of Mer and Man

Winterhold was home, in many ways. Hearths roared hot all night long and the warmth in the small town was noticeable despite the chill. The small population allowed for strong friendships and little crime, which made guard duty a breeze. 

The size of the town meant that every day was the same. Patrol the grounds, eat lunch at the Frozen Hearth, look out over the vast and mostly frozen lake over the cliffside. It was boring, but it was also safe, and assured, and it was home. 

The sameness of Hedgrod’s days would change however, on a particularly cold day in Last Seed. It was lunchtime, and many of the town’s guards were filling their bellies and warming their frozen fingers around the large fire in the center of the inn. 

Hedgrod’s conversation he had been making with his fellow guardsman was cut short when the door blew open, bringing with it some of the snowflakes from the outside. A hooded figure with a satchel came in and closed the door behind him, pulling the hood off of his head and the mask down from his face, which was flushed with the cold. His long, reddish hair fell past his shoulders. 

The stranger was an elf. A bosmer, specifically, though taller than how he was used to Bosmer appearing. He was donning a bow, as is typical of bosmer to be skilled in. Atypical of a bosmer, however, were the robes he was wearing, which indicated that he was a student of the large college on the edge of town. A mage in training. 

Hedgrod found himself staring as the newcomer blew into his hands and made his way towards the hearth, which was surrounded by the town’s guards. None of them paid him any mind nor did they make room for him, and he appeared visibly bothered by this treatment. Hedgrod moved over slightly from his perch on the hearth’s edge, making just enough space for the elf, who noticed this movement and blinked at Hedgrod. He nodded in thanks and stepped to the hearth, stretching his hands open toward it, his long nimble fingers outstretched. 

“Bit cold to be wandering outside of the college,” Hedgrod remarked neutrally as he finished off his tankard of ale. 

The bosmer turned and looked at him, regarding him with sharp hazel eyes that told Hedgrod nothing. For a moment it occurred to him he was wrong about this man attending the college, perhaps he was just a visitor to the town. 

This thought was shot down as soon as he could conceive it. He knew, as did the rest of the locals, that nobody came to this town save for those intending to enroll at the college or those who were already in attendance. There wasn’t much else left of Winterhold these days. His assumption was confirmed when the elf spoke.

“Yes, however I needed snowberries for a potion I’m working on.” His voice was warm, not matching the scrutinizing expression on his face. Hedgrod could imagine being the only mer in front of a group of rowdy Nord guards might have been a little frightening.

Hedgrod nodded, not even trying to pretend he understood anything about alchemical ingredients, let alone potion mixing. His skills were limited to sowing a field and swinging a sword. 

“I see the best time to plan an attack on this town is whilst the entire guard is here having lunch,” the elf mused. The statement itself was threatening but the way he said it did not come off as such.

Hedgrod chuckled, and the stranger cracked a small smile. It suited his face very well, Hedgrod thought. 

“Well,” he continued, drawing his hands away from the fire and adjusting his satchel around himself. “I’d best get back to my studies."

Hedgrod stood. “Let me walk you back to the college,” he offered. 

The bosmer quirked an eyebrow. “Do I come off as that defenseless?” He inquired.

“Well, no,” Hedgrod replied, his cheeks hot. “But as you’ve pointed out, most of the town guard is here. I’m sure you aren’t the first person to form an attack strategy based around our lunch. What if today is the day that attack comes? Surely even a skilled archer could not fend off a group of bandits by himself.”

“You’ve got me there,” he replied, smiling again. His earrings reflected the flickering firelight, and the way it glinted off of his warm brown skin made him look like he was almost glowing. “Very well, Nord, I will allow you to accompany me on my walk up to the college gates.” He turned, not waiting for Hedgrod to reply, and started towards the door. 

Hedgrod quickly set his tankard down and grabbed his guard helmet, tucking it under his arm as he followed suit. The snowfall had slowed down a bit, but small soft flakes still danced through the air and crunched underfoot as the two men walked side by side through the town in the direction of the massive College. 

“Not much to guard here, is there,” The elf said as they walked, looking around at the small houses on either side of the path. 

Hedgrod shrugged. “Being a guard is better than farming. But, this is all I know. I grew up here.”

“Really?” the elf asked. “You haven’t traveled anywhere else?”

“I’ve been to Windhelm a handful of times.”

“Never more south than that?”

Hedgrod shook his head. 

The elf made a noise of disapproval. “Shame. Skyrim is beautiful. Such a diverse landscape. It’s a pity you’ve only seen the parts of it that are covered in snow year-round.”

“I suppose I don’t know what I’m missing. Where are you from?” He asked, changing the subject. 

“Cyrodiil originally. The Imperial City.”

Hedgrod let out a low whistle. He had seen the Imperial city on maps, and heard about it from travelers. It was the biggest city in Tamriel, home to the Emperor, and a hub for trade and commerce. The Arcane University was also in the Imperial City, which begged the question…

“So you’ve traveled all this way to study in Winterhold as opposed to the Arcane University at your home?”

The elf shrugged. “I had already traveled to Skyrim before I took an interest in magic.”

“What was the reason for traveling then?”

“To see the world. To meet new people and learn new things. To taste new dishes. To settle down, eventually, in a place that really feels like home, I suppose.” There was a faraway look on his face as he answered. 

Hedgrod nodded, though he had never had the same aspirations to travel the world or see new things. He could read about those things in books, and not have to worry about the days worth of travel to see them in person. There was nothing he was particularly in need of seeing in person in his lifetime, he thought to himself. 

Falling silent, the two men began ascending the concrete path up to the college. Hedgrod often made this trek to visit the Arcaneum. While not a member of the college, he enjoyed reading, and Urag gro-Shub, the librarian, allowed him to visit and read, so long as he returned the books in the same condition he took them in. He was careful with them, and had eventually earned the trust of the notoriously bad-tempered orc. 

His visits to the college were often short, however, and limited to just the section of the estate that contained the library, so it was no surprise to him that he had not crossed paths with the elf walking beside him before. Hedgrod was curious how long the bosmer had been studying at the college but had already asked so many questions, and did not want his curiosity to come off as an interrogation. He let the question tumble around in his mind as they neared the courtyard, where the massive statue of Shalidor stood proudly. Hedgrod craned his neck to admire the work, and the two men came to a stop. 

“Well, thank you for my personal guard escort. You’ve made me feel quite important,” the elf said, genuine but also with a tone of amusement. 

Hedgrod smiled at him and nodded in acknowledgement. “It was my pleasure. Good luck with your potion,” he said.

The elf waved, and turned. Hedgrod fitted his guard helmet back on as the sound of the massive college doors opening and closing boomed around the snowy courtyard. 

It was only after he had made his way halfway back down the stone path to the town, watching his fellow guardsmen pour out of the Frozen Hearth and begin to take up patrol once more, that it dawned on him that he had not gotten the elf’s name.