Whiterun truly earned its reputation as Skyrim's trade hub.
By evening, Rowan Mercer was settled into a room at the Bannered Mare in the Plains District, leafing through a stack of newly purchased spellbooks with quiet satisfaction.
Oakflesh. Candlelight. Conjure Spectral Wolf. Fury. Courage. Healing. Wards.
Aside from a few general theory texts, he had secured beginner spells from nearly every major school of magic. Anything more advanced was rare even here.
Skyrim was the homeland of the Nords, a people who valued steel and muscle over arcane study. Centuries of disasters caused by reckless mages had left deep scars. To many locals, magic was not just dangerous, but outright detestable.
A sword fight might break bones. Fire magic burned houses to the ground.
Summoning daedra, binding spirits, or raising the dead crossed lines most Nords considered unforgivable. Add in rogue mages and forbidden cults operating across the province, and it was no surprise that cities tightly restricted high-level spell sales.
That didn't mean magic was dismissed entirely.
Jarls were pragmatic. They understood power when they saw it and quietly kept court mages and battlecasters close at hand.
The next morning, after breakfast, Rowan and Avier left Whiterun on horseback and headed north.
A carriage would have taken two weeks to reach Winterhold.
On horseback, ten days.
With Rowan setting the pace, they arrived in less than five.
By the time the ruined city appeared through the snowstorm, Avier nearly slid off his saddle.
"By the Eight… we finally made it," he groaned, brushing snow from his cloak and wincing as he rubbed his lower back.
Rowan's route had been brutally direct.
No roads. No detours.
Straight north.
Mountains, frozen lakes, cliffs, forests, wildlife, bandits, worse things hiding in the dark. The kind of path no sane traveler would ever take.
For Rowan, none of it mattered.
Lakes froze solid under a single frost spell. Cliffs were crossed by hoisting horses, luggage, and Avier together and leaping across in a handful of bounds.
For Avier, a thief with an ordinary body, it was misery layered on terror.
"Let's find an inn," Rowan said as they entered the city. "We'll gather information about the College first."
Winterhold greeted them with howling wind and crumbling stone.
Once the pride of Skyrim, the city had once surpassed even modern Whiterun in size and wealth. That ended in the early Fourth Era, when monstrous waves battered the coast, followed by a catastrophic collapse.
More than ninety percent of Winterhold slid into the Sea of Ghosts.
Only scraps remained.
The College of Winterhold survived, preserved by the combined magic of its mages.
That survival came at a cost.
Many of the city's survivors blamed the College for the disaster. Suspicion hardened into resentment. From the jarl to common folk, Winterhold tolerated the College only because they feared it.
From tavern talk and his own memories, Rowan pieced together the rest.
The College accepted students in two ways.
Children under eleven were tested directly for magical aptitude.
Anyone older needed to demonstrate mastery of at least one intermediate spell. Beginners could purchase a suitable spell from the College at a steep discount and had two years to learn it properly.
Rowan met neither age requirement nor spell requirement.
Which was fine.
Learning an intermediate spell would take him minutes.
That evening, Rowan sat by the inn's fire, sipping Winterhold's sharp snowberry wine while a Nord dancer performed nearby. He calmly mapped out his next steps.
Then his expression shifted.
His head tilted slightly.
"A dragon," he murmured. "So Alduin's already started."
Seven days had passed since he'd seen Alduin leave Riverwood. More than enough time to raise several of his kin.
The tavern door slammed open.
"A dragon—there's a dragon attacking—"
The shout cut off as a thunderous roar shook the air outside.
Panic erupted instantly. Guests screamed and scrambled, terror spreading faster than fire.
Dragons were legends made flesh. And legends painted them as merciless, unstoppable monsters.
Rowan rose from his seat, eyes thoughtful.
"Convenient," he said quietly. "I could use a mount."
Whether it would submit was another question entirely.
...
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