Chapter Text
The sun had long since rose when she finally got out of bed. Now in her fifth year at the College of Winterhold and several months into an apprenticeship under the school’s expert Destruction mage, she had settled into a nice routine. Working under Faralda had been a dream come true, not only was she tapping deeper into magical theory with one-on-one guidance; a level of detail that ordinary classes cannot get into, but she also got a better schedule. No matter how much she tried, the woman just could not pry herself out of bed any earlier than ten. That itself was an improvement from her teens years.
All in all these past few months have been very fulfilling academically. Her arsenal of electromany spells was growing by the day and her attempts at adding another sub-discipline was also going well. Originally she had wanted to learn pyromancy, and did manage to learn some spells but her boyfriend Ralos Venim had provided some grim insight.
“Dunmer have natural resistance to fire, frost magic will be more effective against any future enemies.” An unfortunate reality that he was correct about; if she was going to join him in Morrowind eventually, not only help him rise through the Telvanni ranks but also make a name for herself within the House; enemies would be in abundance and the majority would be Dunmer. Cyromancy would be more fitting, it was also her father’s specialization even if he lamented that fact; more than once he complained of the irony of the Dominion designating him a frost mage only to assign him to Skyrim many decades later. Frost magic against a population with a natural resistance to the cold was not smart but there had been other factors in that decision. A skill set of ice magic would be perfect, honour her father and provide greater protection on what was likely to come.
There were times she felt naive on the matter, too hopeful. Hopeful that the stories, the cutthroat tales of brutality and ruthless politics conveyed to her, were exaggerated. That Ralos was not setting himself up for a life of assassination attempts, afraid the sweet mer she knew was going to get himself killed but also understanding that it’s what he wants. His quest for knowledge and rising through the ranks were what he had been working towards, though the idea of maybe someday living in a giant mushroom sounded very cool. But the fear of what may happen did not eclipse the hunger for power that grew within her. It festered inside, a speck, feeling no larger than an ant. Small, nothing more than a source of ambition that pushed her further into theory, further into understanding. She was not unaware of where this desire came from, she had several theories on the matter. Being the daughter of the Last Dovahkiin had meant that by virtue of birth she had status. This only grew as her father, having relinquished his status in the name of love, regained authority through being instrumental to the foundation of the new monarchy in their ancestral homeland. Ceri grew up as someone important. Comments on her mixed ancestry had occurred but they could not deny her family was important. Never had her and her brothers worried for anything. Food, money, opportunities, all more than plentiful thanks to their status.
But this status also came with a cost. Though her mother tried to hide it and did not want to burden her and her siblings with her issues, this status had come with a great deal of sacrifice. The basics of her life had been told by her mother. How she felt a call to come to Skyrim, the destruction of Helgen, and how she ran from fate for three years until she was able to face destiny. There were other details during her mother’s six odd years in Skyrim and those were filled in by her Aunt Phy. The older elven woman would answer their questions, especially on the humorous stories that their parents didn’t speak to them on. They were open books regarding everything with their respective war histories; mother and the Skyrim Civil War, father and the Great War. Very few things were off limits which made growing up easier, acutely aware that the world would not always be accepting of their children and trying equipment with a means to live regardless of that. Yet, how they got together was always glossed over. It shouldn’t have been shocking to find out that their relationship began because of the taboo that was Thalmor agent and an Imperial soldier together. Ceri was a romantic at heart and always idolized a relationship like her parents. Her initial disillusionment at the truth, faded upon learning how quickly feelings developed between them and how oblivious they were to reality. It made sense of course, on racial lines alone their relationship would be odd but adding in the complicated matter of politics that came with their roles was more complex. The difficulty of their situation had always been known but hearing the specifics made her admire it more. Their happy home had been carved out of such dire circumstances.
Yet, it was not only her parent’s love Aunt Phy spoke of, but also her mother’s pain. She had always been a free-spirit, something echoed in her first child, and that the pressures of heroism were suffocating. So used to seeing her mother in strict roles, soldier, advisor, diplomat, only glimpses of this free spirit remained. Coming out on their vacations especially, trips to southern Skyrim, to the family home along the Gold Coast, most other times were spent dealing with pressures. Before Ceri was born, they moved to the Imperial City and both of them took on roles with the Imperial Legion for the safety of her father and then infant brother. It wasn’t until she was older did she learn that her mother had issues with the Empire, a laundry list spanning from the treatment of her husband all the way back to beyond her parent’s generation. But she had done the work, the role she once ran from began the only salvation in making a life. The power she gained had been thrust upon her and although she wasn’t sure how much her brothers noticed, the youngest saw all the efforts to maintain normalcy. The Legion was a false life, a life she put on when donning the uniform so that her true self could have its heart's desire. Time with her family, trips to her hometown of Anvil, divulging in her alchemical garden; the life she got only if she did the other. Now as she grew older less was expected, entering a phase of semi-retirement but it had been three decades at this point of service.
So it wasn’t true to say Ceri wanted power, what she wanted was to make her own power. Not wanting to have any titles or expectations thrown on her. Aside from a few preferences: they should make use of their natural magical ability to honour their heritage and no enlisting in any military organizations, her parents let their children make their own lives. An option not afforded to either at the time. The desire to be great, great in her own right, not because of lineage as well as freedom might be her naivety again but it was worth attempting.
And as of the last several months, trying to achieve this meant being apart from her beloved boyfriend, the sweet Dunmer illusionist who stole her heart with his complete and utter nervousness when they first met. Ralos had left way back at the start of Midyear, by now it was now Sun’s Dawn. Only after he began working under a Master Wizard of House Telvanni on the rocky island of Solstheim did his girlfriend learn that her father distinctly told him not to do that. The mer was difficult, treating him like an errand boy and used him as a test subject in experiments but Ralos said it was for the best. The all-encompassing training was good for him as he would emerge stronger and better prepared to strike out on his own. Master Neloth had given him a fair deal, three years under his instruction and then he was kicked out to make his own way. To her it sounded like a rather shit deal but he insisted this was good. The wizard had not had an apprentice in ten years so even such a limited time was good. Ceri had intended to accompany him then, her parents had lived in Raven Rock and still owned a property there that she could live in while he stayed at Tel Mithryn. Cyrodiil, Morrowind, and Skyrim all collected property taxes at different times of year so the six properties her family owned were discussed frequently, inhabited by family friends. But a month before they set to leave Professor Faralda had approached her with an offer. A private apprenticeship with the Destruction scholar was everything she had ever wanted and it was something she earned on her own merit. She could not say no and Ralos wouldn’t let her, the studying schedule still left her with time to feel lonely.
But Ceri would not have to be lonely now as she had a visitor for the nest several days. Her eldest brother Arthano was particularly difficult to get a hold of, traveling frequently as a mercenary, it was easier to wait for him to write and include where he was heading next then to try and assume where he was. That is what happened this time, he wrote saying he was in Dawnstar, beginning the journey home to the Imperial City and said that he’d stop by Winterhold to see her as a small detour. Today was when he was set to arrive, last letter sent while at the Nightgate Inn, southwest of Winterhold. Detailing his travel plans, her brother said he’d arrive no later than midday today. Tying the robes of her belt and taking a few bits of the somewhat stale sweet roll she didn’t finish the night prior, the mage makes her way into Winterhold proper to greet him. As the time passes, first a half hour, then a full hour, Ceri begins to worry. Her brother was many things; a bit brash, a smooth-talker, needlessly aggressive as the other brother, Ricardo, would say. But he was incredibly punctual, operating on a rigid training schedule since his early teens. The only thing he had ever been late for were his history lessons, less he was late and more he did not want to be there at all. Books and theory were incredibly dull to him, often finding it difficult to sit still and focus on the texts; even she had to admit many of the Altmeri historical writings were drab. It took five months of cycling through tutors before their father relented. Arthano would no longer have to sit with the tutor for lessons, all his education from that point on could be in the form he preferred; practical, weaponry skills and the physical practice of doing magic. Though Ata would not let him get out of learning them entirely, offering him an alternative since it was clear no tutor would be of use if he hated reading. Instead he would teach him about their people’s history, asking him to agree to one afternoon a week where they would walk around the city and discuss a different topic.
Reminiscing aside, her brother was not the type to be late, especially not to see his favourite sister. Thankfully it only takes a few more minutes before she sees him come into distance. Waving to him, he gives her a large one back. As he gets closer, coming into view better she can confirm it is in fact her brother; a tall, golden figure with his characteristic half-shaved dark hair. It’s not until he is mere feet away that she notices the blood, splattered across his face and likely soaked through his gloves. Frozen in fear the cheeky grin forming on his face indicates she should not be.
“You should see the other guy.”
“What happened?” Despite the blood she hugs him, happy to see him after so many months of scarcely a word.
“Group of about twenty necromancers ambushed me on the road but luckily I slain them all.” She rolls her eyes.
“What really happened?”
“You think I couldn’t take a bunch of necromancers? I’m offended.”
“Maybe a group of three or four,” she laughs. “No one could take twenty, even novices would be too overwhelming in those numbers.” He ruffled her hair, thankfully the blood was already dry.
“Woke up to a fucking bear, not enough for it to eat the rest of my food it had to come sniff around me for dessert.”
“Ruining your beauty sleep? I know how much you need it." Smirking at him, she offers sincerity. “Do you have any injuries? I was beginning to worry when midday passed and you were still not here.”
“A bear is no match for one of my skills.” He laughs “but it got my shoulder good,” pointing to the left side he elaborates “I can move it fine, it just feels like shit.”
“How’s this?” Hand hovering over the injured area, glowing light emanates from her fingers. She was limited in Restoration skills but basic healing she could do, and if any deeper afflicted him this would be the place to be. Though looked down upon by the magical community, including her advisor, it was the only accepted school in Skyrim so the College did have a large number of healers.
“That’s much better.” Brows furrowed, she was puzzled as to why he didn’t just heal it himself, he had the capabilities. It was true he focused on conjuration, using all manner of bound weapons, but they all had learned basic Restoration.
“Why didn’t you heal it?”
“Why waste my own magicka when I can use yours?” Careful to hit the other shoulder, she playfully punches him.
“In that case you can suffer next time.”
Leading him over the bridge, he seems somewhat impressed by the College, despite his qualms with formal education. Turning around to view every angle, craning his neck to look at the statue of Shalidor. Absolutely breathtaking was how she described after her first day, several years ago. Though Winterhold was not much to look at, most of what remained of the once great city was swallowed by the Sea of Ghosts, thankfully the College had been spared from all that. What drew her to Winterhold specifically, in spite of her parent’s protests at the time, was the academic freedom. The mages in Cyrodiil were stuffy and preferred students stay within the discipline they had been accepted for; Ceri originally wanted to focus on Alteration. Had she stayed home she would be an unmotivated and shoddy Alteration mage, rather than the bright and formidable Electromancer according to Faralda. Nor would she be embarking on an individual study with the sorceress. The only other school she considered was a private institution in Cloudrest which to its credit did encourage experimentation, her issues with it had more to do with its history with the Third Altmeri Dominion. Though the instructor she spoke with was mostly kind, her questions about her background were uncomfortable. If that was how the representative trying to get money from her family acted, there was no point in attending and putting herself through more. Plenty of people had already picked apart her features, she wasn’t going to throw herself into the viper’s den willingly.
This wasn’t to say nothing of the sort happened in Winterhold, the local Nord population was already wary of the college students anyways, so she was treated warily. Within the College she had gotten a few assumptions, several students including her own boyfriend had assumed she was fully Altmer, whereas the Altmer in the college could tell she was half. Faralda and Nirya minded their business, to which she was grateful for and as she grew to work under Faralda she told her more about her life. The older mer felt safe, if she had the deep prejudices of their people she didn’t show them. Although Ceri doubted they were there at all in truth. Living in Skyrim was not attractive to those who did, let alone instructing magic to such a wide range of people. Save for the unfortunate mer Ancano, an old colleague of her father’s of all people, whom the college took pity on; negative comments were unheard of. Ancano would come around to speak with Faralda from time to time, rather he would speak his mind and she would remind him under who’s good graces it was that allowed him here. Reiterating him she could easily kick him out in the snow, letting him freeze to death would be gracious compared to what some would do. The Thalmor very much in living memory to the Nords. All in all, the young woman avoided him. Not a hard thing to do as she had actual work to complete rather than wander the grounds and be miserable. He learned early on with her that she would just ignore his comments, voicing any opinions only earned him an earful from her older mentor.
Whilst they are chatting in the main courtyard, her explaining the three different towers and what they contained, her mentor approaches them.
“Hello Professor Faralda, how are you this afternoon?” There’s a notable change in her brother, suddenly standing taller as he removes the bloodied gloves, holding them behind his back as though he were hiding them.
“I’m quite well, Ceridwen.” A soft smile towards her before turning to him. “Ah, you must be Arthano, your sister mentioned her brother would be visiting.”
“Yes, I am Ceridwen’s brother, pleasure to meet you Professor Faralda.” Ceridwen? Ata and Ricardo called that, their mother only doing so in formal settings; her eldest sibling never used her full name. Only ever Ceri. It felt foreign hearing it in his voice, saying it casually like it was the norm for them. Now that she thinks more on it, everything he said sounded unlike him. Far too formal to come naturally from the lovable but brash man she knew him to be. Here he was using the type of speech they made fun of others for, especially their brother. Even on serious occasions, he had a habit of making jokes out of anything and everything; now very polite.
“I’ve been told you are a mage yourself, a conjurer specifically.” Gesturing with his hand, the older continues with his odd speech, adding mannerism to the mixture as well.
“Yes, I mostly work with bound weapons but I’ve dabbled a bit in Destruction myself. Nowhere near Ceridwen but not inexperienced.” Dabbled? Is that what he calls it?
“What spells in particular? Electromacy like your sister?”
“I mostly stay in the realm of pyromancy.” Repeated use of the Flames spell because he couldn’t be bothered to learn more is not exactly what she would refer to as pyromancy; Arthano was always one to stretch the truth. Faralda extends a similar smile to him now.
“Hmm,, very interesting, I assume you’ll be accompanying Ceridwen to dinner this evening?”
“Naturally of course.”
“Well, perhaps we all can discuss further then, I have some work to attend to now.” Turning to leave, the instructor makes one final comment. “Arthano?”
“Yes Faralda?” Such a stupid grin wipes over his face. What is going on with him?
“You are very much as your sister described you. Though I’d wash the blood off before dinner.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
Still caught up in how abnormal he’s being, it’s not until he opens his mouth again does she draw a conclusion. Fixing his posture, uncharacteristically proper tone, inflating his Destruction skills as if they were... No.
“Hmm, so you’ve mentioned me?” His eyes still watching Faralda leave she seizes the opportunity while he’s distracted. Ripping one of the gloves out of his hand, she whacks him with it.
“No, no, no!”
“What the fuck? I haven't done anything!” At last, he is sounding like himself again. One more smack in the shoulder as she disregards what he is saying.
“I’m sorry I don’t want my brother trying to get with my advisor!”
“I’m not trying to do anything, Ceri. Just introducing myself, I don’t know if you’ve heard but that is the polite thing to do when meeting someone for the first time.” Another smack as she throws the glove this time, letting him retrieve it from the snow.
“Like I believe that,” In an attempt to mimic his voice she utters his own words back at him “ I’ve dabbled a bit in Destruction myself, please.” As he stands up, dawning the bloodied gloves once again. “It’s gross.” A smirk almost as stupid as his grin prior appears.
“Well Ceri, that’s not nice to say about your professor. Respect your elders, she seems far from gross.”
Ugh her brother strives to find the balance between charming and insufferable, something he was normally good at. Being naturally social had its benefits. Everyone could appreciate a good joke and if they couldn’t, well then he had no reason to bother with them further. Now however, knowing he had an interest in her mentor, the woman who had graciously taken her under her wing, makes her more annoyed than anything.
“You, you’re gross.” Briefly, her hands flex, forgetting she has already thrown the glove at him. “And she’s too old for you.”
“Oh I wouldn’t say that, how old is she?” Brow raised in curiosity, the younger answers him before it occurs to he should not be given such details.
“She’s one-hundred twenty something, don’t remember exactly.”
“Oh we’re fine, less than a century apart. Barely noticeable even.” The gap between her and Ralos was barely noticeable, two years, Ninety-odd years was definitely something to take note of. But unfortunately this checked out for her brother, perhaps she can introduce him to some long-haired man and have him forget all about Faralda.
“That’s a pretty large gap, Arthano.” He shrugs.
“Well, Mother and Ata are what? One-hundred? One-hundred ten years apart? I’m doing well comparatively.” She stutters, trying to find the right words to shut him up, he is however, too quick for her. “Why is she a war criminal?”
“What? No, absolutely not.” The College was a neutral organization, both faculty and students coming from across Tamriel for the purposes of advancing magical study. Conflicts were left at the gates, to imply anything different was a lie. But he’s not implying anything about the College, rather making a further comparison to their parents.
“Hmm, so I’m actually doing great.”
“I should lock you in my dorm tonight and let you starve.”
Fortunately for him, she allows him sustenance. After showing him the College, touring through the Hall of Elements and taking him up to the library, she then escorts her brother to where he’ll be spending the night; the empty dorm which had belonged to Ralos during his studies. Dropping his few belongings on the stone floor, he gets distracted by his own appearance in the mirror while wiping the blood off.
“We are having dinner soon, yes?”
“We are.” The tone comes out a bit more annoyed than she planned, worried she’ll spend dinner watching him try to impress her advisor and then have to apologize to the poor woman for his idiotic behaviour. “Are you going to continue your fancy, formal gentleman act?” Her mimicry earns her a smug look, reflecting back at her while he continues examining his own appearance.
“I am putting the etiquette classes to work. We can’t have them be wasted after all.”
“Since when have you given a shit about proper Altmeri manners?” Her suspicions as to his sudden interest in the very cultural expectations he shunned. Despite his deep seated identity issues, something the siblings all dealt with in different ways, Arthano had more complicated issues.
Young love is a fickle thing, even more fickle when it is between two very close friends. While they were living in Alinor, her brother had developed a close friendship with a boy around his age and their families became intertwined. Unbeknownst to everyone, the two had fallen in love and kept it from them all at Norendo’s request. Originally he believed it was to avoid the stigma of homosexuality. Though the other’s parents were open-minded on many issues, Arthano didn’t know if this open-mindedness had limits and trusted the other’s need for secrecy. He knew his parents would not care, who were they to stand in the way of love? But after meeting his very much loved uncle and his husband, this belief began to crack. What had ensued caused her brother to leave Alinor immediately, returning home to Cyrodiil two years earlier than the rest of the family. Exact details of what transpired were never shared, aside from that it was the worst moment of his life, but Ceri did learn that his thoughts around stigma were not unfounded. And being half-Altmer comes with such great stigma.
So her brother left and sought to join the Arena, fighting his way to the title of Grand Champion. Even he would admit it was not just the fighting that drew him there but the applause, the roar of the crowd and their affections spurred him on. Not quite enough as he still had this need to impress other Altmer, even if he himself claimed to shun the culture. That was far from true, he liked the fancy imported wines, the elven weaponry, and learning of their lineage. It was the fact the culture did not seem to want him so he developed a bad habit of seeking approval in the form of lovers, something he told her one night after too much to drink. They never discussed it again but Ceri could see what she was dealing with even if she would not discuss it now. Instead she offered a compromise, let him do whatever he feels will make him feel better but not at the expense of her education.
“Well, just don’t embarrass me. I’m very lucky to get to study under her and I don’t want my dumb brother to ruin it because he’s weird.” Turning to face her properly now, he assures her of his intentions.
“Relax, I’m just having a little fun, completely harmless. I guarantee you nothing will come of it.”
“You guarantee?”
“Well, I’m not gonna reject anything-” Grabbing a scroll from her desk, she gives him another whack to return him to his senses. “Fine! No embarrassment, stop fucking hitting me.”
To his credit, Arthano behaves himself. As best as he can given that one of his core personality traits is being a braggart, Aunt Phy said that was the giant Altmer egos talking. A characteristic of High Elves that also seemed to be present in them as well. She did not want to think herself boastful but there had been a few occasions involving too much mead and a backhanded compliment from another student where you would have found her indistinguishable from either of her brothers. Ricardo overall humble unless you gave bad faith criticism of his work. The youngest learned quickly what she could pick at him about, not his appearance nor his work, academics gave him quite the vocabulary and he could be cutting with his words. Thankfully, she was not the victim when they attended a lecture he gave. The researcher from Daggerfall who thought his age would garner him respect regardless of what he said. Ceri learned her elder brother’s pacifist views did not extend to verbal violence. The two siblings were a lot in many ways, boastful in their life’s work.
Arthano lessened on his formal manners, sounding a bit more like himself, unsurprising as he’s currently talking up the last job he did in Haafingar. He can’t help but slip up a bit and swear as he deserves an encounter with a Frost Troll, nor can his sister help calling him out.
“Language, Arthano.” His eye roll stops mid-way to not only keep up the facade of a refined young mer, but also because they are approached by someone. Someone loathsome who offers her a flat expression while completely ignoring her brother, the professor his target.
“Faralda.” It was good to see she too was annoyed at the disruption as her tone is more stern than the casual one she was using with the two siblings. Well, casual for her which meant it did not feel as though they were being lectured to.
“Is there something you need, Ancano?”
“I believe you agreed to meet me five minutes ago and have failed to appear.” Her advisor must have all the grace and patience in the world to deal with him. Ceri can’t imagine tolerating this, interrupting her meal over being five minutes late; grateful it what he should be, in her opinion. Luckily he was not thrown out in the cold or worse. In many ways she could understand the gall he had to speak to her as he did at times, he in every sense of the word was not raised right. Ata told her of the indoctrination on the cultural level as well as the heightened level one received whilst undergoing Thalmor training. Pitiful as many things about him were, but the young woman is out of empathy.
“And that was worth intruding upon my meal, my conversattion with my apprentice. Five minutes behind our loosely defined appointment, thankfully you don’t have any students yourself if you think five minutes is enough to go fetch someone.”
“I have seen the students you work with, ” He looks at her when he says this. “What you consider worthy of associating with is something I’d never subject myself, barring anything other than absolute necessity.” Faralda opens her mouth to speak, furrowed brows as she once again reminds him of his place as the slight delay in their meeting is making him bold, but she doesn’t get the chance.
“Who the fuck are you to have a problem with my sister?” Her brother is quick to add an apology. “Pardon my language Professor.”
A small smirk creeps over Ceri’s features. Alone she did not feel comfortable to fire back at him with more than a glare; best to let her advisor handle it, but the mage feels more emboldened with Arthano here. Arthano who had gotten in more than his fair share of fights defending his younger siblings. If Ancano was feeling bold, brazen even, then he could handle being outnumbered. Satisfied at finally giving him a piece of his mind, she answers for the ex-Thalmor.
“Nobody. He isn’t a faculty member, not even a student, just someone Faralda has graciously pitied as to not let him freeze to death outside because he has no other options.”
“Why you little-” The mer at the forefront of their words is seizing as the one across the table pulls out a more devastating insult.
“Hmm…” Hand stroking his chin, he feigns a state of deep thought. “No position, no status, nowhere to go but here so he can’t return home… sounds a bit apraxic , don’t you agree Ceridwen?” Yes.
“Oh I hadn’t looked at it that way before but, you are indeed right, my brother.” Holding back a snicker, Ceri continues. “We probably shouldn’t even be speaking with him, what would the ancestors say?” Oh, how they are laying it on thick. Any ancestors that hadn’t instantly discounted them based on their heritage must be laughing, she is sure of it. Most certainly the type to have a sense of humor. Arthano keeps playing it up as Ancano’s eye twitches, prominent enough that she can see it out of the corner of her eye.
“By Auri-El, what would they say?” A small chuckle emits from her at that. “We have reputations to uphold after all, we cannot go bringing shame to the family name.” The name that neither of them had on their documentation anywhere outside of the few years spent in their father’s homeland. That does not matter, what matters is the incredibly smug expression on both of them as the other implodes.
“I will not be spoken to on the subject of reputation by two half-breeds who could not get further from the notion of praxis, why I-”
“You will take your leave now, Ancano.” The Master Wizard’s voice is clear and firm. “I will reschedule our meeting for in three weeks time, I am sure you will be available.” The rage settles into confusion then sadness as the former Thalmor’s face falls.
“Three weeks?”
“I will make four if you do not leave now, your outburst already made it longer. You should be thankful the dining hall is mostly empty and you did not embarrass me more.”
“I think you should get going, Alcano." As he turns to leave, Arthano needs to have the final word. "And some advice for next time; we lived in the Summerset for years, you’ll have to get more creative." For a split second the fire within the sad mer ignites once more, torn between addressing the great insult of mispronouncing his name, ultimately deciding Arthano is not worth further punishment.
They watch him storm off, likely gone to the broom closet he inhabited to sulk, now tasting what it is he so readily dished out to her; Ceri apologizes, fearful they made Faralda uncomfortable.
“Sorry for making a scene, Professor Faralda.”
“It is alright Ceridwen, I will not condemn you for handling a situation in which you have much more experience than I. Particularly given Ancano’s past.” A twinge in her chest as she knows her brother will ask more, newly worried as that revelation could very easily become another. Knowing her brother as she does, it will.
“Oh, do tell what this past is.” It’s not a long silence but it's clear the older woman is thinking carefully how to say it, conscious of who she is speaking to. Unknowing that the two of them are very acquainted with the subject. Looking at Arthano, she speaks.
“Ancano originally arrived here as an advisor to the Arch-Mage at the request of the Thalmor. As the political landscape changed,” One way to put it she supposed. “I advocated for him to remain here as the College of Winterhold has always been impartial.” Her gaze turns downwards slightly. “Though through your sister I am learning other alternatives may have been better for everyone.”
“He’s more annoying than anything, like my brother said we have heard it all at this point. He doesn’t know any better, I feel sad for him at the end of the day.” Ceri says, earning a softened expression from her advisor.
“The remnants of the Thalmor ideals honestly just go in one ear and out the other.” She nods and is happy to have seemingly avoided a particular topic on Thalmor ideals when Arthano ventures precisely into that territory. “Thankfully many have grown beyond that, why in fact our-” The rest of his sentence is met with a short and fast breath as he sucks air through his teeth, her brother trying to cover up the pain as her foot went directly into his shin. Sending a distinct message of if you go there you sleep in the Sea of Ghosts tonight.
“Are you alright?” Biting his lip before answering.
“Yes, don’t worry about me.” Another breath. “We met several ex-Thalmor while staying in Sunhold, remarkable how people can change, it is.”