Therion let out a half conscious groan in protest, as he was lifted onto a horse behind Farengar. The wizard stiffened as Brynjolf rested the Dragonborn against his back and went about tying him in place, so as to secure him against falling from the saddle. As the Nightingale tightly cinched the mer's torso, Farengar heard him utter a low, cry of pain, conjuring to mind his recently healed broken ribs. With only the barest trace of sarcasm, Therion muttered, "Kill me," into the wizard's shoulder.
"Though it would make my ride considerably more enjoyable," Farengar said, craning his head over his shoulder to observe the mer slumped against him, "I suspect your entourage would have some rather strong words with me."
Therion said nothing in reply.
Already asleep again, Farengar thought, looking at his closed eyes and even breaths falling against his blue robes.
The wizard shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of what seemed like an absurd amount of people. The 8,000 septims worth of jewels from Karliah had not been worth so much hassle, that much was certain. However, freeing the Thalmor captives from the keep, and ridding Skyrim of a den of justicars, had made the trip more than worthwhile.
General Tullius rode up beside him on a powerful looking war horse, his unit of soldiers awaiting him by the road, each on their own mounts. The General was a regal looking figure with an air of authority about him. His shortly trimmed, white hair, stood out against his tanned skin and leather armor. Though his face was wrinkled, his muscular physique was unmistakable, leading Farengar to suspect that anyone who fought him with the expectation that he was past his prime, would have a rude awakening in store.
"Where are you heading?" the General asked, addressing Farengar directly for the first time since he had arrived.
"Riverwood," Farengar replied. The little rural town on the water was not far, making it the logical choice, though Farengar was all but itching to return to Whiterun. Traveling and dealing with people were two of the activities he loathed most.
"We'll provide an escort for you," the General said. From his tone, he gathered it was neither a request nor a suggestion. "Running into a pack of bandits on the way would be a terrible way to start your morning."
"Or Thalmor," Farengar added pointedly, watching the Imperial's reaction.
The General glanced back at his soldiers, safely out of hearing, then leaned forward in his saddle, the morning light reflecting the gold trim of his officer's armor.
"Between you and me," he said, looking directly into Farengar's eyes, "I wouldn't mind having an excuse to kill some Thalmor. Even if it means causing a diplomatic incident."
"A sentiment I can relate to," Farengar replied, thinking of the prisoners from the Thalmor keep. His anger brewed, wondering how many more Nords were locked away while he was casually conversing with the general.
"I haven't put an elf to the sword since the Great War. Twentysix years…" the General said, a hint of longing in his voice. He spared a curious glance at the slumbering Therion. "Where do you suppose he fits into all of this? The Thalmor are his kin."
"I have never asked, and he has expressed no opinion on the matter, but I would hazard that the Dragonborn is not an enthusiastic admirer of the Thalmor," Farengar said with obvious sarcasm.
"Remarkable, that of everyone here," General Tullius said thoughtfully, ignoring the cynical remark. "Therion preferred entrusting you with his safe keeping."
Farengar was inclined to agree, given the General had an entire army at his command.
"Well, enough talk. Let's get my Legate to Riverwood," the General said, turning his horse around.
"Legate?" Farengar echoed.
"Yes," the General replied, nodding at the Dragonborn. "You didn't know he was an Imperial Legate?"
Farengar spared a curious glance at the sleeping mer. Dragonborn… Legate… Thane… How many more faces did the mer have, he wondered.
General Tullius spurred his horse and Farengar followed, his second rider jostling awkwardly in the saddle with him. They made good time, arriving in Riverwood just as the sun finished cresting the horizon.
The citizens of Riverwood stopped their morning tasks to look at the Imperials in their leather armor and red cloaks, curiously trying to catch sight of the two men at the center of the riders. Stopping outside the Sleeping Giant Inn, the General dismounted and helped Farengar with his slumbering charge.
Farengar watched in weary annoyance as a murmuring crowd of people formed around them. Embry, the local drunk, cracked open an eye and looked up from his stoop, shading his eyes as he squinted up.
"Hey! I knowsh that elf! That'sh the Dragonshborns!" the blonde man shouted, slurring his words. "What'sh wrong with my favorite drinkin' buddy?!"
The Imperials gently moved Embry aside as he tried to pry his way closer, and Farengar hoisted one of Therion's arms over his shoulders, supporting his weight. A little girl in a red dress with brown hair crawled up to them, scurrying to avoid getting stepped on by the soldiers, while their attention was focused on the town drunk. Farengar glared at her as she grabbed a handful of his robe and tugged on it to get his attention.
"Hey! Hey, wizard! What's wrong with the Dragonborn?" she shouted, jumping up and down.
Farengar glanced around, hoping one of the soldiers would pluck her off of him. Finding himself alone, he tried to shake her away.
"Get off of me," he ordered her through grit teeth.
She frowned at his unhelpfulness, but let go of his robes none-the-less, much to his relief. Instead, she took Therion's limp hand in hers and squeezed it.
"Hey! Dragonborn!" she shouted, shaking his hand. When this had no effect, her face clouded.
"Dorthe! Get yer hide over here now!" Farengar heard a man shout, and the little girl stiffened.
She looked up at Farengar to give him a final look of disdain, before she gave Therion's hand a quick kiss, in what she seemed to consider a manner too subtle for the wizard, or any other observer, to detect.
Her father shook his head as she rejoined him.
"Don't go running into packs of soldiers!" Farengar heard her father yell, as General Tullius helped him move the Dragonborn into the inn.
"...probably a dragon," he caught part of the conversation as they moved away.
"No, Papa! He was cut up real bad, like… like he fell in a mill or something!"
The door to the inn closed behind them, cutting off the din of conversations outside, but was quickly replaced by an all new group of spectators. Farengar felt his head spin, as they seemed to press in from every direction; crowds of gawking, gossiping, people.
A no-nonsense looking man with a cleaning cloth in hand approached them, apparently the innkeeper.
"We got rooms and food," he said gruffly.
Farengar was about to ask about the lodgings when the innkeeper leaned forward, jutting out his chin.
"Follow me," he said, opening the door to one of the small rooms.
Farengar felt a great wave of relief wash over him as he walked inside, leaving the voices and press of bodies behind.
"I'll bring some food," the innkeeper said, turning to leave, as Farengar laid Therion on the bed.
"How much for-"
"Ain't no charge," he replied, tossing his cloth over a shoulder. "Delphine'd kill me if I took your coin. You like skeever liver?"
"I've never had the pleasure. And I'd prefer to keep it that way," Farengar said, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.
The innkeeper left with a 'hmph'.
Farengar sank into the chair facing the bed, already half asleep. He started as General Tullius entered.
"We're heading out," the General informed him. "Anything I can do for either of you before we leave?"
"Apparently food rations would not go amiss," Farengar said, dropping his hand from his eyes to his side.
General Tullius chuckled. "About the only edible thing Orgnar makes is mead. So long as you don't let him open the bottle," he said, nodding to the bottle of Black-Briar Mead on the table beside Farengar. An all mead diet, Farengar thought ruefully. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.
"I'll leave a few men posted outside the door. I need to return to Solitude to attend to some important matters. Like why the hell the Thalmor kidnapped and tortured the Dragonborn. Take care of my Legate, wizard," the General said with a final glance at Therion. With a nod to Farengar, he left, closing the door behind him.
The wizard sighed, wishing he was back at Dragonsreach, about to settle down into his own bed. Each time he closed his eyes and began to imagine he was home, the cursed lute music seemed to drift through the door and dispel the illusion. He shifted around in the hard, wooden chair, but he only seemed to become more uncomfortable. Grunting, he folded his arms and tucked his chin against his chest. After a few minutes, he snapped his head up in irritation and futilely rearranged himself with a sigh of aggravation.
Farengar's eyes fell on the Dragonborn, his chest silently rising and falling.
The color had somewhat returned to his skin, though he was still a terrible sight to behold, covered in bruises and lacerations. Farengar's healing magic had reconnected his broken bones and replenished his blood, but the rest of his injuries would take a day or two. His body would need some time to adjust before it could take any more restoration magic.
Farengar closed his eyes, wondering how he had wound up in such a troublesome position. Despite everything, he found that each time he looked at the mer, a small part of him silently stirred, wishing the Dragonborn would awaken and smile. Therion's face, emotionless and empty, was unnerving.