The coming day held its breath. Savage Skyrim waited, more asleep than awake, beneath the shadowed umbra of the mountains. The frozen land was barely ready to stretch and roll over for the coming dawn, but already there was blood.
Even without the suggestion of light from the pre-dawn hour, Elys had no trouble tracking the mages. Wild elemental mages with tempers as volatile as the magicks they wielded, whatever plans they'd once had for themselves had quickly devolved into a power struggle across Whiterun, which would only end in death. Ordinarily, Elys would have been content to let them kill each other without interference, but their proximity to the less sheltered farms around Whiterun city posed a threat that couldn't be ignored. Not a huge threat, but a potentially deadly threat to some of Whiterun's lifeblood, none the less. Besides, putting them down was a simple enough task. It truly wasn't a problem worthy of calling in a Circle member, but it was a prime opportunity for training, which was why she crept through the moon shadows outside the city with one of the new bloods.
He lacked the beast sight and senses, but there was a beastial determination in his heart that kept him clawing, and scraping, and howling to ever improve his strengths. The haggard haunting of the whelp's gaze spoke volumes of mystery; he had never said as much, but Elys sensed he sought to kill as many demons in his own mind as around him in the world.
She knew she couldn't slay his own demons for him, but she could help him turn his green inexperience into a keen weapon for slaying the demons haunting Skyrim. Perhaps that would be enough for him in the end.
Neither of the mages they followed had yet gained the upper hand; both hurled ice and chill winds at the other in a cloud of cacophonous malice, but exhaustion was setting in, and even the conjured cold couldn't mask the sharp tang of copper in the air.
New Blood rushed the mages.
The element of surprise was on his side, which is why he managed to get a good slice in on the mage nearest to him before either of them knew what was happening. From there the fight was a little slower going, though he did well to hold his own. For a while. His attacks became more erratic as the battle wore on, and Elys could see his inner demons winning against him. It wasn't quite panic she smelled, but certainly desperation, and that desperation was going to get him killed.
Elys raised Zephyr with a steel arrow at the ready as New Blood howled her name at the lightening sky.
She swore beneath her breath, forced to loose the arrow at random to avoid the ice spire the mage in combat managed to fire with disconcerting accuracy. The next lance landed several lengths away from her; the mage had no real idea where she was. The acrid scent of panic and rage filled the air as he fired wildly at the whelp and his unseen ally, weaving around like a gibbering lunatic, and Elys struggled to get the fool enough in her sights to put an end to the whole affair.
Frostbite was upon her before she could fire the next arrow.
She gasped reflexively, filling her lungs with the crystalline air. She lost sensation in her fingers, and couldn't tell if she was still holding her bow or not. Life became frozen pain, but not for the first time.
"Move!" she gasped in her mind. Movement wasn't easy, but she knew it wasn't as impossible as the spell made it feel, and not moving was a swift ticket to Sovengarde.
After the initial shock, Elys forced blind movement, working with the remnants of muscle memory and the stubborn refusal to let a whelp's mistake cost her her life as a distant "Gods, no!" rang through the early morning air. Before she could reorient herself to force an arrow at the surviving mage in bleed-out in the shrubs, she was hit with the full force of the fully armored New Blood as he tackled her to the ground and out of harm's way. Presumably. The pain in her side suggesting freshly cracked ribs argued that "harm's way" was far more subjective than she'd thought when they left Jorrvaskr.
"Just finish them," she growled, irritation breaking through the frost lingering on her hood and mask.
Driven, no doubt, to protect his senior, the whelp's skill returned anew. Focus drove his movements with furious precision, and Elys remembered why she took the time to train him in the first place. It didn't make her side hurt less, but it did make her feel less like sliding a knife into his neck the next time he fell asleep. So, that was something.
The sun had not yet risen over the jagged Eastern crown, but its light had already painted the sky by the time New Blood had finally finished their chore. He offered a sheepish and embarrassed hand to her as she still lay where he had tackled her down. She let him help her up, but politely brushed off his attempt to support her back to Whiterun.
"Next time, maybe tackle one of the people attacking me?"
"Sorry, Elys," he said, trying not to show the anger he obviously felt at his performance.
"Learn from it, or don't bother apologizing. Words are meaningless," she said, softening the hard reality of her words with a soft kiss to his cheek.
By the time they returned to Jorrvaskr, the sun was fully risen, warming the cold cobblestone streets. Elys dismissed the whelp when they entered the ancient mead hall. A note on her door requested the presence of the Circle in the Underforge later. She tore it down as she entered the room, carefully stripping out of her "armor", such as it was, as she made her way to the bed, where she collapsed and was dead to the world.
The internal clock of the nocturnal fox from which she received her gift alerted her to twilight's approach. She rose from the bed slowly, wincing slightly at the ache in her ribs. Delicate fingers climbed the exposed skin around and between each rib as she probed them for damage. She gave a sigh only vaguely tinged with pain when she discovered only bruising.
She slipped into the diaphanous blue of her favorite "I can't be bothered" gown, stepped into a pair of beaded slippers, and padded up the stairs and out of the mead hall.
Stepping back out into the brazen Skyrim sun, she gave a careful stretch, feeling the muscles shift around the bruising, and approached the Underforge where Syke currently paced like a caged wolf.
Saying nothing, she slipped up behind him and covered his eyes with her cool, slim hands, and leaned against his back with her cheek against his shoulder.
"Take us in, Syke," she whispered. "The Underforge awaits."