Olria swallowed. “This is terrible,” she said. “There are already so many wounded… why must they continue fighting?” She buried her face in her hands. Mumbling past her fingers, she added, “I tend to those poor soldiers every day. It’s awful seeing people in pain like that.”
“It will not be safe here in the keep,” Farengar said. “They will be coming for Jarl Balgruuf. He will need my assistance if the enemy forces manage to breach Dragonsreach. My place is here in the keep.” To defend his research, if nothing else. He didn’t care about the war, but the Jarl expected him to choose a side. Who was Farengar to choose an allegiance opposing his employer?
“What about me? How can I help?” Pain flashed across Olria’s face. “I could fight. I… I still know those destruction spells.”
“Absolutely not,” Farengar said. “You are going to stay with one of my associates in town. Her name is Arcadia. She runs an apothecary called Arcadia’s Cauldron. Just mind you do not listen to any of her ramblings about how sick you are.”
“What?” Olria said. “You’re just going to send me away, and stay here by yourself?”
“That is the plan. Ulfric is an honourable man, he will not turn the battle against the shopkeepers and others who cannot lift a sword or wield magic.”
“I can’t believe you want me to run away. I may not have been any good with Flames and Sparks, but I’m no coward.”
“This has nothing to do with bravery,” Farengar growled. “It is common sense. You will not be able to defend yourself.”
“I know how to cast a powerful ward,” she protested.
“That’s all good and fine, but what will that ward do as soldiers hack endlessly at the barrier? They will break through eventually, and then what?”
Olria shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. The letters scattered on the desk were a distant memory.
“Arcadia might take some convincing to let you shelter in her shop,” Farengar said. “She has been pestering me for frost salts for weeks now, but I have not had time to leave Dragonsreach. Tomorrow afternoon I will send you with some and she should let you in.”
“This is ridiculous,” the woman muttered.
“It is also an order,” Farengar replied. He finished off his wine and set the goblet back on the desk. He stared for a while at the letters. They hadn’t even discussed the most interesting ones, but his mood had soured to the point he didn’t want to look them over again, anyway.
“I sort of thought we were more of colleagues now,” Olria said. “It doesn’t seem fair that you’re ordering me to leave.”
Farengar frowned. “It still does not change my sentiment. At all.” In fact, maybe it made him feel even more strongly that Olria should be somewhere safe.
“Whatever,” the woman said. She pushed away from the desk, the legs of her chair scraping on the floorboards. Without another word, she disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door.
Farengar had known she wouldn’t like the arrangements. But as he saw it, there was really no other choice if she was to be safe. If the Stormcloaks broke through to Dragonsreach, they would be at the point where blood and rage blinded them. They would try to kill everyone, young Bosmer or not.
“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2g/?
“It will not be safe here in the keep,” Farengar said. “They will be coming for Jarl Balgruuf. He will need my assistance if the enemy forces manage to breach Dragonsreach. My place is here in the keep.” To defend his research, if nothing else. He didn’t care about the war, but the Jarl expected him to choose a side. Who was Farengar to choose an allegiance opposing his employer?
“What about me? How can I help?” Pain flashed across Olria’s face. “I could fight. I… I still know those destruction spells.”
“Absolutely not,” Farengar said. “You are going to stay with one of my associates in town. Her name is Arcadia. She runs an apothecary called Arcadia’s Cauldron. Just mind you do not listen to any of her ramblings about how sick you are.”
“What?” Olria said. “You’re just going to send me away, and stay here by yourself?”
“That is the plan. Ulfric is an honourable man, he will not turn the battle against the shopkeepers and others who cannot lift a sword or wield magic.”
“I can’t believe you want me to run away. I may not have been any good with Flames and Sparks, but I’m no coward.”
“This has nothing to do with bravery,” Farengar growled. “It is common sense. You will not be able to defend yourself.”
“I know how to cast a powerful ward,” she protested.
“That’s all good and fine, but what will that ward do as soldiers hack endlessly at the barrier? They will break through eventually, and then what?”
Olria shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. The letters scattered on the desk were a distant memory.
“Arcadia might take some convincing to let you shelter in her shop,” Farengar said. “She has been pestering me for frost salts for weeks now, but I have not had time to leave Dragonsreach. Tomorrow afternoon I will send you with some and she should let you in.”
“This is ridiculous,” the woman muttered.
“It is also an order,” Farengar replied. He finished off his wine and set the goblet back on the desk. He stared for a while at the letters. They hadn’t even discussed the most interesting ones, but his mood had soured to the point he didn’t want to look them over again, anyway.
“I sort of thought we were more of colleagues now,” Olria said. “It doesn’t seem fair that you’re ordering me to leave.”
Farengar frowned. “It still does not change my sentiment. At all.” In fact, maybe it made him feel even more strongly that Olria should be somewhere safe.
“Whatever,” the woman said. She pushed away from the desk, the legs of her chair scraping on the floorboards. Without another word, she disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door.
Farengar had known she wouldn’t like the arrangements. But as he saw it, there was really no other choice if she was to be safe. If the Stormcloaks broke through to Dragonsreach, they would be at the point where blood and rage blinded them. They would try to kill everyone, young Bosmer or not.
***