Farengar looked at Brynjolf and Karliah with incredulity.
"We don't have time for this," Karliah said irritably, trying to usher the wizard into the dilapidated keep. "Therion could be anywhere inside!"
"And there could be anything waiting within those walls," Farengar said, refusing to budge. "I for one, have no desire to be caught unaware by whatever, or whomever, can subdue the Dragonborn."
Karliah started to argue with him when Brynjolf motioned them both to be silent, before beckoning them over. They moved to his side and observed two Thalmor Justicars exiting the main door. The two men dragged a bound, struggling Nord between them who began to cry out, begging for Talos' intervention.
One of the justicars stopped, outraged by his blasphemous cries, and he backhanded the prisoner, spitting on him and shouting insults.
"Nord beast!" he said, kicking the man.
A fireball engulfed the mer wholly, causing the charred carcass to fall to the ground, smoldering. Karliah looked up at Farengar in surprise, watching him advance without hesitation toward the other Justicar, the fire spell still burning brightly in his hands, reflecting the look of unbridled rage in his eyes.
The second justicar drew his sword and readied to charge, but, before he could act, he fell to his knees, clutching an arrow protruding through his neck. Farengar turned as the mer collapsed dead on the ground and found Brynjolf joining him, bow still in hand. The two men shared a mutual look, and an instant bond formed between them.
The Thalmor's prisoner sobbed gratefully as Karliah freed his hands with a knife.
"Please!" he implored loudly, looking between the three of them, "The others… save the others!"
Karliah nodded, trying to quiet the shouting man without success.
"Well, so much for the subtle-" she stopped, noticing Farengar and Brynjolf had already entered the keep, leaving her behind. "Nords are such an impatient lot," she said with a terse sigh, following the two men while gracefully drawing a sword in either hand.
Stealthily, an eager figure followed after her, quite literally with bells on.
Inside, the two Nightingales and wizard moved swiftly, disposing of three more justicars guarding a prison cell. Brynjolf flicked his wrist, producing a pick from his sleeve, while pulling a dagger from his bandolier. The prisoners, twelve in total, watched him with bated breath as he picked the lock and swung open the metal door, its hinges letting out a loud groan. He stepped aside as Farengar swept past him and began healing the tortured and frightened prisoners.
Though he would have preferred using his much superior proficiency in destruction magic immediately on the rest of the Thalmor in the keep, Farengar could not ignore the helpless Nords looking up at him, and put his limited healing talents to work.
Brynjolf took a moment to locate the keys on a dead justicar and tossed them to Farengar before going on ahead with Karliah at his side, as they continued to exterminate the justicars within the keep.
Grabbing the key ring, the wizard tried various keys until the the shackles on the first prisoner opened with a click. The Nord, an old man with gray hair, took the key ring from Farengar and went to work freeing the other prisoners, allowing the wizard to return his attentions to tending the wounded.
Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he toiled, commanding the golden, healing light.
A soft set of footsteps caught his attention. Suspecting it was Karliah, he turned, only to find a bitter looking blonde woman staring back at him. He recognized his associate, Delphine, from his past dealings with her related to the Dragonstone.
"Farengar! Have you seen the Dragonborn?!" she demanded, looking around wildly with her sword in hand.
"No!" he exclaimed, frustrated and annoyed by the question, as he turned his back to her and began healing a sick child.
He heard her leave, but no sooner was she gone, than a small voice spoke directly in his ear.
"Good evening," said a little girl innocently, though Farengar found her tone off-putting. How had she snuck up beside him? "I'm looking for my friend, Therion. Have you seen him?"
Farengar glared at her with mingled irritation and distrust. "No," he said, glancing furtively at her as he continued draining his Magicka and letting it replenish. When he glanced back toward the eerie child again, she had vanished. He idly wondered how so many visitors had come to the same location, and decided he was too tired to care and had more important concerns.
Farengar sighed, draining a blue magicka potion. He felt his woefully inadequate restoration abilities improving as he repeatedly worked himself to the point of exhaustion.
The clambering of many feet made him turn, and he readied a volley of fire spells if they were justicar reinforcements. He watched a small unit of Imperial soldiers round the corner, their troubled faces taking in the scene with distress.
Their leader, an important looking Imperial, locked eyes with Farengar. "Have you seen-"
"I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE DRAGONBORN IS!" he roared even before the startled man could finish his sentence.
The soldiers hurried away, eyeing the fallen Thalmor, and although they were technically their allies, chose to say nothing.
Farengar glared after them. His kinsman were being tortured and left to die in filthy cells, and all of Skyrim was fixated with finding one damn elf. As if it were the only thing in the world that mattered. If one more person asked him that question...
Farengar had just consumed another magicka potion and gone to work healing a frail, elderly, woman when he heard another person approaching with the sound of heavy footsteps running, punctuated by jingling bells echoing throughout the room. He looked up at the madman he had met at Dragonsreach, the jester Cicero, with disdain. He was in no mood for more of the man's incoherent babbling.
To his surprise, Cicero did not utter a single word. Instead, Farengar found himself yelling protests as the jester grabbed him by the arm and forcefully dragged him from the cell. Cicero mutely twisted an arm behind his back, forcing him to move at a run down the hall.
Farengar snarled questions and threats at the man, though he was too exhausted from healing to resist as he was thrust into a surprisingly crowded room. Cicero used Farengar to knock people out of his way, including the two Nightingales, forcing them both to the center of the half circle, where he tossed him unceremoniously to the ground.
A bloody figure with gold skin lay sprawled on the floor. Recognition dawned as Farengar spied three, small, silver rings in one long, elven ear. He stared at the mer, momentarily taken back. The Dragonborn looked like a stranger, his face deathly pale and empty of its familiar mirth. The helpless, pitiful demeanor felt uncomfortably, terribly wrong on the heroic adventurer. For an awful, wretched, moment, Farengar found himself wondering if he would ever hear the bothersome mer's laughter again as he leaned nonchalantly against his desk, mocking him over some bit of idle nonsense, smiling merrily, aloof in the face of his rancor.
Sitting up, he stretched out his hand and began to pour healing light over the deathly still elf. He drank every Magicka and Stamina potion he had to restore his energies, but Therion did not stir in the least.
The small girl from before appeared by his side, slipping more potions into his hands as he worked. The people surrounding him watched intently, tension in the room mounting.
After what felt like eternity, Farengar saw the mer's eyes flutter open to resounding cries of relief and excitement amongst the strange gathering.
The leader of the Imperials stepped forward, ordering his unit to collect Therion and quite suddenly, the previous mirth vanished as all hell seemed to break lose.
The various gathered parties argued over who would take the Dragonborn, with no one trusting the Imperials, and the Imperials trusting no one else. Therion blinked, his amber eyes taking in the room with growing comprehension. Summoning his strength, Farengar heard him quietly call out, only able to hear his voice because he was beside him.
"Zul, Mey Gut," the magical words transformed into a voice which seemed to come from every direction. Therion's voice, saying one word. "SILENCE."
Everyone fell quiet and watched Therion struggle to lift his hand, slowly motioning Cicero closer.
The jester loyally leapt to the ground upon his hands and knees, lowering his ear to Therion's lips. He listened intently as the Dragonborn whispered in labored breaths.
Cicero chuckled manically to himself, nodding, "Oh yes, they shall, Listener, they shall," he said the last two words two octaves lower and so menacingly Farengar felt compelled to thank Talos he was probably not the intended target of whatever was being discussed. Cicero laughed gleefully after another series of whispers. "It's as though Cicero is the Listener today!" he cackled, dancing from foot to foot as he stood. "General!" he said, looking at the Imperial leader, "A folder for you on the table! Oh yes, a gift! Full of interesting tidbits about nasty Thalmor plots against the Empire! A fun read, full of gritty details," Cicero said with, what Farengar considered, frightening fascination. He turned to Brynjolf and Karliah, "The two little birdies are coming with me and my sister dear," he continued, the little girl appearing once again apparently from nowhere, to stand beside Cicero. "So much to do!" Cicero exclaimed happily, clapping his hands.
"What about the Dragonborn?" Delphine demanded, looking disgustedly at the jester. She deplored the Dragonborn's choice of associates, and found the clown on par with his interest in mixing company with dragons. "Who does he want to go with?" she asked, glaring at General Tullius, who returned her scorn with confused irritation.
Cicero dropped once more to Therion's side, eagerly listening, chuckling to himself over his wonderful new role, whispering 'Cicero, the Listener's Listener!' playfully to himself. After a few labored breaths, Therion managed one word, before his eyes began to flutter once more and he appeared to fall into an exhausted sleep.
"Wizard!" Cicero repeated loudly for all to hear, relishing his role.
Farengar looked up, finding himself abruptly and unexpectedly, at the center of attention.