Author's Note: If you're anything like me, you're going to get to the parts in Dragon and have to stop and search them on the internet. Fear not! The translation is at the bottom of the page. Thanks, and enjoy!

Farengar awoke the next morning to find some dried meat and bread sitting on his bedside table. Glad to fill his stomach with something other than mead, he ate the food quickly, eager to leave Riverwood. Although the terrible lute music was no longer playing, he could find no peace of mind. In its stead was the much louder roar of a crowd, noisily discussing things in near pandemonium, their booming voices intruding through the thin walls of his room. He did not bother trying to determine the source of their discontent, uninterested in discerning the opinions the loud and inebriated.

Finished with his breakfast and bracing himself mentally, he emerged into the great room of the Sleeping Giant Inn. The cacophony of voices were worse than he had anticipated, making the corner of his mouth twitch at the assault. His sea green eyes swept through the inn, searching for any sign of the Dragonborn.

As his eyes fell on the Innkeeper, Orgnar met his gaze, waving him over. The surly man jerked a thumb toward the exit, shouting to be heard above the din, "The Dragonborn said to tell you he'd be at the blacksmith!"

Farengar needed no further prompting and quickly left, inhaling deeply once he was standing outside in the clear morning air. The sun was already high in the sky, casting warm light over the small Nord settlement. An insistent bark caught his attention, and he turned to see a dog grinning happily at him from beneath a bench, on which sat a young boy in a brown tunic with platinum blonde hair. The child, presumably the dog's owner, examined him, or more precisely his blue and gold robes, with a haughty sneer.

"Pa says magic's for milk drinkers," the boy taunted, giving Farengar an insolent stare as he waited for the adult to react with sputtered indignation.

Farengar answered swiftly with practiced ease. "He sounds like a modest man with much to be modest about," the wizard said, turning an impassive gaze on the boy, still puzzling over Farengar's remark. "Do you have any insults that weren't thought up by a goat brained farmer?"

His mouth hung open while his dog barked happily, wanting to be a part of the conversation.

"I didn't think so. Well then, keep working on it, maybe someday with enough practice you might even surpass your father and come up with something better than a rot brained Draugr could," Farengar said pleasantly, as he walked down the stairs to the main road.

"You…! You're… You're a snow-back!" Frodnar shouted after the mage.

"I think the dog could have done better than that. Keep trying, lad!" Farengar said with an indifferent wave, not even turning around as he left the boy glaring after him, red faced.

A brown chicken ran across his path, making Farengar miss Dragonsreach all the more. He felt out of sorts, being away from his research and his home. He preferred to spend his time reading; not surrounded by loud crowds, wandering livestock, and insolent children.

The Divines must have heard his thoughts, he guessed, as he came upon another child at the blacksmith's - the little girl with brown hair from the previous day who had latched onto his robe.

Dorthe looked up from her anvil where she was shaping a horseshoe, and frowned disapprovingly at Farengar as he paused in front of her porch.

Splendid. She remembers me too, it would seem, Farengar thought cynically.

Dorthe set down her hammer and walked over to the wood rail, and Farengar watched with curiosity as she hoisted herself up to stand upon it. Using a wooden beam for support, she reached up into the hay thatching of the roof and grabbed hold of an all but invisible black boot, giving it a good shake.

"Therion!" she called sharply. "Wizard's here," she said, adding a note of distaste to the word 'wizard'.

Farengar heard a deep yawn and watched as the Dragonborn slowly emerged from the thatch, clad once more in his black leather armor. Therion stretched lazily, extending his lithe body with impressive flexibility. With a sigh of satisfaction he dropped his arms and, as his gaze fell on to Farengar, he let a sly grin form on his lips. In one nimble motion, he grabbed the edge of the roof with his hands, and flipped forward, agilely landing before him.

The wizard looked at him inquisitively. However he had expected adventurers, or at least the Dragonborn, to move, it had certainly not been like this.

"You're covered in hay!" Dorthe said with a laugh, breaking Farengar's trance.

"Am I?" Therion replied, trying, without success, to dust himself off.

"I told you to sleep inside," Dorthe chided, snickering at the impressive amount of hay in his dark gold hair. In response, he tossed a handful of it over her head, causing her to shriek at him amidst laughter.

"As I said, I've had enough of being indoors for awhile. And I prefer to sleep where no one can sneak up on me," he replied, retrieving his pack from behind the forge.

Farengar wondered how safe Therion could ever feel sleeping again, after his most recent encounter. Even Whiterun, which had always felt invulnerable to outside forces such as the Thalmor, had proven vulnerable. At the thought of the Thalmor, he felt his blood begin to boil again, thinking of the Nord victims held captive in their keeps.

"You're leaving? Already?" Dorthe asked sadly, watching Therion retrieve his things.

The mer snorted. "Spare me the guilt."

"But you're still hurt," Dorthe protested.

"Farengar will take care of me," Therion said, turning his most charming smile on the wizard.

Farengar countered with a disparaging look, determined to show his immunity to the Dragonborn's trite routine of flattery. The elf was used to getting his way by gaining the adoration of those around him; using his charisma to charm every guard, cook, maid, and member of the court in Dragonsreach. Even Irileth, (well, to a certain degree). He would have none of it.

As Farengar continued to stare reproachfully at him, Therion's smile seemed to only intensify, as if purposefully vexing him. The wizard could not remember why he had ever wished that the elf would reawaken and wondered if it would really have been so bad if he had remained in an exhausted sleep, at least for a little while longer. Why had he been convinced seeing him smile would be anything other than infuriating?

"I am returning to Dragonsreach. I assume that it is also your destination?" Farengar asked.

"Indeed it is," Therion said, placing his arm through a strap attached to a quiver of arrows and slinging a bow behind his back. "Shall we be off?"

The Dragonborn bid farewell to Dorthe and the two men set out through the town and finally onto the main road, leading deep into the wilderness.

Despite his recent injuries, the Dragonborn looked more than capable of handling trouble, making him a useful asset as a traveling companion. Adorned with his weapons and armor, he even looked rather formidable. Curious, he concentrated, tilting his head to the side and letting his eyes unfocus. As he suspected, there was a faint, dark green tint about the edges of his armor. Probably a form of stamina enchantment. He shifted his gaze to the Akaviri dai-katana on his belt, which had a curious red hue to it. Farengar could only guess at its purpose, possibly health related. He rarely bothered with sword enchantments, finding martial weaponry in general to be entirely tedious.

"See anything that interests you?" Therion asked, smirking at the wizard.

"Hardly," Farengar replied briskly, looking away. "I was just noticing you managed to locate all of your equipment. Your friends insisted I haul its weight back to Riverwood along with your person."

"Oh? Which 'friends' were these?" Therion asked with interest, picking a blue mountain flower from beside the path and tucking it into his pack.

Farengar's mind reflexively listed off its alchemical attributes.

"The ones who paid me handsomely to journey out in the dead of night on the errand of tracking you," Farengar replied, sounding generally displeased about venturing away from Whiterun.

"If they paid… that would be Bryn and Karliah. How much do I owe them?" Therion asked thoughtfully, adding, "Just how much did it take to pry you out of your study?" He would have sooner expected a Daedric Prince to rescue him (or come claim his soul), than to open his eyes and find Farengar, of all people, saving him from death. The man was notorious for his resolve to never leave his research.

"I will say that your companions value your life quite highly, and leave it at that," Farengar said, momentarily speaking with refined words and using court etiquette. "You seem to have made a remarkable number of friends in Skyrim," he observed. Farengar doubted he had as many acquaintances in Skyrim as there had been people showing up to find the Dragonborn the previous night.

Therion laughed, and Farengar frowned, unsure what he had said that could be considered amusing.

"Sorry," he replied peacefully waving a hand, "But I've only made one friend in Skyrim, so your comment was somewhat amusing. The people you saw… I'd call them associates."

"Quite an interesting array of 'associates'. Tell me, where did you make the acquaintance of the mad jester? A rather unsettling fellow, that one. I think the guards let him into Dragonsreach on a lark," Farengar said, still upset with the palace sentries.

The laughter quickly left Therion's eyes and was replaced by something Farengar had never witnessed before in the Dragonborn. He looked petrified.

"Gods, you met Cicero?" Therion demanded loudly. "Inside Dragonsreach?!"

Farengar watched the elf's reaction with interest. He had never seen him so disturbed before; it was a stark contrast from his normally unshakable and aloof attitude.

"Yes, he came into my office looking for-" Farengar began, but stopped as he watched Therion's eyes widen drastically, both shock and fury at war across his face. "You have me at a loss. Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me, why you look as if I've just described casually meeting Sheogorath at the local inn for a pint?"

"An apt metaphor," Therion said, calming himself and running a hand across his face. "But Sheogorath is not nearly as dangerous as Cicero. I've had a drink with the prince of madness and he was rather pleasant, despite initially threatening to flay me alive and skip rope with my entrails. Cicero, on the other hand…" he trailed off. "I am surprised you are… still intact. I should clarify something right now. Never be alone with Cicero."

"Ah," Farengar said, unsure how to respond to such a chilling warning.

"And do not send guards after him," Therion added emphatically, picturing a sea of dead Whiterun guards, and a very vengeful Cicero approaching the court wizard. He shook his head. "Just… find me, if at all possible."

"Fair enough…" Farengar said, not wanting to press the issue. "Tell me then, which of your associates might I consider trustworthy?"

"If they're with me?" Therion replied, thinking to himself for a moment. "Honestly? I just assume the worst, that way I can only be pleasantly surprised."

Farengar gave him a quizzical look before returning to his usual, thoughtful silence.

Therion tried to focus on the beautiful spring day in an attempt to distract himself from his aching chest and pounding head. A small voice told him he should be in bed resting, but he ignored it. He needed to reach Dragonsreach and speak with Jarl Balgruuf. Events were moving quickly and he did not have the luxury of idling. Rubbing his fingers together, he worked his magicka ever so slightly into tiny embers, testing his strength. The trees immediately began to blur and he blinked away a feeling of lightheadedness, as he opened his hand and shut his mind closed from his magicka.

Well, casting a healing spell was right out. He sighed internally, looking at Farengar, debating setting aside his pride and asking for help. He wrinkled his nose. In the Summerset Isle, asking a mer for help with magic was disgracefully weak. Whiterun wasn't that far. He could easily stop in Breezehome and make himself several healing potions.

Dragonsreach came into view between the trees as they rounded a bend. The path they walked wound around the base of a mountain. Therion had traveled this way many times, and looked over at a familiar cave, a landmark which always signaled his journey was halfway over. Trees, mossy rocks, flowers, and butterflies dotted the path in each direction. The mer looked around, appreciating the picturesque morning. As he gazed up into the sky, he felt a small chill along his spine; a sense of foreboding which usually preceded one thing. He froze in place, wondering if he had slighted any of the eight Divines recently, as he held his breath and listened.

An earsplitting, bestial roar erupted over the trees, followed by the sound of rushing air.

Farengar's head eagerly snapped up, excitedly looking around.

Therion merely sighed in exasperation. Reaching behind his back, he pulled his bow free and nocked an arrow, silently hoping the beast would pass by overhead without noticing them.

He heard the words, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" and was already leaping to the side on the first syllable. A wall of hot, bright flame came down where he had just been, leaving a long trail of black, smoking ash across the path, tinged with fire.

The deafening thrashing of air returned as the creature landed, shaking the ground with its massive body, causing stones and dirt to spray in all directions.

Farengar shielded his eyes, and as the dust settled, he slowly stared up in awe.

A dragon.

A real dragon.

He had never imagined how incredibly large they would look in real life. The gigantic, bronze dragon growled, so low he could feel it reverberate in his chest. Dense, black smoke billowed from its ferocious looking maw in a steady stream. With a sweep of its tattered, spade tail, it turned and stalked toward him, it's sharp talons digging into the earth with each resounding step. Farengar stared up into its yellow, compound eyes. Transfixed, forgetting to breath, rooted in place by fascination and terror.

A wave of force knocked him back into the grass as the dragon snapped its massive jaws shut on thin air, narrowly missing the wizard. Three arrows sank into the dragon's neck, all in a row. The beast threw its head back and let loose a shrill cry, as more arrows sailed past its thrashing body, several hitting their mark. Flapping its leathery wings, it began to lift off the ground.

Therion rolled beneath the elder dragon as it began its ascent, the tip of its wing brushing his back as he passed below. Dashing forward at a run, he stopped to hoist the staggered mage onto his shoulder, shouting "Wuld Nah Kest!"

The dragon shouted more words which became smoldering red flame, but they harmlessly struck a stone as Therion ran at an inhuman pace, using his whirlwind sprint to dive through the trees.

He darted into the nearby cave, not caring what he might encounter as he ran inside, dropping Farengar beside him, as he fell to a knee, still clutching his bow with a nocked arrow in his right hand.

"What," Therion shouted at Farengar, his words punctuated by panting breaths, "is wrong with you?! Are you completely-" his words were drowned out by a vehement roar from the cave's entrance, where the dragon breathed wild gouts of flame from too far a distance to do anything more than raise the ambient temperature.

Therion glared back at it with the annoyed look of one who had just been rudely interrupted mid-sentence. With a casual snap of his bowstring, he delivered an arrow to the center of the dragon's brow, causing it to roar in pain and surprise.

"Gods damned dragons," Therion muttered wearily, his head pounding violently along with rest of his body. He felt on the verge of collapse, but he steeled his voice and savagely shouted, "Zu'u, Dovahkiin, hin daan!"

Farengar sat up, finally free of the staggering effect of Therion's unrelenting force, his mouth agape. There had been no special effects following his words. The Dragonborn was actually shouting in Dragon, instead of, well, shouting in Dragon. He wasn't entirely clear on the differences as a whole, but one appeared to be mindlessly flinging words around like battle axes, while the other seemed to be conversing in a language. Of Dragons.

"Meyz nu Dovahkiin?!" the dragon shouted back in surprise, its low voice reverberating through the cave.

"Meyye! Who else?!" Therion spat back.

"Krosis, sorry," the dragon said in a deeply humble voice, "I do not wish to fight you, Dovahkiin."

"Then fly," Therion commanded in a low voice.

To his relief the dragon turned around, and he heard the rush of wind from the beating of its wings as it departed.

Farengar stared at the mer in fascination, but Therion didn't notice as he distantly heard his bow clatter to the ground. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the cave floor. He numbly felt Farengar's hand move him side to side, looking for injury. The wizard was saying something, but he couldn't hear the words over the pounding in his head. Healing light coursed through him, gradually softening the deafening sound of his pulse in his ears until he could hear again.

"Thank you," Therion said in a sigh as the pain in his body was washed away. "Were you saying something just now?"

Farengar wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe, sparing him a disapproving look as he did so.

"I called you a stubborn fool of an elf," he explained, pausing to recover his magicka. "I thought you were fatally wounded by the dragon. You could have said your injuries were bothering you."

"And miss the look of concern on your face?" Therion teased.

"I wear no such expression," Farengar said plainly, renewing his healing efforts. The spell was taxing, but not nearly as much as it had been the previous night. "During my brief travels with you, my restoration magic has improved by leaps and bounds. How have you survived this long, pushing your body to such idiotic extremes?"

"Wait, are you actually worried about me?" Therion laughed mockingly, his spirits lifting as he teased the wizard.

Farengar snorted. "Merely an observation," he said, lowering his hands as his spell finished. "How are you feeling now? And be honest. Unless you're planning on savoring my 'look' of malice, when we're carved up by bandits."

Therion took stock of his body and tried to sit up. The effort was strenuous, but he managed to reach a sitting position and leaned back against the cool cave wall.

He grumbled something inaudibly.

"Pardon?" Farengar asked, as the mer became suddenly silent, stubbornly setting his jaw and glancing away. "Ah," Farengar said, watching the way he wrinkled his nose; he had seen Therion do so on several occasions in Dragonsreach. An unconscious habit of his, Farengar thought, one he made whenever frustrated, but particularly, when he had to ask for something.

Extending his hands, he wordlessly resumed healing. He ran through his magicka twice more, before Therion waved his hands away and stood up. Well, as much as he could. The six-foot-five mer had to stoop to avoid hitting his head. Much as he did across Skyrim. Which was always off putting to him, having been considered on the shorter side by Altmer standards.

Hooking his bow once more behind his back, he exited the cave and stretched to his full height, feeling immensely better.

"I can murder as many bandits as you like," Therion reassured his companion, "But I make no promises about dragons."

"Well, what did you say to the last one?" Farengar asked, still impressed as much by the dragon's reaction as by Therion's ability to speak the Dragon tongue. "It practically tucked its tail between its legs as it flew away."

"Hm, what did I say?" he wondered aloud, trying to remember. "I think it boiled down to 'fuck off'," he said with a shrug, walking to the main road.

"And that... works?" Farengar asked quizzically. All his research would feel rather underwhelming if that were the case.

"Well, I wouldn't advise you try it. I made it clear I was Dragonborn. Since I killed Alduin, most dragons prefer to avoid me if possible. They don't want me as an enemy."

Farengar wondered what the Dragonborn looked like, fighting a dragon at full strength.

"How did you learn to speak their language? Is it because of your Dragonborn abilities?" Farengar asked eagerly, a million questions springing to mind. "Are there any other types of souls you can absorb? Any humanoids?"

Therion blinked in surprise as Farengar asked with such bright enthusiasm he could scarcely recognize him as the same man.

"Human souls? No, not without a black soul gem and some questionable life choices," he said. "And my grasp on dragon is not exactly… fluent. I'm told my pronunciation is nothing short of appalling," he said with a laugh. "But, it's slowly improving. I just happen to enjoy languages, so I'm studying with a friend in what little spare time I get to myself. But, no, being Dragonborn doesn't give me an intimate knowledge of vocabulary and pronunciation. It just allows me to wield the words properly as weapons with my thu'um."

Farengar nodded eagerly, fascinated by the topic.

"I've heard it said that fighting between dragons is much like a deadly verbal debate. How I envy your knowledge of such a power, to fight with words," the wizard said.

"It's not as elegant as you're imagining, I think," Therion said slowly. He smiled, enjoying the excited light in the man's eyes. "You could call it a 'deadly verbal debate', but it's not the most cerebral exchange. More like an argument over elements if anything. Fire! Lightning! Fire!" he said with a chuckle.

"Yes, but you're actually killing your enemies with your words!" Farengar said, intrigued by the concept.

"Oh yes, quite the language of love," Therion laughed. "Then again, I could imagine some women finding that appealing."

"How do you absorb the soul of a dragon?" Farengar asked, already on to his next question. "What does it feel like?"

Therion happily launched into an explanation, enjoying the opportunity to entertain the Nord as they made their way to Whiterun.

Translation:

Zu'u, Dovahkiin, hin daan! - I, the Dragonborn, will be your doom!
Meyz nu Dovahkiin?! - You're the Dragonborn?!
Meyye! - Fool!
Krosis - Sorry