"Did I just see you talking to Sven?"
Those were the first words which Faendal spoke to him. The mage was plucking at a thistle bush and did not reply. The wood-elf was going to ask again when he got his answer.
"If your idea of talking is a one-sided, witless, obnoxious waste of breath then yes, you did hear me talking to Sven. What of it?"
Faendal looked around to see if the reply had come from elsewhere. Sighting no one around, he told himself that it must be the mage who had spoken. The voice was not low, no. It was very clear. But dry, and so so tired. Also it was strange how the voice of the wizard hung in the air. Suspended. From nowhere to nowhere.
Lost in thought as he was, he completely forgot to speak the demeaning lines about Sven which he recited to absolutely everyone. He watched as the mage stuffed the herbs into the satchel at his side.
"Anyways. It was nice talking to you.", he said, before sweeping away to the smithy. The bosmer could do nothing but look on. The mage hood concealed the man's face, and he was glad.
Alvor paused in his hammering to stare at the mage. He wanted to sell him robes. Mage robes.
"What in Oblivion am I going to do with these?", he thundered. "I'm a blacksmith! I can forge you a hammer that would crush a Giant's skull like a walnut. But I don't trade in pretty clothes and trinklets."
The mage folded the robes and put them back in his pack.
"I know. There is no need be so loud, your work is noisy enough. I was just hoping to take advantage of your feeble wits and sell these to you at a price which far outstrips it's market value. But I see that today I'm to be disappointed. Oh well." Alvor snatched his iron warhammer from where he had stowed it last and prepared to swing... but the mage was gone.
Faendal thought he had lost the mage when he saw him again whilst he was crossing the river. "Where are you going?", he asked. The mage stopped, but did not turn. By now, Faendal didn't expect him too.
"Bleak Falls Barrow. Why, do you intend to follow me there?"
The wood elf's brain whirled...
Bleak Falls Barrow. Bandits. Golden Claw. Camilla. Camilla. Camilla.
He didn't know if the mage could read his mind, or whether he just took his silence as an affirmative. "If you do intend to follow me, I'd advise you to stock up on potions and other such things."
"Will you wait?", he asked. It was a stupid question. He was running before he heard him answer.
"Unlikely."
Faendal, now armed with his best hunting bow, saw the mage just as he entered the Barrow. He walked past the steaming corpses of 2 bandits to where the wizard was standing, peeking inside a wooden chest. "Help yourself with arms and armour, low-quality as they are.", he said.
"Why? Have you come to care for me?", said Faendal. It was time the wizard had his own taste of harsh tongue.
"Care? For someone other than myself? You make me laugh.", he said, with no hint of mirth whatsoever, "You'd make a good jester, you know? A jester in farmer's attire, in a place where even a skeever could bite you in half."
As Faendal strapped on fur armour, he wondered why the voice was coming from further and further away.
He looked up and around an empty chamber, the gates slightly ajar.
"Damn wizards.", he cursed before hurrying behind him.
Before he knew it, there was a bloody huge spider hanging over his head. When he saw that there was no sign of the wizard, he released arrow after arrow at the beast, determined to kill it before it could lay a single hairy foot on the ground.
He failed.
Moving back quickly, he drew the iron axe and shield that he had scavenged from the bandits. The giant Frostbite spider spat venom at him, which he avoided deftly. Leaping over another poisonous spray, he readied his arm for one devastating swing.
There was no need to.
Faendal spied on something glittering underneath the spider's hideous bottom. Just before it exploded. He ducked behind his shield as a whole tangle of burning limbs and bloody eyes went flying everywhere.
Was that a rune, he asked himself. He had only heard about them, never witnessed one.
"They don't call me Farengar Secret-Fire for nothing, you know?"
Faendal pointed his axe at the wizard, whose calmness simply fed fire to his own fury.
"Where did you go off to?", he said. His voice dangerously low. It was all he could do to keep his axe from cutting into the mage.
"I muffled.", Farengar replied. "Look closely. Too many eyes. Much too many. As scary as it looks, it gives away one crucial fact - it relies on its vision far more than hearing or smell. All I had do was..."
"Set me up as a distraction?", he growled.
"I wouldn't have put it so bluntly, but in essence, yes. Your actions, foolish as they were, allowed me to test my theory and put a rune under it's posterior."
"Theory? What do you mean theory?!", he gasped.
"What's wrong? This was my first encounter with a Frostbite spider. I'd say that I did pretty well.", he said, harvesting a nice batch of venom from the monster. He tossed the little phials to Faendal. They would be of better use on an arrow than in a mage's pocket. It was a surprisingly long time before the two even noticed the poor trapped dark elf.
"Cut him down, would you? That job is much more suitable for you and your axe. Or am I mistaken?"