Therion vaulted across the gap between rooftops, breaking into a run the moment his feet touched marble. Ahead of him, Talamagne sprang over a decorative arch, twisting gracefully in the air, before landing on the other side and sprinting up to join Ondolemar at the front. His cousin motioned toward the crystal statue of Auriel in the empty town square below just before dropping over the edge, reappearing on the outcropping below in a somersault.

Grinning happily, Therion leapt out into the warm night air, following after him.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a hulking figure bearing down on him. Nimbly, Therion twisted back a step, letting them hit the wall where he had stood a moment before. About to draw his sword, he paused as the broad figure began to chuckle.

"Nearly had you," the large mer said cracking their enormous knuckles and turning around.

"Aran!" Therion exclaimed in surprise, sheathing his weapon with a grin. They shook hands and clasped each other by the shoulder.

"Glad to see you haven't gotten rusty," Aran said with a nod of approval.

"Skyrim was many things," Therion said solemnly, looking over his old friend, "but a place where a man loses his edge, was not one. Ondolemar didn't tell me you were coming."

Aran scratched his beard, examining Therion with his good eye.

"Would have ruined the surprise," he said in his usual gravelly, no-nonsense tone. "How are you Thrynn? Or, is it Therion these days?"

"Therion Adamonest," he said. "I am well, thank you for asking. How is Alinor's captain of the guard?"

"Godsdamned terrible," Aran barked, folding his arms. "The city's in chaos since some cheeky bastard killed off that son of a bitch Radac."

Therion shook his head.

"So, they filled you in then," he said, glancing down at Ondolemar and Talamagne.

"Sorry I missed the fun," Aran said with a nod. "You can bet we'll root out every last Thalmor hiding in the city. Mark my words."

"Oh, they sound quite doomed," Therion said sincerely with a laugh. "If you need help, you know where to find us. I must say though, for someone who hated the idea of joining the guard, you sound like you've grown accustomed to it."

"After a lifetime of tearing cities apart, it's rewarding to hold one together. And more of a challenge, too. Thinking of giving it a try?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Too early to say," Therion said deflecting the question and smiling at the large mer.

"Hmph. Never a direct answer with you. I haven't missed that," he said. "But I have missed you. It's good to have you home. Therion."

"It's good to be back," Therion replied whole-heartedly.

Aran followed him down the building, his movements surprisingly graceful for his size and gruff appearance.

"It's been awhile since the four of us were together," Talamagne said, smiling around the circle.

"Too long," Ondolemar agreed, thoughtfully drumming his fingers. "Although, one of our number showed up unannounced in Skyrim, despite agreeing to stay in Alinor."

Talamagne shrugged.

"I saw an opportunity to join the mages bound for Skyrim and heard they had captured the 'Dragonborn', so I took it. How was I to know you'd freeze time and try to stab me in the back? In the future, if you see an eight foot tall wizard, at least check if it's me first. Problem solved."

"Agreed. The next time we break the laws of reality, we'll make sure not to stab anyone in the back without checking their identities first," Therion said. "Have I mentioned lately," he added, looking up at his friends, all standing at least seven foot plus, "How much taller I felt back in Skyrim?"

His height of six-foot-five had been praised as tall by Nord standards.

A yawn escaped him before he could stifle it.

"We can meet again tomorrow. You should get some rest," Ondolemar offered, giving him an appraising look. "I can handle the palace tomorrow. Take a day off."

Therion sighed, exchanging a look with Talamagne who simply shrugged, staying out of it.

"I'm fine, cousin," Therion insisted with a smile. "Radac's dead. The Thalmor are all being hunted down. I could fly.

"I am very tired, though," he admitted as another yawn betrayed him. "However, you've been through as much as I have. If you're going to straighten out this mess with the princes and the magistrates tomorrow, then nothing in Oblivion will stop me from going with you."

Ondolemar glanced toward Talamagne who merely shrugged again as he had done with Therion.

"I know better than to get involved when you're both determined to take care of the other," Talamagne said. "I'd say don't push yourselves, but I'd have more luck talking to Auriel's statue, I'm sure."

"Not to interrupt this domestic moment, but it's time I made for bed," Aran said, clasping hands with them each in turn. "I'll see the three of you tomorrow, I'm sure. The rest of the Laloria Malatar will be ready to help in a pinch as well."

Aran paused and turned around one last time, the large grin on his face causing his sightless left eye to scrunch up.

"I've missed this," he said. "Damn, it's good having the two of you back. Be safe."

Waving over his shoulder, he walked off down the street.

Therion looked at Ondolemar and Talamagne, unable to contain his smile.

"It's good to be home."

After they had finished embracing one another, they parted ways, with Ondolemar and Talamagne heading toward their home in the north part of town. Therion made his way across the rooftops, at a slower pace now that he was alone, taking in every detail as he went, admiring the tall, crystal spires he had never imagined he would see again. Radac was dead, freeing him from the curse of exile. Everything felt surreal, as if at any moment he might wake and find he was dreaming.

The strangest sight of all was the grand estate at the west end of town. Carefully climbing across the leyes tree at the back, he made his way along the smooth, crystal bark until he was over the roof. Dropping down, he quietly walked around to the sole balcony emitting light.

Silently, he lowered himself onto the landing, picked the lock on the door, and let himself inside.

His room was – somewhat disturbingly – the same as he had left it. In many ways, it felt like the only thing untouched by the passage of time in the years he had been away.

Smiling, he ran his hand across the familiar, soft spines of his books. Removing one of his favorites, he walked out to the terrace and opened it to a random page. The warm, fragrant night air hummed, filled with countless sounds he had forgotten. The usual drone of insects, the rustling of the trees, the creaking tree branches, all of them filled him with a sense of calm and peace he had long forgotten.

Setting the book down, he looked up at the sky, expecting to see the aurora but finding only stars and the twin moons. For a moment he could smell pine and warm hearths, and he could almost see chimney smoke creeping across his view of breath taking snow capped mountains, and endless, lush, green forests.

A soft plink of glass from the next room made his ears perk up.

Softly opening the door, he crept inside his laboratory and over to the desk.

"Still up?" he whispered, although his words seemed to pass through Farengar, who was caught up with something on the table.

Therion waited patiently, lightly tapping Farengar's desk with his fingers.

Eventually, the engrossed mage looked up at him, his eyes instantly filled with surprise, barely avoiding spilling his potions over the book he was enthralled in. A wide array of alchemical ingredients, most of which were indigenous to Alinor, were spread out across the top of the desk. Many of them possessed luminescence, and their natural glow of magic pulsed softly.

"When did you come in?" Farengar asked, jotting down some notes and setting aside his work, adding, "I think I'm close to a stopping point for lunch."

"I just got here," Therion said with a smile, admiring the spark of excitement shining in Farengar's eyes. "And, it's technically morning."

"Ah," Farengar said, rubbing his eyes and wiping the sweat from his brow, "That might explain why I'm so tired." Despite the frost runes on either side of his chair, he looked miserably overheated, and his pale face was flushed bright red beneath his blue hood.

Farengar looked inquisitively at a parcel that was dropped atop his stack of papers and books.

"I picked this up for you in town," Therion explained as Farengar unwound the packaging's twine. "I don't own anything blue that I could lend you, and I thought the color suited you."

The Nord held up two garments with a thoughtful frown. Wordlessly, he stared at an exquisitely soft, thin, blue tunic and short, tan trousers.

"You've been dying in your robes," Therion prompted, and, when he made no reply, wondered aloud at his odd expression. "Do you not like it?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Thank you. They seem very high quality. Probably too nice for me, even," Farengar added, recasting his dying frost runes. "I'm just very used to wearing wizard's robes." He paused, looking over his thick, blue garb. "They hold a lot of meaning for me."

Therion leaned thoughtfully back against the desk.

"Is that why I have to all but beat you every time I want to take your hood down and look at you properly?" Therion asked, leaning forward and sweeping Farengar's hood back with a grin.

Farengar sighed at the sensation of cool air around his head. Channeling magicka into his hands, he touched the back of his neck with frost covered fingers.

"We're in Alinor, not Skyrim. Practically everyone here can cast magic. Robes here don't scream 'I'm a wizard' so much as they say 'I happen to like robes'," Therion said, mildly distracted by the beads of water rolling down his toned neck, finding the very sight incredibly enticing. "Speaking of Alinor, what do you think of my homeland so far?"

"You mean, have I considered your proposal to stay," Farengar said. Reaching to the bottom of the stack of papers, he produced a letter. "Strangely, just after I mentioned my reluctance to abandon my post with Whiterun and the High Court, I received some correspondence, from High King Balgruuf, no less."

"Don't look at me," Therion said, holding up his hands. "I didn't tell him to write you anything. I only told him I wished you would remain here, but I would accept if you preferred to return to Skyrim. What did he have to say?"

"That he would be delighted to have an ambassador to the Summerset Isles he could trust, if I decide on staying," Farengar said, thoughtfully tapping the letter on the table.

"It's a difficult decision," Therion said. "I know how much loyalty you feel toward Balgruuf. He's like family, and a huge responsibility has just been thrust upon him. And you're the High Wizard of Skyrim. It's not easy to abandon a position like that."

Farengar gave him a wry look.

"You're the Archmage."

Therion raised his eyebrows.

"Hm," he said simply with a frown, causing Farengar to stare at him in disbelief.

"You forgot?!"

"Not... entirely," Therion said, stroking his chin. "I've just had more pressing concerns. I have a lot of things in motion at the moment to rebuild Alinor. Which is why I cannot leave, even if you choose to return to Skyrim."

Therion made a mental note to send correspondence to a multitude of organizations in Skyrim in the morning. Particularly the Thieves' Guild and Dark Brotherhood.

"I very much like it here," Farengar admitted with a fond look around the room. "The land lives and breathes magic," he added, looking across the glowing plants spread out before him. His eyes fell to the closest thing to him, a merrily burning red rose. Beyond that, was a black mushroom, which seemingly created a dark cloud over itself. Beside those were several plants that appeared to be made of some sort of living metals and gemstones, while others at the end of the table felt like paper, and were just as delicate.

"The palace library is filled with countless books I wish to read," Farengar continued, leaning back in his chair. "And no one here looks derisively at me for using magic, although they do occasionally look at me for being human. But never for casting spells. My robes do not cause a stir. And I must admit, I was loath to become High Wizard at all, as my duties were increased a hundredfold. While, as an ambassador I could be left to my own devices, affording me more time for research. But, I suppose, apart from all that," he said giving Therion a faint smile, "there is the small matter that, no matter what the circumstances, even if I loathed every single thing about the Summerset Isles, I would still choose to remain here with you."

Grinning, Therion leaned down. Pressing his lips against Farengar's, he slowly loosened the ties of the Nord's robes with nimble fingers.

"You'll find it much more pleasant without your robes on, I assure you," Therion murmured against his parted mouth, gradually drawing the garment down across his shoulders. His gold lips moved to Farengar's neck, devouring the tempting flesh there, before working down. With each inch of clothing removed, he ravished the Nord's exposed flesh.

Warm hands eagerly roved across his hips, finding their way lower and tightly squeezing his backside.

Farengar began roughly teasing him, running his hands over the hard cock straining within his leather trousers through the material and eliciting a deep groan against his shoulder from Therion. The elf's breath hitched as Farengar suddenly pulled him off his feet and down into his lap, where he felt the other man's length grind against him.

Therion responded eagerly, ripping his robes open completely, while at the same time, he felt Farengar's hands on his belt buckle. He heard the sound of leather being whipped aside and his belt landing on the floor, before suddenly finding that clever fingers were stroking him hard through the material of his pants while at the same time unbuttoning them.

At the same moment that the last fastener came undone, Farengar shoved him back to sit on the desk, wrenching his pants off.

While Farengar removed the last of his clothing, Therion channeled magicka to his hand, casting telekinesis. A glass vial from the shelf across the room flew toward his waiting hand.

With a mischievous, lustful grin, Farengar intercepted the bottle, before shoving him down onto the stack of books. Removing the glass stopper, he poured lubricant into his hand.

Therion's eyes rolled back as he felt the wizard begin to tease him, slowly working slick fingers in and out of him. Farengar toyed with him for what seemed like an eternity, delighting in every sound he made, and never tiring of watching him writhe on the desk.

Finally, he could take no more.

"Fuck me, damn you," he growled, desperate to come.

Farengar chuckled, stroking himself with oil while nudging a spot inside Therion with his thumb that made the elf throw his head back against the desk, growling something in Ayleid.

In a daze, Therion felt Farengar pull his hips to the edge of the table and press inside of him. The warm Nord moved slowly, pausing to let him adjust, handsome sea green eyes intently watching his face.

After he was relaxed, Therion moved himself experimentally, delighting in the delicious sensation of the wizard.

Farengar began thrusting hard at a slow, even pace.

Therion's cock jumped at the sudden touch of the Nord's warm hand stroking down his length, before massaging his balls. Clenching his teeth, he barely held back from coming as the wizard gripped him tight and began pumping him in time with the fevered thrusts of his hips.

Farengar did not let up, pushing himself deeper, and stroking him harder as he continued to push into him faster.

Therion groaned, unable to resist any longer. Finishing with a shout, he fell limply back on the desk, seeing stars.

The sight and sound made Farengar come undone. With a final thrust, he buried himself in the elf. His toned, stomach muscles flexing, he finished with a deep groan of satisfaction escaping his throat.

Farengar supported himself on fists planted on either side of Therion's sweat slicked gold hair, the two of them catching their breaths in short gasps.

"You were right," Farengar said at last, looking tired and thoroughly satisfied as he eased himself back and collected the new clothes. "I'm much more comfortable outside of my robes."

Therion chuckled, staring up at the ceiling as he recovered his strength.

With both of them thoroughly exhausted, they extinguished the candles and made their way to bed.

Farengar laid down in the nude above the blanket while Therion crawled beneath a thin sheet.

"Do you miss Skyrim?" Therion asked after a short while, looking at him in the faint glow cast by the twin moons. He fervently wished for Farengar to remain, but not if it came at the cost of his happiness.

"There is so much here to discover, I hadn't even stopped to think on it," Farengar said honestly. "I would not be adversed to returning there this time next year. Summer here feels incredibly sweltering. Do you miss it?"

Therion smiled thoughtfully.

"Though I would be adversed to returning there during the winter, I've found I do miss some aspects of Skyrim, which I never expected possible, given my earliest experiences there. Although, I must admit, I don't think I'll miss it as much as I could," he said, stealing a kiss, before leaning in close and staring deep into Farengar's eyes.

A broad smile crossed Therion's face.

"After all, I brought the best part of Skyrim back with me."

Oblaan - The End

Author's Note

Writing this story was a year long labor of love. When I started, I had a very vague idea of how to write and had never started and finished anything full-length. Or even half-length. This is my first complete story, and it holds a very special place in my heart.

I learned countless things writing this and I feel like I came into my own as a writer in the process.

When I started, I wanted to be as talented as two particular fanfiction writers who both inspired Fire and Potions (check them out on Archive of Our Own). The stories I read about the Altmer Dragonborn, Calmerion, lead me to Therion. As evidenced by his name. The idea of an Altmer Dragonborn was too enticing, and the quality of Calmerion's stories left me eagerly bouncing up and down waiting for more. Their Skyrim fanfictions were the first ones I fell in love with.

The stories I read about Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton, lead me to wanting to write Skyrim fanfiction. The storytelling and fascinating characters in Dyce's fanfictions captivated me - there's just so much heart and talent in them.

Inspired by those two, I set out determined to write something through to the end - to add a story to the wonderful fandom of Skyrim - and I'm very pleased with the result. But more than anything else, I'm floored by everything I learned about writing.

I discovered there are days when nothing good comes out on the page. When I can't remember how to type a coherent sentence. There were times I nailed it on the first try, and times when I spent over a month rewriting the same chapter, making countless revisions, until I looked at it and loved what I saw. And I think the greatest lesson in that, was realizing that not getting it right the first time doesn't make you any less of a writer. Telling a good story isn't about getting it right and moving on. It's always changing and developing and you can't fault yourself for the journey. Every chapter taught me something new.

I could not have written this without the amazing editing of my husband, to whom I owe a tremendous amount for teaching, encouraging, and driving sense into me about numerous plot points when I needed it. He kept me true to my characters and was always brutally honest about the quality of my writing in exactly the way I needed, forcing me to grow and challenge myself. I wish that everyone had such an amazing editor, friend, lover, and hilarious, crafty smart ass in their life. He is priceless.

My sincerest thanks for reading.