Therion slowly came around only to find himself surrounded by Justicars. A nightmare he had often. As the reality settled in, and he realized he would not be waking up in his bed, he took a closer look at his captors, in their vile Thalmor armor, and became so overwhelmed with terror, that he felt numb. All he could do was wait; a form of torture all on its own.
A door to the small room he was in opened and the Justicars made respectful nods, before turning and departing. Through a drug addled haze, Therion heard the rustle of papers as they were tossed onto a table in front of him, followed by a chair scraping on the stone floor. A man sat down and leaned forward, observing him. Therion's pulse quickened as he pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt, bringing it dangerously close to his face.
With a quick motion, he cut away Therion's gag and cast a healing spell, clearing the fog from his mind. "You are a difficult mer to get a hold of," he said haughtily.
Therion looked up at Head Justicar Ondolemar.
"Auriel help me, you scared me half to death, bastard!" Therion said in a rush, heaving a sigh of relief.
Ondolemar's eyes smiled, though his face remained neutral, doubtlessly a result of disciplined practice, Therion reflected.
"You know, cousin, there are much easier ways to speak with me. Ways which do not take a hundred years or more off of my life," Therion said, though he suspected he was not a prisoner to the Thalmor on Ondolemar's behest.
His cousin's thin lips lowered in a frown.
"The Dominion took notice of your swift resolution to the civil war. You're to be questioned in Skyrim, then returned to the Summerset Isle for execution," Ondolemar explained, relaxing back in his chair.
"Well, that's a relief. For a moment, I thought I was in trouble," Therion said, cracking his neck and adjusting his shoulders as best he could. He looked at Ondolemar with envy as his uncomfortable shackles chafed his skin. There was no way around it of course; if someone walked in to find him sitting comfortably, Ondolemar would have a difficult time explaining himself.
"Apparently," his cousin continued conspiratorially, "The Emperor was recently murdered. The few surviving witnesses all attest the assassin was dressed in Thalmor robes. Cyrodil is in an uproar."
"Imagine that," Therion replied innocently, with mock curiosity. "How sloppy of the Thalmor assassin, getting seen like that."
"Indeed," Ondolemar said, nodding his head. "The Dominion can only guess as to the identity of the assailant," he added meaningfully, to Therion's relief.
A thought struck him.
"It was you," Therion remarked, thinking back to the mer whom had placed his fingers to his lips during his abduction. "You were there, in Whiterun."
"I wanted to ensure my agents weren't… over zealous," Ondolemar explained, trying to sound indifferent.
"You really do care about me, cousin! I'm positively misty eyed. Be a dear and wipe away my tears for me, will you?" Therion teased.
"Oh shut up. You really are insufferable," Ondolemar grumbled sourly.
"You love me, admit it," Therion said with his most imperious smile in an attempt to further irritate his kin.
"You may think otherwise, when you hear what I have to say," Ondolemar said, suddenly serious.
Therion carefully masked his face and voice to sound unconcerned, so as not to make life more difficult for his beloved cousin.
"You have my permission. Get on with it," he said, attempting to sound uninterested.
"I haven't even told you what I have in mind," Ondolemar said, irritated at his presumptuousness.
"No, but it's not hard to guess," Therion said impatiently, having come to the same conclusion as soon as he had recognized his captor. "The Empire is in an uproar. But it's not quite enough to inspire them to action. Whereas Skyrim is practically begging for an excuse to go to war with the Summerset Isle…" he trailed off. "The Dragonborn, hero and brave savior of men, the scourge of Alduin, the bane of kings… found tortured half to death by their evil, elven oppressors… well, it almost writes itself, doesn't it? How many songs do you think they'll write?"
Ondolemar's impassive face, began to look strained. "You could always overpower me and escape using your Dragonborn powers," he said, knowing neither of them was in favor of the option.
"That would make for a lousy song. I do that to Thalmor on a weekly basis, and no one's written so much as a ditty," Therion said, maintaining his casual attitude for Ondolemar's sake. "I know it's been hard for you, and I know it was I who asked you to join the Thalmor. Out of every member of the Laloria Malatar, you are by far the most suited for subterfuge. Now," he said encouragingly. "You're almost done. I'll be the last one you ever have to interrogate. Which, all things considered, is poetic justice," he said guiltily. "As a result, we'll bring war to the Summerset Isle, conquer our people, and have every last Thalmor tried and executed. The Altmer will be free from the vile rot we allowed to seep into our homeland."
"And if it's all for nothing?" Ondolemar pointed out. "If nothing goes as you've intended?"
Therion fixed him with his powerful gaze.
"Then history will remember us as butchers. Our nobility, our achievements, our entire existence, will be cursed and spat upon by all the races of man and the younger races of mer. And one day a reckoning will come," he said darkly. "We brought this upon ourselves by allowing the Thalmor to exist at all. And now we have to take responsibility for that mistake and restore the nobility of our race."
Ondolemar pulled a potion from his robes.
"You've always had a flare for the dramatic," he said dispassionately. "I can't guarantee you'll survive, if something goes wrong with this haphazard plan."
"I'm well aware," Therion said.
"And how will we make sure the Nord people find you?" Ondolemar asked.
Therion laughed.
"If someone doesn't show up from either the Thieves' Guild, the Dark Brotherhood, the mage's college, the Blades, the Imperial forces, or any other number of organizations or groups, then I have done a decidedly poor job of infiltrating this country," he said with a small chuckle. "Stall if you have to, but someone will come, eventually."
"Alright then," Ondolemar agreed, though he remained still in his chair.
"The sooner begun, the sooner done, a Nord once told me," Therion said, thinking fondly on his favorite resident of Skyrim.
"Are you in such a hurry?" Ondolemar asked, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
"Just once more. One last time. You've done this many times, Ondolemar-"
"But never to you! Never to my little cousin!" he said savagely, his hand still covering his eyes. "I taught you to shape fire, when you were small. I convinced you to join the Laloria Malatar. You'd still be home, safe and comfortable, if I had never convinced you to become a spy."
Therion bowed his head.
"You don't have to be the one to do this," he told the anguished mer. "You can order your subordinates-"
"No." Ondolemar said with an air of finality. He opened the potion in his hand. "Drink this. Scream for as long as you can. As soon as you lose consciousness, I'll go to work."
Therion nodded his head. "Promise me something though, will you?" he asked.
Ondolemar looked at Therion, awaiting his request.
"Be careful with my face, it's my best feature," he said, laughing despite himself.
"Your vanity knows no bounds," Ondolemar sighed, giving him a cynical look.
"Seriously, though," Therion continued, "When I am rescued, run. I need to know you'll be safe. The company I keep can, at times, make the Thalmor look like Mara with an armful of kittens."
"I will," Ondolemar said with a nod. "And someday, you will tell me more of your adventures here," he added imploringly.
"Look forward to it," Therion promised.
Drinking the potion, he took a deep breath and screamed as if a dragon were ripping him to pieces.
He glanced at Ondolemar who gave him a hint of a smile and silently applauded his performance between gloved hands.
He screamed himself hoarse until he began to tire from the potion, but continued to groan for as long as he could, so Ondolemar would be sure when he was finally unconscious.