Farengar felt his teeth grind together, his ears ringing with the deafening roar of politics. He tried to distract himself from the seemingly unending, banal discussions by staring resolutely into the crackling hearth at the center of the room, focusing intently on the fiery coals. Morning light had bathed the room when they had begun. Now the the sky outside was dark, leaving only the blazing hearth to illuminate the room. Skyrim's rulers, eight jarls and their respective courts, bathed in its warm, red glow, casting long shadows across the walls and their tattered banners.
"I understand what's best for Solitude," Erikur droned on, touting his financial ties within the city, speaking with a self-important air.
Farengar suppressed an exasperated sigh threatening to escape from his throat. The moot had not even begun. They could not reach that spectacular level of tedium until they first selected a new jarl for Solitude. A feat which had proven too difficult for its own court.
He let his gaze drift around the room, glancing at each of the court wizards in turn. A mere five in total, due to three of Skyrim's holds eschewing the office. Their expressions clearly mirrored his own inner boredom.
A common trend from all gathered, he noticed, was to cast curious glances toward the Dragonborn, who was seated between Irileth and Proventus. Against his better judgement, Farengar let his eyes wander to Therion.
There was something markedly different about the elf the last few days, which was in no small way related to his appearance. Normally, he avoided any form of armor which obscured his face. However, sometime before they had reached Solitude, Farengar had watched him cover the lower half of his face with a mask and pull his black hood low, concealing himself entirely. A strange gesture from the vain elf.
The effect was an unnerving one. Therion's body seemed to vanish into shadow unless one's eyes remained locked on him at all times. He could no longer be distinguished as an elf, just a tall, undefinable figure with unreadable intent, following the court of Whiterun like a dangerous shadow.
Farengar was roused from his thoughts by Bryling interrupting Erikur in a commanding voice.
"This godsforsaken war has divided our people and destroyed our land. If we're to have lasting peace in Skyrim, we need a ruler in Solitude who follows the proud traditions of our fathers, with more on their mind than lining their pockets. I would lead this city with honor."
Erikur glared at her, long standing hatred in his eyes, and Bryling returned the look in kind. The animosity between them was not slight; it was the kind grown from years of being at one another's throats in close quarters. There was no doubt that one wanted the other dead with an equal enthusiasm.
"Brynling's obsession with honor and tradition is… quaint, but politically irrelevant," Erikur replied. With this statement, the two of them were off, launching into yet another argument.
Farengar desperately wished he were anywhere else. Perhaps in the jaws of a dragon.
Jarl Brina Merilis, the Jarl of Dawnstar, interrupted the thanes' quarrel.
"Why don't we try letting someone else speak. Gain an outside perspective on matters."
Her tone was authoritative, leaving little room for argument, the old woman's background as an Imperial Legate clearly evident in her posture and clipped words.
"Yes," agreed Jarl Kraldar. The Jarl of Winterhold thoughtfully stroked his white beard adding, "I'd like to hear the Dragonborn's thoughts on the matter."
All eyes swept toward the dark figure seated at Whiterun's corner of the table, a quiet hush falling over the room.
Farengar could feel tension mounting, as the moot watched the Dragonborn, silent and foreboding.
Finally, a hoarse breath came from beneath his dark hood, followed by another, before breaking into a loud snore.
Farengar involuntarily snorted, quickly covering his mouth to hide his expression.
Jarl Balgruuf gave Irileth a meaningful look, and the dark elf forcefully kicked the leg of Therion's chair with her iron boot.
The Dragonborn looked up, raising an eyebrow at Irileth. Farengar thought he could see deep shadows beneath his eyes, though it was difficult to tell.
The housecarl leaned over, whispering something sharply in his ear. Therion's reply seemed to amuse her, her face and reply taking on a softer quality.
Turning to face the gathered rulers of Skyrim, Therion glanced from Brynling to Erikur before declaring, "Neither."
Aside from a loud, "Ha!" from the crone Jarl Idgrod of Morthal, the rest of the assembly seemed underwhelmed by his terse answer.
"Neither?" Jarl Kraldar pressed. "If you were a citizen of Solitude, whom would you prefer to rule? Surely you have an opinion."
Jarl Siddgeir sneered, chiming in with an arrogant chuckle.
"The Dragonborn clearly has no perception of what's at hand. The elf just wants to go back to sleep Kraldar, let him."
Farengar's gaze snapped back to Therion, searching for a reaction, but his expression was hidden beneath his mask, his amber eyes remaining neutral.
"The Jarl of Falkreath is quite correct," Therion said amicably toward Jarl Siddgeir. "I was having a marvellous dream and I wanted to return to it. Alas, I am awake now. If it would please this council, I will give my opinions, inconsequential though they may be."
Therion's gaze flicked to Erikur.
The Nord, dressed in expensive blue robes and furs, looked disdainfully back at him.
Though the Dragonborn addressed him simply, his question was anything but, and it caused an immediate stir.
"Why do you think Jarl Ulfric killed High King Torygg?"
Erikur looked taken aback.
"That is a preposterous question which has nothing to do with this meeting. I will not answer it," he said reproachfully.
Therion turned to Bryling.
"And you?" he asked.
"Many condemn the Stormcloaks, but I refuse. There is honor in fighting for what you believe. Jarl Ulfric did what he thought was right," Bryling said without pause or hesitation.
"So," Therion began, addressing the moot, "On the subject of the most disastrous event that Skyrim has known in recent history, we have a potential jarl who refuses to speak on the matter, and another who, although speaks with admirable convictions and virtues, has no deeper insights into the matter, which tore the country asunder."
The elf leaned forward, looking around for someone.
"Sybille," Therion called, looking all the way to the back of the room where the court wizard of Solitude sat.
Farengar recognized the thin, striking Breton from their brief interactions in the past. She looked remarkably unchanged, though it had been many years since their last meeting.
"Why did Jarl Ulfric kill High King Torygg?" Therion repeated.
Sybille's reply was unwaveringly direct.
"Because Ulfric wanted Torygg to declare independence from the Empire."
"And why did Torygg never declare independence?" Therion asked knowingly.
This time her answer was still direct, but also passionate, her respect for the deceased high king clearly evident.
"Because the Dominion is a sleeping beast that Skyrim cannot slay alone. Because many Nords are part of the Imperial army, even now. Because the food and resources we get from the Empire are important to our people. Because even if we can't openly worship him, Talos the God was once Tiber Septim the man, and this is his Empire. And Torygg wasn't ready to let it fall apart."
Therion leaned back in his chair, addressing the moot once more.
"If you want Solitude to have a jarl who will bravely rush outside to fight anything which threatens Solitude - before ascertaining if it is, in fact, an enemy - then choose Thane Bryling. If you want Solitude to flourish financially, choose Erikur. He's an opportunist and a cunning businessman. Ask either the Stormcloaks or the Imperials he sold weapons to during the civil war."
A jolt ran through the room, as many of the jarls regarded Erikur with unfriendly scrutiny.
"If you want Solitude to endure, choose Sybille. She's the only one in the court who bothers to look at more than one side of an issue," Therion gave the the Dunmer housecarl beside him a wry look. "And now I swear to do my utmost to stay awake. Apparently if I snore again, Irileth will not hesitate to send me on a more permanent venture to Sovngarde."
There was a murmur of interest, while Erikur turned red in anger.
"This is mad! She's a wizard! And not even a Nord!" he shouted.
The court wizards of Skyrim regarded Erikur with dangerous looks, as did all the non-Nord races, while the Dragonborn fixed him with his own cold expression.
"I am a mer. And a mage. Does that mean I don't care about the future of Skyrim?"
Erikur raised his finger accusingly at Therion.
"You implicate me of treachery and now you twist my words! I've had enough!" he growled.
Therion started to wonder how far Erikur would take the insult to his pride, when to his surprise, Jarl Balgruuf leaned forward and stared the other man down.
"Choose your words carefully, Thane Erikur. I do not take threats made against my court lightly."
Erikur, looking around the room, finally sensed the tide turning against him, and lowered his hand.
"Perhaps it's time we put things to a vote," Jarl Balgruuf suggested.
The vote passed with six in favor of Sybille and two in favor of Bryling.
As the moot finally adjourned for the evening, Therion slipped away, vanishing into the crowd.
Farengar, eager to leave the crowded room, departed the Blue Palace and emerged into the night air of Solitude. The jarls had lodgings in the Blue Palace, the guards in Castle Dour, while the rest of the various members of the courts had lodgings at the Winking Skeever. There was a moment as he left, that he thought he heard the sound of a tile shifting, coming from the roof of the Blue Palace, but he saw nothing as he looked up, and the sound vanished before he could locate its source. Shrugging it off, he slowly walked back to the inn with the rest of the departing crowd.
Farengar finally returned to the inn ahead of the rest of the delegates, but was surprised to see Therion seated in a back corner, sipping a drink and looking as though he had been there for some time. Giving him a bemused look, Farengar went to the bar to order a pint and dinner. The bard, a lovely Bosmer girl named Sina, finished the last notes of a jaunty tune and announced her next number; a personal variation on The Dragonborn Comes. Farengar glanced over to the titular character. The slow, soothing tune appeared to have a lulling effect, causing the Dragonborn to nod off as the bard plucked her lute, singing of his exploits in a voice sweet as honey.
"Our hero, our hero
Claims a warrior's heart."
Farengar watched as several Nords seemed to recognize the slumbering Dragonborn. The wizard frowned as they walked unsteadily over to him, surrounding the elf in the corner.
"Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!"
Farengar walked over swiftly, telling himself it was merely to ensure the thane of Whiterun wasn't robbed or disgraced. From the way they stumbled and snickered, there was no mistaking their drunkenness. Before he could intervene, one of them swayed forward, grabbing hold of the Dragonborn's Akaviri dai-katana at his waist.
Farengar staggered as he heard, and felt, Therion's frenzied, resounding shout. In a blur of movement, the patrons before him scattered, thrown back, along with a table, and several chairs. Farengar saw Therion press the Nord whom had grabbed his weapon into the wall by the neck, reaching for his sword with his free hand, seemingly unaware of what he was doing. Lunging forward, Farengar trapped Therion's wrist, preventing him from drawing his sword, while wrenching him away from the choking Nord. The man dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping.
From the time Farengar had first found his magicka as a boy, he had been fighting. He had been in more fights than he could remember. Children twice his size had gone out of their way to attack him, adults cheering them on. He had learned early on, out of necessity, how to trap an opponent quickly. Despite this, he had a difficult time keeping the elf under control.
Therion struggled against him as if his life depended on it. The wizard, pushing his advantage, pinned his arms while pressing him into a corner.
"Dragonborn," Farengar said sharply, seeking to calm the frantic elf before he could wrench himself free or shout him apart. The title had no effect, and Farengar's stomach turned as he looked at the struggling elf, whose eyes were stricken with terror.
"Therion," he tried instead, adopting a softer tone.
Farengar felt him slacken, and repeated his name several times until he ceased his struggles.
Looking up, he could clearly see the deep, dark circles around the elf's eyes, as he watched him peer over his shoulder at the rest of the room, drawing deep breaths to calm himself.
Amber eyes swept back down to Farengar's sea green, and then down to his hands, still pinning Therion's arms to his chest.
Farengar released him, stepping away.
The patrons were looking warily at the Dragonborn, the mood in the air tense, until he stumbled a bit unsteadily, bending down to help up the men he had knocked down with his voice. They stumbled to their feet, and Therion stumbled with them, clapping a hand on their backs, while ordering them drinks from the bar with a friendly laugh.
Therion politely declined drinking with them, saying he'd had quite enough, and tripped a bit, draping an arm over Farengar's shoulders for support.
Farengar looked at his arm and then back to the elf.
"You're not actually drunk," he whispered quietly, ensuring no one else could hear.
Therion leaned his face unsteadily against Farengar's hood, whispering into his ear, Farengar suppressing a shudder as the warm elf rested against him.
"No, but they don't need to know that," Therion said quietly. "They'll forgive a drunken Dragonborn more easily than they will a panicked Altmer."
"Mmm," Farengar said, not disagreeing. "The point I was trying to make, is that you don't actually need to lean on me for support."
Farengar heard a chuckle from beneath his mask.
"No, but it's much more convincing, isn't it? Help me upstairs and I'll make it worth your while…" Therion murmured. "I'll teach you to speak some in Dragon."
The wizard paused, considering.
"Against my better judgement, I accept your terms," Farengar said.
He helped Therion walk, the elf stumbling along as convincingly as if he were actually hammered.
"Which room?" Farengar asked at the top of the stairs.
"Don't have one."
"What? We've been in Solitude for days, where have you been sleeping?" Farengar asked, opening the door to his room, adding, "Or, more to the point, not sleeping."
Abandoning the drunk act, Therion nimbly sprang to his feet as the door clicked shut. Crossing the room, he fell face down onto the large bed with a contented sigh. Rolling onto his back, he kicked his boots off and placed his hands behind his head.
"By all means, please, make yourself at home," Farengar said sarcastically, dragging a chair beside the bed.
"If you insist," Therion said with a chuckle. Pulling down his hood and removing his mask, he grinned up at Farengar from the bed.
"It's not my place to judge a man for wearing a hood. But why the mask?" Farengar asked, wondering how he had wound up with the Dragonborn in his bed. He would have thrown him out, but the tired look in his eyes, combined with the fresh memory of his terrified struggle against his grip, made him sympathetic. Therion had looked genuinely scared for his life.
The elf shrugged.
"The people we rescued from the Thalmor were panicking at the sight of an Altmer. I decided to cover up a bit, lest my face make someone faint. More than usual," he said with an impish grin followed by a yawn.
Farengar frowned.
"Don't fall asleep in my bed," he warned. "I don't want to get my head taken off for waking you."
Therion ran a hand across his face, trying to sort out the muddled memory from downstairs; waking up to find three figures looming over him, taking his weapon from him. It was all a blur after that anyway, ending with him in a corner, surprisingly pinned by Farengar. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard his name.
Therion sat up suddenly, looking concerned.
"I didn't hurt you, did I? Downstairs, when I..." he trailed off.
Therion was surprised by a faint smile gracing Farengar's lips.
"No, you were easy to subdue," Farengar said, embellishing the truth. "Even though I supposedly couldn't hope to overwhelm you, 'if I lived a hundred years'?"
Therion gaped at him, before grinning in surprise.
"I did say that, didn't I? That was weeks ago, I'm surprised you remember," he chuckled.
"I have an excellent memory."
"Vahrukt," Therion said.
"Pardon?" Farengar asked.
"Memory. Vahrukt. As I recall, I promised to teach you Dragon. I can give you the basics of pronunciation and a wealth of words, but grammar is something I'm still unraveling. It's a largely contextual language. The alphabet contains thirty-four characters."
Therion launched into a pronunciation of the alphabet, watching contentedly as he was immediately rewarded with the familiar light of excitement in Farengar's eyes, so foreign against his perpetually cynical expression.
Farengar was a quick study and an attentive student, absorbing information like a sponge.
"Vir saag you ko Dovahzul?" Farengar asked, sometime into their lesson.
"How do you say 'you' in Dragon?" Therion repeated in Tamrielic. "You… don't. Not exactly. It's implied contextually," he explained with a deep yawn.
Farengar considered his explanation, looking for a phrase he could try.
"Hm… Hin nis praan?"
Therion raised an eyebrow, astounded he had remembered so many words.
"I would take your meaning as, 'You're unable to find rest or sleep.' To which I would reply, geh, or yes. Is there any limit to your memory?"
"Of course," Farengar said. "There are, for example, a few alchemical ingredients I cannot remember all of the effects of."
"A few… out of the hundred plus ingredients in Skyrim? Each with multiple effects? Making hundreds of properties to memorize? That's astounding!"
Farengar seemed to ignore the complement, glancing at the window.
"It's getting late," he said regretfully, aware they had somewhere to be in the morning. He would have preferred to continue their session. The sooner he slept, the sooner morning would come and the moot would convene. Divines. He could only hope it would only take days, not weeks, to choose a king or queen.
Therion nodded, rolling out of bed and retrieving his boots.
Farengar couldn't resist asking, though he suspected he wouldn't like knowing the answer.
"Where will you sleep?"
"Oh, I think on the rooftop between Bits and Pieces and Radiant Raiment. A bit cold, but better than waking up to a pile of corpses at my feet, and the guards chasing me out of town."
Farengar paused, before leaning forward.
"If you're having nightmares, I can brew a potion which would let you sleep-"
"No," Therion said quickly, eyes wide. Farengar thought he saw him tremble. "No," he repeated, more to himself than Farengar.
Farengar felt his heart wrench once more, at the look in his eyes.
"When did you last sleep?" he asked.
Therion shook his head and tried to smile.
"I catch a few hours here and there, in public places. The Thalmor wouldn't attack me in a bar. It's just not their style. And even with a location spell, if your target is above or below ground, pinpointing is difficult. And on rooftops, I don't have to trouble myself with finding an exit," he said brightly, but his smile was strained. "I haven't slept for more than one or two hours at a stretch since Riverwood," he paused, considering whether or not to say more. "I can't tell you how relieved I was, to see you there, when I woke up. I didn't know where I was, I could barely breathe. My heart was about to stop, until I saw you. Sleeping beside me, in what appeared to be the most uncomfortable chair imaginable."
He wasn't good at saying 'thank you', and Farengar would probably be uncomfortable hearing it, so he hoped his words conveyed his meaning and left it at that.
"Anyway, I'll see you in the morning."
Therion stood and padded toward the door.
"Why did you choose me?"
Farengar's question stopped him. He turned to face the wizard, arching an eyebrow.
"You could have gone with Tullius, Brynjolf, the mad jester, Delphine, the creepy child… you know, I'm regretting being associated with this group of individuals the more that I list them off. But back to the point at hand; why choose me?"
Therion sighed, wondering how best to answer the question, and decided on a half truth.
"Hin voth... Zu'u mindok drem, lingrah vod vodahmin," he said, with a warm smile. Someday Farengar would put the words together, with that indelible memory of his, but not tonight. With you I know peace, long since forgotten. "I feel safe, when you're around," Therion offered by way of explanation.
Farengar sighed. When he phrased things in Dovahzul he felt his resolve waver. Privately, he wanted nothing more than to listen to the exotic words roll from his lips in that wonderful voice.
"You can stay, if you wish."
He almost regretted saying it, from the incredulous expression the elf gave him, tinged with optimism.
"As long as you remove all of your weapons, you may remain... and so long as sleeping is all that you do," he added emphatically, implying that he would throw Therion out of the room in a heart beat.
The Dragonborn smiled, setting his sword on the table beside the wardrobe.
"That's fine. I'm too tired to do anything more than cuddle anyway," he said.
Farengar frowned at him, which only made him laugh and smile in earnest.
"I'll behave and keep my hands to myself," he said, adding his bow and arrows to the table. Farengar watched Therion draw a pair of hidden daggers from his belt. And then from his boots. And then his sleeves. He watched in fascination as the pile of weaponry on the table grew. By the time he was done, Farengar counted no fewer than ten hidden daggers.
Finally, he slid off his armor, cast a lightning ward on the door as a precaution against any late night visits, and wordlessly slipped under the blanket on the bed.
Farengar blew out the candles, removed his shoes, and laid beside him, on top of the blanket.
"Don't trust me?" Therion chuckled, shifting under the cover to lie on his side, facing Farengar
"Yes, although that's besides the point. The cover makes me hot."
"Mmm," Therion replied sleepily, mumbling, "such a Nord."
Farengar stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting.
"Dragonborn?" he asked, receiving no response.
"Therion…?" he tried instead.
"Hm?" came the half-asleep reply.
"Would you be willing to teach me more Dovahzul tomorrow? After the moot?"
"Edahraal, sure," he said, reminding himself of Paarthurnax with his repetitive speech pattern, softly adding, "Pruzah vulon. Good night, Farengar."