Dragon's Conquest

Sleight of Hand

J'zargo was unconcerned with the Daedric sword the new student had leveled at his neck. To be at the College of Winterhold and still rely on such primitive weapons? Only Nords as brutish as this man would be so bold as to threaten J'zargo, the greatest Khajiit mage in generations. "Is this a challenge?" he asked, running through a list of spells he hadn't had the opportunity to test on a live opponent yet.

"What do you want?" J'zargo nearly rolled his eyes at the man's question. Such a boring thing to ask! New students were generally the worst about being interesting.

"I would like for you to put down your sword," J'zargo replied, "although there are other ways to make you do this." Nariilu certainly wouldn't mind if he gave the man a strong deterrent from any future thievery, J'zargo thought. He couldn't believe he had missed her, though it appeared the Dragonborn was in a rush. In his travels with her, she almost always unloaded her packs first.

"Where did you come from?" Ulfric certainly hadn't heard the door or any footsteps to announce the Khajiit. He was losing his touch. In just as much time as Ulfric took to draw his sword and turn around, a skilled combatant could kill him ten or more ways.

J'zargo actually rolled his eyes at the man's question. "These are the questions that this one wastes time asking? Please, ask something worth my time."

"Do you know who I am?"

J'zargo laughed. "Why should J'zargo care who you are? A thief, perhaps, with how you rummage through things that do not belong to you." The man lowered his sword, still keeping it in a defensive position. "But what would a man who wears clothes as fine as yours have to steal? A thief should aim to blend in with their surroundings, not draw attention to himself as you do. I assume you are a new student, a nobleman looking to finally do something with his boring life, and has come to appreciate the arcane. Do not worry, you will never be better than me, so do not bother trying." There was the very off chance that this man was a companion of Nariilu, but J'zargo firmly remembered her swearing to never put anyone in harm's way again, or to come back within the month.

Ulfric stood still for a moment before sheathing his sword. "Yes, I'm a...new student here. I thought this was my bed." He had considered his options and while going toe to toe with such an arrogant mage would certainly be satisfying, it wouldn't be the least painful option. Besides, he was supposed to be hiding from the Thalmor at the College, and with Elsweyr being a firm member of the Aldmeri Dominion, Ulfric decided not to take any chances.

"You should not go poking where you do not belong," J'zargo said. "A shame it would be to see you expelled or killed before you complete your first lessons." He turned and walked to his dorm. At least Onmund would shut up about being the only Nord at the College. J'zargo wondered if he could convince the new student to test out a few scrolls. He'd probably fixed the explosion problem, but until he was sure, there was no reason for him to risk his own tail, and Nariilu had grown wary of his scrolls.

J'zargo noticed out of the corner of his eye that the student was still standing stiffly in Nariilu's dorm. She never took to kindly to anyone disturbing her things, as Enthir had discovered on her last visit to the College a few weeks ago. It was unlikely that she would visit anytime soon, with that silly war going on, but keeping everything in its place kept her from possibly accusing himself.

Of course, if the new student survived until her next visit, she may agree to try his scrolls. But if he could convince the man to use the scrolls, Nariilu's things would stay in order, and everyone would leave unscathed, except maybe whoever finally did test the scrolls. J'zargo tapped his left foot three times, an old tic for making difficult choices. "You." J'zargo snatched a handful of scrolls off his desk. "These are for you."

Ulfric stared at J'zargo's outstretched hand. He recognized the arcane nature of the scrolls and warily reached out to take them. Ulfric winced as the enchanted parchment touched his hand; the surface was unnaturally warm and gently pulsed with arcane power, almost as if it were alive. "I'm grateful for your gift," Ulfric replied. Scrolls always worried him the most out of all magic. Anyone, even a child, could make them work without training, and he had seen enough warriors hurt themselves or worse after finding a few on a fallen Thalmor.

"Test these. Tell J'zargo what happens," J'zargo said, pointing a finger at the man and smirking, "and J'zargo won't mention this to the Dragonborn. Surely you have heard of her. She kills dragons." He was almost disappointed with how little the man reacted. It likely had something to do with how unenthusiastic most Nords were for anything that couldn't be run through with a sword. Though, given their current positions, J'zargo figured he should be very interesting to the man, seeing as how his hand still twitched on his sword hilt.

Ulfric nodded slowly, waiting for J'zargo to leave. He watched as the Khajiit returned to his desk and slipped a stack of parchment into a bag, along with a quill and ink. J'zargo seemed to have forgotten his presence as he slung the bag over his shoulder, making towards the heavy doors of the Hall. He paused, one hand pressed against the door, and looked back.

"The presence of a novice always makes the lessons more interesting," J'zargo muttered, barely loud enough for Ulfric to hear. He pushed through the door without another glance.

Ulfric watched the heavy door close with a loud bang that reverberated quite well in the round stone room. Seconds later, he watched it reopen and a recently familiar furry head poke around the door.

"Lectures are mandatory, unless this one wishes to be expelled on the first day."

"Yes, of course," Ulfric replied, standing still. It wasn't as if he had any reason to attend; he had every reason not to attend. "I'll be following shortly; I need to move my things to the right bed." He reached for the saddlebag on the bed and fiddled with it until the door closed again. Perhaps the Dragonborn was right about the wardrobe, but Ulfric wasn't about to admit that. He sat back down on the bed and resumed his investigation of the Dragonborn's saddlebags.

***

Ancano simply could not believe that a Monk of the Psijic Order had refused to talk to him, Eye of the Aldmeri Dominion, one of the highest ranking Thalmor in Skyrim--no, in Tamriel! The sheer gall of anyone to ignore him like that would be met with swift and appropriate punishment, and Ancano planned on administering that with a Firebolt to that pompous Monk's gut.

Of course the Hall of the Elements would be empty, save for that wondrous Eye and that stupid excuse for a mage and the College's talentless apprentices. He raised his chin high as he passed through the Hall and into the blistering cold outside. There would certainly be a letter to Elenwen about how he had been slighted by the high and mighty Psijic Order, an affront not just to himself, but to the entire Aldmeri Dominion.

He stomped through the thin layer of snow on the ground--really, what Auri-El forsaken place snowed in First Seed?--and used a Telekinesis spell to blast open the doors of the Hall of Attainment. That was another slight against him, he was sure of it, to put him up with the obnoxious apprentices. Ancano absolutely loathed the College of Winterhold, and he could not believe that the Divines had spared it from turning into nothing more than a bad memory in the Sea of Ghosts along with the rest of the town.

***

Ulfric had immersed himself in a very interesting letter that described a bar fight in Whiterun that ended up in an affair between the combatants. Most of the letters the Dragonborn had crumpled in her saddlebags were comprised of similar gossip; a Thane had been plotting to poison a Jarl, a court wizard was actually a vampire, a new potion could make anyone do as you say for an hour or so. Mindless gossip that did little but pass the time.

He was pulled back into reality when the door opened, letting in a sharp gust of cold. Ulfric snapped into alert mode; it was doubtful that the students were finished with a lecture after such a short time. He stood and moved closer to the wardrobe, fully ready to swallow his pride and hide from whatever came through the door, and equally as ready to run it through with a sword.

A disgustingly familiar black robe coasted through the door, worn by a tall elf who looked like someone had pissed in his mead. Thalmor.