Olria obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed so her vision would stop spinning. Olria felt unbalanced without magicka flowing through her veins. It wasn’t exhaustion, exactly, just strange feeling. Well accustomed to the sensation of depleted magicka, she knew it would pass shortly as her enchanted robes helped replenish her power.
“You were able to heal me,” Farengar’s voice drew her attention back to him.
Yes, she had. It hadn’t even taken any extra focus. She swallowed. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“I am just glad you are alright.” He paused. “The healing spell came very easily to you.”
Orlia felt her cheeks heating. She glanced at the man. “You were supposed to be unconscious,” she said.
The corner of Farengar’s lips twitched upward. He averted his gaze, looking down at her hand, which he still held almost absently. “Does that mean you have forgiven me for treating you so poorly when you first arrived here?” Farengar asked, his voice very quiet.
Olria’s throat closed. She coughed. “Maybe,” she allowed. Their time spent together researching the dragons had done wonders in revealing the truth of the man before her. Arcadia figured Farengar to be nothing more than a cold man who wouldn’t come around without the aid of a love elixir. Olria knew better.
Farengar was stubborn and commanding. Olria suspected he secretly hated training apprentices, hated the thought of being wholly responsible for another person’s well-being. That had to be the result of self-doubt. She knew he worried incessantly that he had what it took to prepare his apprentice for the real world of Skyrim.
Maybe in the past one of his apprentices hadn’t fared well and he’d taken that to heart. It was easier for him to focus on the safe subjects of dragons and spells than to care about every person that he crossed in his dangerous line of work.
Farengar’s actions all made sense now. He’d tried to brush her off until she’d become too much of an insistent thorn in his side. Then he’d fully committed himself to training her in a way that bordered on obsession, feeding her mountains of knowledge. He probably thought that the more he taught Olria, the better her chances of survival. Then, with this Stormcloak attack on Whiterun, he’d sent her away to safety with absolutely no tolerance for argument.
Olria hesitated. That last point didn’t quite fit the picture. His actions had been a bit extreme. Why send her somewhere safe when she could have simply hidden in the keep? His opinion of her must have shifted somewhere along the way, or he would not have worried for her wellbeing at all. Not when he had to worry about Stormcloaks obliterating his research. Was it possible… that he cared for her?
The court wizard’s eyes flicked back up to hers as if he could hear her thoughts. “Olria…” He searched her gaze for a moment. Perhaps he was gauging the woman’s opinion of him. “It is possible,” he began, “that I may have taken a liking to you that is… perhaps inappropriate for our student-mentor relationship.”
Olria blushed furiously. She bit her lip, looking down at her hands. That was better than looking at the mage, who might as well be half-undressed given the state of his robes. “I…” she began, “I wasn’t sure you really liked me all that much.”
Farengar winced. “Perhaps I’ve done a poor job of showing it.”
Except… maybe he hadn’t. Olria thought back to the time he’d rescued her from her misfired spell. Afterward, he’d given her new rules to regulate the time she spent practicing her magic and tending the injured in the temple. At first, she’d thought he was merely asserting his authority over her. Now, she realized it had been something more. He’d tried to protect her from her own destructive behaviour, from motivation that had bordered on mania.
Since that day, Olria’s health and her magical ability had taken a significant turn for the better. Their relationship had improved tenfold. Farengar’s personality had changed dramatically, as if he indeed were an iceberg finally thawing, but all at once.
“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3d/?
“You were able to heal me,” Farengar’s voice drew her attention back to him.
Yes, she had. It hadn’t even taken any extra focus. She swallowed. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“I am just glad you are alright.” He paused. “The healing spell came very easily to you.”
Orlia felt her cheeks heating. She glanced at the man. “You were supposed to be unconscious,” she said.
The corner of Farengar’s lips twitched upward. He averted his gaze, looking down at her hand, which he still held almost absently. “Does that mean you have forgiven me for treating you so poorly when you first arrived here?” Farengar asked, his voice very quiet.
Olria’s throat closed. She coughed. “Maybe,” she allowed. Their time spent together researching the dragons had done wonders in revealing the truth of the man before her. Arcadia figured Farengar to be nothing more than a cold man who wouldn’t come around without the aid of a love elixir. Olria knew better.
Farengar was stubborn and commanding. Olria suspected he secretly hated training apprentices, hated the thought of being wholly responsible for another person’s well-being. That had to be the result of self-doubt. She knew he worried incessantly that he had what it took to prepare his apprentice for the real world of Skyrim.
Maybe in the past one of his apprentices hadn’t fared well and he’d taken that to heart. It was easier for him to focus on the safe subjects of dragons and spells than to care about every person that he crossed in his dangerous line of work.
Farengar’s actions all made sense now. He’d tried to brush her off until she’d become too much of an insistent thorn in his side. Then he’d fully committed himself to training her in a way that bordered on obsession, feeding her mountains of knowledge. He probably thought that the more he taught Olria, the better her chances of survival. Then, with this Stormcloak attack on Whiterun, he’d sent her away to safety with absolutely no tolerance for argument.
Olria hesitated. That last point didn’t quite fit the picture. His actions had been a bit extreme. Why send her somewhere safe when she could have simply hidden in the keep? His opinion of her must have shifted somewhere along the way, or he would not have worried for her wellbeing at all. Not when he had to worry about Stormcloaks obliterating his research. Was it possible… that he cared for her?
The court wizard’s eyes flicked back up to hers as if he could hear her thoughts. “Olria…” He searched her gaze for a moment. Perhaps he was gauging the woman’s opinion of him. “It is possible,” he began, “that I may have taken a liking to you that is… perhaps inappropriate for our student-mentor relationship.”
Olria blushed furiously. She bit her lip, looking down at her hands. That was better than looking at the mage, who might as well be half-undressed given the state of his robes. “I…” she began, “I wasn’t sure you really liked me all that much.”
Farengar winced. “Perhaps I’ve done a poor job of showing it.”
Except… maybe he hadn’t. Olria thought back to the time he’d rescued her from her misfired spell. Afterward, he’d given her new rules to regulate the time she spent practicing her magic and tending the injured in the temple. At first, she’d thought he was merely asserting his authority over her. Now, she realized it had been something more. He’d tried to protect her from her own destructive behaviour, from motivation that had bordered on mania.
Since that day, Olria’s health and her magical ability had taken a significant turn for the better. Their relationship had improved tenfold. Farengar’s personality had changed dramatically, as if he indeed were an iceberg finally thawing, but all at once.
How had she missed noticing this all before?