Staring at Ondolemar in open surprise, Therion wished he had his mask on. He stood quickly before the rest of his feelings could catch up and reveal themselves on his face. The collective eyes of all Skyrim's leaders were upon him.
That was alright, he told himself.
That was good.
He could work with an audience. He thrived on attention.
Ondolemar hung limply in the grasp of two Imperials with a unit of guards surrounding him.
Therion eagerly latched onto the anger boiling up inside himself, letting the feeling slowly expose itself as a building fury.
Striding purposefully toward the Head Justicar, Therion felt the intensity of everyone's gaze upon him, as the room fell silent, all present waiting with baited breath. The two soldiers blocking his path at the front of the formation looked uncertainly at him as he approached their prisoner.
Before they could decide how to react, Therion shoved them out of his way.
Grabbing Ondolemar's tattered robe, he bunched the material in his fists, pulling the mer up until their faces were even. His cousin's face was dark with bruises and the sight further fueled Therion's display of fury.
The sound of Therion's short, angry breaths roused the other mer. Ondolemar slowly opened his eyes and painfully raised his chin, straightening his shoulders and forcing himself to look up and meet the other man's gaze.
"You," he said in a weak breath, tinged with surprise.
"Me," Therion replied in a smooth, dark voice, giving nothing away.
The Imperial guards shifted awkwardly.
"Should- Should we stop him?" one whispered doubtfully, glancing furtively from the Dragonborn, to Ondolemar, to the General, trying to get a handle on the situation.
"Stop the Dragonborn?" replied another, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why not? We'll just call what's his name... Oh right, Sven McDoesn't Fucking Exist!"
The mounting tension in the room was interrupted by the sultry tone of Maven Blackbriar.
"Now, now," she said, trying to persuade the Dragonborn from harming or killing Ondolemar. "Think of all the secrets we can gain from our Thalmor captive."
Jarl Siddgeir let out an exaggerated 'pffft.'
"Just execute him and be done with it. There are unruly mobs demanding his head on a pike," he said, indicating the distant sound of yelling from the windows. "Give the people what they want. It will be good for morale."
Jarl Merilis regarded Siddgeir with exasperation.
"That's detestable. Put the man on trial," she said sharply, adding, "then put an axe to the back of his neck."
"A trial?" Jarl Free-Winter said in disbelief. "For the Thalmor's Head Justicar? What would be the point?"
"He's still entitled to one," Merilis said rigidly.
Ondolemar craned his head to look at the arguing jarls with a wicked smile.
"Of course I'd be found quite innocent," the Altmer said with haughty sarcasm. "You see, I'm actually a double agent. Why, all I desire is peace between Alinor and Skyrim."
Therion made a show of violently shoving Ondolemar away, while in fact forcing himself to not laugh. Damn him, he thought, he was trying to make him break his composure on purpose.
"Dragonborn," Ondolemar chided, regaining his balance along with the two Imperials holding an arm on either side of him. "I've missed you, too. I'm positively misty eyed. Be a dear and wipe away my tears for me, will you?"
Therion held onto his composure only just, as Ondolemar quoted his own infuriating words back at him from their last encounter. It wouldn't do to burst into laughter at the man who was supposed to be your torturer. Well, he thought, he could spin the insanity angle if necessary, but it wouldn't be dignified.
"Let us find out what he knows," Maven said quickly, trying to forestall an angry retaliation from Therion in response to Ondolemar's jeers.
"Hmph," Ondolemar said with a distasteful sniff. "I'd sooner die."
"Why choose?" Therion asked, removing a vial and setting it on the table beside him. All eyes turned to examine the red liquid glowing in the tiny glass vial. "A serum which loosens the tongue," Therion explained, adding with an evil grin, "The side effect is excruciating pain. Followed by death."
The entire room gasped and Balgruuf motioned for Farengar.
Jarl Kraldar paled until his complexion matched his hair.
"You keep that on you, everywhere you go?"
Therion chuckled maliciously.
"I've been anticipating a reunion with the Head Justicar for some time now," he explained, giving the prisoner a dark smile.
Ondolemar snorted.
"An amateur tactic. It's fake," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Sugar water with moonberry juice, to give it glow."
Therion popped the cork.
"It's called nisaad viidost, actually," Therion said. Farengar poorly stifled a snort at Therion's use of the dovazul, clearly used for his benefit. "A poison left over from the Dragon War. In truth, I don't know what it will do. I've only read of the effects. As an alchemist, I look forward to seeing them first hand."
"Your petty tricks do not scare me," Ondolemar said, daring him.
Therion approached, but Jarl Merilis intervened.
"Dragonborn," she cautioned in disapproval.
"Bring your so-called poison," Ondolemar sneered.
"The Head Justicar has made his choice," Therion said with a helpless shrug as he handed over the vial.
The moment Ondolemar consumed the drink, he gasped and clenched his teeth.
Therion stood cooly above him, arms folded.
"Where are the remaining Thalmor hiding?" he asked, his voice cold, watching as Ondolemar began to writhe.
Through clenched teeth, the words tumbled from Ondolemar's lips. The assembly joined in, asking many questions of Thalmor plots and locations. All the while Ondolemar struggled fitfully, his agony growing more pronounced. Finally, he began to scream in pain and the guards dropped him, each taking a step back. Therion continued to stand over him, like a menacing shadow. A final agonizing scream tore from Ondolemar's throat, deep and powerful. At the end of it, he lay still.
Jarl Blackbriar motioned one of her guards over who placed a hand to his neck.
"He's dead."
An awkward silence fell in the hall. Therion could feel the weight of a stare and turned, meeting the eyes of the High King.
Sybille's newly appointed Altmer Court Wizard looked pityingly at Ondolemar.
"I'll make arrangements to return the body to Alinor," he said quietly.
"Clear the room," Balgruuf said, catching Therion off-guard as he spoke for the first time, dismissing the assembly. His tone was authoritative, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. The High King stood and the jarls respectfully followed, along with the rest of the gathering. "I would have a word with the Dragonborn and my court in private."
Therion remained behind, watching the jarls and their courts depart, until only himself, Irileth, Farengar, and Balgruuf remained.
The High King gave him an unreadable look, as he took his seat and rested his chin on his fist. Balgruuf looked from Ondolemar to Therion.
"That was terrible," Balgruuf said, thoughtfully tapping his cheek with an index finger.
Therion bowed.
"I apologize, my king."
Balgruuf shook his head.
"I can not accept your apology. Not for acting as poorly as that. You there. You can stop laying about on the floor," the High King said.
Therion stared at Balgruuf with a solemn expression that slowly fell apart into a pleased grin, as he gave the Nord a look of respect.
In a flash Therion dove on Ondolemar and rolled him onto his back before tackling him in a tight hug. Ondolemar remained motionless until Therion squeezed him so tightly, he was forced to let out a gurgle and cry out indignantly for him to let go so he could breath.
"If you don't let go of me, you may actually kill me Therion," Ondolemar griped, trying to escape his embrace.
"An acquaintance of yours, I assume?" Irileth asked from beside Balgruuf.
"My cousin!" Therion exclaimed gleefully, pulling Ondolemar to his feet and dutifully retrieving a lock pick from the cuff of his sleeve.
"Pleased to make your acquaintances," Ondolemar said, politely addressing the room in his usual eloquent tone of voice, as Therion picked the lock to his shackles.
"You put on quite a show," Irileth said, looking doubtfully at Ondolemar. "What was actually in that vial?"
"Sugar water and moonberry juice for glow, just as I said," Ondolemar replied, Therion confirming his words with a nod.
Irileth snorted.
"And why all the secrecy? Who are you?"
"As I told you earlier," Ondolemar said, tearing off his tattered Thalmor robes and tossing them into the flames of the brazier. "I am a double agent."
"It was in our best interest to fake Ondolemar's death. The other jarls would want him dead regardless of who he is. And he is far more valuable alive, I assure you," Therion said, looking pointedly at Balgruuf.
The High King drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of his chair.
"Nisaad viidost?" he repeated.
"Literally translated, 'fake poison'," Farengar supplied.
Balgruuf nodded to himself, looking Ondolemar over.
"Can you discover anything else about this weapon the Thalmor intend to use against my people?"
"I think so," Ondolemar said, casting a healing spell on himself as he spoke. "There are several hiding places the Thalmor have across Skyrim close to Dwemer ruins. With any luck, we'll find something there. Unless they've already moved the weapon back to Alinor. In which case things become infinitely more difficult."
Therion nodded in agreement.
"My cousin and I can map out the locations and head out by morning."
They were startled by a knock from outside. Without a word, Ondolemar clenched his fist around a ball of magicka, and vanished into thin air.
"Come," Balgruuf called.
"Pardon the interruption, M'lord," Proventus said respectfully as he opened the door a crack. "The General wishes to speak with you and the preparations for your coronation-"
"Damn," Balgruuf sighed. "He needs to teach me that trick," he said, looking through the invisible Ondolemar. "Alright. Let's get this over with," he said dismissing the room with a casual wave of his hand.
Therion lingered a moment longer, waiting for the room to empty.
"Yes, what is it, Dragonborn?" Balgruuf asked when they were alone. Or, alone minus his invisible cousin, Therion assumed.
"How did you know?" Therion asked.
"That your friend was playing possum?" Balgruuf chuckled. "Don't worry, you were both very convincing. I don't think anyone doubts that the Head Justicar died here today. I just know when to trust my gut."
"Mhm," Therion said dismissively. "Seriously, though."
The High King stared thoughtfully at him before sighing.
"There are few things I know about you, Dragonborn," Balgruuf said slowly. "However, after what you endured, I know that you'd never let such a person as that, have a quick death."
It was very slight, but Therion saw Balgruuf flinch as an invisible hand touched his shoulder.
"You're going to make a great High King," Ondolemar whispered from behind Balgruuf.
Balgruuf grumbled to himself, taking a long drink from his mead.
"Gods," he said. "It's like having two Dragonborns. Go on, both of you. I have a coronation to prepare for."
The celebration of Balgruuf's coronation had been a regal, somber event. The party following, was anything but.
Farengar rubbed his aching temples. His fingers were itching with the desire to cast a muffle spell. It would be beyond impropriety, he reminded himself, taking a drink from his mead. He visibly winced as a fight broke out, loudly destroying a table and some fine glassware. The ringing sound of destruction was met with thunderous applause and laughter, which, although further hurt his ears, momentarily drowned out the terrible lute music from the Bard's College apprentices.
Numbly, he watched Hrongar help up the man he had tackled into a table, the two Nords affectionately butting heads against one another with all their might.
It took Farengar a moment to realize he was grinding his teeth, the sound drowned out in the constant stream of unpredictable noises assaulting his senses.
Even the ever stoic Irileth was grinning broadly from ear to ear. When she met with his scowl, she gave him a perturbed look. He returned it in kind, with a pointed expression of displeasure which clearly read, 'just because his presence was required, didn't mean he had to like it'.
Irileth sighed at him with exasperation and joined Hrongar as he began regaling everyone with a tale of what Balgruuf was like when they were young.
Farengar drummed his fingers quickly against his cup in agitation, trying to ignore the dizzy feeling building in his head.
Slamming his cup down suddenly, he pushed himself away from the table and strode to the open window behind him.
The city outside was alive with merriment, and the sights and sounds reached up to the high window of the Blue Palace. Solitude was crowded with people, dancing and singing, around merrily burning bonfires fires that illuminated entertainers and food vendors of all varieties. Farengar listened to the sound of music and laughter drifting up from the streets below.
Leaning against the window frame, he looked down, trying to feel something. Despite his best efforts, he felt only boredom. And a bit of isolation.
His eyes drifted up from the busy streets to gaze upon the stars above. The Aurora was shimmering brilliantly, alight with stunning hues of green and blue. Behind him the revelers roared, and below him townsfolk cheered, while he drank his mead in silence, staring at the stars.
He nearly dropped his cup when he heard Therion's voice from outside the window.
"Having fun then, High Wizard?" Therion asked with a gentle chuckle, using the wizard's new title.
Farengar spilled some of his drink, before recovering his composure.
"Of course... I can barely contain my excitement," Farengar said, leaning outside, looking for the source of his voice.
Therion was nowhere to be seen.
Farengar frowned disapprovingly. The act of wandering around the rooftop of a state event felt horribly inappropriate. Although, he admitted to himself, he was more disgruntled that he was suffering the celebration while Whiterun's Thane was outside in the cool air, away from the suffocation and noise.
"What are you doing outside?" Farengar asked, squinting into the dark, the light around him making it difficult for his eyes to adjust.
He heard Therion's usual, easy going chuckle.
"Come outside and find out."
Farengar thoughtfully gripped the stone windowsill, appalled yet tempted.
Just for a moment, he told himself.
After a quick glance around the room to see that no one was watching, he pushed himself out of the window and onto the roof's ledge.
Farengar looked around, finding himself alone on the roof top.
"Up here," Therion called from above, causing Farengar to look up.
His mouth hung slightly agape at what he saw.
Therion was shaping fire. A vortex of flame twisted above him, whirling and spiraling like a tornado.
The tiles shook and rattled as Farengar carefully navigated the roof. Climbing up to the flat portion above his window, he found Therion lying on his back.
Creeping carefully forward along the tiles, he joined the Altmer Dragonborn and sat down, the warmth from the flames above licking his face.
"Lie down. The view will be better..." Therion suggested, sounding distracted, his face masked in concentration.
Farengar jerked back as the corners of the vortex exploded in brilliant sparks where Therion appeared to momentarily lose his focus. Curious, he laid down beside the elf, looking up to see things from his point of view. Farengar watched the flames spiral in arcs, creating a breeze of hot air tinged with the pleasant smell of smoke.
Turning his head, he glanced over at Therion.
The elf's dark, leather armor was illuminated in orange-red light, the warm glow sharpening his already prominent facial features. Farengar's stomach tightened, taking in the sight of Therion's gold skin and amber eyes, bathed in the vibrant firelight. With careful, graceful gestures, Therion's hands moved, shaping and charting the course of the flames. Therion was almost as fascinating to watch as the fire itself, lost in the delicate balance of his work. Farengar let his gaze linger, knowing Therion was too distracted to notice his stare.
Above them the vortex spun faster, catching Farengar's attention. The brilliant storm raged, forming into a pair of blazing wings, the air around them rippling with heat, as slowly, a figure emerged from the cyclone.
A valkyrie? Or a phoenix…
Before he could guess, dark talons sliced through the air, and a beast covered in angular scales erupted in an explosion of hissing sparks.
A blistering dragon made up of vibrant fire, only slightly bigger than himself, beat fiery wings and breathed deep. The fire art looked unbelievably life like in its movements, breathing and moving as if its body had weight. Exhaling a gout of flame, it let loose a silent, ferocious roar, then shot into the sky, exploding into a shower of embers as Therion closed his right hand into a fist.
Tiny embers drifted around them like snow, the glowing lights slowly winking out one by one.
Farengar inhaled, realizing he had forgotten to breathe.
Therion quietly folded his hands across his chest and closed his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face. They laid side by side, the distant sounds of merriment drifting up from below, the suffocating party forgotten as they shared in comfortable silence.
Therion spoke just as Farengar began to suspect he might have dozed off.
"I could tell it was you in the window below," he said with a smile, eyes still closed in peaceful repose. "No one sighs at a party quite like you."
"Hmph," Farengar said with a quiet huff. "And you skulking up here - directly above my seat - was pure coincidence, I assume?"
Therion flashed him a cocky half grin.
"I know how fond you are of social functions," he said with a hint of mischief. "I thought you might need someone to trick you into escaping, against your better judgement."
"Speaking of," Farengar said, eyes narrowing, "Why are you out here?"
"I could ask you the same," Therion countered.
Farengar opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, amused despite himself.
"A fair point," he conceded, "but it's not every day that the Jarl becomes a King."
Therion shrugged.
"Life's too short to waste being unhappy for the sake of others."
Farengar was inclined to agree.
"A strange sentiment, for an Altmer," Farengar replied, sitting up and resting an elbow on a raised knee. "Elves usually think in the long term. In my, admittedly limited, experience."
"We do," Therion agreed. "But when you've manage to defeat, rob, kill, and piss off as many people, dragons, and gods, as I have," Therion trailed off thoughtfully, "You get a little philosophical."
Farengar snorted, giving him a look of skepticism.
"What?" Therion asked.
"You say far fetched things, tell these aggrandised stories, imply you've met the whole pantheon of Aedra and Daedra, act secretive-"
"Not all of the Daedra. Thank Divines I've never met Molag Bal."
"Point being," Farengar said, interrupting him back. "You're aggravatingly mysterious. And smug about it."
Therion gave him a look of mock surprise.
"I am a picture of honesty and humility. What have I ever tried to conceal?"
"You instigated a war by staging your abduction!" Farengar declared incredulously, raising his voice.
"I did instigate a war, but I didn't stage anything. My cousin did abduct me," Therion said with a shrug, giving him a look of innocence.
"Then it was his idea to torture you?" Farengar said, his voice lowering angrily.
"No," Therion said, looking over the Karth River, feeding into the Sea of Ghosts. "I asked him to."
Farengar stopped, knowing he had struck a nerve. The experience was probably a burden for Therion, and one which he seemed to prefer not to discuss from his clipped tone.
"Was that it then?" Therion asked. "You simply don't believe I met some Daedra and are surprised that I decided to stage a war with my own country?"
That, somehow, was the tip of the iceberg, Farengar thought. And how telling that was.
"Would the picture of honesty and humility mind telling me his real name?" Farengar asked with gentle mocking, thinking of the initials on the back of Therion's painting.
The look of momentary surprise on Therion's face made him smile. He didn't bother asking how Farengar knew or denying it.
"I prefer Therion," he explained. "It suits me. I never cared for my given name."
"So you're not going to tell me," Farengar said, sounding disappointed.
"All in good time. Perhaps moments before I die," Therion suggested.
"That could be ages," Farengar grumbled while Therion burst into laughter. "I'll be long dead by then at least."
Therion shook his head.
"I'd bet I'm murdered long before you die of old age. But it would be terribly inconvenient for me to collect. As I said, I've upset a lot of powerful people. Which, coincidentally, is why my name is such a sore topic. Well, that, and it was usually only used by people I didn't like. The last time I heard it used, I was being sentenced guilty of a crime."
"Oh?" Farengar asked. "Does this mean the hero of my people is secretly a criminal?"
Therion shrugged.
"I'm secretly a lot of things. Criminal is probably the least impressive among them," he chuckled, adding, "And it's hardly a secret."
"And what was this particular crime?" Farengar pressed with eager curiosity. "Where you last heard your real name?"
Therion frowned, looking suddenly serious. He had said it was a sore topic, but Farengar couldn't stand not knowing, and waited patiently for him to continue.
"Attempted murder," Therion finally admitted.
"Attempted...?" Farengar asked in surprise. Therion was not someone who did things halfway.
"Yes," Therion said bitterly. "They were immortal. I didn't fail from lack of trying."
Farengar rested his chin in his hand, wondering at Therion's past as he watched the elf's hands clench into fists.
"What sort of immortality did they possess?" he asked in fascination. "Were they a vampire?"
"No, this was something… different. Besides possessing immortality, he was invulnerable."
"Invulnerable…"
Farengar's imagination fell short, trying to picture attacking something unkillable.
Therion grit his teeth.
"Yes. As in, you can carve out his heart and in return he will simply laugh at your efforts."
Farengar arched an eyebrow, turning slightly pale.
"That... is a very specific example."
Therion fell silent, bitterly looking away at nothing in particular.
Farengar bowed his head, guilt weighing in his chest. He had let curiosity outweigh his respect for Therion's privacy. If nothing else, the Dragonborn's penchant for secrecy was starting to make sense. Therion's past seemed littered with painful memories, as well as incriminating stories.
"You must have hated that person very much," Farengar said thoughtfully, trying to imagine what someone could do to Therion to inspire him to such violence.
"I still do," Therion said, his jaw tensing. "As you might imagine, they're still alive."
"I shouldn't have pressed you about your past," Farengar said apologetically, leaning forward and following Therion's gaze over the sea.
Therion glanced over, giving him a small, kind smile. "It's alright. I just don't want to burden you with the unpleasant details of my life."
"It's not a burden," Farengar replied quickly before he could think better of it. "I mean, I'm curious about you. Who you are. Where you've been. All of the things you've seen and done."
Therion smiled brighter, leaning closer, slowly closing the distance between them.
Farengar felt his heart beating faster the closer Therion came.
Pausing a breath away, Therion stared thoughtfully into Farengar's cautious eyes, the weight of the Altmer's gaze filled with unsaid words. Sighing, Therion rested his forehead against Farengar's, placing a hand at his cheek. Farengar nearly jerked away, startled by the careful, tender caress. He didn't know how to respond to Therion's loving touches, his heart in a panic. Love was a lie. A trap. An alluring, but ultimately ephemeral feeling. Unsure what to do, he froze.
The Altmer cupped his other cheek, stroking Farengar's ear with a thumb, his human features ever a curiosity.
Therion continued to gently explore with his hands. Whenever Farengar stiffened at his touch he paused, hand held still, waiting for permission to continue gently stroking his face. The tender, affectionate gestures continued to alarm and confuse Farengar, but as Therion persisted, his trepidation gradually disappeared, until he was touching the elf back.
Though his fingers trembled as he reached out, Farengar swallowed, pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind. For now, just for a moment, he didn't have to think. He could allow himself this much.
Gently, he laid his fingers on Therion's cheek, and explored his face in the same way the elf touched his own. Following the curve of his neck, and tracing the point of his ears, he let his fingers brush across the planes of his face, all the while their lips remained achingly close, but never quite touching.
Therion let out a small sigh of bliss.
"I don't want to hurt you, Farengar," he whispered, his breath soft and warm against his mouth. "But I don't want to stay away from you, either."
Farengar felt light headed, his lips drawing closer to Therion's of their own accord as if magnetized.
"And how exactly, would you hurt me?" he asked in a whisper.
Therion tantalizingly brushed his lips across Farengar's in the ghost of a kiss.
"I was serious when I said I won't outlive you," Therion whispered back, lovingly taking down Farengar's hood and massaging his fingers through his brown hair at the base of his scalp.
Farengar made an appreciative sound, while his own hands rested comfortably on either side of Therion's face.
"You're the one that's going to outlive me by several hundred years," Farengar said, shaking his head, as a painful déja vu came over him, making his heart race. "You're going to get bored of me. Hate watching me age-"
Therion silenced him with a kiss.
"You talk too much," the Dragonborn murmured against his lips. "I could live a thousand years and never grow tired of you."
Farengar stiffened, then recoiled.
Therion grunted as Farengar shoved him away, the Dragonborn slipping across the roof's tiles, knocking several loose which crashed on the street below, before he could recover his footing.
Lies. All lies, Farengar thought. He needed to escape. Pulling on his hood, he turned away, trying to find the quickest way back down to the window.
With lithe grace, Therion sprang to his feet.
"Before you storm off," Therion said, grinning as the wizard paused. "There's just one thing I have to tell you."
Don't say it, Farengar thought. Don't say you love me...
"You're a fool," Therion said.
Farengar stopped in his tracks, whirling around to look at the smirking elf.
"What?"
"When we first met," Therion said, "You told me, 'the true mark of a fool is a man who dismisses anything outside his experience as being impossible.' Clearly, you're a fool."
Farengar was too stunned to object as Therion walked up and pulled him back to rest against his forehead.
"You don't think anyone's feelings can be real, just because it's outside your experience," Therion said, thinking on everything Balgruuf had told him of Farengar's Dunmer ex-fiancée. "You know exactly how I feel. I told you in dovahzul. And you are far too clever to not to have worked it out."
"Which is it?" Farengar growled. "Am I clever or am I fool?"
"Care to find out?" Therion asked. Before Farengar could reply, Therion trapped his lips in a kiss.
Farengar tried to refuse, but Therion responded by tipping him back in his arms, taking away his balance. Gradually, his muffled sounds of protest gave way, and he relaxed in the Dragonborn's arms, his eyes slipping shut.
He returned Therion's kiss, feeling the elf sweep his hood down once more and caress the back of his head with loving tenderness. There was a feeling behind each kiss and caress, an undeniable intensity, communicating Therion's fondness and devotion. All for him. Farengar's heart ached in bitter sweet agony. For once, he fervently wished it would continue to do so.
He trembled ever so slightly and Therion placed his lips by his ear, whispering sweet nothings in the Ayleid tongue.
"Angue cyrche melor e ti'elda, Farengar," he said, translating, "My heart will always be yours, Farengar."
He couldn't say how long they stayed locked together.
When orange-red light pressed against his eyes, he curiously opened them, wondering why Therion was shaping fire, but he found Therion's confused expression, glancing skyway.
The night sky was suddenly bright as day above Solitude, as fire appeared overhead, forming a circle. Humming filled the air, like the build up of magicka before the crack of a spell. Farengar watched in fascination as currents of magicka built up and erupted in a shower of electrical sparks.
From the distance, a powerful voice bellowed, "RU! FILOK!"
Run? Escape? Farengar wondered, translating the dovahzul.
"The weapon of the Dilfahliil!" screamed Paarthurnax, barreling down from the Throat of the World. The dragon flew quickly, but his warning was still too late, Farengar realized, sensing the powerful buildup of magicka in the air; they had mere moments before the circle of magic above them opened its destructive forces.
Therion stared into the flames above them, currents of magicka tossing his hair like it was caught in the wind.
The Dragonborn shook his head, laughing.
"Thrynn," he said, looking at Farengar. "My name is Thrynn Lor'ellion."
Translation:
Angue cyrche melor e ti'elda
My heart will always be yours
(translation LOOSELY based on canon Ayleid. IE, I made up half of the words.)