Time seemed to slow to a standstill as the lines of fire overheard shot across the sky, racing together in the shape of a circle. The sky burned with great plumes of fire churning in a spiral of clouds, lighting the streets with brilliance akin to that of midday.
Farengar's bones hummed with intense vibration as the power of magicka filled the air.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched the circle overhead come to a close.
The circle completed and in the blink of an eye, the sky opened up, raining fire on Solitude. A whistle in the air nearly deafened him as a ball of fire the size of a dragon broke apart into three smaller sections, punching through the roof of the Bard's College nearby. The top half of the building was destroyed, causing its ruins to be sent crashing into the street below.
Another whistle filled his ears, impossibly loud. Before Farengar could tear his gaze from the devastation, he grunted in surprise as he tumbled across the roof, tackled in Therion's grasp. Tiles and chunks of burning roof rained down on them both as they rolled, while the deafening roar of explosion filled his ears.
What remained of the roof shook violently, impossible to hold onto as fire struck down all around them.
Farengar and Therion slid down the roof, scrambling for purchase as they fell helplessly toward the edge. Farengar barely managed to grab hold of the edge, his legs swinging precariously over as he grasped the blue tiles hard enough to make his hands ache. Loose shingles fell around him, hurtling toward the ground far below. Dragging himself up by his elbows, he looked up to see Therion, holding onto the hilt of his Akaviri Dai-Katana, driven deep into the roof top.
Therion reached for him, stretching himself out while bracing one hand on the sword hilt.
Farengar stretched out his hand, his fingertips barely touching Therion's as the rooftop was blasted under another volley, jarring him violently under the impact.
Farengar fell back, staring up into the surreal inferno roiling overhead. Therion was shouting something distantly over the din of screams and destruction.
A sudden pain in his shoulder struck him, his descent stopping as suddenly as it had started. Therion was suddenly and impossibly dangling above him, grasping his hand. The Dragonborn was clinging onto the edge of the roof, both of them hanging from his grip.
"What do you think you're doing?! Save yourself!" Farengar shouted, watching the elf grit his teeth under the strain.
Therion spared a moment to glare down at him.
"As if I would," he snarled indignantly.
"The sky will explode at any moment. This," Farengar said, looking down at the breadth of destruction, "Is nothing. A prelude. Shout yourself ethereal!"
"I can't use my thu'um again so quickly," Therion grunted, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. "I froze time to catch you. So, as fun as it sounds to let you fall to your death, I'm afraid the options are die together, or find another way out."
Farengar snorted, amused and annoyed that the Dragonborn could be snarky even at a time like this.
Another whistle caused Farengar's blood to run cold as he snapped his gaze overhead.
The sound of his own pulse filled his ears as abruptly, all other noises faded away. The screams, roaring flames, crumbling buildings - all were absent. Everything was silent, as the world became unearthly still. He watched in fascination as the colors around him faded to gray, and wondered if his life was about to flash before his eyes. Or, if he were already dead, and had yet to realize it.
Overheard, he heard Therion curse softly. He sounded, of all things, irritated.
Looking up, Farengar witnessed the air before Therion shimmer and glow with drifting particles of light. They quickly gathered into the shape of a man, his splendid gold robes billowing as he hung suspended in mid-air.
"Ah, here you are," Farengar heard the floating man say in a regal voice.
"Quaranir," Therion replied in a gracious tone, grunting from the strain of holding the two of them aloft. "Despite all odds, I'm happy to see you again."
The robed figure chuckled quietly to himself.
"Hm, yes. As I recall, you promised that should I, or the Psijic Order, ever interfere in your affairs again, you would 'slit my throat quicker than a Khajiit can skin two biscuits'."
Farengar couldn't help but stare quizzically up at Therion.
"I was drunk at the time," the Dragonborn explained, apparently feeling the weight of Farengar's gaze without looking. "To say the least."
Farengar felt his body become weightless as Quaranir made several gestures with his hands, maneuvering himself and Therion to hang weightlessly before him. Farengar watched the strange Altmer mage with a wary eye, while marveling at the sight of Solitude below, frozen in time.
"I am glad to find you sober on this occasion," smirked the Psijic monk.
"Yes, well," Therion said, leaning over and retrieving his sword from the rooftop. "My companion and I were struck by a terrible blizzard before I made my way back to the College. I think J'zargo tired of my complaints about the miserable cold, because he gave me what I later came to find out was double distilled skooma."
Quaranir raised an eyebrow.
"You mean to say, you defeated Ancano and saved the whole of reality, while high on skooma?"
"Double distilled skooma. Mischievous bastard. I wonder how J'zargo's doing these days?" Therion asked nostalgically, smiling fondly before turning a cynical eye toward Quaranir. "I'm surprised you bothered leaving Artaeum. Tell me you've come to slap the Dominion on the wrist and take away their magical artifact? As you saw fit to do at the College of Winterhold."
Quaranir sighed disdainfully.
"There was serious debate within the Order over that very topic. We are not meant to interfere directly as you well know, least of all against the Aldmeri Dominion. However, we tried to secure their weapon. But, in the end, our efforts were in vain," he said, raising the three of them to float high above Solitude. "The Thalmor Ascendant thwarted our attack, drastically injuring many of my order. I believe he anticipated our involvement."
Farengar tore his gaze away from the pillar of fire above them, threatening to fall upon the city below.
"Whom, or what, is an Ascendant?" he asked.
"The leader of the Thalmor," Quaranir explained with an apprehensive look. "An exceedingly talented Altmer wizard named Radac."
Therion's expression reflected Quaranir's, making Farengar wonder sort of monster could inspire such a reaction from both men.
"And what does all this have to do with our not falling to our deaths?" Farengar pointed out, looking down upon the frozen scene of destruction.
"About that," Quaranir said simply, snapping his fingers.
All around Solitude, orbs of light took shape as time resumed its course, the sky filling with particles of white light. The figures of men and women took shape, their gold Psijic Order regalia displaying prominently against the night sky, as their robes billowed in the wind.
Countless wizards reached out, channeling bright light in their hands, their magicka gathering around Therion, Farengar, and Quaranir. Something was taking shape above them.
A huge orb appeared. Smooth and gray, made up of sections of stones carved with runes.
"What is that?" Farengar asked, watching it lazily rotate.
"The Eye…" Therion said in awe. "The Eye of Magnus!"
Quaranir merely smirked. A staff materializing in his right hand, he tossed it to Therion who caught it.
"You'll need that."
Therion glared at the monk.
"The Staff of Magnus," he said holding up the artifact, "I take it you let yourself into my home in The Pale?"
"Yes. And in Hjaalmarch and Falkreath. It took me days to find. You own a surprising amount of property. I had to thoroughly search each of your homes."
Therion gave Quaranir a dark look.
"Faster than a Khajiit can skin a biscuit," he muttered meaningfully, while giving the staff an experimental swing.
Farengar recoiled slightly as the huge orb responded to the staff, its multitude of sections flying apart. Within its center, a brilliant white light burned, like a caged star.
The order of monks around the city lifted their arms as one, hands moving through arcane ritual. The Eye grew steadily brighter, beams of light channeling out through the Psijic Order. The channels shot forward, forming a circle of light around the three men centered below The Eye.
"Between the three of us, I believe we should be able to form a ward spell to protect Solitude," Quaranir explained, holding up one hand, crackling with raw magical energy. "We were unable to foresee this attack, otherwise we would have prevented it, rather than narrowly showing up in time."
Farengar followed suit, feeling the surge of magicka through his veins as he rubbed his fingers together, producing a brilliant glow of light.
"Why choose us to help you in this?" he wondered aloud.
Quaranir scoffed.
"Who better to protect Skyrim, than its High Wizard," he said nodding to Farengar. "And its Archmage?" he said nodding to Therion.
Therion winced under the intensity of Farengar's glare.
"YOU-!" he shouted angrily, magicka snapping and popping around him as he lost focus. "All the times I suggested you study at the College! And that stupid laugh of yours!" he snarled.
"I didn't want to correct you," Therion laughed guiltily with a roguish smirk. "You were so encouraging. Telling me about my 'aptitude' as a student."
Smiling, he waved the staff, opening The Eye wider and alighting his hand with magic in a loud crack.
"Shall we?"
Farengar gave one last exasperated look before nodding, and starting a ward spell.
He felt Quaranir and Therion pour their own power into the spell, Therion's staff brightly glowing as The Eye powered their efforts. Above, a ward the size of Solitude formed, blocking the pillar of flame. Farengar felt the rush of power cascade through him, and saw each of the other mages in the circle managing the same forces. In unison, they finished the spell, the sound resounding through the air as a shockwave erupted through the sky where the brilliant ward pulsed and glowed.
The fire from the sky erupted, crashing down on the wall of runed light. Fire rained and pounded down, so close, Farengar had to close his eyes, and still the light of it left a searing white brilliance behind his eyelids.
When the blinding light faded, he opened his eyes and saw the sky was black with smoke and waves of heat sizzling the air.
Therion cracked his staff and The Eye snapped shut, taking the heady power of magic with it, leaving Farengar feeling momentarily bereft. His body's own store of magicka felt dim, compared with the endless magic contained and supplied by The Eye.
Therion turned his head toward Paarthurnax far away in the sky, and below at the citizens of Solitude. Raising his head to the sky, he breathed deep, and shouted.
"LOK… VAH KOOR!"
The words resonated, the sound reaching the ears of everyone below, and Paarthurnax in the distance, as his voice broke the ward and cleared the sky. The smoke rolled away as though fleeing from his words, revealing the twin moons, and the brilliant blue, green aurora, shimmering bright as ever.
Farengar watched the Psijic monks around Solitude wink out, leaving behind an after glow of white light. Abruptly, his feet touched the ground, as without warning, they teleported. He looked around the desolated interior of the Blue Palace.
Quaranir wasted no time, approaching the High King. Balgruuf looked worse for wear, his face stained with blood, but in one piece.
"The Psijic Order sides with Skyrim," Quaranir said, inclining his head. "We will help you stop the Aldmeri Dominion from unleashing their weapon."
"It seems you've done a great service for Solitude and its people. We welcome an ally that can prevent another attack like this, against one of Skyrim's cities," Balgruuf said, looking over the Psijic.
Quaranir's expression darkened.
"This was, I believe, a test," he explained. "And general pettiness. The next time the Aldmeri Dominion - or more specifically, the Thalmor - employ their weapon, I don't think it will be against a mere city. I think it will be to destroy Skyrim completely."
The room fell silent as Quaranir's words sunk in.
"Until we can locate the Thalmor and their Dwemer artifact," Quaranir continued, "the Psijic Order will do everything in its power to protect and assist Skyrim any way we can."
Balgruuf looked to Therion.
"Is he a friend of yours, Dragonborn?"
Therion snorted.
"Hardly. But I believe he's sincere," Therion said, glancing at Quaranir before tossing him back the Staff of Magnus. "You're holding yourself together admirably, but no one can cast that much magic without it taking a toll - not even a Psijic monk. Go rest at my house while we clean up Solitude. I trust you know where everything is," he added wryly.
"Implicitly," Quaranir replied with the hint of a smile. He vanished into thin air, particles of light fading in his wake.
Proventus set to work organizing committees to take stock of the city, documenting reports of damage, while Balgruuf organized groups to tend the wounded and repairs. He tasked Irileth with organizing a defense of the weakened city, and the dark elf sprung into action, rounding up the guards with iron fervor.
Farengar and Therion, meanwhile, slumped down into two undamaged seats. Farengar felt they were both coming down from a lot of adrenaline and the experience of channeling The Eye, and welcomed a few moments of peace from the turmoil of the evening.
"Quite a night," Therion said, running a hand through his hair.
"Mmm," Farengar agreed sleepily, watching people rush around. Realistically the two of them were probably no longer needed, but it was difficult to leave things in such a state. "Thank you for earlier. You could have let me fall."
"No. I couldn't have," Therion said, smiling at him. Jokingly he added, "I can't sleep without you around. It's bad for my complexion. Dark circles, you understand."
Farengar smirked.
The world was absurd and the threat of destruction was looming, but right then, he wasn't bothered. They had survived the night and claimed a victory in doing so. For now, exhilaration carried him through exhaustion. Surveying the ruins of the party he snorted, then broke into sleep deprived laughter.
"What?" Therion asked.
"It's absurd, but," he said, chest shaking with laughter as he rubbed his forehead, "I can't help thinking, I'm relieved that party is over."
Therion stared at him a moment, before chuckling, and finally laughing heartily along with him.
"I think I know what you mean," he said. "Though, for my part, I enjoyed stealing you away from it. Things were going quite well until… well, you know."
Farengar sighed and smiled despite himself.
"I must admit, I haven't enjoyed myself so much in years, as when I'm with you," he said.
Therion inhaled sharply.
"Oh? Are you finally admitting you're in love with me?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Farengar shook his head.
"You are incorrigible," he said dismissively, a thoughtful frown on his face. "I don't know that I believe in that concept as a whole. I do know I had more than enough of that emotion, when Arcadia laced my mead with a damn love potion."
Therion's expression was suddenly serious, his eyes dark.
"Alchemical 'love' is not real," he said vehemently, fingers curling into fists. "There's no free will. I could have convinced you to kill for me, and you would have. It's nothing more than mental enslavement."
Farengar snorted, a sarcastic remark already on his lips.
"Obsession, lack of free will, rash actions… And what would you call 'real love' then?" he asked rhetorically with a bitter laugh.
Therion replied without pause.
"What I feel when I'm with you."
Farengar's mouth hung agape, stunned into silence.
"You say things like that so casually," he finally replied, trying to draw away from the topic.
"My words are anything but," Therion said, leaning forward.
Silence stretched between them. Therion seemed to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, instead watching him with a silent curiosity.
Amber eyes met his. Handsomely beautiful.
Farengar felt like he was on a precipice. He could to lean forward slightly and wordlessly confirm the hopeful look in Therion's gaze with a kiss if he so chose.
He hesitated, the moment slowly slipping away as he warred internally. Affection, warm and foreign, battled in his heart, confused and numb with turmoil. At the center of it all, he couldn't decide what his feelings were; couldn't sort himself out.
Leaning back in his chair, he thoughtfully cupped his chin in his hand, softly muttering his honest opinion under his breath.
"I'm not good with this sort of thing, Therion."
The elf would probably have heard him, his hearing being exceptional. He preferred to assume, rather than look, lost in his thoughts.
A small, dreamy sigh behind him caught his attention. Turning around, he noticed they were the center of attention for the entire room. Guards, jarls, servants, merchants - countless eyes were on them. The room had apparently fell silent, in an attempt to follow their conversation.
Balgruuf looked up from his conversation with Proventus, noticing the sudden lull. He took one look around the room and crisply ordered everyone back to work.
Therion smiled gently at Farengar, while the mage glared icily behind himself. People hurriedly turned to look interested in various activities, pretending they hadn't been staring.
When he looked back at Therion, he knew the moment between them had passed.
"By far the most interesting coronation I've ever attended," Therion said, changing the subject. "I want to see the state of Solitude with my own eyes before I sleep." Standing up, he turned to Farengar and gave him a smile and a nod. "Good night."
Farengar felt the spine tingling sensation of dozens of eyes on his back. There was a hopeful air in the room which only made him more steadfast in reserving himself.
"Good night," he replied.
He watched Therion leave, uncertainty settling like a weight in the back of his mind. Given the choice, he was still no more certain he would have said or done anything differently, in that moment.
Once the Dragonborn was gone, Farengar frowned to himself, wondering if he had seen a crestfallen look in Therion's eyes.
Therion leapt from rooftop to rooftop, enjoying the crisp, cold air of Skyrim. The Blue Palace and Bard's College had suffered the worst from the attack. Solitude's market had caught fire during the attack, if the smoking stalls were any indication. Many buildings were sporting holes, and Therion set to work examining the wall surrounding the city. A majority of it still stood and guards were stationed by the worst of it. Carts hauled away wreckage through the main gate, the proud Nord residents already reclaiming the city from the ashes.
Satisfied with his rounds, he headed home. The sight of blue robes caught his eye from the roof of his house. Farengar glanced up at him from the amphitheater of the Bard's College. Miraculously it, and his own neighboring home, had survived. Therion hopped down, walking the tall stone fence between the stage and the sheer cliff side drop. Farengar frowned up at him, clearly disdainful of his proximity to the fall.
"I'm surprised you're still up," Therion said, settling into a crouch.
"Get down from there," Farengar said, glancing nervously through an outlook at the river below, while maintaining a safe distance from the wall.
Therion chuckled, dropping from his purchase to land on his feet.
"It's quite solid, surprisingly. I wouldn't stand on anything that wasn't," he said, joining Farengar. "Your concern is touching though."
Farengar shifted awkwardly in response. Therion quirked his head to the side, intrigued by Farengar's quiet attitude.
"What you said, back at the palace..." he finally began, looking up at him from beneath his hood.
Therion's heart hopefully skipped a beat despite himself as Farengar hesitantly leaned closer, touching his cheek. He responded, leaning into the warm hand. Heart beat quickening, he inclined his head lower for the Nord, part of him yearning to hear Farengar confirm some form of affection for him. It was inconsequential in a way, he mused; he loved him whether or not it was requited. He had no control over it. When Farengar was close, his mind was at peace, his body relaxed.
To his surprise, Farengar closed the distance first, pressing his lips to Therion's.
The faint murmur of 'I love you' against his lips was soft but unmistakable. Therion savored it, shocked and elated, holding the words close to his heart. He let himself be pulled down into a deep kiss, abandoning his senses, and twining his fingers in Farengar's short, brown hair.
Gasping he jerked away, as sharp, cold pain spread across the left side of his chest. His hand flew to the ache, feeling something hard through a dense fog that was settling in his mind. Looking down, he saw the ornate hilt of a dagger. A strange black glow emanating from a jewel on its pummel.
The world spun, as Therion lost consciousness, collapsing onto the cobblestones.