A/N:
*Translations at the end of the chapter.
*The song the bard sang in the previous chapter was taken from the brilliant and talented Malukah's cover of The Dragonborn Comes on Youtube if you'd like to hear it for yourself.
Farengar stirred, halfway between sleep and consciousness, suspecting it was morning. He heard the distant, muffled sounds of people leaving their rooms and exchanging greetings, confirming his suspicions. Cracking his eyes open, he blearily tried to marshal the energy to rise. He preferred late nights spent in quiet, uninterrupted research.
The sound of incoherent mumbling made him alert, as the Dragonborn beside him began to murmur quietly in his sleep. Farengar turned his head, listening to his unintelligible whispers in silent curiosity. Several words, odd and exotic, rolled off his tongue. Though he could not say with certainty, they sounded Altmeris, interspersed with Dovahzul.
"Nu... ae na... baene cendre. Aure... Frul Bron."
Therion's murmurs grew softer, replaced with even breaths.
The Altmeris sounded pleasant to Farengar's ears; subtle and refined. Its appeal was completely different from that of the ancient, ominous Dovahzul, although Therion's voice could add a charming quality to any language. Words fell from his lips with a natural poise and grace, much like the elf himself.
Farengar stared at his parted lips, entranced despite himself.
He cursed his perfect memory, as memories of their first kiss replayed in his mind, recalling every detail with maddening clarity.
Swinging his legs out of bed he hurriedly put on his shoes, dispelled the rune on the door, and left, shutting it loudly behind him.
Outside of the inn, he let the crisp, cold air of Solitude wash over him.
"...you can barely keep your hands off of me…"
Therion's voice played in his mind, clear and real as the night he had been tricked into drinking that damnable love potion.
Frowning at his traitorous memory, he tried to think of something else.
It was to no avail. The elf was still there in his mind - grinning.
Futilely, he chided his memory, silently ordering it to leave him in peace. As usual his mind ignored him; he had little to no control over the way it behaved. It stored and recalled vast amounts of information on a whim, occasionally moving too fast for him to keep up, and he had a puzzling time explaining it to anyone who asked what he meant. For now his mind seemed to have centered on the Dragonborn and there was nothing he could do to distract it.
He felt the memory of Therion's breath against his ear.
"You're actually quite handsome."
He made a sound of frustration and stomped off, startling the villagers around him.
They looked at each other and shrugged, as the grumpy wizard stormed off.
"Mages," one said to the other, shaking their head.
Therion awoke to the sound of the door slamming. He looked at it nonplussed, before a slow smile crept across his lips. Rolling out of bed with a low chuckle, he dressed in his armor and set to work hiding daggers about his person, still feeling tired, but more relaxed than he had in weeks.
"Gods, what a relief. I thought we'd spend the whole week choosing a jarl for Solitude. At least that much is behind us. Tell me, Dragonborn, what did Irileth say when she woke you yesterday?" Balgruuf asked Therion curiously, looking over at his dark elf housecarl in the distance. Delegates were trailing in, as Therion, Balgruuf, Farengar, and Proventus milled around outside with the guards from their hold.
"That if I embarrassed us by falling asleep again she wouldn't hesitate to run me through," Therion explained.
"And what did you say?"
The elf chuckled.
"I'm going to hold you to that."
Balgruuf laughed heartily, while Farengar silently left to join Irileth, already at the table.
"All in all, yesterday wasn't so bad," Therion said, grinning at the jarl from beneath his mask. "The look on Erikur's face was delightful."
"Damn fool," Balgruuf said with a grunt. "Threatening my thane and the Dragonborn, no less. I would have liked to see him try and fight you, in those fancy clothes of his."
"Hm. I could try and rile him into it later, if the day starts to wear on," Therion suggested sarcastically, "Give us something special to remember the moot by."
Balgruuf grinned, then noticed Falk Firebeard, the steward of Solitude, ushering everyone inside to begin.
They all took their seats as Falk closed the door and took his place with the court of Solitude. Therion noticed Erikur's now-former housecarl, the Altmer wizard Melaran, sat in Sybille's old seat as court wizard. The mer looked quite pleased with his new station. Therion knew he'd had little love for his old employer, who had merely been a means of 'paying the bills' as he had once told him, while offhandedly mentioning Erikur's seedier business practices.
Irileth leaned over, speaking to Therion in a whisper.
"If I notice you nodding off-"
"Yes, yes," Therion interrupted good-naturedly, quietly whispering back, "I'll meet my death at the tip of your blade."
Irileth gave him a look of mild annoyance.
"Interrupt me again and you will. I'm going to help you stay awake today. If you nod off, I shall wake you discretely."
Therion raised his eyebrows.
"Thank you," he said honestly, though slightly perplexed. He added, "Yesterday you were quite adamant that I not disgrace the jarl in front of the moot."
Irileth looked at him with her stern red eyes.
"Farengar spoke with me."
Therion blinked in surprise.
"He pointed out that I should extend you some leniency," she said solemnly, giving him a hard, and perhaps protective, look. "If you absolutely must sleep, I'll rouse you if you begin to snore."
Therion looked toward Farengar, but the mage was already trying to tune out the meeting, staring resolutely into the fiery coals of the hearth as he had the previous day.
"Before we may begin," Sybille said from the head of the table, "Urgent news has reached our ears this morning. Late last night, the Thalmor Embassy was razed to the ground."
"Ha!" Jarl Idgrod said, in an otherwise silent room. The rest of the jarls expressions remained solemn.
Sybille cleared her throat before continuing.
"This is one of but many Thalmor buildings which were struck in the past week. Escapees from various Thalmor prisons returned home, tortured to near death, to the horror of their families, inspiring these rash of attacks," she looked across the table and met Therion's eyes, "This, combined with growing outrage over the rumored abduction and torture of Skyrim's Dragonborn, has sparked unruly mobs across the country."
Therion sighed uncomfortably. Closing his eyes, he grabbed the buckles of his armor. At least he'd be able to say every ruler in Skyrim had seen him undressed; he would almost certainly be the first mer in history to be able to make that claim.
Jarl Balgruuf raised a hand, stopping him.
"It is no rumor. My court wizard, Farengar, retrieved my thane from one of their prisons."
Therion gratefully removed his hands from the catches of his armor. He didn't mind exposing himself, but he despised the looks of pity and revulsion.
"While there," Balgruuf continued, "he saw first hand those tortured or left for dead by the Thalmor. I am told General Tullius, also bore witness to these atrocities."
Sybille nodded before addressing the room.
"Overlooking for now that the Thalmor may seek vengeance upon Skyrim for being driven out of the country - a matter best left for the next high king or queen to contend with - I must consider what's best for Solitude. As we speak, any remaining Thalmor are fleeing for the safest borders; Cyrodiil and Morrowind. However, those trapped here in the northwest are turning to Solitude. Leaving us the last bastion for the Thalmor and making us a target for every angry mob in the nation. I've increased the number of guards on patrol and for the time being, the Thalmor within Solitude have been ordered to remain inside their headquarters and not venture outside. None of them wish to risk traveling all the way to Cyrodiil in the current political climate. If the Summerset Isle decides to send a ship to retrieve their agents, it won't reach Solitude for a month at least."
Sybille paused, looking around the room.
"What we decide to do with our Thalmor guests will have dire consequences. Given the overwhelming evidence of their barbarity committed against Skyrim's people, I would prefer to try them for their crimes. But as this country has just been through a civil war, I don't wish to stir the sleeping giant that is the Aldmeri Dominion, least of all before Skyrim's ruler has even been crowned. I will hold off putting any Thalmor to the axe. For the time being."
The room was silent, everyone absorbing the meaning behind her words; war between Skyrim and the Aldmeri Dominion loomed on the horizon.
"In the interest of hurrying along these proceedings," Sybille continued, "I move that we begin nominations. That said, Solitude nominates Jarl Balgruuf for High King of Skyrim."
The Jarl of Whiterun kept his face neutral, but Therion could tell he wasn't thrilled at the nomination, though neither was he surprised. Balgruuf's expression grew more somber as the Jarl of Dawnstar echoed Sybille, naming him. Slowly, the jarls cast their votes all of them throwing their lot behind Whiterun.
Only Jarl Maven Black-Briar paused, giving a languid look at the assembly.
"In Skyrim," she said, leaning lazily back in her seat, "The powerful make the rules. Might makes right, as they say. Who will the Dragonborn follow?"
All eyes turned to Therion.
Irileth groaned and kicked his chair.
"Balgruuf!" The Dragonborn shouted, startled and sleepy.
Farengar's mouth twitched as he fought to hide the smile playing on his face.
"Riften nominates Jarl Balgruuf for High King of Skyrim."
Only Balgruuf's vote remained. Therion watched the jarl hide away his displeasure. When he addressed the moot, it was with the conviction and bearing of a high king.
"As Jarl of Whiterun, I nominate myself High King of Skyrim."
Proventus was over the moon, arranging meetings and scheduling for Balgruuf's coronation. The eager Imperial seemed to have all of Balgruuf's affairs well in hand, while the jarl himself appeared to be busy accepting the praise and congratulations of countless people, thanking each of them solemnly. Skyrim was in good hands. Therion only wished he could say the same for his own people.
He slipped away from the crowd, following after Farengar. The wizard had a head start on the mer, and Therion had to cheat just to keep sight of him. Bypassing the staircase entirely, he swung himself over the rail and dropped to the first level, nimbly rolling to his feet and making his way to the great doors. Outside he found the streets densely packed, forcing him to duck and weave through the crowd.
For a moment, he lost sight of the wizard.
Eagerly searching through the sea of bodies, he caught a glimpse of Farengar's blue hood, only to lose track of him yet again.
Emerging from the Blue Palace's courtyard, Therion hoisted himself atop the stone wall, peering over the crowd. He smiled, spotting Farengar in the distance. Running along the connecting wall to the second story of Thane Bryling's house, he deftly leapt up and grabbed the edge of the roof before lifting himself up. Racing silently across the tiles, he hopped nimbly between the corner gaps, steeling himself when he came to the separation between the house and the Bard's College.
A wide grin spread across his face, as he was reminded of days long past. He could still picture the great, glittering streets of Alinor city stretched out before him, filled with the aromatic smell of flowers blooming beneath Auriel's crystal statue in the late spring.
The fondest memories of his youth were spent chasing Talamagne and Ondolemar across gleaming, crystalline towers and through impossibly high ramparts, trying to keep up with the older mer. They had always seemed one step ahead; a little taller, a little faster, a little stronger. He pushed himself hard to make up for his difference in age, trying to prove himself. They were always leaving on errands, with no guarantee of returning safely; he wanted to be there with them, watching their backs. He wistfully recalled Ondolemar chastising him after he broke his ankle on a particularly nasty fall. Talamagne had pantomimed behind his stern cousin, making him laugh, and feigned a look of innocence when Ondolemar turned around. He missed the both of them terribly and wondered how Talamagne faired back in Alinor. He could only hope he was well.
He focused his attention on the building before him.
The hewn stonework of Skyrim did not possess the same breath-taking, hypnotic beauty of mer architecture, but there was something about its solid, indomitability that made it appealing in its own right.
Vaulting across the gap, Therion grabbed hold of a wooden stanchion, heaving himself up and into the covered cloister of the Bard's College. He made his way to the edge of the walk, where he spied Farengar unexpectedly turn and run flat out. The wizard flew up the stairs, heading toward the secluded edge of the Bard's College that overlooked the towering cape.
Therion frowned, wondering what had caught his attention. Sprinting back the way he had come, he circled around through a short cut. Silently rounding the corner, he approached the amphitheater and spied a group of men holding and beating Solitude's court wizard, Melaran.
"Damn Thalmor," growled a huge, dark haired Nord, apparently the leader of the mob. "Your kind don't belong here."
"For the last time!" Melaran shouted angrily, struggling against the two men holding him, "I am not a Thalmor!"
Therion glided closer, moving behind a pillar and blending into the shadows.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Farengar demanded, marching up to the men. Electricity came crackling to life in his hands. "This is the court wizard of Solitude! Unhand him at once!"
The mob looked unimpressed. Three of them approached the Nord wizard while leaving the other two to hold Melaran. Therion silently resisted his first impulse, which was to bury arrows into each of their backs. Instead, he wordlessly cast a spell, watching the familiar shimmer of invisibility spread across his body.
"Why the hooded robe?" one of the Nords asked in a derisive grunt, the three of them circling Farengar. "You a witch-elf, too?"
Without warning, the large Nord lunged forward, ripping Farengar's hood down from behind. Farengar spun around, taking advantage of his attacker's hands being on his hood and not by his face. He swung his fist hard, causing the man to release him, clutching his nose in his hands instead as he staggered away. The other two rushed Farengar as their friend cursed loudly about his broken nose. Neither had a chance to do any damage as Farengar released the electricity held in his hands, causing each of them to scream and collapse, writhing on the ground.
Melaran's alarmed shout caused Farengar to look up.
The two remaining Nords held Solitude's court wizard precariously through the stone framework, threatening to drop him from the towering precipice overlooking the Karth River.
Farengar lowered his hands slowly to his sides, concerned eyes glancing carefully between Melaran and the three angry men picking themselves up around him.
Melaran's bewildering, upside down view of the bay made his veins run cold with terror. He started in confusion at the sensation of being embraced by strong, invisible arms. Looking up, all he could see were the hateful stares of the Nords holding him.
"They deserve to die," the blonde said, glaring at him, "All of them. After what they did to my son! To Ullen's daughters!"
Melaran took one look into their cold eyes and knew they were going to drop him.
"ZUN HAAL VIIK!"
For a terrifying moment after he heard the shout, he thought he was falling.
The hands gripping his arms and shoulders involuntarily released him, as the men staggered beneath the weight of the shout.
At the same moment, Melaran saw the invisible figure encircling him appear, hauling him back to solid ground. Melaran, driven by adrenaline, gripped the dark figure back with crushing force until he was safely upright. As soon as his weight was back on his own two legs, he sagged, his body trembling.
Therion gently lowered him to the ground before straightening up and turning his eyes, bereft of emotion, on the men before him.
He could hear their murmurs of "Dragonborn". With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled his hood down, putting his pointed ears and gold skin clearly on display against his black garments. He glared meaningfully, daring them to attack.
The guards, long overdue, finally appeared and made their arrests.
Melaran was escorted back to the palace, leaving Therion and Farengar alone in the amphitheater.
"Zun, haal, viik… Weapon, hand, defeat?" Farengar asked curiously as he replaced his hood, shrouding his face once more.
"A shout to disarm and stagger my foes," Therion explained. "I couldn't pull him up, with both of those men holding onto him."
Farengar nodded.
"I see now, why you've been wearing a hood and mask as of late. The masses can't tell the difference between a Thalmor and a high elf, much less a Nord wearing a robe," he said disdainfully.
They continued talking as they left the amphitheater and returned to the main road.
"For a robe-wearing, magic-wielding wizard, you sure can handle yourself in a fight," Therion said with a whistle.
"I am a quick study. And growing up in Skyrim was nothing if not educational," Farengar said. Anyone could have a strong body, in his opinion (and often did, in Skyrim at least). A cunning mind was a far more valuable weapon. He thoughtfully added, "Do elves distinguish between magic and physical prowess, as Nords do?"
"It's different," Therion said with a shrug. "Magic is as natural as breathing, to my kin. So no mer would underestimate someone just for being a mage. However, I wouldn't exactly bet gold on a mer wizard in a fist fight either. Scholars tend to be soft. Present company excluded, of course," Therion said with a fascinated glance. "I wonder," he smirked, "How well you'd handle me?"
The wizard snorted.
"I already pinned you once, or had the mighty Dragonborn already forgotten?"
"I let you win," Therion said with a roguish grin.
"I doubt that," Farengar replied. "Or do you perhaps mean you didn't have the opportunity to cheat with your thu'um?"
"So, my thu'um is cheating?" he asked, his voice filled with mischief. "What about magic?"
"You may feel free to make use your magic," Farengar replied, cracking his knuckles with a faint smile. "If you wish to test yourself against me again someday."
"Well, I am nothing if not irreverent. Perhaps I'll try it sometime, when you-" Therion shimmered and vanished, pulling Farengar's hood back, "-least expect it," his disembodied voice finished.
Farengar experimentally swung a fist toward the sound of his voice, his hand passing harmlessly through thin air. He could cast Detect Life, but it was more rewarding to win without it. On a hunch, he spun around and swung again, his fist meeting air once more, but this time it was accompanied by the sound of quick shuffling and Therion cursing under his breath in surprise.
"That one almost got me," Therion's whisper fell on his ear, a hair's breadth away.
"I missed you on purpose," Farengar replied with deliberate arrogance.
"Liar," Therion whispered.
Farengar chuckled despite himself.
"Why would I want to give such a handsome elf a black eye?"
"Handsome?" Therion laughed. "Appealing to my ego to win? Not that I mind; you flatter me."
Farengar snorted in mild disbelief.
"I can scarcely imagine anything flattering you. My country literally sings your praises."
"While I enjoy the attention of the bards, I prefer the praise of the more cunning and intellectual. From someone scholarly and perhaps stubborn. Preferably dressed in blue, and…"
Farengar felt an invisible hand grab his chin, while an arm encircled his waist, pulling him against a firm body.
"...rugged."
Unseen lips pressed against his. He tried to remain still, lest he look odd to people passing by, as Therion began deepening the kiss. His rational mind wondered at what was happening, unsure what to think. He could push the elf away, but he didn't particularly want to. Something bitter in his heart objected, saying it was too fast, undignified, and far too public for his taste. Not to mention the mysterious elf had too many secrets to possibly be trustworthy. But the feeling was postponed, as what was left of his rational mind thought, oh gods, what was he doing with that talented tongue of his.
Therion gently pushed Farengar backward into a small, private alcove, pressing him against a set of double doors, pausing to recast his invisibility spell before it could drop away. Returning his attention to Farengar's lips once more, he kissed him hungrily, using his tongue in the way which seemed to please the wizard, while at the same time parting his robes and pressing a thigh between his legs.
The small moan which escaped Farengar's lips was a delicious and slightly desperate sound. It made Therion ache against his leather armor.
The mer broke away to whisper in his ear once more, enjoying the effect it had on him.
"Anahlrii jah hon…" he breathed, knowing Farengar could translate the phrase, someone will hear.
Therion smiled wickedly as the wizard shuddered at the words.
Farengar was done holding still in case the eyes of the world fell on him, while an invisible man made sexual advances upon him. He touched his magicka and disappeared into thin air, his illusion spell making a crack unlike Therion's stealthy magic. He found the leather armor of Therion's chest and moved his hands up from there, tracing the muscles beneath as he charted his hands along the unseen body. Finding his face, he stroked with his hands until his thumb located Therion's invisible lips, and he felt the elf move his mouth around his thumb. Farengar let him suck on the finger momentarily before withdrawing it. Then he brought it back to his lips, tracing them.
Therion parted his lips, letting him invisibly trace and explore his mouth, repeating his movement from before when Farengar's finger finally entered his mouth. Farengar roughly grabbed Therion's chin, forcing him down into a ferocious kiss. Therion could barely focus as he searched his pocket. Pulling the correct key out at last, he nearly dropped it as he felt Farengar's teeth graze his lower lip.
His invisibility broke as he opened the door and pushed Farengar inside.
The mage reappeared as Therion shut the door to Proudspire Manor behind them, and shoved Farengar up against it.
"So, who owns the house?" Farengar asked, his voice coming out as a murmur against the Dragonborn's lips.
He felt the door lock behind him with a click.
"A handsome elf," Therion chuckled, pushing Farengar's robes down.
Translation Notes:
Therion's gibberish comes out in the form of several different tongues, because he dreams in multiple languages at a time. If you're curious, this is what he muttered (Altmeris constructed loosely from fan-made Reddit attempts to create Elder Scrolls languages):
Altmeris
Nu, ae na, baene cendre, aure
we, and, long time, important
Dovahzul
Frul Bron
Ephemeral Nord