Dragon's Conquest

Disturbances

Nariilu refused to turn back and grab one of the robes or her old set of leather armor she had in her room, no matter how cold her exposed stomach was. A dramatic exit required one to leave with finality, at least for a time. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and headed towards the Arcanaeum. It would be a relief to finally rid herself of the books Urag had requested. It was enough trouble getting them; Nariilu hoped Urag would ignore a few stray bloodstains.

She took the stairs two at a time as she thought of ways to win Stormcloak's trust, most of them involving some sort of situation where she saved his life. Nariilu then remembered that he had seemingly no sense of self preservation, and was arguably the most reckless man she had ever met. She hoped his callousness was a result of the day's earlier events, seeing as how he had lost a war and been taken prisoner, and that he would eventually warm up.

Casting a small flame spell, Nariilu hoped she would warm up soon, too.

Ulfric watched the Dragonborn leave and then waited nearly a full minute before going through her belongings, a feat which he thought commendable. As famous as the Dragonborn was becoming around Skyrim, he had only spoken with her briefly on two occasions before that morning. Once, in Helgen, when he and the other Stormcloaks were making their escape. Ulfric knew she had a death wish from the moment they had to physically drag her inside the fort to stop her from hurling spells and foul language at the beast.

He carefully slid out each drawer on the smaller wardrobes, noting the contents. Quills, ink, parchment, dried flowers, and a few soul gems. The only thing interesting Ulfric found was an entire drawer filled with dozens of iron daggers. Some glowed with various enchantments he couldn't place, and others looked to be much sharper than the rest. Ulfric slipped a few of the more deadly looking ones into his cloak, deciding that mentioning the drawer would be more trouble than it was worth.

Ulfric moved to the tall wardrobes, first opening the one that the Dragonborn suggested he hid in. Sifting through the robes bundled at the bottom, he found a few small pouches with various ingredients, mostly long dead crumbling bees. Moving to the second wardrobe, Ulfric found pieces of battle-worn armor, all looking like it had met a violent end. An iron chest plate had a large gash going from shoulder to hip; a leather helmet was burned and half missing; an elven gauntlet was coated so much dried blood almost none of the original metal could be seen.

None of it was in any usable condition, and Ulfric wondered why the Dragonborn bothered to keep it instead of throwing it out or salvaging the material. He sat on the bed, pulling over the two saddlebags, noticing that they were quite a bit heavier than he anticipated. Opening the lighter one, he found the potions from earlier. The Dragonborn had placed the empty vials back in the bag, no doubt for later use. Ulfric made a mental note to never drink a potion she offered him; mixing the effects of different potions, even from reused vials, was known to cause paralysis or even outright poisoning.

Reaching further in the bag, he found a layer of broken glass covering loose sheets of parchment. Careful not to grab a shard of glass, Ulfric pulled out the stack of parchment. It was stained various colors; a potion vial had broken in the bag at some point. He leafed through the sheets, which Ulfric quickly realized were notes and letters the Dragonborn had received in her travels, as well as a well worn map.

Ulfric glanced over the letters. A vast majority of them were various complaints about the Thu'um or requests to rough someone up, but one caught his eye. A waste of ink, probably from a child, Ulfric mused, looking over a handprint stamped on a page. He pulled the parchment from the stack, meaning to check the back for anything interesting when two short words caught his eye at the bottom of the page. 'We know.'

He frowned. The vagueness of the message left his mind wandering. A threat, blackmail, or even a joke amongst friends? It had certainly been in the bag for some time, judging by the wrinkles and residue on the parchment. Ulfric rolled it up and put it in one of his cloak pockets for later investigation. Perhaps something in the other bag would lead to an answer, he thought.

Ulfric pulled the bag into his lap, unlatching the top flap. "Looking for something?" A rough voice came from behind him at the door. Ulfric jumped up, throwing the bag to the ground and drew his sword.

Urag had not ignored the bloodstains, instead he threatened Nariilu with expulsion and demanded payment for the damage. However, past the initial anger, Urag had been grateful for the books, seen in a thinly concealed smile as he turned to put two of them in a locked bookcase. He handed her Night of Tears with a request to take it to Tolfdir. Nariilu was almost out the door when she was called back to receive a stack of textbooks "as a reward", though the sheer weight of the thick books made her think otherwise.

She left the textbooks at the top of the stairs, swearing to remember to get them later and knowing that she would likely break that promise. She found Tolfdir staring intently at the Eye of Magnus, which was bathing the Hall of the Elements in a cold blue light. "I see you've managed to get that thing out of Saarthal," Nariilu said.

"The Eye is quite interesting," Tolfdir replied, not taking his gaze off the Eye. "These markings, you see, they aren't Elven, or Daedric, or even Ayleid! I've never seen anything like it."

The Dragonborn held out Night of Tears to him. "Urag said you might be interested in this." She gave him the book. "I'm not sure, but it seems to imply that Saarthal was attacked because the Elves learned about the Eye's presence."

Tolfdir took a few minutes to skim the contents, and begun to nod. "This is a highly plausible theory, given how the Eye is radiating magical energy. Of course, this would also mean that the Merethic–"

"Yes, yes, we're all astonished by your research." Nariilu turned and scowled as Ancano approached, his hands clasped behind him and his constant bored expression showing something more akin to frustration. "The Apprentice is coming with me."

"I'm sure you can see we're in the middle serious research!" Tolfdir protested. "We're very near a breakthrough."

"I've no doubt," Ancano replied, casting a look at the Eye. "However, this simply cannot wait."

"The last time I heard that phrase, a dragon nearly leveled Kynesgrove," the Dragonborn said, "so, please, understand if I'm underwhelmed by your news."

"If you must know, there is a Psijic Monk waiting for you in the Archmage's office," Ancano said, tapping his foot rather impatiently.

Nariilu bit her cheek. Of course they would be back, she thought. She couldn't seem to take ten steps without getting caught up in an event of cosmic importance. "Fine." The Dragonborn pushed past Ancano, making sure to make it to the Archmage's door well before he did. Slipping through the door, she caught sight of a hooded figure listening to Archmage Aren ramble about Divines knew what.

The Monk looked up at her. "Ah, good. I am Quaranir, of the Psijic Order." The Dragonborn noted that he seemed fully opaque, unlike the Monk she had met in Saarthal. "You must listen to what I am about to say, for we have very little time."

Nariilu opened her mouth to respond, and quickly shut it again. Ancient orders tended to have important information, but she couldn't figure out why they all seemed to seek her out to do their jobs for them. Well, the Greybeards and the Blades certainly had their reasons.

"The Eye of Magnus is dangerous," Quaranir continued. "The longer it remains in the College, the more of a risk there is. If you do not discover a way to banish it, or destroy it, you may want to leave this side of Tamriel."

The Dragonborn coughed. "What? Why can't you just do it? Or get Archmage Aren to do it!" She gestured violently to the Archmage, and noticed that he had seemed to be frozen.
Quaranir paused just long enough for the Dragonborn to quiet down. "The future is clouded to us. We cannot tell you what to do, but we do know that whatever must be done must be done by you, as you are bound by many strings of fate." No shit, Nariilu thought. "You must seek out the Augur of Dunlain and decide on your next action." Quaranir waved his hand and the Archmage finished his sentence.

"–such an honor. Oh, here she is now!" Archmage Aren flashed the Dragonborn an encouraging smile.

"Yes, of course. I must be going now." Quaranir turned to leave. His stride was smooth enough to make him appear to float across the floor.

Ancano entered the room with an adequate amount of speed and force to nearly walk into the Monk. "I'm certain you'll tell us of the reason for your interruption?" He said, unfazed by his near collision.

Quaranir easily slipped around him, only barely pausing at the door to reply. "It does not concern you." The door shut behind him, leaving Ancano spluttering as he threw open the door to follow the Monk.