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Re: F!OC(or DB)/Farengar Secret-Fire

[(Anonymous)]

A new Anon slowly slinks through the tall grass and peeks out. There are so many waiting, that the Anon becomes intrigued. Perhaps a double fill will occur, as this second Anon begins the first weavings of a fill…

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1a/?

[(Anonymous)]

Hi there! I know there was someone already working on this prompt, but it really caught my interest. I sure hope this one ends up with a double fill! This is one of my first posts, so I hope you enjoy. I have most of the story finished (it is pretty long now) and will post sections as I review them.


“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach”

Relationship: F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire
Characters: Bosmer!Mage!F!OC, Farengar Secret-Fire
Description: Shy but ambitious OC!Olria is sent to apprentice with the court mage Farengar in Whiterun.
Tags: relationship:Het, race:Bosmer, race:Nord, char:Farengar, char:F!OC, kink:apprenticeship, kink:magic!sex-play (others may be added later)

--------------------------------------------------
Farengar Secret-Fire flipped through the pages of the old tome on his desk. Dust rose from the musty pages, causing him to sneeze. Even though his eyes burned, he couldn’t give up searching the text yet. There had to be mention of the dragons in here. Ever since one of the great beasts had attacked Whiterun’s watchtower, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater had been pestering Farengar for answers. Farengar would have to come up with some information, and soon – if he wanted to preserve his position as the court wizard of Dragonsreach.

Two days ago, a stranger had delivered to him a remarkable artefact, the dragonstone. Unfortunately, Farengar had yet to translate it. The man sighed and straightened, his spine cracking. It was only noon, but he hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d been too busy struggling to decipher the alphabet engraved in the stone.

Movement caught the corner of Farengar’s eye. A young Bosmer woman had come to stand in the threshold of his workroom. He glared at her and returned to his work. He didn’t have time to play the role of friendly merchant.

Despite ignoring her, the woman did not get the idea and leave. Her looming made him grind his teeth. To say stress had already frayed the court wizard’s nerves would be an understatement.

“What do you want?” Farengar snapped. “Let me guess, you want to know about the dragons. Do you fancy yourself a dragon slayer? Shall I serenade you with pretty stories about shining knights and great wyrms?”

The woman winced. She clasped her hands and stared at her feet. “That’s not why I’m here,” she said.

“I hope you have a bloody good excuse for interrupting my research.”

The Bosmer teetered back and forth from her heels to her toes, still studying the floor. She was dressed in commoner’s clothes, but there was a scabbard at her hip and a knapsack over one shoulder. “I… I believe you should have received a letter. From my parents, with payment. It was my understanding that I was to be your apprentice.”

For a moment, Farengar could only stare at her. He groaned and rubbed his tired eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not now! He had enough damned work to deal with. He didn’t have time to train a novice mage who couldn’t even see fit to dress the part.

“You… did get the payment, right?” she asked.

Farengar slapped closed the tome he’d been reading, sending up another puff of dust. ”You’re my apprentice?” was all he could say. He stood and walked around the side of his desk, looking her up at down. He wrinkled his nose. “Gods, why do you have a sword?”

The woman squirmed under his scrutiny, a blush crawling over her face.

“Oh, give me that,” he said. He reached out a hand. The woman unclipped the sheathed sword from her belt and handed it to him. He half drew it and inspected the blade. He bit back another groan. “There is not a scratch on this! Do you even know how to wield a sword?”

“No, sir.”

Disgusted, Farengar couldn’t bear to hand the blade back to her. He threw it into the basket of weapons waiting to be charmed beside his arcane enchanter. It would be an insult for any apprentice of his to wear steel. “Did your mommy send this with you to keep you safe?” Farengar asked.

The woman made no reply. She bit her lip and peered over the court wizard’s desk, trying to see where he’d tossed her sword.

“Oh, never mind,” Farengar muttered. “After this ludicrous display, I cannot imagine why your parents sent you at all.” He snorted. “A sword, indeed.”

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1b/?

[(Anonymous)]

“I do have magicka, sir. Honest.”

The woman appeared anxious, now. Farengar shook his head. He had no choice, really. He’d already spent the money the woman’s parents had sent. Obtaining the dragonstone hadn’t been a cheap affair. He’d have to take her as an apprentice, at least for the next two months. Or until she incinerated herself.

Farengar sighed. “I suppose I should give you a chance to prove that you do have some magical talent.” He beckoned her to enter his workroom. “Let us begin with something simple. Cast Flames out towards the hall. Mind the books.”

The woman fidgeted. Her face had gone very pale.

“What?” Farengar demanded.

“I… don’t know Flames. Sir.”

Farengar had to take a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to contain his impatience. He smiled sweetly. “Fine.” Enunciating each syllable clearly as if he were a lackwit, the court wizard asked, “What do you know?”

A hot flush swept over the woman’s cheeks. “Candlelight, sir.” She closed her eyes for a moment. A glow blossomed in the palm of her hand. It grew until the stone chamber radiated with a bright light. The Bosmer opened her eyes again. The light began to dim.

“Wait,” Farengar halted her. “I did not tell you to stop yet.”

The woman sustained the glowing spell for several minutes. Farengar couldn’t tell if she wavered more under his piercing gaze or the strain of her rapidly depleting magicka. Sweat sprang out on her brow. Her knees began to wobble.

Farengar said nothing. What sort of endurance for pain and magical exertion did the woman possess? He crossed his arms and continued to watch as her breaths turned into pants. She reached out with her free hand to steady herself against a table, but still she sustained the light.

Farengar frowned. The woman had a deathly pallor, now. He’d never had an apprentice kill herself on this sort of test. Most of them gave up by the time their legs grew weak.

“That’s enough,” Farengar said. After a moment, he offered, “Good.”

The light disappeared instantly. The woman sagged forward. Alarmed, Farengar took half a step toward her before she steadied herself. Her golden gaze had become steely. “Is that good enough for you?” she asked.

Farengar’s lips thinned. “I suppose you will do,” he said.

“So you’ll take me, then? As an apprentice?”

“I have no choice,” Farengar replied. “The payment has already been made. You can have the side room. There is a desk and a cot in there.” He walked over to one of his bookcases and began examining the titles. He paused. “Your parent’s letters never mentioned a name.”

“Olria Byrns.”

Farengar grunted in response. He ran a finger along the spines of the top row of books. He pulled out a spelltome labeled ‘Flames.’ The mage returned to his workstation and tossed it down on the desk. “Study this. Do not speak with me again until you can cast a half-decent Flames spell.”

***

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1c/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

Even though it was only noon, Olria fled to the relative safety of her small, lamp-lit room. She shut the door quietly and leaned her back against it, clutching the spelltome to her chest. She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

That had gone terribly. Farengar was nothing like she’d imagined. Her apprenticeship was an utter disaster in the making. Unfortunately, her family wasn’t made of money, and this was the only chance she’d have.

Panic reached up to clutch at her throat. Olria swallowed convulsively. She slid down the door, her knees giving out. There wasn’t an ounce of magicka left in her body, and the man already wanted her to begin practicing destruction magic on her first day in Whiterun. She still had road dust on her boots.

Olria gritted her teeth and crawled over to her cot. It was hard and uncomfortable, the furs on top smelly. She sprawled out on it, the spelltome falling from her nerveless fingers. Exhaustion gnawed at her bones. It was a miracle she’d even made it to Whiterun today.

She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to muster up the strength to perform that silly Candlelight exhibition to Farengar. She’d spent every drop of her magicka proving to the court wizard that she had any aptitude for magic after all. The display must have disappointed him.

The first thought Olria had when she awoke was that she hadn’t meant to sleep. The woman startled and sprang off her cot. Her lamp had burned out. She scrambled around in the darkness, frantically searching for the Flames spelltome. It took her a moment to recall herself and cast Candlelight. The dim glow gave her the opportunity to retrieve the book (which had slid under her cot) and light her lamp again.

She let the spell fade, meanwhile becoming painfully aware of the emptiness of her belly. She swallowed and prepared herself to leave the room again. It would feel good to stretch her legs, even though her muscles ached from days of walking.

Olria opened the door to her room soundlessly. She peered out into the dim chamber. It was quiet, the smells of dinner a distant memory. It looked to be early evening. Farengar was on a chair, collapsed with his head down on the desk. An old tome was spread under his face. Gentle snoring reached her ears.

As Olria tip-toed by, she noticed that the man must have knocked over a potion after he’d fallen asleep. A sticky blue residue slowly inched towards the delicate pages of his old text. The thought of the blue elixir staining those ancient pages made Olria wince. Biting her lip, Olria looked around for a cloth. She wiped the mess up and recorked the bottle, setting it back on its stand. Farengar did not stir.

Olria ventured out into the keep’s main hall, desperately hungry. She found an elderly servant by the doorway, sweeping. After a few words, the woman took pity on Olria and brought her to the servant’s quarters to eat what remained of the evening’s dinner.

Starvation warded off once again, Olria smiled to the servant and returned to her workroom. Farengar was awake again, an orb of Candlelight hovering above the pages of his text. He gave her a narrow-eyed look as she walked past, but Olria knew better than to open her mouth. He’d made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with her until she could cast the Flames spell. Obviously, he wanted no part in her learning beyond passing her the thick spelltome.

Olria closed the door to her room and sat heavily in the single chair inside. The red spelltome sat on the desk before her. Wasn’t Farengar supposed to be the one teaching her, not the book? What could be so important that he’d work all day at his desk and ignore his new apprentice?

She let out a soft sigh and opened the spelltome. “I will figure you out by morning,” she promised the text. “Even though I hate destruction magic with a passion.” Maybe then Farengar would think she was worth his time.

***

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1d/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

There were dark rings under Olria’s eyes when she emerged from her room late the next morning in search of breakfast. When she came back to the court wizard’s workroom after her meal, Farengar was busy scrawling frantically on a piece of parchment. An impressive stone tablet sat on his desk.

Olria hovered nearby, looking curiously at the tablet. The man’s quill swept across grainy parchment, trailing elegant swirls of pitch-black ink. He murmured to himself, referring to the etchings on the stone, and then back to his parchment.

Leaning against the wall, Olria decided she could wait. She was nothing if not patient. After a while, the man startled. Farengar shot her an irritated look, daring her to say something. After almost a minute, he finally asked, “Should you not be studying?”

Olria didn’t need words. She turned and aimed the palm of her hand towards the expanse of the great hall. Magicka flowed through her veins. Flames rippled, shooting outwards from her hand.

Farengar pushed himself away from his desk and stood. “Not bad,” he said. “But they look a little… weak.”

Olria swallowed her triumphant smile. “They would be stronger,” she said, “if maybe you could, um, lend me some proper robes?”

“Does this look like a poorhouse to you?” Farengar asked. He spoke without rancour, his attention returning the parchment on his desk. “Today you can work on charming those weapons I have gathered by the arcane enchanter. There are some petty soul gems in the cabinet. Once you’re skilled enough, you can enchant your own clothes if you want to enhance the flow of your magicka.” The man hesitated. He shot her a look over his shoulder. “You do know how to use an arcane enchanter, right?”

The woman let out a breath. He was treating her with a bit more respect by letting her use his tools, and here she was about to aggravate him again.

Farengar sighed, sensing the answer before she could voice it. “Come here,” he said, waving his hand. “Look, it is quite simple. Choose a filled soul gem. Choose an item. Then, look through this book and test out various enchantments. Pay careful attention to the notes. Some enchantments will fail on certain types of gear.”

Finally, the mage was offering her some instruction! Olria listened, attention rapt. Farengar demonstrated how to transform a simple pair of boots into ones that would allow the wearer to resist icy spells. “Frost suppression,” the man explained. “Useful in Skyrim, in case you have not noticed.”

Once Olria had repeated the enchantment on a pair of threadbare shoes, Farengar left her to her own devices. He returned to his desk, snatching up the dragonstone tablet and his parchment. He ran out into the main hall. “Jarl Balgruuf,” he shouted. “I have translated the tablet! I believe this is a map of Skyrim, and these marks may very well indicate the resting places of dragons from ages past.”

Olria paused to listen as everyone in the main hall exclaimed over the mage’s findings. Curiosity got the better of her. She walked across the workroom and peeked out at the excited group. Farengar looked thrilled. The others were nervous at what the findings would mean for Skyrim.

Olria turned away before anyone could notice her, despite her interest on the topic. So, Farengar was capable of wearing something other than a scowl on his face. Excitement had lit up his eyes, making him look a decade younger. She could only hope that he would retain some of that amiability when speaking with her next.

***

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1e/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

It took two weeks of hard studying before Olria could enchant a pair of wearable mage’s robes. She could already feel them bolstering her magicka. However, even then her powers still ran dry as Farengar gave her spelltome after spelltome of destruction magic to practice.

When he handed Olria her nineth spell, she almost dropped it with dismay. “Sparks,” she said. “More destruction magic?”

Farengar had already turned away. He was grinding leaves with his stone mortar and pestle at his alchemy station. He barely spared her a glance. “Destruction magic is invaluable,” he said. “You want to be able to defend yourself, do you not? Skyrim is a dangerous place.”

Olria shut her mouth and left the workroom. She headed for the keep exit so she could practice outside. She hated this. She hated the magic he was making her learn. But if she quit now, he would dismiss her and all her parent’s gold would go to waste.

While Farengar had been more polite to her lately, she knew he cared little for his apprentice. He’d made it painfully obvious he had more important things to do. If the man hadn’t already squandered his payment on his research, he would have shoved the gold back into Olria’s hands and sent her home days ago.

Olria had no choice but to learn Sparks. She would add that spell to her growing repertoire of magics that would inflict pain upon others, or even kill them. With enough practice, she would be able to burn down entire buildings and punch holes through stone walls.

Learning one more destruction spell wouldn’t be so bad. At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself.

***

Around noon the day after Farengar had given Olria the Sparks spelltome, the court wizard decided it was time he assess his apprentice’s progress. They met that afternoon outside Dragonsreach, in the empty space where she practiced her spells. Without comment, the court wizard watched Olria perform spell after spell at his command.

Farengar was honestly shocked at how terrible her performance was.

She’d learned every spell he’d given to her seemingly overnight. Obviously, she didn’t lack for ambition. She could cast any spell at will. However, where there should be an inferno, there was a sputtering of flames. Where there should be lightening, there was a weak flash of light. Where there should be frost, the air wasn’t even cool enough to freeze the leftovers of his dinner.

Olria was a miserable, miserable mage. The mental aptitude was there, but she clearly lacked the skill.

Mages that couldn’t cast destruction magic usually didn’t survive long in Skyrim. The woman would never be able to defend herself once she left Whiterun and returned to her home. He was surprised she’d even made it as far as Dragonsreach without something killing her. Perhaps it had to do with her Bosmer blood.

Farengar imagined how bad he’d look to the Jarl if his apprentice died only a day outside Whiterun, from a sabre cat or a couple of bandits.

“Try again,” he growled. “You have known Flames since your second day here. I think you can do better than that.”

Olria did as he asked. The air rippled with the heat emanating from the palms of her hands. There were small tongues of flame, but they were no better than the first time she’d cast the spell for him.

Farengar smoothed a hand over his face. “Keep practicing,” he sighed. He waved her away as if he were wiping old papers off his desk. He turned and marched back into the keep, leaving his apprentice outside. She could practice or she could go waste her time at the tavern. At this point, he didn’t care. There wasn’t much hope left.

For the next two hours, Farengar studied in wonderful peace in his workroom. When he looked up next, an unexpected guest awaited him. A colleague from the Collage. “Hallod,” Farengar greeted the Breton mage. “I am surprised to see you. I thought you had frozen solid after all your time spent in Winterhold.”

The young man chuckled. “Apparently not. I’m travelling south on some Collage business and I thought I stop by to see an old friend.”

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1f/?

[(Anonymous)]

Farengar snorted. “More like an old advisory,” he corrected, smirking. He and Hallod had competed fiercely growing up. They’d been in the same group of novices that had trained at the Collage.

The other man sighed. “Perhaps,” he allowed. He stared around Farengar’s workroom. “Look at this place! You’ve done well for yourself.” He smiled admiringly. “Was that your apprentice outside the keep? I spoke with her for a while.”

Farengar sighed, embarrassed. It would have been better if the woman had given up and gone to waste her coin in the city. “She is, but not for much longer.”

“And why is that? I’d give my left foot for an apprentice half as dedicated as her.”

The court wizard snorted. “She cannot even master the simplest of destruction magics.”

Hallod stared at him a moment. “You’re a fool. You know that, Farengar?” he said. “Too deep into your books and research to notice what is in front of your fat nose.”

Farengar blinked at his colleague. “My nose is not fat.”

“Gods! You meet one Nord, and you’ve met them all.” The man shook his head sadly. “Your apprentice has my deepest sympathies.”

Farengar shot the other man a sharp look. “Have you come here to insult me, or is there really something I am supposedly missing?”

Hallod pulled up a chair and sat down across from the other mage. “Look, if my good-for-nothing student still had any drive to learn how to wield his magicka I would be jumping up and down.” He rolled his eyes. “As soon as he realized how much studying was involved, his interest dwindled. If he practiced half as much as that woman out there, he could actually be good one day.”

Farengar hesitated. What was Hallod’s point? “But you saw her,” he said. “Her spells are weak. I would go as far as to describe them as pathetic. I have had apprentices waltz in here on their first day and burn down my book shelves with barely a thought!”

Hallod studied the court wizard for a solid ten seconds before he burst out laughing. “Farengar, my friend, you haven’t changed a bit.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “This is the main reason we never saw eye to eye when we were apprentices. Just like any Nord, all you wanted to do was kill things. You figured if you couldn’t do that, what was the use of magic?”

“It is true,” Farengar said. “Had I not learned to cast a decent Firebolt by the time I left, bears would have eaten me before I made it to Whiterun.”

The other mage slapped a hand to his forehead. “I have always preferred the other magical streams,” Hallod said. “Illusion. Restoration. Alteration. Maybe your apprentice out there does, too. When I saw her practicing Flames, she looked like she’d rather be halfway across Skyrim than here at Dragonsreach.”

“Probably because she is embarrassed at the poor quality of her spells,” Farengar muttered.

“Oh, for—Farengar, just think about it for a moment, will you?”

Farengar finally set down his book. Hallod could be onto something. Olria had never expressed any interest in the magic she was learning, but her motivation to study proved she still had an interest in magic.

Farengar had been a fool. He shoved his book away with disgust. His student didn’t want to learn destruction magic. That’s why she was so miserable at it. Even with this revelation, Farengar still had half a mind to give up on her. However, she’d done everything he’d asked. There were no grounds on which to dismiss her.

Hallod scrutinized his colleague. “She seemed to me to be a sweet young woman, with such a pretty smile. Maybe you should teach her something that better fits her personality.”

Smile? Olria hadn’t smiled since she walked into Dragonsreach. But no matter. As much as Farengar hated to admit it, Hallod was right. Farengar folded his hands before him and lifted his eyebrows. “I will take that into consideration. Now, if you are done badgering me about how I teach my apprentices, maybe you can share with me some news from the College.”

“Sure,” the other man smirked. “Still stash wine in the bottom drawer of your desk?”

***

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1g/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

It was long past dinnertime when Farengar saw Hallod off. For a time, the court wizard stood outside Dragonsreach as the shadows of Whiterun’s walls stretched out around him, cooling the air. Flickers of light caught his attention. He ventured around the side of the building to check on his apprentice’s progress.

Frankly, he was surprised to see her still hard at work. His surprise soon shifted to disappointment as he noted no improvement in her Flames spell. “How do you expect to defeat your enemies with that?” he asked.

The woman jumped. Her face was drawn, and there were purple bags under her eyes. She actually glared at him. It was the first display of backbone Farengar had seen. “That’s the problem,” she snapped. “I want to defend myself, not kill things.”

Farengar paused and reconsidered her. He sighed. “I have reached the same conclusion myself.”

Olria appeared taken aback. She lowered her trembling arms and studied him expectantly. Fear filled her eyes. Did she expect dismissal?

“Perhaps it is time I teach you some restoration magic,” Farengar said. “Come here.”

His apprentice obeyed. She stood before him, her earlier signs of weariness seemingly evaporated.

“Now, I want to you to clasp your hands together,” Farengar instructed. “Feel warmth and heat grow in your palms.” He reached out and took both her hands in his, holding them tightly. He looked down and focused on describing the feelings that ran through his body when casting restoration magic. “Think about someone dear to you,” he said. “Imagine the care you have for them pooling into your hands.”

Olria closed her eyes. Her hands were warm in his, glowing with the pulse of magicka. She would be able to feel the flow of Farengar’s own magicka beneath his skin. She would be able to sense how to weave Healing through that contact.

“Healing those you love comes most easily,” Farengar explained. “It takes a strong will to direct the power at someone you do not love or respect. At the least, you must possess empathy for the injured person to be able to heal him.” He paused. “I suspect you will not be able to cast the spell on me, but you should be able to cast it on yourself.”

Olria struggled to extend her healing magic to him. Through their clasped hands, Farengar could feel her trying to push her magicka outwards, beyond the boundaries of her own skin. For several minutes, she strained, battling her natural defences against the court wizard. After failing to find any success, she let out a cry of frustration. Her hands jerked away.

Farengar swallowed and dropped his arms. While he had anticipated this outcome, it was humbling to think she had tried so hard and couldn’t even send him a dribble of healing magic. The woman hated him. “I will leave a spelltome out on my desk for your reference,” he offered. “Keep practicing. Work on performing the magic on yourself, first and foremost.”

“Thanks,” Olria replied. She wasn’t paying much attention to the court wizard. She was focused again on her hands. Her body began to glow in the night shadows as the restoration magic leapt across her smooth Bosmer skin. The power came very easily to her, when directed at a proper target.

Farengar turned and left her to her practice.

***

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 1h/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

The next morning, Olria emerged from her room after only two hours of sleep. She went to the servant’s hall and inhaled a hasty breakfast. She found Farengar already deep in his studies at his desk. “Sir,” she caught his attention. “I was hoping I could try the healing spell a second time.”

The man set down his heavy text. His eyebrows drew in. “So soon?” he asked. With a shrug, he stood and walked around the side of the desk. “As you will,” he said, holding out one hand.

Olria clasped it. His hand was warm and soft, as only a mage’s or nobleman’s could be. She tried to ignore the fact that it was Farengar’s hand. It was easier to imagine she held her brother’s hand instead. That was someone she would do anything to heal, now that she knew she possessed the power.

The woman closed her eyes and concentrated, drawing her magicka to pool beneath the skin of her palms. Try as she might, she could not force the power to cross the barrier from her body to his. After a quarter hour, she drew away with embarrassment. “Sorry for wasting your time,” she mumbled. “I don’t understand why it won’t work.”

“The power will come with practice. Why not find one of the servants to practice on?”

That was one option, but Olria wasn’t someone to give up so easily. Not with this new challenge that had presented itself. She frowned at the man. “Are you sure this is the right spell to heal someone else?” she asked, accusingly.

Farengar blinked at her. His eyes narrowed. “Of course. Do not be ridiculous.”

“I don’t believe it,” Olria said. Every other spell, even those she’d hated, she’d been able to perform after six to eight hours of study during the night. She may have been a walking zombie, but at least this walking zombie could cast Flames and Sparks from her fingertips.

Farengar sighed. He reached out and took one of her hands in an iron grip. His eyes locked with hers. “I will prove it to you,” he said. After a moment, heat blossomed where their hands connected. Olria felt the tell-tale signature of the Healing spell. His magicka flowed into her hand and down her arm. Both of them glowed, throwing strange shadows at the walls.

She gasped at the sensation and yanked her hand away. The spell fizzled out. Olria’s entire body felt warm and tingly. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling. Perhaps that was why it alarmed her.

Farengar cleared his throat. “There, see?” he said, arching one eyebrow. “Keep in mind that, without any injuries to target, the magic has nowhere to go. The sensation will fade in a few minutes.”

Olria considered this for a time. “Fine,” she said, grudgingly. “I will practice the spell more.”

“Good.” Farengar turned away, moving back to his desk.

“Wait,” Olria said. “Maybe… could you teach me a second restoration spell?”

Farengar turned around, considering. She saw his eyes dart to the side, examining the large bookshelf of spelltomes. Olria groaned inwardly, but his next words surprised her. “I suppose any decent mage needs to know a warding spell,” he allowed. “Here, I will teach it to you.”

Having the court wizard guide her through the process of casting and powering up a ward expedited the learning process immensely. Through touching his hands, Olria could feel how his magicka flowed beneath his skin and was able to duplicate the spell. In under an hour, she could cast a clear barrier in front of her body. The power the spell consumed exhausted her. Farengar assured her that, with practice, the spell would become easier to sustain.

And practice she would, Olria decided. She’d practice warding and healing until she’d perfected them, even if it would kill her. Because this – this was what she wanted to do.

***

-----
More coming soon!

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2a/?

[(Anonymous)]

Wow, thank you so much! This Author!Anon is thrilled you are all enjoying the fill thus far. All those little comments interspersed between the parts were quite a surprise and a pleasure to read. This is one happy A!A.

I shall humbly post part two.

A!A sits down with OP and Driveby!Anon on the picnic blanket. She nibbles at some of the creativity-fuelling goodies. Whilst munching, A!A looks curiously at the bowing OP. She studies the contract with a bemused smile. A!A beckons for OP to sit up again and begins sharing the gifts everyone has brought her with all those gathered around the picnic blanket.

***

Olria’s progress over the next two weeks staggered Farengar. She excelled tremendously at restoration spells. She’d even taken to helping out at the temple, healing wounded soldiers. A few days ago, his apprentice had asked once again to try sending Farengar her healing power. He’d refused. He didn’t think he could stand another blow to his ego were it to fail again.

That night, Farengar’s apprentice returned home near midnight. She retreated to her room as soon as she walked in, pausing only to pick up a spelltome that would teach her how to cast a circle of protection. He thought that maybe she was taking things a bit too far – she didn’t look to him like someone who would be venturing into crypts full of the undead. However, the thought of learning the spell had pleased her, so he’d seen no reason to protest handing over the spelltome.

It was good she’d found the initiative to study by herself again, because Farengar had to resume his research on dragons in earnest. Yesterday night, one of the huge beasts had attacked Riverwood, razing several cottages. Jarl Balgruuf needed to learn more about the dragons, and Farengar was the first person he’d turned too.

Farengar worked late into the night finishing off the letters he would send to all the large holds of Skyrim. He needed to collect whatever tales he could about the dragons. He wanted someone to send him word on the whereabouts of the dragonborn. He would have to compile all the information that filtered back through couriers and try to learn what he could. Knowledge was power, and right now, they knew disappointingly little about the dragons.

It had to be half past three when Farengar heard a loud curse from Olria’s room. He paused in his writing mid-word. The keep was dark but for his orb of glowing light and the torches that burned in the hall. Farengar twisted around and glanced at his apprentice’s doorway, frowning.

A dim light flickered, reaching out from under the doorway. A moment later, Farengar was sure he could smell smoke.

“What is that woman doing at this hour?” he muttered to himself. Standing, he walked to the door and knocked. “Olria?” he called.

There was harsh coughing, muffled by the thick boards. Farengar looked down at his feet. He could see black smoke pooling out from beneath the door. He grabbed the handle. The metal seared into his skin. Farengar drew back with a hiss. “Damn it!” he growled. With a spell, he forced the door open.

A wave of heat knocked into the mage. Billows of thick black smoke rolled out of Olria’s room. The desk was on fire, the wood crackling and spitting. The inside panels of the door glowed red as embers in a fireplace. With a pulse of magic, Farengar dismissed the flames in the room. The heat diminished instantly.

He followed the sound of Olria’s choked coughing. She had collapsed to the floor by her bed. He grabbed her under the arms and dragged her out of the room.

Olria coughed and hacked, pulling clean air into her lungs. Her face and hands were black with soot. As Farengar laid her down on the rug by his desk, three soldiers burst into the workroom. “What’s going on here?” a woman demanded.

“I have taken care of it,” Farengar assured her and the other guards. “It was only a spell gone awry.”

The Nords exchanged uneasy glances. “Fine. But the Jarl will expect you to pay for any damages to his keep,” the guard told him. As one, the three marched away, casting suspicious glances over their shoulders. Farengar knew that, from experience, the soldiers really wanted nothing to do with the court wizard, his apprentices, and their magic.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2b/?

[(Anonymous)]

Farengar turned his attention back to Olria. The woman sat up slowly, her coughing almost subsided.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her.

“No,” she wheezed. “I’m—I’m sorry for the mess. I can pay for any—”

Farengar wasn’t listening. “Why didn’t you call for me?” he shouted at her face. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “You could have died!”

Olria’s head bobbed back and forth. “Stop it!” she said, thrusting him away. With the back of her arm, she wiped at the soot on her face. She only succeeded in smudging the ash. “I thought I had it under control.”

“You’re an idiot,” Farengar snarled.

“This,” Olria said, pointing at her mentor. “This is exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid!” Tears sprang into her eyes. “Haven’t I disappointed you enough without this whole mess?” Her voice shook.

Farengar rolled back on his heels. “You would rather die,” he said, “than see me angry with you?”

Olria nodded. Tears squeezed out of her eyes, leaving pale streaks on her soot-covered features. “I imagine you’ll dismiss me now,” she said. “Send me back home. My two months are nearly up.”

Farengar felt a headache beginning. He grimaced and held his forehead. “Hold on,” he said. “I am still stuck on the part where you would rather die than call to me for help.”

“It’s not a hard concept,” Olria said. She sniffed, her eyes becoming steely. “You’ve never liked me. All I am is an interruption to your studies. I bet you even hoped I’d actually burn myself to a crisp just so you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

Farengar felt his face flush hot. Her words struck a little too close to the mark. Hadn’t he thought something along those lines during her first day at Dragonsreach? Guilt stirred in his belly. He felt sick.

His apprentice would rather die than see him angry with her.

And, gods, he knew he deserved that, too.

Not knowing what else to do, Farengar stood. He went to his alchemy station and grabbed some fresh cloths and a full washbasin. He set them on the desk. “Here,” he said. “Clean yourself up. I will not dismiss you. You… are doing very well with restoration magic.” He looked away. “I would be a fool to send you back home, now.”

Olria stood and stared into the washbasin as if Farengar had poisoned the water. After a moment, she dunked her hands and began rubbing the ash from her skin.

“Olria,” Farengar asked, standing nearby, “what were you doing, anyway?”

The woman looked up. “Practicing,” she muttered.

Farengar threw his hands into the air. “At half past three in the morning?”

“You were up, too. Don’t sound so surprised.”

The court wizard dropped his arms. “Right. Fair enough. Is this a regular occurrence?”

“Yes.”

No wonder why she progressed so fast. He had truly underestimated her dedication. The woman had run herself into the ground. She was skinnier than when she’d come to Dragonsreach – alarmingly so, in fact. And she walked around as if in a dream. When did she even find a chance to sleep?

Farengar’s head began to pound harder. In any other circumstances, Olria would be a woman after his own heart –she liked to stay up late studying as much as him. But this – this entire situation was a nightmare. At this rate, she’d waste away to nothing. Her spell had likely misfired because of her complete exhaustion.

“I think you should take a few days off,” Farengar said. “Away from the temple, too.”

Olria’s head jerked up with alarm. Terror flashed across her features.

“I already told you I will not dismiss you, damn it,” Farengar said. “But you need to rest. When was the last time you ate or slept?”

Olria had to pause and think. “I ate breakfast… but I was at the temple all day. I didn’t have time to eat… and then when I came back here…”

“Almost at midnight,” Farengar reminded her.

“…Almost at midnight,” Olria repeated. “Well, then I realized I’d wasted the entire day at the temple and hadn’t worked on my magic as you’d instructed yesterday.”

“So you’ve been practicing for the past three hours. Without a noontime meal or dinner.” Farengar shook his head. “Tell me, did you at least sleep last night?”

“Two hours. I was busy perfecting grand healing, sir.”

Farengar couldn’t decide if his apprentice was brilliant or a total moron.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2c/?

[(Anonymous)]

“For the next three days, no more magic,” he said. “No more temple. Just rest.”

“But—”

“No exceptions,” Farengar said. “Or I really will dismiss you. Relax and… read a good book or something. But not a spelltome, for Oblivion’s sake. If you really need something to do, you can help me with my research on dragons.”

Olria’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Consider it an order.”

The woman looked unreasonably pleased at his demands. She picked up a cloth and finished cleaning her face and hands. The water in the washbasin was black. His apprentice moved to carry the water away, but he waved her off. Farengar would do it himself later. The woman was going to collapse any moment if she didn’t get some sleep.

“You can borrow my bed,” Farengar instructed. “Your room is unusable. I will have the servants clean it out tomorrow.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I have more work to do,” the man replied, eyes straying to the desk full of half-finished letters. He felt his own weariness pulling at him. What a hypocrite he was.

“Thanks,” was her simple reply. The woman walked past him. As she did, she grabbed Farengar’s hand. “Wait – you’re hurt!”

Farengar blinked. He looked down at the hand she was holding. As if that was all the attention it needed, his poor burnt skin began to scream. The man winced.

“Let me heal it,” Olria said.

Farengar could already feel the glow of her magic. He yanked his hand out of her grasp. “Did you not hear a word I said?” he snapped. “I told you, no more magic. For three days. Not three seconds.”

The woman sheepishly hid her hands behind her back. “Sorry,” she said. Without another word, she ran off, disappearing into his room and shutting the door.

He watched her go. Besides, Farengar thought. After tonight, Olria failing to heal his hand would have hurt a lot more than scorched blisters.

The court wizard summoned his own magicka, watching the redness fade and the puffy, dead white skin fall away. He folded and unfolded his healed hand, the new skin feeling tight. Then, he sighed, sitting back down at his desk. He had more missives to finish. The sooner they were in a courier’s hand, the sooner he would have what information was out there regarding the dragons that plagued Skyrim.

***

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2d/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

After Olria fell into Farengar’s bed, she all but passed into Oblivion. She slept until noon. She might have slept longer, but there was a soft knock on the door.

Olria rubbed sleep from her eyes. She sat up and called, “Yes?”

“Some lunch here for you,” a woman’s familiar voice called.

Olria’s stomach clenched with hunger. She jumped out of the bed and pulled open the door. The elderly servant smiled and put a tray of food on the bedside table. “There you go dear. I’ll come back and fetch the tray later.”

“Thank you very much,” Olria managed, despite her surprise. As the servant left, Olria peeked out into the workroom. Farengar was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug, she closed the door. She proceeded to enjoy a warm breakfast in bed – a luxury she’d never had at home.

Once she’d polished the food away, Olria felt her eyes sagging shut again. She lay down and nestled under the covers. This was a proper bed – infinitely better than the ragged cot in her own room. The blankets smelled of Farengar, but she didn’t mind.

Olria slept all the way until dinnertime, at which point the servant returned with another meal, exchanging it with Olria’s first tray. The novice mage made a quick trip to the privy and the baths. When she returned, the food disappeared into her belly and sleep took her again.

By the following morning, Olria finally felt Bosmer again. She was no longer the zombie of Dragonsreach. She stood up and stretched, her muscles protesting their disuse. Olria wondered guiltily if Farengar would think she’d abused the privilege of borrowing his bed.

The man in question was hunched over a letter at his desk. He glanced up as she emerged from his room. “Ye gods,” he said, “she lives after all!”

Olria bit her lip. “Sorry if I overstayed—”

The court wizard waved away her apology. “The servants have your room back in order. I figured it was only fair if I borrow your cot. Damn. How did you even sleep at all on that thing?”

The woman’s lips quirked. “It took perseverance.”

Farengar chuckled. “In any case, it was miserable. A little charred, as well. You will find you have a proper bed in there now.”

Olria’s eyes widened. Was she hearing this right? Had the man actually chuckled? Wait a moment - and bought her a new bed? What was the world coming too?

Olria’s mentor did not appear to notice her shock. He’d returned to studying the letter.

“You said I could help with your research?” she asked tentatively.

Farengar paused with his back to her. “Draw up a chair,” he said.

The mage put her to work, but this work did not drain her magicka or tax her body. In fact, the research he set before her was fascinating. Farengar spoke at great lengths concerning what he’d learned about the dragons. He described his quest to find more information from the other cities and towns of Skyrim through various letters. Together, they poured over the missives that had already returned from the nearest holdings, and even a note mentioning that the dragonborn had passed through Ivarstead.

Both of them startled when a serving lady seemed to materialize in front of them. She held a silver tray bearing breakfast. “Oh,” she said to Farengar. “You didn’t tell me you would be eating as well this morning.”

The man shot the servant a quelling look. “I will fetch my own meal,” he said.

Olria squinted at the two of them. The servant sighed and set a tray of food on the desk before Olria. The novice mage had to push aside some books and papers to make room. Before Farengar could protest, she said, “I won’t spill anything.”

“Hmph.” Farengar stood and left, presumably on his way to the kitchen. When he returned, he sat beside her again. With his meal, he also had a goblet of wine. He sipped pensively, eyes following the line of text on an unrolled scroll.

This is new, Olria thought, them sharing breakfast together. “You know,” she told the man, “When you’re involved in research that you’re passionate about, you’re actually not a total jerk to be around.”

Farengar choked on his wine. He cleared his throat and managed not to sputter. He gave her a narrow-eyed look and shrugged. “I

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2e/?

[(Anonymous)]

“I would like that,” Olria replied. She turned her attention to the bread spread with melted cheese on her plate. “I know you said three days without magic, but maybe you’ll consider letting me resume my studies tomorrow?”

“Only if you continue at a more sensible pace.”

“Of course,” Olria agreed.

***

The final days of Olria’s two months as an apprentice passed without a hitch. More money arrived via courier for her mentor to renew the apprenticeship. Despite Farengar’s reassurances, Olria still half-expected him to return the gold and send her on her way. However, he made no mention of any such thing, instead stowing the money away for later use on his projects.

Olria’s studies took on a more reasonable portion of her life, and her work at the temple resumed. Every night she stayed up late with Farengar, piecing together the knowledge they’d gathered concerning the return of dragons to Skyrim. They had gathered interesting stories about attacks and how to defend against them – what worked, what didn’t – and times where dragons flew by ignoring civilization without so much as a roar.

Farengar’s interest in the subject fuelled her own. Studying together invigorated Olria, especially with a topic that was so interesting to them both. Whenever one of them made any big finds or came to some sort of revelation, a great debate would ensue. They would discuss matters from every point with great ferocity. Any visitors looking to buy potions or spelltomes could only stare at the pair of them, flabbergasted, as they deliberated over matters (often of a mythological nature) as if they were the keys to life and death. Sometimes these guests would buy the potions or spelltomes they had come for, but more frequently, they turned on their heels and fled.

When Farengar was in his element, Olria couldn’t help but feel a draw to the man. When discussing his research, his hunger for knowledge, he opened up to her. He was a radically different man than the snappish, impersonal mage she’d met on her first day at Dragonsreach.

If someone had told Olria on her first day in Whiterun that she would begin to really like Farengar Secret-Fire, she would have laughed until her sides split.

Olria’s studies in magic continued just as marvellously. Danica Pure-Spring at the Temple of Kynareth even pulled Olria aside one day to say mention how much the young woman’s magical ability had improved. Maybe she even sent some sort of message to her mentor, because the next day, Farengar produced a set or robes that greatly enhanced Olria’s ability to cast restoration magics. Not only that, but they significantly extended the depths of her magicka reserves. Even as she wore them the next day, Olria was still a bit mollified that he hadn’t demanded she enchant a pair of robes herself.

***

When the robes fit Olria, Farengar couldn’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief. They’d been bloody expensive, all the way from the Collage of Winterhold. He’d been waiting for a while now for a good excuse to give them to her. Danica’s rather terse recommendation that he properly outfit his apprentice had been all the opportunity he was looking for.

With Olria’s ambition, she had nearly mastered the restoration arts in only a few short months. The fact he was finally teaching her properly had helped accelerate her astounding progress. Farengar suspected his student would graduate from her role as apprentice very soon indeed.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2f/?

[(Anonymous)]

Olria had gone down to Whiterun for the day, healing the wounded again. Farengar looked forward to her return that evening. He’d already procured a fine wine from Belethor’s General Goods for dinner. The best part, though, was how he had displayed a number of new letters from northern Skyrim across his desk.

It turned out that bandits had intercepted a number of letters meant for Farengar. Once the Companions had cleaned out their den, they’d seen that the court wizard received them. These replies held some very fascinating news, indeed. Farengar had all but verified the location of several dragon “nests,” as he liked to call them. Places where dragons seemed to be making themselves at home in the mountains. It would be a remarkable opportunity to study them, especially since one of the closest nests was only a day or two out of Whiterun.

He knew Olria would agree. Now, if only he could convince the Jarl as well…

The great doors to Dragonsreach slammed open. Farengar looked up from his evening preparations. No one slammed doors in the presence of the hot-tempered Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.

The court wizard watched in growing amazement as three Stormcloaks strode up the hall and passed beyond his line of sight. Farengar threw himself out of his chair and stood at the threshold of his workroom. He didn’t have to hear the words the Stormcloak soldiers uttered to understand what was happening. They presented a great axe to the Jarl. It could only mean Ulfric Stormcloak intended to march on Whiterun.

Farengar stood stock-still. What would Jarl Balgruuf do?

The Jarl rose from his throne and looked down on the worn Stormcloaks before him. Farengar did not hear what he said to them, but he pushed the axe back into their hands. He’d chosen the Imperials.

The Stormcloak soldiers stormed out of the keep hall. “You’ve made the wrong choice, Balgruuf,” one of them shouted. “I wonder if the true High King of Skyrim will let you live long enough to regret this day.”

“Jarl Ulfric’s army is only a day away from Whiterun,” said the other. “Pray your Imperials rally in time to spare you.”

Farengar watched the men leave, his stomach feeling as if it were made of lead. He could already imagine flames gnawing away at his workroom, obliterating years of his research.

Soon, no one in Whiterun would be safe – especially those in Dragonsreach.

***

“There’s something bothering you,” Olria said to Farengar. “I mean, look at this letters! And all you’re doing is brooding over your wine. Which I think you may have had too much of, by the way.”

Farengar looked at her over the rim of his goblet. He really hadn’t intended to spoil the evening, but it seemed inevitable. “You must have noticed the soldiers swarming the city,” he began.

“I did. But I didn’t ask about it.”

“Ulfric Stormcloak will attack Whiterun at dusk tomorrow.”

The letter Olria had been holding fell from her fingers and drifted to the floor. She stared at Farengar as he bent to pick it back up.

“You are gaping at me like a fish,” Farengar said.

“An army,” the woman replied. “Attacking Whiterun. Us. Here?”

“I can only hope Jarl Balgruuf the Greater will have enough time to summon the nearby Imperial forces. They have been anticipating a move like this for some time now, and it has finally forced the Jarl to choose one side or the other.”

“Gods, no,” Olria whispered. “They’ll destroy the place – imagine all the books, all your research! Your work is irreplaceable!”

Farengar smiled to himself despite the gravity of the situation. Funny how both of them should think of the books first, and the outcome of the war second.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 2g/?

[(Anonymous)]

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, 2h/?

[(Anonymous)]

***

Farengar suffered Olria’s silent treatment the next morning all the way until noon. By then, he was growing anxious. Word was that Ulfric Stormcloak’s forces were closing in on Whiterun. Imperial soldiers flooded the keep. Farengar watched them with distaste. Most of the soldiers left the court wizard alone, although some tried to snoop around and assert their authority. Farengar made sure they knew who was really boss in his workroom.

Stress made Farengar’s skull pound again. He planted both hands flat on his desk and bowed his head. “Olria?” he called. “I have the frost salts ready for you here. I need you to go to Arcadia’s Cauldron now. There is no more time to waste.”

The woman joined him by the desk. She hunched her shoulders. “My place is here. I’ll hide in the corner, if I have to. If those Stormcloaks are half as honourable as you claim, they’ll leave me be.”

No, they won’t. Not if they defeat Balgruuf. Farengar shook his head. “Do not argue with me. This is not the time.”

“I’m staying.”

Farengar whirled toward the woman. “You heard me!” he shouted. “You have never disobeyed me before, why start now?”

“Because… you shouldn’t have to be alone here.”

“I will not be alone.”

Olria folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t make eye contact, but neither did she budge.

“Look,” Farengar growled, “You have absolutely no talent for destruction magic, and your Steadfast Ward will not be able to hold back an army! Get that through your thick skull.”

“The entire army won’t be attacking me at once,” Olria said. “They aren’t after me.”

“You will not be able to defend yourself. You forget you are only a novice. Do I have to prove it to you?” Farengar snarled.

“Yes,” Olria replied softly. “You do.”

Farengar’s temper flared. He felt his skin flush. “Just try to defend yourself,” he whispered. It was the only warning he gave the woman. A moment later, he launched a ball of fire at his apprentice.

Olria gasped. She managed to summon a ward in front of her, absorbing the spell. The barrier flickered, barely charged to full strength.

But Farengar did not stop there. Again and again he struck, blast of fire after blast of fire. He continued to strike at her shield until there were tears running down her face. He continued to strike after she’d collapsed to her knees, her magicka almost burned away to nothing.

“Stop,” Olria cried. “Please!”

But Farengar did not let up. He almost couldn’t hear her. He had to show her what she would be up against. Tonight, the strikes of fire would be strikes of steel, but there was no difference in the end. His mind buzzed, his vision shrinking to a pinpoint.

There was a loud crash and a cry. Olria’s ward shattered.

It took Farengar a moment longer to stop the flames. His apprentice screamed.

The court wizard felt the blood drain from his face. He ran to Olria and dropped to the floor at her side. The glow of restoration magic was already leaking from his hand by the time he touched her shoulder. The light flowed through the woman’s body, rapidly drawing away the burns she’d suffered. Unfortunately, her clothes were ruined, charred and blackened.

“I-I’m sorry,” Farengar stuttered.

Olria shrugged away from his hand. She stood, leaving him kneeling on the floor. “It’s fine. I get it. I have no place here. I understand, truly.” She turned, walked to her room, and disappeared inside.

It only took her a minute to change. When she returned, Farengar still hadn’t moved. Olria ignored him. Her knapsack over one shoulder, she retrieved the frost salts from the alchemy stand. Without a word, she left.

Her receding footsteps rang loudly in the empty keep. The soldiers were all out preparing the defence of the walls. No one had witnessed Farengar’s abhorred behaviour.

Gods, he was such a fool. Farengar wanted to keep his apprentice safe, and to do that, he’d wounded her himself! He could only hope that she could forgive him later – if he was still alive tomorrow morning.

***
My sincerest apologies leaving you all hanging at this point! I will do my best to post part three tomorrow or Wednesday. There may be a small break after part three as I write and revise part four. Do not fear, I will not leave you with any cliffhangers!

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3a/?

[(Anonymous)]

Just as a note, I realized part 2d’s line got cut off somehow, and was a bit important… It should have read: Farengar choked on his wine. He cleared his throat and managed not to sputter. He gave her a narrow-eyed look and shrugged. “I realized that I have not been treating you fairly,” he said. “Let us consider starting anew.”

Thanks OP! Don’t worry, I love all the comments. It’s awesome seeing responses to each section! I took your Olria analogy to heart and had a few days off, but now I’m back to work on the story. Enjoy!

***

Olria had wanted to stay with Farengar in Dragonsreach. She was worried for him, and she didn’t like venturing alone into Whiterun. His presence made her feel safe. Ever since he’d rescued her from the flames in her room, quenching the fire with a thought, she’d known of his strength. In her mind, there was no safer place in Whiterun than by his side.

And he was sending her away. He didn’t want her there. Why? Had nothing changed? Was she still just a stupid apprentice to him? She’d thought they’d moved past that.

Olria managed to enter Arcadia’s Cauldron just before the Imperial shopkeeper could begin hammering bolts and nails into her door. “What are you doing here?” Arcadia asked. “Don’t you know the Stormcloaks are about to attack?”

“Farengar sent me,” Olria tried. The excuse sounded lame to her ears.

“What! Why?”

“To… deliver these frost salts. He said I should stay here during the attack.”

Understanding dawned in the woman’s eyes. “I see,” she said. “Well, come inside.”

Olria went in and set the frost salts on the front desk. Then she sat in a chair. Her hands clenched fistfuls of her robes, wringing them. Loud hammering assaulted her ears as Arcadia firmly sealed doorways and windows.

“There,” the shopkeeper said. “No traitorous Stormcloaks will be making their way in here.” She propped her hands on her hips and turned to Olria. “I’m glad you brought me these frost salts. It’ll give me something to do while we wait out the fight.”

“What are they for?” Olria asked, hoping to distract herself from her anxiety.

“A love elixir,” Arcadia replied. Her eyes became dreamy. “I should have tried frost salts before. You see, including it in my potion will surely thaw even the coldest of hearts.”

Olria frowned. The other woman went to her alchemy station, beginning to brew a mixture right away. Olria envied Arcadia’s nonchalance about the bloodshed that was about to begin outdoors.

“Maybe you will be able to deliver this potion for me on your way back to Dragonsreach,” Arcadia said with her back turned.

Olria pinched the bridge of her nose. Try as she might, she could not quell the slow tide of panic rising in her chest, clutching at her heart. “Deliver the love potion? To whom?” she asked.

“Why, to your esteemed mentor, of course!” the woman said. She turned around and grinned. “I’ve been working for months on this project! The stubborn man must have guessed I was up to something because he kept brushing off my requests for the frost salts.” She turned back to her potion, humming to herself.

Olria, whose chest was already tight, almost choked. “For Farengar?” she squeezed out. “You are trying to make him fall in love with you?” At a time like this? The woman had to be joking.

“Wouldn’t it be marvellous?” Arcadia sighed. “He’s such a stubborn man. I’ve been trying for years to thaw that heart. He really doesn’t speak much to anyone, you know. He won’t even discuss his research with anyone except the Jarl!” Arcadia swayed her hips and smirked. “That man needs to straighten out his priorities.”

As she spoke, a deep groan shuddered through the earth. Vases and potions rattled in the cabinets. Dust filtered down from the ceiling.

Outside, the battle had begun.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3b/?

[(Anonymous)]

Oblivious to everything that was happening, Arcadia continued with her work. When her guest did not say anything for a long time, Arcadia twisted around to look back at Olria. Her eyebrows almost flew off her forehead when she saw how Olria had bent over, clutching her throat. “My dear, that looks like you are suffering from asphyxia. Are you quite all right?”

“I’m fine.” Olria swallowed. The panic was choking her. Outside, she heard the deep rumble of stone smashing against stone. Fire roared, horses screamed. She heard the great catapults launching flaming, tar-coated boulders into the sky.

The minutes dragged by like hours, the hours like days. Soon, the screams of pain and the cries of battle filled the streets of Whiterun. Steel rang against steel. Men and women died fighting while Olria remained cooped up behind a wall of wood boards, iron bars, and three dozen nails. She couldn’t help anyone. Even if she could, there was no way she could help them all.

The battle raged past Arcadia’s Cauldron. At one point, soldiers attempted to break down Arcadia’s door. Olria stared at the shuddering doorway in terror. The shopkeeper ignored them. The soldiers eventually gave up. Outside, shouts echoed in the deepening night. The sounds of fighting seemed to recede, but Olria knew better. All that meant was that the fight had moved to Dragonsreach.

All night the hostilities raged on. The sounds of fighting were not enough to decipher what was going on. If the Stormcloaks won, would they harm Farengar? Would they kill anyone who had chosen to side with Jarl Balgruuf and the Imperials over Ulfric Stormcloak?

At dawn, Olria felt the hairs rise on her arms and neck. The air felt charged, and she heard distant cracks of thunder. The only problem with that was the sunlight peeking through Arcadia’s shuttered windows. No storm brewed outside. The sound could only be Farengar’s lightning bolts.

Arcadia kept herself busy, doing her utmost to pretend nothing was going on outside. Olria paced frantically, straining to hear something that would tell her what was going on while also dreading to listen. An hour after dawn, she heard grim laughter in the street.

“I killed more of them than you,” one man said.

“Oh shut up. I was too busy defending Jarl Balgruuf to keep count.”

Relief stole the strength from Olria’s knees. She sat down hard in an old wicker chair. Jarl Balgruuf and the Imperials had won. “Did you hear that?” she asked the shopkeeper.

Arcadia looked up from labelling her love elixir potions. “I did indeed. Thank goodness!”

Olria fidgeted. She wanted to strangle the shopkeeper. “Er, can you get us out of here?”

“In a second,” the woman said. She bent down and pulled out a bottle of a fine white wine from the shelves by her feet. She emptied some of the wine before measuring in a generous amount of her love elixir. “There!” Arcadia said. “You can take this back with you for Farengar. Tell him who it’s from.”

By now, Olria was practically hopping back and forth with impatience. Olria eyed the spiked white wine Arcadia set on the counter. Farengar likes red, she thought spitefully. She had no intention of returning to Dragonsreach with that bottle.

“Okay, let’s get that door opened up,” the shopkeeper said. She set her potions back on her desk and grabbed her hammer. Slowly but surely, she pulled nails from the door, straining to wiggle them out of the hard oak wood.

There was a loud knocking on the door that startled Arcadia and Olria both. “Hello?” someone called through the doorway. The door rattled against hinges and bolts.

“Arcadia? The alchemist? Are you in there?”

“Yes,” Arcadia shouted. “I’m afraid we’re locked in tight. We’ll be out shortly.”

“The Jarl’s court wizard suffered a stabbing. Or two. Or three. Too much blood to tell. We need healing potions right away.”

Olria’s stomach lurched. She ran and threw herself at the door. “Go find Danica, from the temple,” she shouted to the messenger. “She can help—”

“She has enough wounded to deal with,” the soldier muffled voice replied. “She can’t waste her time walking all the way up to Dragonsreach to heal a single man.”

Olria and Arcadia exchanged looks. “Hurry,” the apprentice mage urged.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3c/?

[(Anonymous)]

Olria chewed on her fingernails as Arcadia struggled to work out the remaining nails in the door. Every minute the shopkeeper took, Farengar bled out more. He needed Olria.

“There,” Arcadia grunted. She undid the bolt and threw the door open wide.

“Gods, finally,” Olria said. She dashed out the door.

“Wait, you forgot the healing potions!” Arcadia shouted after her.

Olria sprinted through the crowds of soldiers and commoners. She reached the stairs leading to Dragonsreach and mounted them two at a time. Soldiers stared at the running mage as she burst through the keep doors and into Farengar’s workroom.

Light came from her mentor’s bedroom. Jarl Balgruuf and a pair of soldiers were inside, with Farengar stretched out on his bed. The men blocked him from view but turned at the sound of Olria’s entrance.

“You’re Farengar’s apprentice?” the Jarl demanded.

“Yes,” Olria said, still breathing heavily from her run. “Please, I need room.”

The Jarl and his soldiers squeezed by her and left the room. “I have a city to salvage,” the Jarl murmured. “Do what you can for him.” With a barked order, his soldiers scurried away. He shut the door behind them. Apparently there were things more important than one dying man right now.

Olria fell to her knees beside the bed were Farengar lay. If Olria hadn’t been working with the injured for months at the Temple of Kynareth, she would have balked at the sight of her mentor. She leaned forward, assessing the extent of the damage. His belly was a mess of blood; a Stormcloak had gutted him, making for a long, painful death. Amidst all the blood, she couldn’t tell if the they’d stabbed and slashed at him elsewhere, too.

The man’s eyes fluttered open. They took a moment to focus on his apprentice. He seemed confused to see her. Olria found the knife hiding in the top drawer of his bedside table and used it to cut open the mage’s robes from neck to navel.

As she put aside the blade and reached to hold her palms over the worst wound, Farengar’s hand shot out and clenched her wrist. “I’m sorry I sent you away,” he gasped, face twisting with pain.

“Don’t apologize. You were right. I wouldn’t have stood a chance.” Not if he was in such a sorry state. Now, if the man would hurry up and let go of her – Olria grabbed his hand and pulled it away, concentrating again on summoning her magicka.

Warmth filled the palms of her hands. Sweet and bright, it travelled from her skin and into his, like dry earth drinking water. The blood slowly seeped back through the pores of his skin. The wound stitched itself closed, folding up into a thin white seam. Olria felt the draw on her magicka increase as the deeper internal injuries repaired themselves. With the last of her energy, she sent her magic radiating outwards from her hands, finding the axe slice in his thigh and the slash on his bicep. These, too, closed up, leaving behind faint scars.

It took only a minute or two to heal Farengar of all his injuries. By then, the healing had virtually depleted her magicka. Olria sighed. She dropped her forehead to the edge of the man’s bed.

A hand tentatively rested on her hair. Farengar smoothed back the strands in the most soothing way. Olria let herself linger for a moment before clearing her throat and straightening. His hand left her head and settled back on the bed. He looked like himself again, with a healthy flush on his cheeks. Unfortunately, the man’s clothes were torn and ragged. His blood had disappeared, but the material would be unsalvageable.

“I hope those robes weren’t worth too much,” Olria said dubiously.

Farengar looked down at himself. He chuckled. “A grand soul gem and a new enchantment should be all it takes to make me another pair,” he said.

Olria smiled and stood. The room swirled around her. She staggered. Farengar shot up and grabbed her hand. “Sit down,” he instructed.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3d/?

[(Anonymous)]

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.

How had she missed noticing this all before?

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3e/?

[(Anonymous)]

During her first two weeks in Whiterun, Olria had wanted nothing more than to leave. But if her parents sent her a letter today calling her back home, she wouldn’t go. She truly enjoyed Farengar’s company, and the adventures they had exploring ancient tomes and piecing together the riddle of Skyrim’s dragons.

Farengar was still waiting her judgement. Olria looked at him from under her eyelashes. “Maybe it took near disaster to show me,” she said, “but I think I like you, too.”

The mage’s throat bobbed. “How much?” he whispered.

Olria met his gaze. “Enough.” Her eyes dared him to do something.

Farengar sat upright, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. Olria shivered at his unfamiliar touch. His fingertips drifted across her skin, warm and soft. His leaned forward, but hesitated. “You are sure?” he asked.

The unusual doubt in his voice made Olria’s heart ache. She licked her lips. “You’re the alchemist,” she said. “You tell me if it’s safe or not.”

She knew that’s not what he’d meant, but he still smiled. “It’s safe,” he promised.

Olria almost snickered at the thought that the court wizard had a vial of Child’s Bane sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk. It was probably gathering dust, if women like Arcadia were the only ones who’d ever tried to catch his attention.

“Then yes,” Olria replied. “I’m more than sure.”

Farengar’s uncertainty vanished. He leaned forward again, touching his lips to hers. Olria returned the kiss, tasting him. She reached out haltingly. His hand found hers, pulling it to rest flat against his bare chest. His other hand slid around to the nape of her neck. Goose bumps raced down Olria’s back.

Olria’s hand ventured over the man’s body, peeling back his tattered robes. Farengar’s breath caught. His mouth left hers and he kissed down her throat, leaving cool wet trails. Olria shuddered, letting her head sag forward so she could bury her face in the crook of his neck.

Farengar gently loosened the ties and buttons of her robes. Olria felt a surge of nerves, but when Farengar’s gaze caught hers again, it was warm and reassuring. Heart beating fast, Olria reached up to hold his face and kiss him again.

Without letting their lips separate, Farengar pushed her robes off her shoulders and drew her down onto the bed beside him. Olria shivered at the touch of air on her bare back. In contrast, Farengar’s body was warm and inviting. She arched against him. He splayed his hands flat against her back, crushing her closer.

Olria caressed his face, a face that had seemed like nothing more than cold stone to her for so long. The man’s eyelashes fluttered, his hot breath spilling over her lips. He ran a hand through her hair, loosening it from its frayed braid. Then his fingertips glided down her arm, sliding off her elbow and dipping against her waist.

His touch was so soft. Did he think she would break? Heat pulsed in Olria’s belly. She whimpered. Farengar wasn’t a person who brought to mind the notions of gentleness and hesitation, but she found it painfully endearing.

Farengar tucked on arm under Olria’s head, drawing her face near again. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth. She clung to him, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the newness of a body so different from her own.

Outside, Whiterun was piecing itself back together. Inside, Farengar endeavoured to repay her for weeks of ill treatment. Olria’s eyes burned. Farengar’s attention was on her completely. Nothing divided his focus – not a book, a spell, a potion, an enchantment, or dragons. It was exhilarating, and a little frightening.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3f/?

[(Anonymous)]

The man’s hand slipped from her waist to slide over her belly. His touch drifted upwards again, brushing over the band holding her breasts. A thrill zipped through Olria. She twisted an arm around and pulled the restrictive fabric off. At the same time, she kicked her robes away from her hips and legs.

Farengar made a small sound in the back of his throat. When Olria pressed against him, she could feel his arousal hot against her belly. He touched her, his warm hand folding lightly over one breast. Olria inhaled as his palm massaged in circles. He trailed kisses down her jaw, her throat.

Olria arched into his touch, wanting more. She looped one knee over his waist and ground their hips together.

Farengar let out a groan, his breath tickling her ear. He pinched her nipple, rolling it to hardness. Olria’s entire body warmed, demanding more attention. She pulled his face back to hers, kissing him deeply. She explored his mouth with her tongue.

Although his lips yielded to hers, he seemed hesitant in reciprocating. After some encouragement, Farengar’s tongue danced with her own. At the same time, his hand moved to her other breast, evoking another whimper from Olria. He half-rolled her onto her back as they kissed.

She made a sound of protest as his hand drifted away down her stomach. Olria felt Farengar smile against her lips. Through their skin-to-skin connection, she felt his magicka stirring.

Olria pulled back, “What are you doing?” she asked him, a silly smile on her face.

He hushed her. A warmth emanated from his hand and sank into the core of her stomach. Tingling pleasure radiated outward as the healing spell sought injury and found none. Heat throbbed between Olria’s thighs and she let out a short breath.

She rolled her hips against him again. Suddenly, the fabric separating their bodies from the waist down was too much. She grabbed handfuls of his ruined robes, jerking them down. Farengar kicked them off the bed, leaving them both in their smallclothes.

Pulses of desire swept through Olria’s body as the healing spell continued to poor into her. She writhed and held onto the man as if she the sea were trying to pull her away. “Farengar,” she gasped. The tingling was torture as much as pleasure. She needed him to touch her. She clawed at his bare back, pushing her breasts against his chest.

The heat mounted, leaving Olria’s body charged with energy. His very breath on her face and lips made her body feel like it was rippling. She let out a strangled moan as he propped himself up on his elbow and hovered over her. He maintained the healing spell as he dipped his head and licked her breasts.

Each wet lick sent spears of maddening desire through her belly. Olria dug her hands into the man’s hair. He might as well have been casting Sparks on her, the way every hair on her body stood on end. She arched her back, thrusting her hips against him in desperation. “Please,” she cried. She didn’t care if the spell ended, she just needed him to touch her.

Farengar captured her plea with his mouth, tongue plunging between her lips. His breaths quickened. She could feel his hand sliding down her abdomen. He helped pull off her smallclothes, magic still pulsing between their bodies. He threaded his fingers teasingly through the hair between her legs, but he still did not touch her.

Olria let out a groan of frustration. She decided the only fair thing to do was to make this as maddening for him as it was for her. Although her enchanted robes were now on the floor, her magicka reserves were slowly filling again. She planted her hands on his chest and shot a wave of molten restoration magic into him.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3g/?

[(Anonymous)]

Farengar exhaled shakily against her cheek. His hips bucked towards her involuntarily, his erection straining through the thin material of his smallclothes. Olria felt the moment when Farengar’s urgency replaced his teasing. The man’s fingers dipped lower, at last finding the center of wet heat that sent lightning bolts of pleasure through her body.

Olria flung herself against him, muffling her cry into his neck. She whimpered as he stroked her. He massaged in tiny circles with the knuckles of his fingers. Olria wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered all sorts of silly things into his ear.

The tingling of Farengar’s spell faded as his concentration shifted. The absence of his magic only increased the feeling of yearning low in Olria’s stomach. Olria let her legs fall open as her head spun. Farengar took the opportunity to slide his fingers lower and circle her slick entrance. He slipped one finger into her.

The alien sensation of pressure and giving-way caused Olria to clutch Farengar tighter. Farengar’s body tensed. He didn’t move for a long moment, his breaths quieting. Olria distracted him by reaching a hand down between their bodies, dragging her fingernails across the tightly stretched fabric that still bound him.

Farengar rewarded her with a load groan. He clamped his lips back over hers, his weight collapsing against her. He pushed one knee between her legs. The heel of his hand applied a delicious pressure while his finger began to slide in and out of her body.

Olria tried to wrap her hand around him, but his smallclothes were in the way. She made a frustrated sound. She tugged at his waistband, but Farengar grabbed her wrist. “No,” he said. He placed a kiss in the palm of her hand before tucking it under his body. Pinned there, she could not touch him. The man returned to what he was doing.

Farengar added another finger. Olria’s muscles pulled at him, her body stretching in the most pleasurable way. She kissed his chest, tasting the perspiration gathering on his skin. As Olria’s need mounted, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Farengar continued the steady pumping of his fingers. The heel of his hand still massaged her pleasure point, his touch light enough to drive her crazy. She pushed her hips up against his palm in time with his movements, her body folding around his lean arm. Olria panted Farengar’s name and kissed his lips. A moment later, the beautiful sensation crested. Her toes curled, and she bit back a cry.

Olria lay breathless in Farengar’s embrace. His hand ghosted up her spine, causing her to shiver again. His fingertips dusted over her face, brushing back tendrils of tangled hair. There was a whisper of tickling magic in that touch.

As the pleasure began to fade, Olria’s thoughts turned to the man holding her. Her eyelashes brushed against Farengar’s chin as she tried to meet his eyes. Her hand now free, she rested it on his waist. She sent a teasing tendril of magic flowing into him.

Farengar’s breath hitched. “Do not be so wicked as to keep tempting me.” His chest rumbled as he chuckled. “I do not want to hurt you,” he said.

Unspoken were the words, Not again.

Olria blinked once, slowly. She trusted him more than he trusted himself “Let me touch you,” Olria said. She trailed her fingertips down his side, relishing in the feel of his skin.

Farengar let out a soft sigh. He did not resist as she tugged at his smallclothes. After a moment, he reached down and helped her pull them off.

Olria knew her restoration magic lacked the amazing focus that Farengar’s had, but she decided to give it another go anyway. His length bobbed against her belly. She wrapped her hand around the base, letting her magic seep through her skin.

Farengar let out a long groan. Olria continued to stroke him, varying the pressure and the pace. She could feel the muscles in his body tense or relax as she experimented. Soon, she’d figured out what pleased him and began to use this to her advantage.

She drifted her thumb over his slit, trailing a bead of wetness. Then she grasped him lightly, running her hand up and down. Farengar kissed the top of her head and buried his face into her hair. He mumbled something incoherent, his breath warm against her scalp.

“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 3h/?

[(Anonymous)]

Olria squeezed tighter, changing the angle. She added a second hand, exploring the lower half of his body. Her fingernails grazed the soft skin on the inside of his thighs, venturing higher.

Farengar’s hand clasped her shoulder tightly. His breaths became pants. He thrust himself upward into her hand. The flow of his muscles against her body was nothing short of delicious.

She added magic to her touch yet again, wrenching a moan from his throat. She could feel him restraining the urge to vocalize his pleasure – heaven forbid if a soldier heard him scream and ran in.

Farengar wrapped his hand around hers. His grip helped her guide him to the peak of pleasure. Farengar desperately muffled a groan into her hair. His entire body clenched. A moment later, hot seed spilled between them.

Farengar reached up to touch Olria’s face. “Gods,” he murmured. His hand trembled as he ran his fingers through her hair.

Olria looked up at him, smiling. Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Maybe next time,” she hinted, “I will actually need Child’s Bane.”

Farengar swallowed. His mouth opened and closed.

“It will be fine,” Olria assured him.

“But, you are—” Farengar clamped his mouth shut. He licked his lips. His desire won over any more protests he could voice – because truly, neither of them wanted any more protests.

Ignoring any and all stickiness, Olria turned her back to him and nestled against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her stomach and drew her close.

She allowed herself to lie there a while, enjoying the sensation of the man’s chest moving as he breathed. “Maybe I should get dressed,” Olria sighed. “I’d hate it if someone walked in…”

The man let out a grumble. The bed creaked as Farengar sat up and reached over her. He picked her discarded robes off the floor. Olria used the bed sheets to rub herself off and stood, taking the robes he held out to her. Once she’d dressed with her back to him, she worked on re-braiding her hair. By the time she’d finished, no one would suspect anything had happened.

To her, anyway.

Farengar saw her staring at him. He smirked. “At least you have clothes,” he said. “All I have is rags. And bed sheets that will give the poor servants a shock.”

A giggle bubbled up from Olria’s throat. “Er, I’ll go look in your wardrobe for a replacement,” she said. Hiding her smile behind one hand, she slipped from the room and shut the door.

The scene outside Farengar’s bedroom was sobering. The Whiterun guard and the Imperials had fended off the Stormcloaks, but the keep was in disarray. Splintered tables and chairs littered the stone floor like kindling. Blood stained the walls, floors, and carpet. Although Dragonsreach was eerily silent, she knew people would be busy outside.

Olria should be out there, helping.

At least Farengar’s workroom had sustained little damage. Olria opened the court wizard’s wardrobe and chose a set of underclothes and fine black robes. She hurried back to his room where he still sprawled naked on the bed.

Farengar glanced up as she entered. He took one look at her face and frowned. “What is it?” he asked, standing.

She handed him his clothes. “You know, you can’t be the only person who was injured,” she said.

The court wizard took his robes and dressed without ceremony. His eyes locked onto hers. “Do you want my help?”

“The Imperials have healers of their own, but I think they could use our assistance.” Olria rubbed the back of her neck and glanced away.