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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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Re: Fire and Potions - 91/?

[(Anonymous)]

With a short, heavy sigh, the elf reluctantly continued.

“I found out Radac was obsessed with Therion. The Ascendant had a warped sort of love for my cousin. Or as close as the psychotic mer can come to the emotion.

“Where Therion was, or is, concerned, Radac becomes a hypocrite. He disregards his own rules and beloved dogmas. Therion could worship Talos, not that he would, and Radac would merely be put out with him.

“As I continued investigating, I suspected Radac had a…” Ondolemar paused, eyes turning frigid as he chose his words. “Way of coercing Therion. An enchantment. A spell or potion, perhaps.”

Farengar’s expression changed, his gaze passing straight through Ondolemar.

The elf continued talking, but he was only half hearing him. Knuckles white as snow, Farengar was replaying Therion’s voice from memory.

I’ve had this delightful potion once myself, Therion had said, eyes dark and angry.

As the love potion had stolen Farengar’s self-control and freedom of thought, Therion had hid him away before Arcadia could find him.

Just temporary illusions. Created by someone who wants to force you to feel as they do. Painstakingly weaving fire by his side, Therion had sat, passing the time with him while the antidote tore his heart asunder. The feeling was so wretched, Farengar thought he might die from the pain of it. And after an hour, he had begun to hope he would.

Alchemical ‘love’ is not real, Therion had snapped vehemently, only last night. When the elf was still within arm’s reach. He could still see Therion’s amber eyes clearly burning with contempt and rage.

It’s nothing more than mental enslavement, he had said, his gold fingers curling into fists.

“Several facts became apparent,” Ondolemar continued.

Drawn back from his reverie, Farengar watched the elf begin to rhythmically drum his slender fingers once more in his personal habit.

“First, that Therion could not disobey an order from Radac. Second, that Therion would fight to stay enchanted. And finally, that he could, with great focus, leave out details if not pressed too closely for answers.

“Remarkably, Therion found small ways of opposing Radac, trying to undermine the mer’s rule. Leaving out the whole truth whenever possible and somehow carrying on with his original mission, while at the same time, betraying it. He was living two lives, each trying to destroy the other.

“It wasn’t until just recently that Therion spoke to me of the times Radac discovered him plotting against him. Radac was infuriated at these ‘betrayals’ as he called them. He never responded with physical harm. His warped idea of ‘love’ would not allow it. Instead, each time he asked Therion for names. And then, Radac would always say three words that still haunt my cousin.

“‘Slit their throats.’

“Of everything Therion endured, being forced to turn his blades to the slaughter of his allies, confidants, and loved ones… was the the most difficult of all. The weight of that burden, nearly brought him to ruin.”

Heavy silence descended as Ondolemar fell quiet, stilling his drumming fingers.

“The years Therion spent with Radac changed him. For the worse,” Ondolemar said, the fire light ominously catching his gold eyes as he looked up from his hands. “We freed him from Radac’s influence, but he was changed. Distant. More calculating. Colder.”

The elf’s voice dropped a pitch, the tone making the back of Farengar’s neck prickle.

“Our grand revolution went terribly wrong. In the end, Therion was exiled by Radac, rather than executed. The Thalmor concealed how close we were to succeeding, further convincing the nation that a coup was mere folly. Bowed, but not broken, we rallied. Focusing our efforts here. Beginning with ending the civil war, engineered by the Thalmor.”

Furrowing his brow at the claim, Farengar opened his mouth to interrupt, but Ondolemar intervened, waving his hand dismissively.
“Yes, yes, it was engineered. The Markarth Incident, Ulfric, Jarl Igmund, The Reachmen... The Thalmor needed you Nords to kill yourselves. Skyrim is the Empire. Should it fall, the alliances of men would be easily crushed beneath the boot of the Dominion.”