Another Farengar/Dragonborn fill for the Skyrim Kink Meme. This one was a mini-fill and not exactly what the OP had requested but they loved it none the less. Enjoy pre-wedding Farengar.

Original prompt: "Seen a lot of clever amulet of Mara fics and want to see how someone like Farengar would react to the Dragonborn being "available". Make it Fluffy or smutty and I'll give you many babies"

Now and Forever

It wasn't often that Farengar Secret-Fire found himself Riften.

Then again, it wasn't often that Farengar found himself engaged either.

If truth be told the mage wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, only that it had.

She had been wearing an amulet of Mara and looking particularly lovely whilst using his Enchanting Station. He had had one too many shots of Fire Brandy after a particularly stressful day of making little progress with the Dragonstone. Naturally, they had bantered and flirted and traded barbs while she placed enchantments upon new armour and weapons. Elementary interactions really.

And somehow, the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. She had reached up and kissed him so hard that she made him dizzy. They had eventually stumbled through to his bedroom, his magic brushing against her skin with enough magnitude with make her arch with abandon against him. Amongst the snark and the banter and the glorious sex, Farengar had somehow proposed to the Dragonborn. The mage remembered the event as easily as he remembered his own name – he had dropped to his knees as tradition demanded and asked her to be his wife.

And to his utter disbelief and shock, she accepted.

The idea itself wasn't entirely unpleasant. Farengar had desired her for quite some time and with good reason. The Dragonborn was charmingly lovely, intelligent and had the soul of a dragon. She was loved by the Companions, revered by the Greybeards, respected by the Arch Mage of Winterhold and could command the attention of even Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius. She was almost too good to be true; a mystical being that sounded like just a hero from a fabricated story tale. Such a creature should have been married to a hero of equal stature, of equal bravery and courage.

But she wasn't.

Instead, the Dragonborn sat with him late into the evening; pouring over books and discussing theories. She brought him back strange artefacts from every corner of Skyrim. He had welcomed her presence and would find himself disappointed when she didn't visit his office in Dragonsreach. He had gotten in too deep and he knew it - especially after the countless times he had found himself standing at the entrance of Jorrvaskr, his arms loaded with books he knew she hadn't read yet. Their sheer compatibility was undeniable to the point where even Irileth had noticed and Jarl Jalgruuf had asked him when he intended to make her an honourable woman.

And so Farengar found himself inside the temple of Mara, trembling in his good robes from head to toe. He felt like a boy back in the college of Winterhold, waiting to take some gruelling exam. His hands, usually so still and calm, would not stop shaking by his sides. His heart thumped so wildly beneath his chest that he almost thought there was something wrong with it. Perhaps it was not too late to turn tail and run? Frowning, he quickly dismissed the idea. If she showed up and he was absent, her oafish and rather brutish Companions would probably tear him apart.

Both literally and figuratively.

Farengar swallowed the lump in his throat. It felt like hours since he had planted his feet in the temple. One of the priestesses arranging the last of the flowers looked at the mage and gave him a sympathetic smile. Farengar scowled back at her, not sure what else to do. He was nervous and hated the fact that he was so obvious about it. The mage distracted himself by looking around the temple of Mara. At least it was mostly empty – only a few guests and the priestesses and priest were there. Farengar was not the least bit surprised. Not many people knew of their wedding though he had no doubt that the gossip would eventually filter through the strongholds.

The Dragonborn marrying Farengar Secret-Fire. The mage almost smiled. What a story it would be. He could clearly picture the looks of utter surprise, horror and disgruntlement in his mind. He would take great delight in curling an arm around his new wife in the Bannered Mare and kissing her in front of them all. Let them hate and seethe. He would not care in the slightest.

And at least if she got cold feet and couldn't do through with it, Farengar could take comfort in the fact that he had almost married the Dragonborn. It was an accomplishment that not many in Skyrim could boast. The knowledge filled him with pride and he looked forward to rubbing it in the face of anyone who dared make snide comments about his private life.

Or rather lack of.

He was about to laugh at the hilarity of it all when the double doors of the temple swung open with a gust of cold air, accompanied by an angry flurry of snow. They slammed shut again quickly again. Farengar turned around and felt his mouth drop open. There was the Dragonborn, pulling a heavy cloak from her shoulders and dusting off snow from her outfit. The Breton had forgone her armour in favour of a simple but pretty white dress. He could easily picture a knife or two hidden on under the fabric. Ginger hair – usually wild and long – was brushed out and arranged carefully. A wreath of blue mountain flowers sat upon her head. She looked rather lovely indeed and Farengar was suddenly glad that he had listened to Irileth's advice and taken his good robes.

A priestess took her cloak and the Dragonborn strolled to the altar with a little smile. "So you dragged yourself away from the Dragonstone? I honestly thought you wouldn't show up Farengar," she remarked, her tone humorous. He loved the way her sarcasm sounded.

Farengar gave her a smirk – just because he knew she would expect it. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a pair of gold rings. "Well it would have been a terrible waste of coin. Ysolda charged a great deal for these," Farengar remarked, turning them over in his palm. The craftsmanship was quite exquisite and certainly not what he expected from the Nordic trader. It was not often that Farengar was surprised by the people of Whiterun. He had them all figured out already – or at the very least he thought he did.

The Dragonborn peered at them, seemingly impressed. "You actually bought rings? I assumed you were too tight fisted for that."

A snort of amusement escaped Farengar. "Tight fisted? A court wizard gets a very meagre wage. I will be on a diet of bread and water for a very long time indeed," the mage replied.

"Well, I'll make it up to you somehow then." Farengar saw the flash of heat in her eyes; the unspoken promise of what was surely yet to come. His heart skipped a beat beneath his ribcage.

"While preferably on your knees." Teasing her was such fun; it was something he enjoyed immensely, and it was just something he could never refrain from doing because it took so very little to get her worked into a little frenzy.

She gave him a tut of mock disapproval. "Have you no respect?"

"For you my little wife, none," the mage replied with a grin. He expected a scathing comment back and to his sheer disappointment, he didn't get one. Instead, the Breton tipped her head up to look at him squarely in the eye. The playfulness that had been there moments before had vanished completely. Instead, there was a look a seriousness that did not look right upon her face. "Are you sure about this? About us?" The Dragonborn didn't elaborate and she didn't need to. The mage knew exactly what she was angling at and it displeased him greatly.

Farengar levelled his stare at the Dragonborn, suddenly feeling frustrated at her. "Do you honestly think I would have gone through this wretched little ceremony if I wasn't certain it was what I wanted?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, glittering with challenge. They put him in mind of little dark marbles. "You had cleaned out an entire bottle of Fire Brandy when you proposed. I'm just making sure that this is what you want," she hissed back at him, taking care not to raise her voice and startle the priests. They did not have arguments per say, rather just verbal skirmishes that would last an age because neither party had the good grace to back down. Farengar opened his mouth to snap at her when the priest Maramal approached them, positively gushing with joy. "Ah, there you are. Are you ready to begin?"

The Dragonborn looked at him, eyes large and gleaming and utterly sincere; a complete spin of emotions. He just hated it when she pulled that doe eyed look on him, it made him want to do un-Farengarish things, like forgiving her and it always worked. His anger melted away as quickly as snow under open flame and suddenly, he felt very foolish indeed for getting agitated at her on their wedding day. He could only nod because the mage didn't trust his own voice. He heard the priest recite the vows and blessings of Mara – which frankly Farengar cared not about. It was all just static sound, as if bees were buzzing around beside his head. He zoned back in just in time to catch the tail-end of the priest's blessings. "Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

"I do. Now and forever," answered the Dragonborn.

"And do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?" The priest looked to Farengar and suddenly he wanted to run, but he couldn't because he felt as if his legs had become melded to the ground like the roots of a tree. He swallowed and pulled together all the courage he possessed.

"I do. Now and Forever." He didn't realise he had been holding his breath until he finally answered. The words poured from his mouth much easier than he thought they would. His hands, shaking and trembling like they had never done before, seemed to have more sense than he for they were slipping the gleaming bond of Matrimony onto her small finger.

She smiled at him, looking utterly radiant in her dress and flower wreath that the mage was suddenly compelled to place his hands upon her small shoulders and kiss her as deeply he could. Her skin was unusually warm and he could practically feel the Dragon blood coursing through veins. The Dragonborn melted into him, like honey on a warm day. A hand reached up to clutch his robes, her fingers tangling in the fabric – as if she were worried he was going to bolt any second. Farengar could hear the priest babbling on but paid him no mind. Nothing else seemed to have any relevance to him, only that the fact that the woman he was kissing was now his wife.

Idolaf Battle-Born was going to be pigsick.

And against her lips, the thought made Farengar smile.