Therion stirred the crackling bonfire, watching the jarl take a drink from his flagon, before giving an order to Irileth. She nodded respectfully, slipping away from the light of the fire and into the night. The rest of the jarl's court, either slumbered peacefully or drank with one another, making boisterous banter.

The Dragonborn inched closer to the flames, constantly shifting to different sides of the fire, in a vain attempt to avoid the ever changing winds blowing smoke into his face, which seemed to be about every other minute.

Relocating to avoid yet another change in the wind, he settled cross legged next to the jarl, before scooting closer to the fire.

Through the flames, he could see one member of the court sitting further away from the rest. It was Farengar, drinking his mead alone, scratching notes into a book beneath the steady glow of a candle light spell.

Therion started as the jarl clapped his shoulders and slid closer to the fire.

"You two are still fighting, then?" he asked, following his gaze.

Therion looked around to ensure their conversation would not be overheard. He could barely see the outline of Irileth, watching for any sign of danger from a shadowed outcropping. The sound of Proventus snoring loudly from his tent, could probably be heard from Whiterun, Therion mused to himself. The members of the guard who were still awake discussed amusing anecdotes, far from hearing.

Therion found himself smiling at the jarl, his strong, relaxed bearing reminding him of a mer he had admired greatly. Lord Naarfin, the general he had served under during the Great War.

For a moment he was back in Cyrodiil on a warm spring night, staring up at the southern wall of the Imperial City, sitting shoulder to shoulder around a bonfire with the other members of the Laloria Malatar.

A sudden, chilling breeze caused him to shiver, a stark reminder that he was still in Skyrim. He leaned closer to the flames, rubbing his hands together for warmth in a futile attempt to stave off the cold.

"Fighting? No. Arguing with Farengar is something I excel at," he said with a grin, taking a deep drink from his flagon of mead. The Nord beverage sent a wave of warmth throughout his body, relaxing his cold, stiff joints.

"What, then?"

Therion knew where others asked out of gossip, the jarl asked out of concern. The well-being of his court and his people were close to his heart. Therion silently wished Balgruuf was of a more long lived race. His time as jarl would be over in what would feel like the blink of an eye, and then one of his awful children would be making a mess of Whiterun.

Therion's eyes fell once more over Farengar, sitting alone in the shadows, illuminated in muted blue and gold under his light spell. It seemed he was always sitting alone.

Therion leaned back on his hands, looking up at the shimmering aurora, glowing brightly against the night sky.

"I tried giving something other than fighting a try," the mer explained with a small smile.

He heard the jarl chuckle, his blue eyes filled with amusement.

"Then you truly are as brave as the legends say."

Therion laughed.

"Well, he didn't light me on fire, which I took as a good sign, but he hasn't spoken to me since. I'm all but certain I struck a nerve… one unrelated to me. Although, if I'm completely honest, part of me wonders if it's," he hesitated, absently stroking a thumb across his ear, "if it's because I'm an Altmer."

"Well... that might be part of it," the jarl said slowly, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Did he ever tell you about the time he was engaged?"

Therion choked on his mead, managing to cough out a, "No."

Balgruuf patted him on the back, laughing heartily.

"Caught you off guard, did it? Well, he wouldn't appreciate me telling you, so I wouldn't go spreading it around," the jarl cautioned, tossing another log on the fire, in a shower of sparks. "It was some time ago, Farengar was just an apprentice then, studying under my court wizard, Nisain. He had come recommended by someone or other from the wizard's college in Winterhold. Well, needless to say we were all caught off guard when my dark elf court wizard introduced us to his young, Nord apprentice," the jarl said nostalgically, pausing to take another drink from his cup. "Farengar respected Nisain, you could tell by the way he worked himself down to the bone to impress him. I never met Farengar's father, but I gather their relationship is a fairly complicated one. I think he saw Nisain as, if not a father, then something close to it."

Therion frowned, the other foot clearly about to fall any moment.

"Nisain had a daughter, a lovely young dark elf woman named Dinere. Well, Farengar fell for her, and he fell hard, hopelessly drawn to the elf. Love at first sight. It wasn't long before he proposed to Dinere and she accepted. However, Nisain…" the jarl trailed off with a sigh. "He forbade Dinere from marrying a human. Which surely hurt Farengar as badly as what followed. Dinere obeyed her father's wishes, breaking off their engagement. Shortly after, Nisain accepted a position with the Mage's Guild in Cyrodiil, and they left Skyrim."

Balgruuf scratched his beard thoughtfully.

"Farengar was never outgoing, that's just who he is," the jarl added, "He prefers to be left alone to his books and research. Since then, however, it's fair to say he's guarded his heart more closely. He doesn't trust anyone getting too close."

Jarl Balgruuf finished his drink, stretching to his feet with a groan, Therion watching intently.

"You and I should hit the hay, we have an early date with some more Thalmor in the morning," he said with excited anticipation, firelight gleaming in his armor.

Therion tilted his head back to look up at the jarl.

"Why did you tell me all of that?" he asked curiously.

"A man should know what he's up against," the jarl said in a warm voice. "And because I'd never have managed to convince my wife to marry a lout like me without some inside knowledge. Seemed fitting, to do the same for someone else."

Therion watched him go in contemplative silence. After the jarl had settled into his tent, Therion slowly rose to his feet, feeling tired and light headed from mead, but significantly warmer. Reaching into his pack, he produced several thin, metal wires, and set to work creating trip wires within his tent. He was feeling decidedly paranoid about surprise, late night, Thalmor visits.

Although, perhaps paranoia was the wrong word for it; after all, you were only paranoid if no one was out to get you, and he knew first hand how far the Thalmor would go to get their hands on him. If they succeeded a second time, Ondolemar might not be there to soften the blow. So he settled for setting traps to wake him in the event an invisible agent slipped into his tent, trying to convince himself it was safe to sleep.