… Arya’s eyes widened.

Onmund, Arya thought, Onmund Snow-Crest. But was he alone? She held her breath and focused on the noises around them all. She didn’t hear anyone else with him.

“Arya?” Onmund called hesitantly, “Is that you?” She bit her lip, and with a flick of her fingers, Arya cast a Detect Life spell that encapsulated them, up the ridge, and beyond.

“Arya, are you down here?” Onmund said again, his tone urgent but gentle. She heard no one else. She sensed no one else. Her spell detected no one else.

Finally, she took a calming, steadying breath and then stuck her hand up above the rocky ledge. “Here,” she said breathlessly, “we’re here.” She heard Onmund give a little startled yelp and she stifled a giggle.

“By the Nine,” Onmund swore, “what are you doing down there?” He offered out his hand to her as she pulled herself up. Onmund gave her a quizzical look when she held out the opposite hand to go with the one he had offered. But hauled her up and over the ridge without question.

“Hiding from you,” she answered.

“From me?” Onmund laughed incredulously, “You’ve got to be joking. Come on,” he continued, “we’ve got to get moving.” He started off toward the steep slope.

“We?” Arya asked skeptically.

“You can walk and talk, can’t you?” His voice held mild amusement, along with a hint of annoyance.

“You aren’t leading me to an ambush, are you?” she called to the other mage’s back.

That got Onmund’s attention. He stopped and turned back to face Arya. “Are you going to fight me on everything I say?”

Arya bristled. “No, it’s just Ancano,” she snapped. “How do I know he didn’t get to you? That he didn’t send you? And now you’re taking me to him?”

“Ok, ok,” Onmund said, holding up his hands, “just… take it easy,” he added gently. “Master Tolfdir found me and sent me to find you. He said you’d be ‘coming out’ around here.”

“Paba’s alive?” Arya demanded, excitedly, her eyes widening.

“Well, I’m not sure,” Onmund said. “He got J’zargo and me out just after the first wave hit. We were supposed to come find you and Brelyna. That damned cat… he ran off the first chance he got; took all our supplies, too, the greedy bastard.” Onmund looked around them, as though noticing something for the first time. “Where is Brelyna, by the way?”

Arya fidgeted with the pouch at her waist, unable to meet Onmund’s gaze. “Dead,” she said sharply, quietly. “Along with my uncle, the Arch-Mage.” She bit back stinging tears.

“So, the rumors are true… the College is in ruins,” Onmund said sadly. He sighed. “Come on, I have a camp set up on the hill.”

“Wait,” Arya called, Onmund turned back to her once more. She saw the way his shoulders slowly sunk, in a sigh of… annoyance? “My shoulder…” she said softly, “can you reset it? It’s… popped out.”

“Oh! Well why not; I’ve always wanted to try this!” His smile was reassuring, but his tone was a bit too excited for Arya’s liking. His words struck fear in her. “Why didn’t you say something before, this has to have been killing you,” he said again, gently. She shrugged with her good shoulder.

“And don’t try to distract me, I know that trick.”

Onmund grinned at her. “Of course not, wouldn’t dream of it!” He helped her remove the sling and stood before her gently holding her arm. His bright blue eyes held hers as he spoke and Arya found herself near hypnotized. He had a happy, jovial tone about him. It was reassuring and comforting.

“I was starting to worry I wasn’t going to find you last night,” he was saying. “I hoped it was merely the storm that slowed you down and not that anything had happened to you.”

“We slept in the cavern where the Dark Midden empties,” Arya said dreamily. “This is Meeko, by the way.” She gestured to the large, grey, shaggy dog that hadn’t left her side.

“He looks like a very good boy,” Onmund said with another smile. He smiled a lot. “Where did you get him? I don’t recall having seen him around the College very often?”

“Amoo just-“

With a cracking sound and a jolt of pain that sent Arya to her knees, screaming like a little girl, Onmund wrenched her shoulder back into place. It felt better immediately, still sore, but infinitely better. She massaged the joint as he helped her up by the opposite elbow.

“Yes, but you know that trick,” Onmund said with a sly smile and wink.

“I never said I wouldn’t fall for it, just that I knew it,” Arya pointed out as they trudged up the hill. “Thank Azura,” she added.

“Actually, it’s Onmund.”

Arya nearly began to protest that she did indeed know his name, but then she caught sight of the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Oh,” she said slowly, “you were joking.”

“Yes, I was joking,” Onmund chuckled. “Or trying to anyway,” he shrugged absentmindedly. “Kind of defeats the purpose if you have to explain it, though.” He caught the sour look on Arya’s face and added: “But don’t worry, I’m used to people not getting them.”

“I’m sorry,” Arya bit her lip nervously. “It’s been…. a long two days.”

Onmund shrugged again. “It’s ok, really,” he said, “don’t worry about it. Come on,” he added lightly, “the tent will be a lot warmer than out here. I can hear your teeth chattering.”

She clenched her jaw tightly shut at the sight of that glimmer in Onmund’s blue eyes again. The young Nord turned from her and started towards the slopping hill of ice and snow. Arya began to follow, but stopped abruptly just past the gritty shore of the delta. There were two skeletons perched in the swirling snow. One was sitting; the other appeared to have been caught in the massive, rusting bear trap that was clamped around its leg bone. Near the sitting skeleton were the tattered remains of an apothecary’s satchel.

“How sad,” she murmured, “what a wretched way to die.” She cut a branch off of a nearby snowberry bush and gingerly entwined it to the bear trap so it would not blow away. “I am sorry for your suffering,” she whispered to the pair, “I hope Azura showed you both mercy.”

When she stood once more, she saw Onmund was half way up the hill and Meeko was paused, giving her a questioning look as if to say “Are we trusting him?” How easy it would be for the two of them to slip off into the beginnings of yet another snowstorm. But she was freezing and rather famished. Not to mention she had absolutely no supplies with her what-so-ever.

“Let’s give him a chance, shall we?” Arya said to Meeko. Meeko’s eyes brightened as he cocked his head with interest. Arya nodded and started up the hill after Onmund with Meeko hot on her trail.

Arya caught up to Onmund more than halfway up the gigantic slope, but Onmund was pausing. They were in a small, somewhat protected valley, on the mountainous hillside that appeared to be a glacial field. Arya could see the bits of blue ice erupting majestically through the glittering snow. Nestled between the groupings of ice and snow, stood a pale hide tent; it was the kind the Khajiiti merchants used, she hadn’t seen one in years.

A memory was pricking up at the back of Arya’s mind. A memory of swirling ash and snow. Being wrapped in thick, warm furs. Warm fires with the scent of smoked salmon, and eating beneath the starry, aurora-ribboned sky. Long walks through knee-deep snow. Tales of Daedric Princes and fantastical legends being told be a soothing, familiar voice. Amoo. Uncle Savos, she thought and her heart fluttered painfully.

He had been like a father to her since she’d come to the College with him. Did she remember that? She hadn’t before. Nothing before the College… Both he and Tolfdir had. But brought, she corrected herself, she had been brought here. By Savos. She was remembering her trip to Skyrim, from the land of her birth, Morrowind, for the first time. She wondered why…

Arya faltered and paused in the falling snow, just outside the perimeter of the camp, remembering that long, magical trip with her beloved uncle. How at the start of the trip she had been a terrified child, terrified of leaving her father and the only home she had ever known. By the time the pair had reached Winterhold, she had blossomed, hardly being able to recall her father, if she was thinking about it; or at least not enough to remember that he had come to hate her.

She swallowed; remembering those burning red eyes, smoldering with a newfound hatred in the days after her mother had died. Taken, she corrected herself again. Why had he hated me so in the end, she wondered, it hadn’t always been like that… But the trip with Savos and her father’s hate-filled eyes were all she could remember.

Tears burned at the back of her throat with the realizations sinking in. With the loss of Tolfdir and Savos, Arya had assumed, somewhere, in the depths of her mind, that she would perhaps find her father one day and reunite with him. But now… she sensed that would not be a particularly warm welcome… She truly was on her own now.

A hand gingerly touched her arm and Arya flinched as though she had been cut to the bone.

“Apologies,” Onmund said worriedly, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You… you didn’t,” Arya stammered after a moment. “I was just remembering some things I hadn’t thought about in… a very, very long time.” She realized she had turned and was facing southeast, staring into the void of swirling snow, in the direction of what would be Blacklight, Morrowind.

“Oh,” Onmund said. He shifted a bit awkwardly. “Are you… I mean, is everything alright?”

Arya started towards the little campfire he had set up, debating how much to tell Onmund. She hadn’t known him that well in the College. And he had been friends with Manny, after all. “You said Tolfdir sent you, right?” she asked finally.

“Yes, with specific instructions on where and how to find you,” Onmund said, reaching in his pack just inside the tent flap. “Here, peel these,” he handed Arya some potatoes. “Tolfdir said to protect you, help you, not to let you out of my sight.”

“He… he said all of that? I, um.. don’t have a knife,” she admitted with embarrassment.

Onmund reached into his belt and produced a dagger, handing it to Arya hilt first. “Here, use this,” he said.

Arya took the blade and in the dim sunlight, saw the blade was black. He gives me an ebony dagger to peel potatoes… she marveled.

“Are… are you certain?” she asked warily. She knew these blades were expensive.

“Of course, unless you’d rather use your nails,” Onmund said with a chuckle and a wink. “Though, I must confess, the cleanliness of that makes my skin crawl.” He gave another laugh before turning serious once more, “But yes, Tolfdir told me all that. You were… are… very precious to him. He also said to get you south of here. Was it Helgen?”

“Riften,” Arya said. She cleared her throat. “But yes, he and Savos were like fathers to me.”

“Ahh… it all makes sense now,” Onmund was saying as the clarity suddenly dawned on him. “A parental sense of preservation makes far more sense than just that of a favorite student.” After a moment, he added: “And your real father, what does he make of that?”

His voice was light, his tone conversational. He hadn’t meant anything by it. But still, on the heals of the memory of her father’s eyes, Arya faltered all the same. The ebony blade she wielded slipped from the potato’s flesh and lodged itself into her own. Crimson blood began to pool up in her palm around the black blade. “Sweet Mother,” Arya swore in a gasp as she dropped the potato into the snow.

“Easy now,” Onmund said gently. He was immediately at her side, having abandoned his slices of venison, and taking her hand gently in his own. “Let me see,” he said softly. Her blood dripped out of her palm and down between his own fingers, leaving pinpricks of red in the white snow below. “Mmm, I’ll have to pull it out,” he warned.

Arya nodded, “Do it fast.” She let out a gasp as Onmund quickly pulled the blade free of her flesh. He pressed a clean rag into her palm that nearly instantly turned the color of a flawless garnet. Arya glanced down as he pulled the sodden rag away to examine the severity of her wound. She saw white. Bone, she thought. Her head began to swim. She shouldn’t have looked. She quickly looked away from her hand and found Onmund’s bright, blue eyes. The edges of her vision were blackening. His lips were moving; he was speaking, but Arya couldn’t hear him.

And then there was nothing but sky.

She woke to the smell of roasting venison and potatoes. Her stomach rumbled in hunger. I bloody fainted, she thought, this is just perfect. He’s going to think I’m some damsel who can’t handle herself. Arya pushed herself up. The scene before her wobbled. Slower, she had to move slower. Onmund was turning a roasting spit over the fire while tending a small pot.

“You’re awake!” he called happily as though she had just woken from a late afternoon nap. “Don’t worry, I got your hand all cleaned up and bandaged while you were out, so next time you see it it will look like new. I also set in a powerful healing spell; you should be good as new this time tomorrow.” Arya fingered the bandage covering her palm, also noticing that the bloody snow had been covered with fresh. He was incredibly thoughtful. And thorough.

The twin moons were rising over the horizon of the icy sea as the last of the sunlight was disappearing over the mountain peaks, bathing the camp in a pale, blue light. Arya stood and moved closer to the fire, a chill was creeping in.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck, attempting to cloak her embarrassment. “I’ve never been very good around blood. But, I promise I’m not completely useless.”

Onmund gave a shrug. “It’s alright, we all have our things we’re squeamish about,” he said lightly.

“And what’s yours?” Arya asked.

“Spiders,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “And yes, I know all about the Frostbite Spiders. I fear I would be useless in the face of them.” He shuddered, “I would be more apt to turn my blade on myself just to not have to look at them…”

“They are unnecessarily large,” Arya nodded in agreement. He smiled at her and Arya’s insides swam. “So, um, can I help?” she offered after a moment of silence that felt like an eternity to her.

“I think we’ve had quite enough of your help tonight,” Onmund said with a laugh. But quickly added: “But no, it should be done any minute.” He turned to his pack and produced two stone bowls and spoons. “Just have a seat there,” he motioned to a large log near the fire.

Arya sat down as she was instructed and took in the sight before her. This man she had scarcely interacted with, had gone out of his way, given up everything, to help her. He had found her, healed her twice, and was now cooking a meal for her. In her experience, no one was this nice. He handed her a bowl and a small bottle of mead and Arya couldn’t help but wonder: I wonder why he’s doing all of this. Did Tolfdir pay him? Offer him something? The smell of the food hit her like a wall and Arya could feel her saliva rising in her mouth. She took in a deeper, purposeful breath of the warm steam. It smelled better than any meal Tolfdir had ever made her. And she would have killed for some of his cooking little more than an hour ago.

“This smells wonderful,” she whispered, not being able to remember the last food she had eaten.

“It was my mother’s recipe,” Onmund said fondly with a smile as he sat down beside her with his own bowl. Arya noticed Meeko had been given a bowl heaped with meats.

Arya took a bite, uncertain how to proceed with the conversation. What if his mother’s dead, like mine, she wondered. Or worse, what if she’s really dead. I miss Brelyna; it was never awkward with her.

It was were as though Onmund could sense her unease, or hear her thoughts. “I don’t mind talking about her,” he offered. “She’s very much alive, living down in Falkreath with the rest of my family. Her and my father kind of gave me the boot when I said I wanted to study magic. They didn’t even help me get up here. I ended up half dead near Dawnstar and some old monk named Erandur brought me the rest of the way.”

“That was you?!” Arya interrupted in hysteric bewilderment. The incident had been the talk of the College for months. What poor idiot of a Nord would end up in Dawnstar instead of Winterhold?

“Yes,” Onmund chuckled tiredly, he knew well the jokes that had been circling at his expense. “I’m the idiot that got lost in the snowy wilderness of his homeland, har har har.” He gave a roll of his eyes good-naturedly. “I got horribly lost in a snowstorm and was being chased mercilessly by ice wraiths. I was still somewhat of a boy, mind you; my brother still called my a milk drinker when I left home.”

“How awful, to be turned out by one’s family,” Arya whispered, feeling sympathetic despite her previous laughter. “Your parents really let a boy that young make his own way across the country?”

Onmund shrugged. “They had their reasons,” he said. “My brother, Mathies, had just bought a farm in Falkreath for him and his expectant wife. It was my duty to follow in my father’s footsteps then, being the only child left to them. But, alas, I have not a political care in my body; and my heart yearned for the mystical side of life. Mathies tried to shelter me from our father, saying he could do both. But our father is an army man and knows nothing but loyalty and duty.

“He took my love of magic and desire to join the Psijic Order one day as a direct betrayal,” Onmund went on. His tone was light, as though he were recounting a clever anecdote instead of being rejected by his family for his interests. “He threw me out the very same day. My mother, bless her heart, reasoned with him enough to get me a pack of my things and some food for the journey. But that was the last I spoke to them. Mathies used to send me letters from time-to-time, but nothing to rely on even though I wrote him every week.”

“You must hate them,” Arya mused, “never want to see them again.”

Onmund smiled then. “Oh no,” he proclaimed,” I wrote them weekly as well. I can’t wait to return home to visit one day, to show them I’ve made something of myself. I must confess, I hope wherever your travels take you, we can skirt by Falkreath!” He smiled, “You think I’m loony for that, don’t you?”

Arya gave a small shrug. “As someone who has recently discovered their familial… turmoil… I would despise the very ground they walked upon. The air the breathed. The space they presumed to take up upon this earth.” She took a bite of food to calm her boiling blood. “I would never go back. I would say damn them all to Oblivion and let Mehrunes Dagon show them his mercy.” She caught the brief look of horror on Onmund’s face before he could mask it. “But, then again,” she added hastily, “I’m far more cynical than you and seem to have forgotten how to forgive lately.”

“I think that’s the difference between you and me,” Onmund said lightly with a nod. “I believe forgiveness is deserved until proven otherwise. You believe forgiveness must be earned until proven otherwise.”

“Dunmer,” Arya said with a shrug, “t’s how Azura made us.”

Onmund laughed loudly. “Nord, Talos made us in his image with the knowledge of forgiveness. Even when it cuts you to the very core, if it betters others, we shall do it.”

“You know the Empire decided is no longer a Divine?” Arya pointed out.

“And you now the Empire frowns up on Daedra worship?” Onmund shot back with a wink.

“It’s in my culture!” Arya cried, incredulously.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t see any Imperial troops around.” He winked at her. “For the both of us.” He smiled warmly at her, “Or we’d both be arrested for heresy and blasphemy.”

A fire welled up in Arya’s stomach. Sparring with Brelyna had never been this invigorating. Onmund challenged her, but wasn’t cruel about it. He had his beliefs that greatly differed from her own, but he did not belittle Arya for her own.

The two fell into a companionable silence as they finished their venison and potatoes. The clouds parted to the northwest and Arya could see the outline of the College, seemingly floating on the mist of the Sea of Ghosts.

“Do you think we will ever be able to go back there?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure what we’re up against, so I’m not sure,” Onmund said as he scrubbed the bowls with snow. “But hopefully, one day, we will.”

The clouds returned, veiling the far off College from sight once more. Feeling the exhaustion of the days before, and the days ahead, Arya and Onmund agreed it was time for some well earned shuteye. Arya looked forward to sleeping in the warmth and comfort of a bedroll with furs and blankets and a pillow. She collapsed onto the heap of softness and fell asleep before Meeko was fully burrowed in beside her.

Onmund, who had chivalrously given Arya a head start, entered the tent a few moments later to go to his own bedroll on the far side of the tent where a hide curtain separated the pair giving a semblance of privacy. As the tent flap fell closed behind Onmund, the clouds around the College parted once more, revealing a monstrous, winged form circling the stone towers.