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“The Spring Wind That Blew Through Dragonsreach” F!OC/Farengar Secret-Fire, 7g/7

[(Anonymous)]

While they ate, the court wizard discussed the findings he’d made over the past few days since they’d been back in Whiterun. He mentioned how he’d originally figured the illustrations from the Windhelm scrolls were inaccurate. However, his opinion had quickly changed when he entertained the idea that the dragon they’d encountered may have in fact been of an entirely different breed.

When they’d finished eating, he went to grab his notes. Olria watched with keen interest as he pointed out the differences between each of his dragon sketches.

Once Farengar had made his point, he set the drawings aside and flipped through the stack of pages. “Oh right,” he said. “There was something else…”

Olria watched him page through various exhaustive dragon sketches created by his hand. He reached the bottom page, which was different from the rest. The ink drawing she recognized as one of Farengar’s was not of a dragon, but of a portrait. The sketched Bosmer woman had huge, bright eyes and a wide smile. Her head was turned, looking over her shoulder and up, as if regarding someone taller than her. Her hair flowed loose and free around her narrow shoulders, stylized by Farengar’s precise, fine strokes.

Olria recognized the woman, of course. It was her.

“You… did this?” she asked. She had never really thought of him as an artist. He drew very lifelike representations of the world around him – plants, architecture, and now dragons. His sketches had always been intended for the purposes of detailed study and reference.

But this– this was truly a work of art. It couldn’t be a faithful depiction of her.

Farengar smiled. He pulled the parchment out, fully revealing his artwork. Setting it down, he slid it across the desk towards her.

Olria lifted a hand to cover her face. Her eyes began burning. She sniffled.

A hand touched her shoulder. “You do not like it?” Farengar asked.

“No,” Olria managed. “It’s beautiful. Too beautiful. Thank you so much.” She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I sketched what I saw,” Farengar said, gently. “That is how I draw. You know that.” He leaned over and gave her a half-hug.

Olria began to cry harder. She dropped her face against his shoulder. Her stomach cramped with worry. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked. His robes muffled her words. She was probably ruining them by crying all over him. “You are sending me away, aren’t you?”

Farengar pushed her back and held her at shoulder length, gaping. “No!” he said. “That is not it at all. Today is a very special day for you.”

Olria wiped away her tears, still uncertain.

Farengar leaned closer, his face level with hers. “You see,” he said. “Today is the day you graduate.”

Her eyes widened. After today, she would no longer be an apprentice, but a full-fledged mage. For years, she’d dreamed of this moment.

Now, all she could do was cry.

Farengar’s smile faded. “Why?” he asked, softly.

“If I’m no longer your apprentice,” Olria said, “that means it is time for me to leave. So you can train the next novice that arrives.”