#ancano

The Thalmor captain was a little taller than himself, and preceded his agents up the stairs, narrowed eyes hardly leaving his own. He was followed by a smaller, lilac-haired mer, bird-like and wary, and then by the last, this one with his hood up. Something both familiar and strange about him.

Someone else ghosted into the room, and, with a jolt, Vingalmo realised he'd miscounted: the extra was a well-built Dunmer wearing soft shoes, who skulked after them, head on a swivel. At the captain's signal, he remained at the bottom of the steps with his back to the wall, one wind-burned and sinewy hand at his belt. No doubt he had an array of hidden weaponry on him.

The Justiciars were also armed, not with maces, as he'd been expecting, but with swords of ebon-steel.

A cool display, the old vampire thought to himself.

However, his blood-senses could detect their hearts thumping; they were afraid, though their faces remained inscrutable.

The leaders reached him and stopped, gloved hands folded before them.

No five-fold felicitations for the monster, then, thought Vingalmo, bitterly.

The living Elves were close enough to smell, and the nostalgia of...before...of thousands of years before...hit him unexpectedly, and he had to blink rapidly and clear his throat.

"You are not long in Skyrim, ceruval," he said to the captain, before he could stop himself.

The tallest elf's expression didn't change, nor did he acknowledge the observation: "Vingalmo, I presume."

The vampire inclined his sleek head. "I have long foregone my Kinhouse and Clan connexions," he admitted. "Plain old Vingalmo it is."

The other snorted. "I don't believe that for a moment."

"Why not, Nafarion 'cal Llarethiiath?" retorted the vampire, taking care to ennunciate the name he knew the noble hated.

The Thalmor grimaced. "Because your connections are what led us to this little rendezvous." (His disgust at his surroundings was badly disguised. Any tentative hopes the vampire had had of pleasant conversation over wine evaporated). "And I'd prefer Ntalym."

"Nat-al-im," repeated Vingalmo, with only the barest hint of mockery. "How...unusual. Did you choose it yourself?"

"How about we get down to business," said the mer, nailing him with a glare that lasted several seconds too long.

Loud, thought Vingalmo. Almost nervously so. He almost laughed. Ah, to be young and impetuous again! To inhabit a delusion of knowing how the world works.

He feigned contrition. "Of course. But haste is unbecoming." He didn't need to elaborate; haste was the province of the short-lived.

"Lack of haste is what got us into this mess," interjected the silvery older Justiciar, primly. "To win against Man, we must, on occasion, employ His approach."

Vingalmo met the intelligent amber gaze appraisingly. He might have been imagining it, but he felt the mer had been deliberate in his use of "us" and "we", and he liked him a little better for that.

"Who said anything about a mess?" he replied, all innocence. "I was under the impression your High Council had it all under control. Ancano 'cal Ceyım, isn't it?"

"Indeed," affirmed the other. "You know well of what I speak."

"Hm," Vingalmo smiled, thin-lipped. "Shall we?" he motioned to the round wooden table and attendant chairs; bare and unfussy.

Wordlessly, the captain sat, as though trying against all logic not to make contact with the wood, and the attaché moved to stand at his shoulder, gazing down at him.

Protectively close, observed Vingalmo. And that gaze is oh-so-soft. How delicious!

Under the guise of sitting himself, he inhaled deeply and found he could not easily distinguish the two; either they shared robes (unlikely, given the height difference) or one's scent was on the other's collar. He filed that information away for later.

Almost unbidden, his attention slipped past the two, to the third Altmer, presumably their junior and lucky third, who stood some way back, staring down into the vestibule with his arms folded.

"Ahoy," Vingalmo called lazily, hoping to be able to see the other's face. The hooded mer turned to him; empty golden eyes found his briefly and flicked away again.

It was enough. The force of the shame lurking there touched something savage in the vampire.

While the other Altmer rummaged for some papers, Vingalmo reached out with his senses once more — yes, the faintest magical thread tied thrall and master! He could even see it faintly, now he was expecting it: hair-thin trails of blue-and-red sparks, just outside of normal perception. Advanced stuff.

The captain, hands now steepled before him, was treating him to A Look once more, the disdain on his face now quite plain.

And so Vingalmo went, metaphorically, for the throat.

He leaned in slowly, faux-conspiratorial, and whispered: "How is it that a talented necromancer such as yourself comes to hate and fear the dead so much?"

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Just an exceept that popped into my head after making this post recently!

Vinnie is a wily old character in my hc; he outwardly agrees with Valerica that his Lord, at least, should not gain Auriel's Bow.

I'll work out details and write the negotiations so long as I can make them entertaining; both sides are trying to use each other...

Also!! the eye of magnus in both ancanos eye and behind him are from UESP/Skyrim wiki (can't recall which but I think I got them from both) I just turned the contrast way up. So is the background i just used a screenshot. I didnt draw those. All I drew was the horrible and insane homicidal elf in the center LMAO

Mostly because shading ancano was annoying and I didnt want to spend any more time on this with backgrounds

Uhhh in my hc lore for Ancano he went insane rather than just... deciding to be a little too silly one day and take the orb. In my hc lore it was talking in his brain and he went insane from the knowledge and it semi possessed him. Whoopsie.

I have so much made up ancano lore in my brain PLEASE ask me about my headcanons people....... please please please......

Also im employed now so sorry if posting is less frequent