skyrimkinkmeme: (dragon)
skyrimkinkmeme ([personal profile] skyrimkinkmeme) wrote2011-10-29 12:36 pm

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

Re: Fire and Potions - 89/?

(Anonymous) 2015-05-19 08:59 am (UTC)(link)
Farengar made a soft, empty ‘hm’, staring solemnly into the fire.

“Really, you shouldn’t worry yourself,” Ondolemar said, frowning down at Farengar’s blue hood. “I highly doubt they would go to all of this effort just to kill him.”

“Yes, of course. After all,” Farengar said turning a disparaging look up at the elf. “Therion being abducted by Thalmor torturers is just another Loredas afternoon for the two of you. But what, pray tell, are you not telling me?” he asked, thinking back on Therion’s expression when he alluded to his exile and attempted murder of an immortal. When Ondolemar made no reply, he sighed sharply. “Where did both of you come by this infuriating penchant for mystery?”

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” Ondolemar said with a smile so galling that all at once his relation to Therion was unmistakably clear.

Scoffing, Farengar gave Ondolemar an annoyed look before turning away from the all too familiar expression to stare into the campfire.

“You can ask him, when you see him again,” Ondolemar said in a warmer tone. “But it’s not my place to say.”

Watching Ondolemar take another drink, Farengar wore a thoughtful scowl.

“If we talk, time will pass quicker you know,” Ondolemar said, swiftly changing topics. “Tell me how you met Therion.”

Ondolemar started as Farengar loudly set his mead aside.

“I am not a talkative person,” he said, his eyes flashing.

“This goes back to the not trusting me issue, I presume?” Ondolemar asked, casually drumming his fingers.

“You say you’re a double agent, and you want peace between elves and Nords?” Farengar asked, cocking his head.

Ondolemar nodded.

“And how many Nords and Talos worshippers have you tortured, to maintain your cover? How many have you murdered? When General Tullius dragged you into the Moot to have you executed, I was elated. The sight of you made my blood boil. And then…” he waved a hand half heartedly, confusion mingling with aggravation. “Therion turned everything around. With poorly pronounced dovahzul. Fake poison,” he said gruffly, shaking his head. “And suddenly he’s thrilled beyond words. To see you.” Gritting his teeth, he felt his fingers itch with magicka, destruction magic beckoning temptingly to him. “After you carved him up and left him for dead.”

Realizing his hands were tightly clenched into fists, he tried to recompose himself. Exhaling slowly, Farengar consciously tried to stop his hands from shaking.

Ondolemar, on the other hand, remained unphased.

“Thank you, for healing him,” the elf said after a moment’s thought. “He told me what happened in the Thalmor compound that night, after I left. By the time I discovered a visiting dignitary had taken it upon himself to ‘interrogate my prisoner’...” Ondolemar quietly folded his hands, eyes unfocused with the recollection. “Before I could resolve the situation, alarms rang out. We were finally under attack, just as Therion and I had been waiting for, but at the worst possible time. There were few options. I couldn’t take him with me; he would have died, and it would have defeated our purpose. Nor could I stay. Therion demanded I leave. Saying he was terrified what a ‘jester’ would do if I stayed… I wasn’t sure if he was delirious or using metaphor. He sounded quite literal and very serious.

“In the end, I lingered as long as I could - longer than I should have - to ensure the dossier remained on the table to properly rile Cyrodiil, and to see that the ones who broke my little cousin’s ribs were… regrettably and unavoidably ‘killed in the crossfire’. Which is how General Tullius managed to catch up to me in the end. When I finally left, I wasn’t even sure he was still alive. I had no idea, until Tullius hauled me into your Moot.”

Finishing his drink, Ondolemar quietly set the bottle aside.