Bit 5

Wheat, Blisterwort, and Hawethorn Root. Let the wheat soak in brine water, drain, then grind with mortar and pestle. When soft, add hawethorn root, fresh not soaked or dried. When mixed, add to boiling flask and slowly grind dried blisterwort with grinding wheel. When powder, add to the flask. Alllow ingridients to simmer for no more than 10 minutes, then cool and let sit for 20.

A simple cure for a swollen joint; Felian learned it when he first began his alchemy studies. He could grind out this potion and countless other easy little tonics in his sleep. Durga seemed to bring in plenty of money through her various travels but he felt more independent making gold by mixing little cures for the alchemy shop.

Durga had been gone for two weeks now. She had said she was not sure when she'd be able to return, but she'd not let herself be gone for more than four weeks. She'd sent him the occasional letter through traders heading to Whiterun. She said she was well, that the journey to Ivarstead was a fairly uneventful one, that she's met some interesting people on her climb up Snow Throat. She mentioned almost nothing of High Hrothgar itself, or of the Grey Beards.

She said she had to do a task for them and was considering doing a few other things that were on the way. They were all written in poetic, bubbly language and full of endearments, well wishes, hugs and kisses. And not one of them told him where she really was, what she was facing or doing or fighting, were she was going for these little 'errands' or what in the world the Grey Beards were 'testing' her with.

It frustrated him that she felt the need to hide all this from him, and opened the door to an unending stream of worry and anxiety. He been worried when she faced off against Ancano as well, but at least then he knew exactly what she was doing, and even better could help.

But this, lack of knowledge left him with a gnawing pit in his gut, and every day she spent away it grew. A few nights before his imagination had run away with him and he lay awake all night, picturing the myriad of ways she might have died since the last letter. He'd resolved in the early hours that if she didn't return by her promised date that he would have to venture out to search for her.

He held to that oath, though he really didn't want have to go chasing after that wayward Khajiit. If she was alive and he found her she would no doubt be furious at him for leaving the safety of Whiterun. If she wasn't, he'd have to endure the pain of finding what was left of her, and possibly not survive himself. Then there was the chance that while he was out looking for her she would return to Whiterun to find him gone and have to mount her own search.

Faelian's mind reeled with all the ways this could go wrong as he waited for the potion to finish simmering. A high hissing caught his attention and he looked at his sand timer. It had run out long ago. He cursed and removed the flask from the heat but it was too late. The potion was over boiled and next to useless. Faelian sighed and rubbed his head. It was no good to keep obsessing over this. He sat down and tried to clear his mind. He'd been trained since he was small to do this, all Altmer were.

Never let emotions cloud your mind, never allow anything but reason to influence your actions. Be always calm and aware of your appearance and bearing. This is what made an Altmer an Altmer. For a few moments Faelian felt free of his worry, free of his love almost. But emotions quickly began gnawing their way back up. Faelian was in control again though, and concentrated on his work, a little harder then normal.

He whiled away a few hours making various potions, far more than he needed to. But the best cure for melancholy is industry and Faelian felt better doing something he had absolute control over, something that was predictable. The sun set outside and he worked from the light of a few candles and his burners. A soft rapping at the doors startled him.

Durga's housecarl, the ever loyal Lydia stood in the doorway with a plate of soup, cheese and bread.

"You haven't eaten since you woke up sir. Please." She set the plate down on the tiny table near the door. "I'll get you some mead too. Thane Durga sent you a surprise with the last letter. You've been in so little I haven't been able to show you till now."

She stepped into the kitchen and shortly came back with a medium sized jug.

"More Helgen juniper mead. The Thane said the Jarl of Markath was hording some. She convinced him to let her buy a few jugs."

"It always feels strange when you call Durga a Thane." Faelian said absently, "She acts so little like some proud noble it hardly seems like she's a Thane at all."

"Sir, the title of Thane may be given to anyone by any Jarl, and it does not pass from parent to child. It is an earned thing, and as I understand it, nobility is most often not."

Faelian sighed and went over to the table, slowly eating his soup in tiny sips. He wasn't hungry but he knew that is he didn't eat Lydia would just keep prodding him. The warrior guarded him just as fiercely as anything else in Durga's possession and Durga herself, but Faelian was sure is wasn't really out of any affection. Some Altmer might envy Lydia's ice cold devotion to duty. Lydia liked Durga well enough but always regarded him with nothing more than impassiveness. Perhaps she didn't approve of Durga's taste in men, perhaps she didn't like elves or mages, perhaps she identified him with the Thalmor, or perhaps she had no opinion at all.

For whatever reason, Faelian was still at arm's length with Lydia and neither of them were in a hurry to become closer.

"Have you had any news from Durga since the Markath letter?" he asked, hoping she was a little more open of a fellow female and fighter.

"No sir." From the look on her face he could tell she spoke true, and that she might also be wishing for some contact from her Thane.

"Summon me when you're finished. I hope you'll get some rest tonight." With that Lydia went back upstairs to her own small room.

Faelian let his thoughts wander into nothing as he ate, savoring the simple beef soup. It occurred to him that learning to cook might be a good way to fill his time. About all he could make were bread and cheese plates and it wasn't fair for Lydia to keep caring for him like a child. He was like a child. Everything was so bloody new to him and he could hardly care for himself. He'd been cloistered away for years doing nothing but studying and practicing, mastering his magic and now when he should be a man he found he couldn't even make himself a hot meal, or keep a home or…

A snap and a shot of pain in his hand drew Faelian out of his head. He'd been gripping his wooden spoon so hard it'd broken and left small splinters in his skin. He hissed and picked the bits out with his teeth, spitting them out. He looked at his half eaten soup; bread and cheese untouched by it, and pushed it away. He knew he should eat but he just didn't want to.

He leaned back in his chair, wondering why now he was bothered by his shortcomings. He was no more adept now than he was when in the Summerset Isles, or in the Imperial Capital, or at the College. He shook his head, trying to throw off these oppressive feelings. He found himself wishing he could just see Durga for a moment. The thought of talking to her eased the weight on his chest. A small smile crept onto his face, he knew exactly what she's do if he told he wanted to learn how to cook. No matter the time, day or night she'd have dragged him down into the kitchen and launched into one of her favorite recipes from Elsweyr.

Faelian lost track of time as he sat, wading in dreams. Finally he stood up and dragged himself upstairs. He collapsed on the great bed and heaved a sigh.

"All this melancholy is sapping all my energy." He mumbled. He shifted onto his side and played with some of the furs.

"Maybe Arcadia could give me some tips and recipes, I'll go to her tomorrow." He mused to himself. He kicked off his shoes and threw his robe and tunic over a close chair.

Faelian wrapped himself up in some of the thick wolf furs and sheepskins. If he got warm enough he'd eventually fall asleep. He wriggled around in the skins, rubbing the furs over him. Not nearly like her but a good reminder. There are not many people who don't like the feeling of good soft fur over their skin, and over his weeks with Durga Faelian found that that sensation had become a trigger. Fur running over him, instant arousal.

There was no mass or heat from his sultry mate, but he still felt heat rising in his loins. A tiny half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Since Durga had left he'd been sulking, no doubt. Yes he worked but little else. Maybe… if he pleased himself he'd relieve a small amount of this tension. Maybe… he'd feel a little less lonely.

Pelting on the roof startled him rain was poring down hard over Whiterun. On the wooden and straw roofs it was almost deafening. Faelian snuggled a little deeper into the skins and tangled one between his legs. He thought of the last night before she left, she had jumped him the instant Lydia was out of sight, pinned him to the bed like a jungle predator.

He played along with it, enjoying the little fantasy of two powerful creatures playing in the deep Elsweyr forest. Faelian tried to imitate her rumbling purr, couldn't quite do it but it reminded him of hers well enough. He wasn't fully aroused yet but there was a delightful fire building up. He ran a hand down to his hips, grazing fingertips over his skin like she would.

He looped a thumb under his breeches and pulled them down, kicking them off. He ran his tongue over his lips, imaging himself about to take one of her rosy, hard nipples between them. The fur running over his cock brought him to that fulcrum balancing over too much and too little. A hand moved down to grip himself firmly like she did. He used the tricks she did and as his mind hazed with pleasure he could very easy see her with him, caressing him with all that tenderness and passion.

For one reason or another the sound of her singing a Khajiit love ballad floated into his mind. Her voice though husky was practiced enough to be pleasing, and he felt a rolling, simmering, second heat building in his chest remembering that romantic evening. The furs were now making him hot and her threw them off his back, rolling onto his knees, still stroking himself.

The sudden cold air on his steaming skin gave him a wonderful jolt and a shiver rode down his spin, making him quiver in his own hand. Faelian bit his lip as he smiled, his lust addled mind dwelling on how much better this was, now that he had something other than pure fantasy to focus on. He felt hairs from the skins tickling his groin and he chuckled and thrust at the same time, oh how that reminded him of her.

He spread his legs and lowered his hips, keeping up his thrusting. It really, really reminded him of her. Thinking about being buried between her thighs, getting deeper into her quim with every thrust, her claws grazing his back and ass while he held her in a vice grip and lost control, pounding mercilessly… it drove him to climax with the force of a tidal wave.

Faelian fell forward onto the bed, sprawled out over wool and furs, breath heaving even over the rain pelting the roof. His quivering muscles stilled and he got back up, kicking the mussed fur to the floor and wiping off his hand. He wasn't so proud of the final result, but the build up had certainly done something to ease that tightness in his chest.

He pulled a feel covers over himself and found sleep to be in easier reach. He hoped Durga would come back soon, as good as this was he did not want to spend too many nights touching himself just to sleep.