Prologue: A Breton Farmgirl
4th of Second Seed, 4E201
The wiry Old Man sat across from his once colleague and watched the wrinkled Altmer intently. Two cups of Nirnroot tea sat between them as tendrils of steam wafted into the evening air on a typical chilly night in Bruma. Nearby, a young Breton girl was acquainting herself with the old women's kitchen, a student of his that he had introduced and as expected, ignored.
She was in fact, the reason for his unexpected visit. The young one had turned out to be a surprisingly attentive student and demonstrated a Gift that required far more skill than he could muster; and there was no one else he could think to guide her other than their current host. If the Guild hadn't been disbanded and the Empire hadn't so thoroughly turned it's back on them, the both of them could have watched this one grow into a powerful mage. He could have guided her with all the best that the organization could have offered. She would have surpassed him, and if he were to divine her future, very likely succeeded his host had her position still existed. In short, she would have been a great asset...
He grimaced slightly at the memories and quickly dispelled them. There was nothing to be done now. The Synod is what had sprung out of the ashes of the old order and they were less interested in nurturing talent and providing their services to the populace and far too concerned with collecting ancient relics and currying favor with the political elite. As for the College of Whispers, too many wayward Necromancer's had joined their ranks at its founding. He knew more than a few of them back when they had been part of the Guild. He could only imagine how deeply they would have fallen after becoming Whisperer's. The officially sanctioned groups then, would only twist the young one into something not herself, into a tool. This could not be allowed, even if it meant risking his anonymity from the Thalmor.
By pure dumb luck, she had chosen to run away from her village to follow after him and this, he thought, was probably the best choice she could have made, not that he was happy when he realized he had been followed. She, correctly as it turned out, feared he would be furious with her and insisted on marching her back to her family had she revealed herself to him at the onset of her journey.
In the end, out of hunger and desperation, she had dared to steal into his camp to eat a bit of his fish and sit by the fire while she thought he slept. Until that moment had come, he had not known exactly who had been following him, only that someone was out there and he had feared the worst. Turning out of his bedding, he had risen up spell already leaping out of his hand intending to incinerate this intruder before she could act. He still couldn't believe that he had managed to turn his spell aside. By the Nine Divines, he had almost killed her!
After that, with the loudest whisper he could manage, he had meant to berate this girl to within an inch of her life and march her back to Cropsford. She had, however, already beaten him to his goals by falling to the ground and crying her eye's to Oblivion. She tried desperately to explain her sad state of affairs to him. He could do nothing except calm his own nerves as she performed a very credible impression of a distraught Goblin trying to talk over a herd of bleating goats that evening.
He nearly smiled at the memory of it but was brought back to the present full haste; a nearly imperceptible frown had crept over the Old Crone's face.
"Do you understand what you are asking of me?"
The Old Man studied her visage intently. It was vital that he catch every nuance if he had any chance of convincing her that this one was worth the risk. The promise of the young one's potential demanded it.
"I understand exactly what I'm asking of you."
She gazed at him for a moment more before replying. "The Council will not simply stand by and allow me to take on a student; I am far too... notorious for their liking. They will see her as a breach in my agreement with them and will act in the best interests of the White-Gold Concordat. Don't you see? I no longer have any Dominion over my existence. All you are doing by showing up at my doorstep is risking whatever anonymity you've gained and disturbing the quiet peace of my existence."
The Old Man frowned at the Altmer's choice of words. She had divined what he had hoped would be her situation and had left him without a thread to weave. It seemed the Thalmor did not consider her one of their own anymore. Fearing the worst, he wondered what she had been forced to give up in exchange for her "retirement".
Julianos guide me. I need this woman; she needs this woman!
He needed to change the topic lest she close the door on this conversation. "How has your life been these past few years? I can only imagine that you've found your 'quiet peace' through uninterrupted contemplation?"
The Old Crone continued to gaze at the old man, her face a deeply etched mask. "One can gain many insights and hone their magical skills through uninterrupted meditation. It's practically a lost art I'm afraid. Khajiit, I believe, are the only one's who actively explore the art of meditation itself as part of their training in their Temple. Though in their case, they meditate to further hone their martial prowess."
The Old Man kept his body relaxed and his breathing regular. The Old Crone, despite being abandoned, had not been forced to completely shed her magics it seemed. Julianos be praised!
What's more, he thought he had detected a change in her tone halfway into her reply and dared to speculate that she hadn't forgiven the Elder Council for her predicament. For once, he gave praise to the Nine for Altmer pride.
He averted his eyes as he brought his cup upto his lips and took a slurp. "I remember this tea very well. You could never get any of the apprentices to steep the dried Nirnroot correctly in your pursuit of perfection. This tea is as lovely as a I remember it."
The Old Crone nodded at the compliment and took a sip from her cup as well.
The Old Man thought for a moment and then continued. "The Khajiit are an interesting people. I often find myself in the company of their caravan's as I ply my enchantng and healing skills from town to town. On occasion, I have seen one of the warrior class protecting the caravan fall into a meditative trance. Watching it can be almost hypnotic in a way. And, like yourself, I too agree that meditation is a lost art."
Taking another slurp from his cup, the Old Man decided to take a gamble. In her younger days, the Altmer had been known to be a hard taskmaster to her pupils. Nothing they did impressed her. He needed then, to get her to acknowledge this girl somehow. She had completely ignored her when they had met and had only reluctantly agreed to allowing her in the kitchen at the Old Man's insistence. In fact, he was sure that if he brought up his request again she would, given her circumstances, cut the conversation short and thank him for the visit.
He continued. "I recall one instance where a meditative trance had induced a calming affect upon others as if a spell had been cast."
The Old Crone took another sip of her tea and nodded at his observation. "...yes, I've experienced something similar..."
"Yes, I'm sure you have but does this not surprise you? It is one thing to utter the cantrips and make the signs to bring forth a calming spell. But for someone who was unitiated to essentially 'skip' the rituals and still be able to Focus the energies however slight was of great astonishment to me! The experience had called to my mind certain observations that our Master level practitioners had made on occasion. One of them had mentioned an odd sensation they would occasionally feel when casting some of their most familiar..."
The Altmer waived her hand at this, cutting off the Old Man mid sentence. "Of course not. These Khajiit practitioners are not so backwards that they aren't able induce spell like affects when in meditation. I should think lesser of you for stating your own astonishment at this."
The Old Man looked on as calmly as he could and uttered, "When did I indicate that it was a Khajiit practitioner that I had observed inducing a calm spell through meditation?"
The Old Crone bore her gaze into the Old Man's eye's, betraying her state of mind at what he had just said. She averted her eye's down to the cup in her hand and calmly took another sip.
The silence between them spoke volumes to the Old Man. I've piqued your interest haven't I, you old bag! I'd like to see you try to ignore this young lady now.
The Old Man took another slurp of his tea as he played out the next several steps in his mind. Once the Altmer finally acknowledged the girl, it would simply be a matter of hashing out the details. Her presence here would need to be natural and unremarkable to both the Elder Council and more importantly to the Thalmor. No doubt he would have to make the first suggestions to help salve the Old Crone's pride and provide the necessary cover should the need arise.
The pleasing smell from the kitchen indicated that dinner would be ready soon. It seemed the Breton girl was quite the domestic. Yes, he thought, I think I know exactly how this should be.
He continued to observe his host.
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