TIRED, RETIRED - Self Study (Patreon)

Zelda, in Winterhold Hold

In the Third Era of Calamity, Zelda the Scholar had friends among the Rito who made their roost on the Hebra snowline. She had been more accustomed to the heat of the desert or Death Mountain, but she spent enough time in the snowy mountains to grow familiar with it.

The current incarnation of Hyrule didn’t have a true ice dungeon. Zelda of now was woefully unprepared for the bitter cold of Winterhold.

The robes she’d acquired in Whiterun, reminiscent of her usual dress, were not up to the task of protecting her from the snow. She’d conjured a fur-lined coat, but the magically-produced garment wasn’t as effective as the real thing, and furthermore required constant concentration to be anything other than illusion.

Honestly, it was a miracle that the cobbled road wasn’t buried under three feet of snow. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her.

“Ho, stranger!”

Zelda looked up, wincing as the wind cut at her nose. A man in… far, far too little clothing was standing by the road. As she approached she saw that there was a mine set up in the side of the mountain wall that the road had been following. A smelter puffed away, and Zelda strode up next to it to appreciate its warmth. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, wearing that?” she said, shivering. “You’re practically bare-chested!”

He really was. It was simple hide, arranged in straps across the chest with no shirt underneath. The man was even wearing a kilt instead of pants. “Ha, I know,” he said with a rueful grin. “Bracing, isn’t it?.” Zelda didn’t ignore the way he was practically hugging the smelter. He didn’t even have hair.

The wind whistled across the cave mouth and Zelda hunched in on herself. “Would you mind terribly if I wait out the storm in your mine?”

He shrugged, closing the smelter’s door and cutting off most of the warmth coming off it. “If you want. I warn you, it’s almost colder in there than out here.”

“As long as it’s out of the wind.”

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The aptly-named Whistling Mine was miserable.

A weak fire wavered in the center of the mine, with four other people waiting for them--three more miners and a man in guard’s armor, his helmet on the ground next to him.

“There you are Thorgar,” the one blonde man said. “We were beginning to think you froze to death out there.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid, Angvid.” Thorgar took a seat around the fire and waved Zelda over. “Pull up a rock, stranger.

“And who is this?” the redheaded miner asked, voice laced with suspicion.

“I’m just trying to get out of the cold,” Zelda said, hand raised placatingly. She slid a large enough boulder towards the circle with her boot and sat down on the icy stone.

“And into the other cold, eh?” Angvid asked grimly. “Sorry we don’t have much in the way of hospitality to offer. We don’t have much period.”

Zelda pursed her lips, thinking. “Well, since I dropped in uninvited, allow me to help.”

She raised a hand, palm pointed at the sad firewood, and applied Din’s Fire.

The miners and the guard jumped as red flame burst over the hearth, overtaking the preexisting flame and becoming a true blaze. She let the warmth of her illusion fade to instead focus on maintaining the fire, keeping it warm without eating up its fuel.

The others were startled at first, but quickly relaxed as it chased the chills away.

“Bless you, stranger,” Angvid sighed, leaning close enough to almost singe his eyebrows. “I’d almost forgotten what warm felt like.”

Zelda introduced herself, and let them enjoy the fire for a few minutes. The guard stared at her, full-face helmet hiding any expression he might have.

The rocks around them went from frozen to damp to mostly dry. “I’m grateful for a place to rest, but I have to ask,” Zelda said over the crackle of the fire. “What are you all doing out here in a blizzard?”

The mood of the miners dropped again. “Mining, of course,” Angvid said sourly. “What else are we going to do in a mine? Sitting on our asses poking at rocks? Oh wait.”

The redhead’s leg bounced restlessly. “Don’t be like that, Angvid, I know we’ll find something soon.”

“Soon seems to get farther away every day, Gunding.”

“You’ve been having trouble with the mine?” Zelda guessed.

The miners broke into varying shades of laughter, ranging from desperate to sarcastic to mildly hysterical.

The one who hadn’t spoken yet shook his head. “I’m still not convinced there’s anything but plain rock in this ‘mine.’”

“Of course there is, Badnir!” Thorgar insisted. “Of course there is. There has to be. There has to be.”

Zelda looked at him. From the wrinkles lining his face that framed the bags under his eyes, the man was clearly under a lot of stress. She looked around the mine. Snow littered the ground, blown in from the outside, and ice crawled up the walls. The puddles her fire was producing would probably freeze back into a sheet of slick ice if not cleared away. There was damp firewood stacked against one wall opposite a table with two chairs, and a selection of fur bedrolls as close to the fire pit as they could be without burning. There were places on the walls, scattered all throughout the room, where chunks had been carved out and abandoned. Not all of them even made it through the ice.

It was a miserable place, she decided. Her assessment must have bled through to her face, because Thorgar smiled grimly. “I know, I know. It’s… a work in progress. We’ll strike gold, or silver, or something. We have to.” He looked into the fire. “I spent all my savings on this desolate cave. It has to pay out eventually.”

The other miners shared a resigned look. The guard, meanwhile, slapped the mine’s owner on the back. “I’m sure you’ll turn up good ore any day now, Thorgar. At least you had the guts to stick around. Too many good men are leaving Winterhold these days.”

Angvid snorted. “Only the ones whose brains aren’t frozen,” he muttered.

Zelda frowned, looking around again. “Have you not found anything?” she asked him.

“Just a few lumps of iron,” Angvid said. “And good iron too, but it’s been weeks since the last vein we found, and it was pitifully small.”

The wind whistled through the mine once more, blowing snow into their faces.

Well. Zelda stood, wiping snowflakes off her dress. “I plan on staying in Winterhold for the foreseeable future, and I’ve always believed in giving back to the community.” The five men watched her, confused, as she held up both hands. “It’s been some time since I used this… dowsing is more complicated than you’d think…”

She was mostly talking to herself as she focused. A soft blue light appeared in her palms. Between them, a translucent purple circle hovered in the air. It pulsed faintly.

The miners saw her slowly swiveling around the room, pointing her spell every which way. The guard scowled, arms crossed.

Zelda moved into the small side tunnel to the mine’s only other room. The curious miners got up to follow her. She cycled through several different dowsing targets. Every metal she could think of, then metal in general. Gemstones, for good measure. The first room didn’t trigger anything, but she finally hit something in the second.

“Here,” she said, pointing directly west.

“There?” Thorgar asked. “What there?” His brain finally pieced together what she was doing and he gasped. “What, what is it? Gold?”

“No gold, I’m afraid,” Zelda said apologetically. “Nor silver. But if you dig due west from here, and about, hm, thirty feet down, you’ll find an enormous iron vein. I’m picking up something different a ways behind it, too, but I’m not sure what it is.”

Thorgar’s face fell. “Just iron?”

Gunding rested a hand on his shoulder. “Gold was always a long shot, friend. Iron is better than nothing, and if it’s as good as the pebbles we found before we might make your money back after all.”

He hung his head. When he looked back up, shoulders firm, he nodded. “Right, you’re right. You’re sure about this, stranger?”

“Call me Zelda, please,” she said. “And I’m as sure as I can be. The dowsing spell is tricky, but I’ve never gotten a false positive out of it.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Thank you then, Zelda, thank you.” He laughed, tension bleeding out of him. “If I’m being honest, I was starting to go quite mad at our lack of progress. It’s a relief to know there’s something. Please, stay as long as you want. Have some, er, Angvid what do we have left to eat?”

“Frozen apples. Some frozen soup. Should be good after it thaws.”

Zelda shook her head. “Thank you, but I just want to wait out the snowstorm. Once it’s gone I’ll be off to the city. Perhaps I should tell someone you need a resupply?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do more--” Thorgar began, but Angvid slapped a hand across his mouth.

“Yes, please. Go to the store and tell Birna we need food, she’ll take care of the rest.”

“Of course.” Zelda lit some warm torches for the miners, then went back to the firepit to rest. The guard was standing by the exit, tucking his trousers into his boots. “Oh, are you leaving? Now?” she asked, hearing the storm still going, though not as hard.

“It’s clearing up,” he said gruffly, stuffing his head into his helmet. “I’ve wasted enough time here, need to get back to patrolling.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said. He lived here, so he must know how to handle it. “Oh, before you go, I wanted to report something. On the road, I encountered a strange man--”

“Stranger than you, you mean?” he said, sneering.

Zelda blinked, taken aback. “I--Yes, very much so. He was pulling a coffin and wearing--”

“What do I care that some poor man is burying a relative?” the guard said shortly. “You upset because he wouldn’t let you use the body, mage?”

“What?!”

“Shut it, wizard, and let people be for once,” he spat. “You people and your College are the reason Winterhold is falling apart.”

He left after that, striding into the snow angrily. Zelda could only stare after him, completely baffled and not a little upset. “What on earth was that about?”

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Jo’kir, High Hrothgar

The Greybeards lived a simple, harsh life atop their mountain, Jo’kir found. The parts of their temple they were allowed to see were sparsely furnished, all harsh gray stone and lit by candlelight.

And it was cold. The Greybeards wore thick robes that no doubt served to keep the heat close to their bodies, and he wished he had one for himself. It was at least warmer than outside, but once he woke up, Jo’kir knew the cold wouldn’t let him get to sleep again.

The stone bed was surprisingly comfortable, though. He pulled himself out of it with a groan, keeping the fur coverings wrapped around his shoulders. There was a mirror on the wall opposite the bed, so he went about his morning ritual without complaint. His stripes needed touching up… on impulse he decided to do them in blue this time, to match his robes.

“Traveler, it is time to--oh, you are awake already?”

Jo’kir finished painting the stripe before turning to see the talkative one, Arngeir, the one with his beard tied in a knot. “This one could not sleep, elder.”

“I’m sorry for that, then,” the sage said sincerely. “I know that the life we live on this mountain doesn’t suit most people.”

“Hm.” He returned to finish his face paint. “Jo’kir thanks you for letting us stay the night regardless.”

“Of course. We can hardly test you when you are exhausted from your trek.” Arngeir smiled. “As you even brought our supplies up the mountain with you, it would be most ungracious of us to make you sleep on the floor.”

Stripes done, he put his kit away again and slipped into his boots, shrugging the furs back onto the bed. “Now, about this test?”

“Of course.” The Greybeard led him back to the atrium. The other three sages were already present, arrayed in a circle around the central floor mosaic. Lydia was there as well, seated against the wall.

“Good morning, my Thane.”

He nodded to her, then stepped into the center of the room as Arngeir took his place in the circle.

“Last night, Dragonborn, I asked you to show us your Voice,” the sage said. “Today, we will see how quickly you can learn a new word of the dragon tongue.”

Jo’kir’s ears turned forward, any lingering tiredness washing away. “This one is ready to learn.”

Argneir smiled again. “The word you used last night was Fus, ‘Force’ in the Dragon Tongue. While any word by itself can enact your will on the world, each word used together will amplify and alter each other’s meaning. To make full use of your Voice, you must string three such words together into a Shout. Fus, as you have already discovered, creates a wave of force that can stagger your opponents. The next word in the Unrelenting Force shout is Ro--Balance--which Einarth will teach you now.”

He indicated the Greybeard to his right, the one with the longest beard and therefore likely the strongest.

Jo’kir smirked at the thought, then looked on with interest as Einarth whispered the syllable into the ground. The temple shuddered, and wide gashes were carved out of the floor in the shape of letters similar to the ones he’d been seeing in the dungeons.

Arngeir continued talking, something about how Ro mixed with Fus to focus the blast, but Jo’kir struggled to hear him. The dragon letters on the ground glowed, overshadowing everything else in his vision, and then the howling drowned out the elder’s words.

When he could hear again, he heard, “--ah, you learn a new word like a master. You truly do have the gift.” Arngeir shook his head in wonder.

Jo’kir was told that as Dragonborn, he could learn the meanings of words through absorbing dragon souls, while others such as the Greybeards could only do so through time and practice. Master Einarth shared the meaning of Ro with him, which was a strange sensation Jo’kir had no words to describe.

“Now, let us see how quickly you master your new Thu’um.”

Borri, the sage with the shortest beard, Shouted a ghostly echo of himself into being, and Jo’kir was made to unleash his Shout upon it. He did so eagerly, fascinated by this strange magic.

“Fus… RO!”

The force from his shout was almost visible with the way it bent the air, like the way heat bends the air above fire. The construct was staggered, knocked back a few steps… as was Borri, standing behind it. The pots behind him were sent flying, and the largest one shattered against the wall.

“Ooh… Apologies.”

The Greybeards chuckled silently. “Worry not, Dragonborn,” Arngeir assured him. “Why else would we have all these empty pots if not for target practice? And it is easily fixed. Wahl Aav Krent.”

The shattered pieces shivered, then flowed back together, whole once more.

Jo’kir hummed appreciatively. “Now that looks useful.”

“The Thu’um can do many things,” Arngeir agreed. “Almost anything you can imagine, should you know the right words. Now, let’s see you do that again…”

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Zelda, Winterhold

True to the guard’s word, the blizzard cleared up only a few minutes later, and after bidding them goodbye Zelda continued on her way. Now that she could actually see the world around her, the hold was beautiful in a stark way. Rock formations rose up from deep snow, the only sign of life being the scattered evergreens.

While the rolling wastes that gave way to the sea were lovely, the most interesting sight was atop the mountains. On the second-tallest peak, the silhouette of a woman looked over the region. It was difficult to see from this angle, but her eyes were sharper than most. If it was a statue, it must have been enormous.

Zelda made a mental note to trek up to it at some point and focused on the path. The cobblestones were almost invisible under the snow.

She stopped, midstep, and groaned. Then she held a ball of fire out in front of her and melted the snow ahead of her. She even ramped up the heat so there wouldn’t be puddles to turn into ice later.

When Zelda finally arrived, the city almost snuck up on her. Falkreath, Riverwood and Whiterun all had walls surrounding them, of varying degrees of grandeur. Whiterun, as one of the larger cities in the country, was entirely surrounded and even included a small, simple fort at the entrance that increased its defensibility. Riverwood and Falkreath’s walls weren’t all-encompassing, but still served as gatehouses for all the roads in and out.

Winterhold did not have walls. It did not have a gate. It only had the one guard, who shouted at her when she came up the road.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” he practically snarled, half-drawing his sword.

Zelda snuffed the fire immediately. “Good morning to you as well. I was just clearing the path for myself and others--”

“Well cut it out,” he said. “Bad enough we have to put up with the College, we don’t need you causing a panic by throwing flames around in the street.” He slammed his blade back into its sheath and crossed his arms, staring pointedly at her until she passed him by.

While that was an upsetting interaction, it was forgotten swiftly when the first building of Winterhold proper was a snowed-in ruin, walls decaying and roof completely absent. A sickly bush was sprouted from the center of the once-house.

The inn and tavern next door was still in use, from the torch by the door, but it looked to be in only slightly better shape. The wood planks that made up its walls were held in place by frost as much as nails. The longhouse across the road, similar in design to Siddgeir’s, was more well-maintained but not by much. The only people in the street were guards. Some of them stared indifferently at her. Most glared.

A dark elf, seated glumly on a bench in front of the inn, was the only friendly interaction she had during her walk. He nodded at her as she passed, which she returned with a smile that seemed to cheer him up.

The College, meanwhile, was much more in line with what she imagined. It loomed over the town, apparently larger than the rest of the capital combined. It sat on a pillar of rock only just large enough to hold it, connected by a precarious-looking bridge. Zelda closed her eyes, and she could feel the magic that sat inside it. It radiated off of the castle like light off a lantern. A beacon shone from somewhere inside its walls, shining up to the sky and against the clouds above.

Zelda watched it for a short while. She was eager to enter and begin studying to expand her own repertoire, and the College was certainly an impressive sight. This building would have been right at home in Hebra or Tabantha. Or even places that weren’t covered in ice.

But the chilly reception was bothering her. Why was this ‘city’ famous for its magical institution so hostile to her use of magic? It didn’t make sense to her.

She needed to talk to someone about this, and as it happened she had passed a sign that read ‘Birna’s Oddments’ while she was walking through the town.

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The Nord woman inside Winterhold’s only store was snoozing against the counter when Zelda walked in. She startled awake when the door thunked closed.

“Hm-snrk-wha? Oh,” she said, stretching. “Sorry about that.”

“Not very busy today?” Zelda asked, pulling down her hood.

“Very funny.” Birna, she assumed, rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Winterhold isn’t exactly overflowing with people. So I sell whatever I can.” She gestured to the shelf behind her. Zelda saw fire starter kits and tents alongside cutlery and knick-knacks. Most of her stock was food in barrels and sacks. Of particular note was the orange-ish statue that Zelda recognized.

“Is that a dragon claw?”

“What?” Birna followed her pointing finger and scowled at the piece. “Oh, that thing. Just a bad deal from way back. Worthless junk.”

“Are you sure?” Zelda asked.

“Some fool sold it to me for an unreasonable amount of gold. He said it was worth a fortune, something to do with Yngol Barrow.” She sighed, disgusted. “Don’t know what I was thinking. As if I’m ever going to set foot in some ancient tomb filled with who knows what.”

Birna took it down from the shelf and handed it to Zelda, who inspected the symbols in the palm. Snake wolf moth. “It’s funny. Another shopkeeper, in Riverwood, had one of these as a display piece.”

“Oh aye?”

“Yes, it got stolen, and a friend of mine went to retrieve it and discovered it was the key to a sealed door in… Bleak Falls Barrow, I think it was.”

“No kidding?” Birna asked, surprised. “Maybe there’s something to it after all… But I still don’t think tomb-diving is for me. You can have it for fifty gold.”

Zelda hummed, handing her a purple rupee that she accepted without any fuss. “That’s fascinating, but I actually came here to tell you that the men at Whistling Mine are running low on supplies.”

Birna sighed. “Of course they are. When is Thorgar going to let that go? He’s just going to ruin his life at this rate. I’ll send them something, as long as they have the money.”

Zelda tucked the dragon claw away. “I wouldn’t be too sure. I helped them find a deposit after they let me rest in their mine, so their luck might turn around now.”

Birna gave her a strange look at that. “You did, did you? How’d you do that?”

“A dowsing spell.”

Birna’s face fell flat. “Ah, you’re a mage then? Should have known, with those robes of yours.”

“Hm.” She looked at the shopkeeper’s face, and saw wariness and suspicion, but no stronger emotions. “Tell me, why are all the guards so hostile to mages? I’ve been getting the evil eye since I arrived.”

“You don’t know the story?” At Zelda’s look of polite curiosity, she sighed for a third time and had her sit by the fireplace. “Once, Winterhold was a great city, the greatest in Skyrim. We were even the capital, once. But eighty years ago, the Sea of Ghosts turned wild, battering the shores and cliffs of Winterhold until the city fell into its maw. Winterhold is only a shadow of what it once was, and since the College survived unscathed even as the world fell away around it, some folks around here like to say they’re to blame.”

“Do they have proof?” Zelda asked, brow furrowed.

“No,” Birna admitted. “But there’s no proof to the contrary either. The mages insist they didn’t do it, but I have to say it’s awfully convenient that they stayed standing when the rest of us suffered.”

Zelda digested that. “...Hm.” She looked up. “What do you think?”

Birna snorted. “I think it doesn’t matter what happened or why, all that matters now is that Winterhold is dying and the College is all that’s keeping us relevant.”

“The guard at the mine mentioned people leaving.”

“Aye. Few grow up here, fewer grow old here.” She scowled. “Gods know I’d have left ages ago if I could afford to, but I barely make ends meet as it is.”

Zelda nodded, standing. “Well thank you for explaining things to me. I think I’ll take my leave now.”

“Off to the College, I’ve no doubt. Hey,” Birna said, “Let me know if anything comes of that claw.”

“I will. And, actually.” Zelda pulled at her dress. “Do you have any warm clothes I can buy? I’ve been using magic to keep warm, and it’s getting tiring.”

Birna looked her up and down, trying to determine in what way magic was assisting her. “Of course I have warm clothes. It’s Winterhold. Let me find something your size.”

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Link, The Rift

Link and Farkas ambled quietly through the forests of the Rift. Neither of them spoke, but neither felt much like speaking, so that was alright.

Farkas looked at the boy from the corner of his eye, taking in the ridiculous getup. Off the path, a pair of black wolves watched from a ways away. Due to his circumstances, Farkas had a better handle on the animals’ emotions than most, so he could tell their confusion even from this distance. He didn’t blame them.

“Why wolves?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Link shrugged. “I like wolves. Sometimes I think I was a wolf in a past life.”

He smirked as he said that, which made Farkas think there was a joke involved. He couldn’t tell what it was though, so he ignored it. “Fair enough. Wolves are good. Fierce fighters who work together.”

The wolves scarpered off somewhere, not willing to fight them today.

The two of them continued on, until it was Link’s turn to ask a question. “I thought I heard the Companions always traveled in groups.”

“Usually, yeah,” Farkas agreed.

Link didn’t ask the follow-up question, but Farkas heard it anyway.

“Someone needed a skeever problem taken care of near Riften. No one else wanted to go that far out just fight some rats, but I like the Rift and it’s been a while, so I came by myself.”

Link nodded, accepting the explanation.

A frostbite spider appeared over a hill, and between one blink and the next Link had shot it with an arrow. Farkas kept his eyes peeled for the second one, which speared the monster’s eye and killed it before it had finished figuring out where the first had come from.

Farkas blinked slowly. “Good shot.”

“Thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want to join the Companions?”

“I’m warming up to the idea.”

That was acceptable, Farkas decided.

They came to a fork in the road and Farkas pointed to the right. “Sarethi Farm’s this way.”

Link nodded. “We going our separate ways, then?”

The warrior pondered this, working out the directions in his head. “...Nah, it’s faster to get to Heartwood Mill this way. I’ll stick with you.”

“Great.”

Farkas thought about asking why Link wanted to go to Sarethi Farms, but decided not to bother. They’d be there soon enough and he’d find out why then.

Farkas liked Link. He was a good traveling companion.

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Zelda

“Halt!” An Altmer woman stood in front of the bridge to the College with an imperious expression. “The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open! You shall not gain entry!”

Zelda tilted her head. “That’s not a very good way to advertise yourself.”

“Advertise? Wait.” The Altmer looked at her again and relaxed. “Ah, are you here to join the College? My apologies.”

“Do you say that to everyone who comes this way?” Zelda asked, climbing the stairs to meet her under the archway. “It’s quite unneighborly.”

The elf sniffed. “Maybe so, but let’s see how neighborly you feel after the hundredth time some ignorant Nord comes up and complains at you about strange noises in the night that they’re blaming on you, and then it turns out to just be rats under their floorboards.”

Zelda drew back, surprised at the vehemence of her response. “Does that happen that often?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. “I actually wouldn’t mind if it actually was the College’s fault, half the time it’s something utterly mundane we had nothing to do with.”

“...Only half the time?”

“Nevermind that.” She cleared her throat. “Allow me to properly greet you. I am Faralda, one of the senior Wizards here. Before I can grant you entry to the College, what is it you expect to find within?”

Taking the time to consider the question, Zelda finally said, “I simply wish to expand my own understanding of the art of magic, and perhaps share my own knowledge with others.”

Faralda brightened. “Ah, a true scholar. And perhaps a future professor as well, hmm? Well, the College can definitely assist you in that pursuit. However, before you can proceed, you must demonstrate that you already possess some understanding of magic.”

Now that was unexpected. “Is that not counterproductive?” Zelda asked. “Isn’t the College for those who wish to learn?”

“It is,” she confirmed. “But not everyone possesses the aptitude, and we have no wish to waste everyone’s time attempting to teach someone who cannot be taught. I can sense that you have significant magicka at your disposal already,” Faralda added, “It’s simply a customary test.”

“I understand. What do I need to do?”

“Hmm.” Faralda thought. “The Flame Atronach is an invaluable companion to anyone who studies Conjuration. Summoning one here would be an appropriate show of skill.”

“Ah.” Zelda smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid summoning is the one I know the least about. I’ve gathered it has something to do with Oblivion.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” Faralda assured her. “Here. This should tell you what you need to know.” She handed Zelda a book with a deep purple cover and waited patiently as Zelda perused it. “I myself am unfamiliar with the theory behind Conjuration; I specialize in Destruction magic. But the spell itself is simple enough.”

Zelda scanned the pages detailing the spell. “So ‘atronachs’ each have their own realm, with the fire ones claiming one called Infernace…” She closed the book and tucked it under her arm, then pulled it back out to consult it again. With her other hand she gathered magic as the book instructed. It formed the spiraling vortex depicted, though Faralda frowned at it.

“That… is not the correct color. Are you sure you aren’t casting a healing spell?”

“Quite sure.” Zelda thought about heat and fire and all things burning as she pushed power into the spell matrix. The vortex felt like it was tunneling in a direction she couldn’t see, though she could certainly feel it. The book said that this was a common sensation, especially for a first summoning, so she didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t enough though, so she pushed more power into it.

Heat. Fire. Flame. Burning. Lava. Magma. Molten rock and metal. Death Mountain. The Fire Temple. Fire and heat and flame.

Faralda noticed the sweat forming on Zelda’s brow. “The spell isn’t supposed to be that difficult. Are you sure you’re doing it correc--”

Abruptly, the spell breached into wherever it was trying to go, and a portal of golden light formed over the sigil on the ground. For the merest instant heat poured out of it as the light obscured everything, and Faralda stepped back in response.

Zelda, meanwhile, was more concerned with how tired she suddenly felt. She’d never had magic exhaustion before, in this life at least.

When the light faded, instead of the humanoid pyre depicted in the tome, a foot-tall orb of glowing red goo sat in the middle of the sigil, flames licking at it. It turned its detached eyes to Zelda, then Faralda, then both at once, and wobbled placidly in place.

The Altmer started at it, nonplussed. “That… is not an atronach.”

“I think I missed,” Zelda admitted, panting slightly. “I got to thinking about home and summoned a Chuchu instead.”

Faralda bent down to poke the little slime, then jerked her finger back when it singed. “Interesting.” She healed the burn and nodded. “You summoned something at least, and even if it’s the wrong result it’s still an intriguing one. The College of Winterhold welcomes you.”

Zelda smiled. “Excellent. I look forward to it.”

They shook hands, and Faralda activated the fountains along the bridge, sending further beacons into the sky. “Follow me.”

The Chuchu bounced, erupting into a small fireburst that left it briefly dull brown before its fire surged up again. Both women were able to avoid having their boots set on fire.

“...” Faralda raised an eyebrow at the blob. “Your summon will have to stay in the courtyard until it returns home. Urag will kill you if it sets his library on fire.”

“Of course,” Zelda agreed. She wasn’t sure what to make of the Chuchu in any case. She’d never summoned a monster before, and had no clue what to expect. It didn’t seem hostile to either of them.

The Chuchu, ignorant of their concerns, simply burbled. It had never seen snow before.