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Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

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The best Christmas present? This fic updating. Absurdly hot stuff.

Thank you for reading, this chapter was incredible to write!

--------

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. “I didn't know 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 the half words.)

*hands Anon an Ondolemar plushy*
Hang in there! Sorry to leave you in suspense.

Thank you so much! I'm sorry for stealing your sleep like a terrible, sleep vampire - I am heading to bed now, having posted the next chapter in lieu of sleep ^_~. I hope you enjoy!
*hugs*

when you update??? happy new year!!!!!!!!!!

HOLY HELL!!!How did I not know there was a sequel?!This is as amazing as Sleepless.I need more please.

I actually read this the day you published it, but I was reduced to such a useless pile of feelings and admiration that I ended up not commenting (and then in being distracted by my own things) forgot to pop in and tell you how brilliant this is. Soooo much tension. I can't wait to see where the story goes.

Thank you for commenting! I'm really touched someone would come back after having already read and leave feedback ^_^
I'm dying of bronchitis, so the next chapter will be a long ways away, but I'm working on it when I have moments of clarity, lol.
Thank you for reading.

Not the above anon but geez, is everyone sick now?

So, I just marathoned this fic only to find a cliffhanger. You're not going to torture us for too long, are you?

So has this really not been filled!? I am saddened.

Yay, marathon read! It puts a big grin on my face when someone sits and reads through the whole thing in one go. It's almost the length of a novel!
As for the cliff hangar, ah... I'm not going to leave it there long intentionally but it all depends on illness, over time, my muse running away, etc. I know what's going to happen in the next chapter (and the rest of the story, too), and the next chapter is 1/3rd written, so it's all a matter of time.
Thank you for commenting - I'll try to maintain my focus on this story (and shelve the other 4 I'm writing on, lol).
Going to post a few pics of Therion up, if anyone's interested.

Hello! I lost my Xbox copy of Skyrim in my move (sadness), but this prompted me to play on the PC for a change. After learning how to mod the game to all hell (the textures are so FLUFFY I COULD DIE!), and ordering a new graphics card (and then a new power supply... b/c apparently there are minimum requirements for graphics cards, such as appropriate wattage - I are the smart >.>)
I have taken to doing a play through as Therion. Usually I play as a Khajiit named Miynx; who has never featured in any stories, lol.
So, here is some of Theiron's journey through Skyrim's main quest, leading up to the first events of Fire and Potions.

http : // s1168 . photobucket . com/user/Jenkouken/library/Therion

I run AdBlock Plus, so I have no idea if PhotoBucket has a crap ton of ads jumping up on it. I tried the link on my phone and found there were a lot of annoying ads. >.> Is there somewhere less ad heavy to upload pictures to and share them with people?
I could use that Tumblr thing, I guess...

I know, it's such a good prompt I'd have expected multifills for it.

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.

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