“Hmm,” Paarthurnax said, huffing thoughtfully through his snout.
Farengar, waited patiently, wondering if the pronunciation was beyond recognition. Many of the words had learned from Therion had to be said in Tamrielic before Paarthurnax could recognize and correct them. Therion had never gotten around to translating this phrase, and intuition told him he would simply act inscrutable if he asked him to repeat it.
“Hm. Not bad, as poetry goes,” Paarthurnax said finally, thoughtfully shifting his torn, leathery wings.
“Poetry?” Farengar asked when the dragon didn’t elaborate, apparently lost in its own thoughts.
“He finally managed to pronounce something nalgask, properly,” Paarthurnax said, and after a thoughtful pause, translated the phrase in his low, bass voice.
When he finished, Farengar stared at nothing. His body felt numb and far away. Even his perpetually racing mind was stunningly silent.
Therion had, in is his own inscrutable way, confessed his feelings.
With you I know peace, long since forgotten.
Farengar grappled with the words for what felt like a very long time, then set them aside.
He could work them out later.
Perhaps it was a mistake. Or, he was reading too much into it. As the whispering crowd around him most certainly was, he noticed with ire. And though it may have been his imagination, even the formidable figure of the dragon before him seemed to be looking at him with what might pass for intrigue. Reading the emotions of a dragon was difficult.
He focused his attention back to their lesson, while his mind inevitably trailed back to what he was trying to ignore.
Therion.
Was he trying to tell him... He stopped the thought, cutting it off before he could finish it.
It didn't matter, he told himself.
Sentiment, affection, devotion - they were all pure foolishness. Pleasant diversions for a time, but painful when gone. Love was the greatest lie of all, and he had no intention of falling for it a second time.
Given time Therion's infatuation would fade, and that was all there was to it.
Comforted with this thought, Farengar pushed Therion's words to the back of his mind and learned everything he could from Paarthurnax, the delight of new words replacing his agitation.
----------------
Therion arranged his face to look interested and then let his mind wander as Proventus began to drone on about finances. He had, at some point as a young mer, imagined Nord politics as infinitely more interesting than Altmer affairs of state. Perhaps with men dressed in pelts, entering death matches in arenas covered in snow, to decide the rations budget in some kind of battle royal. The corners of his mouth drew up as he imagined the pale, middle aged human steward locked in mortal combat over the cost of porridge.
Where there's politics, there are boring meetings, Therion lamented. Even in Skyrim. At least there's mead.
A tremor ran through his body, as his thin ears likewise detected the sound of wings.
And dragons, he added, feeling Paarthurnax's departure in his blood. The sensation of another dov was a strange thing; like a tingle of lightning running through one's veins. At moments like these he sometimes wondered if it was odd that he didn't find his powers strange in the slightest.
Pierce the veil of death and destroy a god, then suddenly you're jaded about everything, he thought with a silent chuckle.
"Dragonborn!" Proventus huffed in irritation.
"Yes?" Therion asked, raising an eyebrow. Though his face was still carefully masked, he had obviously missed a question aimed at him while his focus had been on Paarthurnax's departing emanation.
Proventus lowered his scroll to scowl at the elf.
"Are you paying attention?" he demanded impatiently.
"No," Therion replied with galling sincerity and a charming smile.
Jarl Balgruuf - High King Balgruuf, Therion amended mentally, though his coronation was a few hours away yet - made a noise which sounded suspiciously like choked laughter.
"Honestly, sometimes I don't know why we include you in these meetings," Proventus snapped, fixing Therion with the full weight of his disapproving stare.
Re: Fire and Potions - 60/?
Farengar, waited patiently, wondering if the pronunciation was beyond recognition. Many of the words had learned from Therion had to be said in Tamrielic before Paarthurnax could recognize and correct them. Therion had never gotten around to translating this phrase, and intuition told him he would simply act inscrutable if he asked him to repeat it.
“Hm. Not bad, as poetry goes,” Paarthurnax said finally, thoughtfully shifting his torn, leathery wings.
“Poetry?” Farengar asked when the dragon didn’t elaborate, apparently lost in its own thoughts.
“He finally managed to pronounce something nalgask, properly,” Paarthurnax said, and after a thoughtful pause, translated the phrase in his low, bass voice.
When he finished, Farengar stared at nothing. His body felt numb and far away. Even his perpetually racing mind was stunningly silent.
Therion had, in is his own inscrutable way, confessed his feelings.
With you I know peace, long since forgotten.
Farengar grappled with the words for what felt like a very long time, then set them aside.
He could work them out later.
Perhaps it was a mistake. Or, he was reading too much into it. As the whispering crowd around him most certainly was, he noticed with ire. And though it may have been his imagination, even the formidable figure of the dragon before him seemed to be looking at him with what might pass for intrigue. Reading the emotions of a dragon was difficult.
He focused his attention back to their lesson, while his mind inevitably trailed back to what he was trying to ignore.
Therion.
Was he trying to tell him... He stopped the thought, cutting it off before he could finish it.
It didn't matter, he told himself.
Sentiment, affection, devotion - they were all pure foolishness. Pleasant diversions for a time, but painful when gone. Love was the greatest lie of all, and he had no intention of falling for it a second time.
Given time Therion's infatuation would fade, and that was all there was to it.
Comforted with this thought, Farengar pushed Therion's words to the back of his mind and learned everything he could from Paarthurnax, the delight of new words replacing his agitation.
----------------
Therion arranged his face to look interested and then let his mind wander as Proventus began to drone on about finances. He had, at some point as a young mer, imagined Nord politics as infinitely more interesting than Altmer affairs of state. Perhaps with men dressed in pelts, entering death matches in arenas covered in snow, to decide the rations budget in some kind of battle royal. The corners of his mouth drew up as he imagined the pale, middle aged human steward locked in mortal combat over the cost of porridge.
Where there's politics, there are boring meetings, Therion lamented. Even in Skyrim. At least there's mead.
A tremor ran through his body, as his thin ears likewise detected the sound of wings.
And dragons, he added, feeling Paarthurnax's departure in his blood. The sensation of another dov was a strange thing; like a tingle of lightning running through one's veins. At moments like these he sometimes wondered if it was odd that he didn't find his powers strange in the slightest.
Pierce the veil of death and destroy a god, then suddenly you're jaded about everything, he thought with a silent chuckle.
"Dragonborn!" Proventus huffed in irritation.
"Yes?" Therion asked, raising an eyebrow. Though his face was still carefully masked, he had obviously missed a question aimed at him while his focus had been on Paarthurnax's departing emanation.
Proventus lowered his scroll to scowl at the elf.
"Are you paying attention?" he demanded impatiently.
"No," Therion replied with galling sincerity and a charming smile.
Jarl Balgruuf - High King Balgruuf, Therion amended mentally, though his coronation was a few hours away yet - made a noise which sounded suspiciously like choked laughter.
"Honestly, sometimes I don't know why we include you in these meetings," Proventus snapped, fixing Therion with the full weight of his disapproving stare.