Farengar grit his teeth as they made their way through the large gate of Whiterun. The townsfolk were collectively staring as he and Therion entered, and Farengar returned their looks with an icy stare.

Ysolda and Hulda leaned together, speaking in hushed whispers.

"Farengar actually left Whiterun!?" Hulda asked in surprise, always on the lookout for a tidbit of juicy gossip to impart to her patrons at the Bannered Mare.

"It's actually a romantic tale," Ysolda said with a small sigh, sparring a heartfelt smile at the wizard, despite his death glare. "The guards say he rushed out in the middle of the night to find the missing Thane."

Hulda raised her eyebrows, looking impressed. "Huh! Do you suppose they've made up since their quarrel in Dragonsreach then?"

"Hm, it's hard to say, isn't it?"

Ysolda and Hulda watched silently as Therion and Farengar discussed something outside the Thane's house. The court wizard shook his head. The Dragonborn, wearing his perpetual grin of mischief, leaned down to whisper something into Farengar's ear.

Whatever he said caused the court wizard to stiffen, then shove the Dragonborn into Breezehome, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Oh my," Ysolda said, her cheeks blossoming a faint red.

"They do seem to have quite the, ah, passionate relationship, don't they?"

"You conniving, manipulative- I could kill you!" Farengar hissed, bearing down on the elf.

"Hold on, you may have already succeeded," Therion winced, putting a hand on his chest as he sank into the nearest chair beside the fire pit.

"It's no less than you deserve," Farengar said with a merciless scowl.

"This is what a mer gets for asking a man for help?" Therion asked, giving him an absolutely galling look of innocence.

"Help? That's how you ask for help? Request I come inside and then threaten to 'give Whiterun something to really talk about' when I decline?"

Therion only barely suppressed a chuckle rising in his throat.

"Right, now that you're here, help me out of my armor, would you?"

Farengar turned on his heel, heading for the door.

The mer sighed.

"Please?"

The way Therion said it, caused Farengar to stop. It hadn't been imploring or flowery, just sincere.

"Don't you have a housecarl for these sorts of things?" Farengar asked with an annoyed frown, moving beside Therion. His eyes wandered over the inky armor, looking for the catches which seemed to supernaturally blend in with the material.

"Lydia? We have an arrangement. She comes by, but she doesn't live here," Therion said, turning to give Farengar a better view of the nearly invisible buckles. "Even if I could adjust to the idea of living with a stranger, she seems none too fond of me, nor 'carrying my burdens', so we're both happier."

Therion listened as Farengar worked the straps loose, quietly cursing and pulling.

"Ward spells are much less cumbersome," he said with a derisive snort.

"Oh, certainly," Therion agreed, "If you enjoy armor that falls off at the worst possible moment." Robes were about as much protection as walking around naked in his opinion, but more importantly, light armor just looked sexier.

Although, he rather liked the way robes looked on Farengar.

They looked like they could easily be pulled open and slid off the wizard's muscular frame. Trapping his arms in the sleeves, as he pressed him against the wall. Hungrily kissing his neck, while listening to his delectable moans.

He blinked, noticing Farengar was glaring at him.

Therion cocked an eyebrow in silent question, wondering if he had noticed the almost certainly blatant lust in his expression.

"If you can't maintain a simple ward spell, then I suppose dressing like a common foot soldier would of course be preferable," the wizard replied, and Therion could hear he had struck a nerve about his choice of attire, and also that he was as oblivious as ever. He was slightly disappointed, part of him hoping the mage might notice his lingering gaze.

"Or," Therion said, taking offense at the 'common foot soldier' remark, "Perhaps you prefer robes, because buckles are simply too complicated?"

He hissed as Farengar hitched his shoulder strap free with unnecessary roughness.

"Sorry," the wizard said unapologetically, "That last strap was rather complex."

Therion glared at him, the look dissolving into begrudging amusement.

He was in no condition to seduce anyone with his freshly mended ribs, so perhaps it was just as well Farengar missed his looks and advances. He couldn't even remove his own armor without effort and his chest was already violently aching once again as he wiggled free from his chest piece.

He was about to make a parting remark about wards and slip away to make himself a healing draught when Farengar quirked his head a bit, studying him. Without explanation he took a knee, held out his hands, and healed him.

Therion sat up in surprise, the pain in his chest subsiding.

Farengar, by all accounts, the most absent minded professor in the realm, oblivious to all outward signs of expression, seemed to know exactly when he was in pain. And each time, he thoughtfully spared Therion his pride.

He could feel the radiating warmth of the Nord's hands even from a short distance. Combined with the heat of the fire pit, the ever present chill of Skyrim which clung to his body, was chased away, leaving him feeling relaxed and safe. A burden lifted from his shoulders he had not known was there, as he felt at home and at peace. A feeling he had not had since before he had left Alinor, years ago.

Watching the mage work his magic, he closely admired his expression of absolute concentration, so achingly close.

Without thinking, he let his eyes slide closed, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Farengar's.

The Nord's lips were divinely warm, warmer than any he had ever known. Inhaling, he smelled fresh snow, pine needles, and the faint scent of smoke and fire with a hint of sweat. He felt a delicious, light-headed feeling course through him, as if he had consumed the perfect amount of Summerset Mead. For a moment, he was lost. Consumed in the scent and feel of him, and the feeling building inside his chest.

Abruptly, his mind caught up with him. His last conscious thought leading up to that moment had been an intense desire to ruin Farengar's picture perfect concentration. Now, he was realizing the mage would react any moment. Breathing in, he memorized the moment, his essence, and knew he would have no regrets.

Farengar broke away, his face blank with utter shock. Staring at Therion, he struggled to collect his wits. For a moment, he saw a flash of something, raw and vulnerable, before his eyes turned hard and he rose to his feet, walked away, and left Breezehome without a word.

Therion ran a hand through his short hair.

"Well, that went about as well as I expected," he said with a deep sigh.

Farengar's expression still fresh in his mind, he stood and retrieved the blue mountain flower from his pack, a bittersweet feeling hanging over him. Grinding it up in his pestle, he boiled water within his alembic, adding a drop of red dye, unable to tear his mind from Farengar. His look had been unmistakable. Therion had seen it too many times to miss its significance.

Old pain.

Someone had hurt the court wizard.