The Captain and the Machinist

by VvardenfellVixen (TheBloodofAges)

Notes:

Edit: Updated title. Wasn't feeling the other one. This suits it much better.

It's a ship that's been itching me for awhile. It's kind of a relationship that really shouldn't happen because I really don't think Aicantar and Ondolemar vibe on a spiritual level, but it happens. A pleasant, yet toxic relationship, if that makes sense. This is canon to my other writings as well. I intend to keep it short. I AM working on the others still, and I WILL finish them. I don't want to leave anyone hanging. I know how depressing it is to find a good fic and find out its never going to be finished. Serious things have been going on in real life lately and not really allowing for creativity or the will to write. I am very close to finishing The Princess and the Merc, which seems to be my most popular, then I will begin to post part 3 which I have a significant amount written. My Aicantar and Calcelmo backstory headcanon is still on the table. I just needed to get this one out of my system until I can get back on track with my main fic. I also keep getting distracted by drawing my characters before anyone has any context so they're just out there floating around. I will begin to include links to art in my notes as well, which I will also add to older works, so keep an eye out for edits. I do have one ready to go for this one too. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Please enjoy!

Chapter 1

Calcelmo had been speaking for quite some time before he noticed his nephew wasn't paying attention. Then he realized just what the young elf was gawking at. In the near distance stood Ondolemar, the tall and stalwart Captain of the Thalmor regime in Markarth.

"Oh divines' sakes, Aicantar! Really?"

Aicantar jumped so abruptly his hood slid away from his satiny golden locks, face burning bright with embarrassment. He couldn't even deny it.

Calcelmo sighed heavily, shaking his head with his palm to his brow. "Of all people, Aicantar. I understand he's quite dashing, but he's with the Thalmor."

"Not just with the Thalmor. He's the Captain," he corrected smartly with a smirk.

The elder elf groaned. "I just...I just don't want to see you hurt. Besides...you know how traditional Altmer feel about...well..." The old wizard's own cheeks glowed peach.

The younger of the two High Elves laughed warmly. "It's not a dirty word, Uncle Calcelmo. You can say 'homosexuality.'"

It wasn't that Calcelmo was intolerant. He loved and supported his nephew always and knew he couldn't be changed. He knew he was being silly, even after all those years of putting up with his nephew's lovers, but it rang true what he said about Altmer and their discomfort, even for him. "I just can't bear to see your heart broken again after that last ordeal, my boy. There's more to a person than just looks. And it's most likely he won't be interested anyway, especially a mer of his status. He has a reputation to uphold. Not that anyone in Skyrim would care about something like that."

Aicantar pursed his bronze lips. "I don't know. There's just something different about him."

Calcelmo rolled his amber eyes in annoyance. "You're infatuated. Nothing more. You're letting those honeyed words get the better of you."

His young nephew rolled his shoulders back to stretch and they popped grotesquely. "He's been very polite to us, Uncle Calcelmo. I don't think he's putting on a front."

"Well no," he agreed. "Not to us because we are of the same kind. Just think of those poor Talos worshippers he's imprisoned, tortured, and killed to earn his rank and maybe you'll see reason. It's all I can do, but I can't stop you."

Calcelmo was right, of course. The Aldmeri Dominion were the closest thing to legally sanctioned evil as you could get. Yet dreamy Aicantar with his big heart always saw the best in others. Ondolemar was no exception. With both of them working within Understone Keep, it was difficult not to cross paths with the captain.

And one day, while in a rush to deliver a document from the laboratory to Jarl Igmund, he'd tripped over one of his dogs lying in the walking path in the court. By sheer happenstance, Ondolemar had been there to catch him as he plummeted, cursing that stupid dog. He knew in his heart of hearts it was wrong, but the feel of the cool, hard leather of Ondolemar's uniform against his skin and the subtle squeak as the captain moved caught him off guard, and he found himself staring into those poisonous green eyes. The points of Aicantar's long elven ears burned, his cheeks ignited, and the rest of his body felt like it would melt swaddled by the heavy, military-tough arms of the elf before him.

"That damned dog again," he spat. "Not to worry. I stumbled over him myself just yesterday." Ondolemar's speech pattern was as crisp and pristine as his attire.

Aicantar strived for words, enamored by those strong arms and his darkly lined toxic stare. "Oh um...t-hank you."

"Your uncle is working you to death again, I see," he said as he helped him back to his feet, shooing the clumsy wolfhound away with malice.

It proved to be a solid observation, as Calcelmo did tend to overdo everything, but Aicantar didn't have anything to say in response.

"Have a good day then," Ondolemar chimed and patrolled away in his original direction and his boots clacked and resounded on the mighty stone walls of Understone Keep. Aicantar finally came to his senses after the captain rounded the corner out of his sight. He shook his head and inhaled with vexation at himself. "Damn me! Damn me to Oblivion!" Of course it was wrong to feel such things for someone like Ondolemar, but it was already far too late; he was hooked. His uncle was probably right about barking up the wrong tree, but after feeling him against his body, he just had to try. Besides, it's far easier to be let down under such circumstances. No chance meant just that, and Aicantar respected it, though it was a feeling that seemed so mundane to him it was difficult to fathom that his crush was out of the ordinary to some. Most of Tamriel believed that love was love and Mara knew exactly what she was doing for the body is a mere vessel for the soul.

It was deeper than that, for Summerset born Altmer believed in purity and passing on superior genes to their offspring. At least some of them felt that way. The rest (meaning the lower class) could behave like real people most of the time, however still repressed. When Calcelmo told him that, Aicantar was as puzzled as could be, for it came to him just as naturally as anything and he was never treated any differently for it, one of a multitude of reasons they had moved away from the Summerset Isles. The old wizard made sure of it, and did his best with Aicantar, especially for someone who unexpectedly had to raise a child. But he was a good and loving individual and Aicantar fortunate to be raised by him.

Aicantar cast aside his mind's ramblings. "I better get this to the Jarl," muttered the young mer.

Chapter 2

Notes:

I have Aicantar aged to around no more than 40-50 years old and this fic is set just a little after the events of Skyrim. To me that's considered a young adult in elf years (like we would be in our early 20's) So he's not quite a "boy" though lovingly referred to as such by his uncle and other much older individuals. Just to avoid any possible misunderstandings. Ondolemar is likely well over 100 given his prowess with the Thalmor.

Stars twinkled brightly above while the auroras danced like ribbons through them. The crisp winter air proved quite rewarding as Aicantar sucked it into his lungs. He didn't leave the lab often, and grew weary of old mildewy particles from the excavation and metal shavings from construction with Dwemer parts. How pathetic he felt to consider clean air a treat. "I do need to get out more," he said to himself as he ambled along the uneven stone pathway to the lower portion of the mountain city wherein the Silver-Blood Inn resided.

Inside, he was surprised to see Ondolemar in plain clothes (but still sophisticated considering the tavern's usual patronage), leaned against the stone wall with his arms crossed. No, his expression wasn't that of duty this time around, rather a look of longing and loneliness. And when he tried to converse with anyone in passing they ignored him out right, even his own subordinates. Clearly “off duty” really meant off duty to them.

This bothered Aicantar to no end. It wasn't like anyone in Markarth to be quite that rude, and without even a second consideration, he approached Ondolemar with his bright smile and elegant gold-green eyes squinted up with delight. "You look like you could use some company."

The captain's cheeks flushed immediately, and for the first time he didn't know what he should say, but couldn't believe his desperation for friendship made itself so plain. He licked his lips nervously. "I suppose it comes with the territory of the job," he uttered softly, almost regretfully.

"You can sit with me," Aicantar beamed. "Come on, have a drink with me."

Why? Why was this so easy to speak to him all of a sudden? Aicantar's chest began to burn as he led Ondolemar to an empty table with a thrill.

"Thank you. Your kindness knows no bounds," he gave a humble smile.

Aicantar ordered his favorite wine, unbeknownst to Ondolemar he only seemed to imbibe in wine when he was celebrating something. He poured himself an unsavory portion and tipped it back in the most undainty manner as though he was drinking ice cold ale on a sweltering summer day, sighing from the burn of the liquor on his esophagus. He already felt the effects. Ondolemar, though visibly concerned, didn't comment on it.

"So what do you like to do for fun?" The younger elf made an attempt to rouse conversation.

"I...I don't really know." Ondolemar seemed unnaturally discomfited in this circumstance.

"You don't know?" Aicantar raised a slanted blonde eyebrow, his lips curved into the least mean-spirited smirk imaginable.

"I suppose I don't really have time for recreation." He poured himself his own glass of wine from the bottle, a much more sensible volume than Aicantar's. His next statement was filled with sorrow. "And I can't say I have many companions."

Aicantar clicked his tongue sympathetically. "What a pity. You seem nice enough to me."

The captain nearly choked on his drink. He didn't rightly know what to do with the compliment as he didn't believe it to be true himself, but he continued with his other thought. "My affiliates at the Embassy are hardly friends. Two-faced. They'd stab me in the back at any chance they could."

"Let's not worry about politics then," the young elf flipped his long wheat blonde hair over his shoulder. "It seems to be bothering you. Your identity is far more intrinsic than what you do for a living, surely."

It made the elder elf blush and he turned his gaze to the table, scratching nervously at his neatly shaped white goatee. Aicantar chuckled knowing full well how smooth he could be. "I can't say the same for myself though," he joked. "I live and breathe Dwemer history and technology. Well, Uncle Calcelmo is more keen on the history and anthropology, and I deal primarily with the machines. To the point where he used to call me 'Little Seht' when I was a boy." The alcohol made him more talkative already. "Liquid courage," as they say.

On the other hand, Ondolemar, who was still more than sober, cocked his head with authentic intrigue. "I've always been interested in the Dwemer. Shame that growing up I was always taught it was a waste of time."

"Funny... that's what they always told my uncle as well. Now look how far he's come. Simple folk tend to think the past should stay where it is, but how can we ever progress if we don't learn from our predecessors' mistakes?"

It made him smile. "You're an insightful young mer."

Aicantar couldn't tell if it he was nervous or intoxicated—perhaps both—but speaking with Ondolemar now like this felt exhilarating. Though he did consider the idea that his uncle would express disappointment in him, he truly believed that Ondolemar was misunderstood. He might never have even killed anyone at all and just as easily been born into the role due to wealth and status, such is the way with the elite class. That's what the young elf wanted to believe at any rate, meanwhile, those toxic green and yellow high elf eyes bewitched him.

However, Ondolemar was not oblivious to this type of wanting gaze, and his cheeks burned hotly. “Oh! I'm so sorry! Please don't misunderstand!” He began to fidget with his long, strong fingers.

Aicantar snapped out of his stupor at once, blushing deeply himself. “I—oh, do forgive me! I think I had far too much to drink. I didn't mean to come onto you like that!”

The Thalmor captain cleared his throat, uneasy by this encounter. “It's...quite all right. I just...I don't—”

“You're a 'traditional' Altmer. I understand. Please just...forget it.” Aicantar looked down at the floor, completely humiliated by his own overbearing behavior. He should have skipped the wine this evening.

Ondolemar didn't want to hurt his feelings, “You are a kind elf, and that is rare to find. I'd be more than honored by your companionship...I just...nothing...r-romantic.” Something in the way his voice wavered expressed some sort of nuanced self doubt that Aicantar keenly caught onto igniting a spark of hope within him. The elder elf simply needed time.

The younger elf tucked his hair behind his ear. “I spend so much of my time in the lab I forget how to behave sometimes. I apologize. I can't blame that on the wine. I'd be lying to say I haven't had my eye on you for some time now.” A burden at once lifted from his shoulders.

All those encounters and Ondolemar had been none the wiser. How could he have overlooked such a detail? He scratched at the back of his closely shaved head and managed a pleased smile, cheeks and sharply angled ears aflame. “That's...flattering to say the least.”

“At least I'm aware now. I can't know if I don't...ask...well I suppose I didn't exactly ask. I was very impolite. Let's put this far behind us. I wouldn't...well you know. Please don't avoid visiting the Dwemer Museum or the lab. I'd very much like to see you there.”

“That won't change, I promise you.”

Aicantar rose to his feet. “I'm going to go sober up. I've done enough damage for one day, I think.”

Ondolemar laughed in response. “No damage at all. Thank you for you company. I really needed someone to talk to. It was refreshing.”

“You have a lovely rest of your evening, Ondolemar. Don't let yourself be without a friend. You know where to find me.” He supposed that was the best way he could word it without possible sexual undertones.

Even though he was wholly embarrassed, Aicantar saw this encounter as a resounding success. He knew the signs after having battled the same kind of repressed uncertainty in some of the most masculine, womanizing Nords imaginable, and was he ever thankful. Nordic and Orsimer men were some of the only ones around the province large enough to ravage him the way he enjoyed, and the mere thought of a chance with an even bigger man rattled his cage. Nords could go either way, but Orcs generally valued their traditional and cultural polygamous practices with many wives, for producing an abundance of strong offspring was held in high regard, so quite rare to find one who had broken away from that system or were raised differently. He fondly reminisced about his first kiss when he was a boy with an Orc named Sharmog. “Now calm yourself, Aicantar. Don't run before you can walk.” He stormed through the wizard's laboratory with the exact glow that Calcelmo dreaded, but he held his tongue. His nephew's business was his own.

 

***

 

Ondolemar finished the last, overly sweet sip of his beverage and sat pondering for a few moments. Aicantar was very attractive, after all, and his kindness and warm smile brightened every room, his presence astounded him. The captain bit his lip. It had been a considerably long time since he'd felt anything like he was feeling in that moment since Aicantar showed a blatant interest in him. Yet he still suffered a significant amount of guilt and shame. Everyone he knew would be disgusted with him. Every tingling thought made his back ache...remembering the lashings he'd received long ago. It was an abomination. It was wrong. He'd best forget about Aicantar, foolish, young, and hedonistic.

But why? When one's heart fluttered so...how could it ever be wrong? He recalled a statement from his former and secret Breton lover, Faustine Auberjonois. “It's not going to work out, Ondolemar.” She had said with the usual cheeky grin on her vibrant unnaturally purple lips. “I can tell your heart lies elsewhere.”

He had always assumed this was because their values differed substantially. He didn't know what it had meant at the time, but this woman was the last Dragonborn. Surely she had insight far beyond his own machinations. He had enjoyed that tiny shape-shifting woman's company, but nothing about their relationship ever fell into place, looking back on it. Such is life, sometimes. Maybe he read too far into it. However, their relationship reached a close, and he never felt any ounce of regret sharing himself with that woman. He thought about her often, though it could have been because of the sheer amount of influence she had on Skyrim's political affairs. No doubt he still cared deeply for her, and wondered where she'd ended up after defeating Alduin just a couple years prior. Faustine, much like Aicantar, expressed an absurd amount of kindness toward him.

Memories of her plagued him, but not for long, for the thought of Aicantar pushed her into the background. He felt so much differently about him and he wasn't quite sure where he should store those feelings. Showing them was expressly out of the question. And that would prove more difficult than he could ever imagine.

Notes:

Omgosh, I FINALLY revealed the identity to my mysterious Dragonborn OC!!!

Chapter 3

Notes:

CW: Sensitive traumatic details ahead. I did initially intend for this fic to be more pleasant, but for character developmental purposes this felt like the correct path to take for the time being. I promise it gets better for Ondolemar.

Metal parts and components rattled within his wooden box as Moth gro-Bagol ambled from the forge to the wizard's laboratory. Steam hissed from the intricate pipe systems lining the inner mountain walls. It was a bit of a walk from the private forge to the other side, but the Orc didn't mind running errands for his Altmer associates. Once he arrived at his desitination, he found Calcelmo entranced in thought, reciting writings from the pages of books he had messily splayed open on his desk. It sounded like an Elvish language, though it was beyond foreign to Moth.

“Calcelmo,” rumbled the husky Orsimer blacksmith.

The elf nearly jumped out of his skin, and he scolded him. “Don't sneak up on me like that, you absolute buffoon! You broke my concentration!”

Moth rolled his yellow-green eyes, his lower jaw protruding in a manner that expressed vexation. He was used to this treatment from the old mage by now and thought nothing of it, though it grew tiresome. “I just come to tell you I've brought those parts you wanted me to craft.”

“What? Oh, Aetherius forgive me, Moth. I don't mean to lash out like that. You know how I am when I'm studying.”

The Orc laughed from deep within his belly. “Not to worry, Calcelmo. I understand.”

“If you don't mind taking those to Aicantar in the tower. I don't have the time and he needs them soon.”

The Orc shrugged. It was a bit out of the way in the other direction where he'd have to go to the museum and find his nephew holed up in there somewhere. He grabbed the considerably heavy box full of bronze pieces and made to leave when Calcelmo halted him.

“Oh! Hold on! He's in the restricted area again. Here.” He hastily scratched a note onto a torn shred of parchment and handed it to him so his guards wouldn't hassle him. Moth had been in there a handful of times already. Trust was not an issue as the Orc and his sister Ghorza only cared about smithing and had no interest in sabotaging the work of the wizards.

The guard in the back of the museum gave him no fuss after he saw the familiar scribbled signature of Calcelmo on the paper. The rest of the writing couldn't be made out, but they all did this enough to know it was nothing out of the ordinary. Moth couldn't wait to relieve himself of the hefty box of objects. Aicantar wasn't too diffuclt to find, he just had to follow the sound of clanging metal, electricity, and blasts of steam. When he at last reached the young Altmer mage, he was sweaty, golden hair frazzled, his robes torn, and he cursed at the hind end of a bizarre, now currently disabled construct he'd had his hands buried in to the elbow, though evidence showed that it was previously in hazardous working order.

“Aicantar?”

The young mage, surprised to see someone in his dangerous lab turn up to see him, but then erupted into a smile. “Moth, old friend! What brings you here?”

“Calcelmo is busy as usual so he sent me with the parts you wanted.”

“What? Excellent! You've arrived just in time!” He nearly tripped on his tattered robe as he rushed to collect the box, completely miscalculating how heavy it would be despite knowing better and nearly dropped it. He laughed at his almost-misfortune and plopped the crate onto his stone desk with a thud as the parts jostled inside. He wasn't worried about any of the hard metals breaking or chipping. He sifted through them with his dirty and magick-singed hands to admire his blacksmith friend's craftsmanship. “Oh these are perfect! Right to the tiniest increment! Thank you! What do I owe you?”

Moth shook his head. “My sister—you know how anal she is—took over after some point. Don't worry, she didn't let Tacitus anywhere near these. So the labor is owed to her this time. I'll forgo my portion, but I'll take hers, if you don't mind.”

Aicantar cocked his head, bearing his shiny white teeth in a wide grin. “You're always giving me a discount.”

“If you weren't so damned cute. Not like your grumpy uncle,” Moth winked.

“An Orc of your robust stature and you let your sister do all the work, tisk tisk.” The friends had been close for a long time and their dynamic allowed for them to joke like this frequently. They both laughed.

“I hate to have to shoo you off so suddenly, but my work today is a bit sketchy. I don't want anyone to get hurt again...or killed...again.”

The Orc raised his calloused green-skinned hand to him. “Say no more. I'll leave you to your construction. Or destruction, rather.”

“Get going!” the elf teased.

“Maybe get some dinner with us tonight when you're done? It's been awhile.”

“I'll have to see, Moth. Depends what Uncle Calcelmo wants to get his hands into later.”

Aicantar returned to his weird science experiments and Moth retired back to his forge in the keep. He dug around in the box again to retrieve the cogs, wheels, bolts, joints, and other such things required to repair his faulty construct. He tied his hair back and got to work with his tools to replace the broken components, and found it had been the soul gem the whole time as he discovered the shattered pieces glimmering inside. “Fffffuck!” He hissed. “I'm such an idiot!” Thankful he hadn't managed to end his own life with his machine, he proceeded to correct his mistakes. “Now it should work!” He hopped down from his ladder and raised both his hands, curled his fingers and blasted his own built-from-scratch steam centurion with lightning magicka to give it a burst of life. The eyes glowed as it awakened and Aicantar grabbed a dominion staff of his own make. He waved the metal rod also fixed with a soul gem, a different approach to Dwemer make, in various directions, different reverberations from each action made the machine's body parts respond as the young mage instructed. “Yes! YES! I've done it! I can control it! Uncle Calcelmo has to see this! Igmund must see this! It's groundbreaking!”

The mage knew it would have been to iffy to keep the centurion active during this time. The machine seemed mindless otherwise, so he was safe to hop back onto his ladder and remove the soul gem, the source of power from within. He locked the filled gem away along with the control rod and rushed out of the lab with the excitement and pride of a child. As he burst through the door from the restricted area to the museum, he nearly trampled the guard at the door. “By the gods, young master Aicantar!”

It was as though he wore blinders, for he didn't see anything around him but a tunnel which led back to Calcelmo's lab. In his uncontrollable fit of giddiness, he nearly crashed head on into Ondolemar, who was returning to the keep from a day's patrol within the city. Thankfully, his actions were swift, and he caught Aicantar, and spun him to a halt on the ball of his heel. “Are you all right? Why are you running like you've seen a Sload?!”

“No time to talk! I have to get to my uncle!” He broke free from Ondolemar's arms. Judging by his overjoyed expression, Ondolemar assumed he had nothing to worry about, though it was humorous, and he chuckled to himself as he wiped the machine dust left on him from the mage on his pants. Such passion and intelligence, Ondolemar admired as he traipsed to his office. With any stroke of luck, his guards would not be there, wasting his rations and his time. A moment to himself would be a blessing, he thought. How lucky he was when he pushed open the massive bronze door to find no one, though irritated they hadn't cleaned up after themselves at the table. No respect at all. He cleared away plates and cups of partially consumed food and drink while he pondered any inconvenient way to punish them, and he kicked off his boots, so liberating after tramping on the Dwarven city's hard stone all day. He leaned back on his bed and wondered if the subterranean elves ever appreciated anything comfortable as he had back in Summerset sinking into his lush warm bed stuffed with griffon down, the finest silks caressing his bare golden flesh while the early morning sun woke him with its tender embrace, beside him the skin of a faceless lover lightly stuck to his with light perspiration from snuggling close all night. Divines, how long had it been? The steady cadence of the Orcish blacksmith's hammer on the anvil echoing through the halls hypnotized the captain into a considerably relaxed state, though he did not fall to slumber, his mind took him to a whimsical place that reminded him of home. Ondolemar wasn't so sure he appreciated a visit there, but nonetheless he felt comforted and welcome as his bare feet kissed the thick green grass heated by the springtime sun, and he was not alone, as the being from before took his hand. Their skin was soft, but the grip was masculine, and his eyes trailed from this individual's shimmering bronze gold hand up their arm to meet with the familiar beaming face of Aicantar, glowing from the light of the white hot sun. What would it hurt now to swoop in for a kiss? No one was around to see. He did so without question, imagining how soft his plump lips were, panting as he snaked his arms around his slender waist.

Ondolemar jolted out of this half-sleep, breaking into a light sweat and blood heating him all over, an erection causing discomfort in the tautness of his trousers, heart beating anxiously within and pulsing in his ears. The captain was far too aroused to ignore it and took advantage of finally being completely alone as he eagerly unfastened his pants and deathgripped the blushing head of his penis with a vengeance. Engorged and tingling, there was no give whatsoever to his hardened muscle, which he yanked on aggressively, as he didn't know how much longer he'd have to enjoy pleasuring himself. Every last tug and squeeze built up with tension, grunting and panting until he at last spilled with the mighty force of a volcano, an uncontrollable yelp escaped his lips while his own warm spunk rained down upon his hands, pelvis, and uncovered belly. His heart beat so violently he thought it would give out. After a few deep breaths he relaxed once again falling back into a partial sleep with his semi-erect phallus still resting in his hand. He'd returned to the same place as before, only now it was nightfall, and his lover was nowhere to be found. He was stripped completely naked, and his arms were shackled above him, feet bound together so he could not kick or thrash. For some reason, he could still feel the semen of the waking world drenching his shaft, now dripping to the ground below from where he was suspended and before he'd realized just what atrocity he'd committed, the blunt edge of a mace met with his spine.

The captain awoke with a fright and burst immediately into tears, hyperventilating and desperately cleaning his fingers and genitals of his expulsions with the nearest cloth he could find, anger and shame overtook him like a storm. How could he even fantasize about such a deplorable thing? Congested and with his inconceivable disgust, he vomited into a nearby waste bucket. In a panic, he'd torn off his uniform and in the mirror across the room lit by torchlight he took a good look at the scars and the deviations in his vertebrae to remind himself what a vile creature he was. He wished they'd have killed him then, but this punishment is exactly what he deserved, nothing less.

After a time, he chugged a full pitcher of water as though he'd been parched from wandering a desert in Hammerfell. He'd cleaned himself up as well as he could so as to avoid the bathhouse. He was in no condition to be seen by prying eyes. At least he could blame the defects on his body on the war, but he'd never be able to explain the breakdown, not even to his guards. What was wrong with him? He never allowed himself to stray like this before. “You're weak,” he hissed at himself. “You're nothing but a festering maggot. Have you learned nothing?!” That's what he told himself. But a war waged ever on in his mind.

Chapter 4

Notes:

I apologize if this seems rushed. It was only originally supposed to be a quickie, but I have a really hard time writing things with no context. The characters I write about always need a history or a backstory because it's just an OCD thing I'm trying to combat, so I tried to add some context, however brief. But to add some insight, Aicantar and Ondolemar aren't completely clueless to each other's traits and values and they've been in contact with one another at Understone Keep off and on for years. I hope the implication of that comes through all right. Ondolemar is going through a rough patch and Aicantar is too insightful for his own good.

“Astounding! Remarkable!” Calcelmo stood and and raised his glass to his nephew. “To Aicantar, whose mechanical skills are unmatched in all of Tamriel.”

Faleen, Jarl Igmund's Redguard housecarl and partner of Calcelmo slapped Aicantar hard on the back. “Atta boy!” He held back the anguish he felt from the woman's heavy hand.

“Oh Uncle Calcelmo, please!” he gushed. “ I'm no Sotha Sil. It's nothing.”

Ghorza and Moth wasted no time tipping back their mead after smashing their mugs together.

Calcelmo placed his arm around his nephew's shoulder and shook him lovingly. “Nonsense! You've been nothing but a godsend for my research. I'm proud of you, boy. Besides, think of all that extra funding we'll be receiving from Igmund. You impressed a jarl, of all people.” The old elf bent across the table to kiss Faleen.

Aicantar flipped his hair over his shoulder and laughed. The celebration was nice and he certainly was happy, but he couldn't help but feel like someone was missing out as he glanced at Ondolemar sitting alone across the bar, though this time his disposition remained unclear to him, in fact, he really didn't like the uncertainty. It weighed heavy on his heart. He smiled as he stood and addressed his party. “Please excuse me.”

“Where's he going?” Moth asked. Calcelmo knew exactly where, but he respected his nephew's privacy. “Not to worry. He'll be back. How about some more drinks?” He threw a coinpurse down on the table as a distraction and kept his arm wound tightly around Faleen's waist. She was nearly as tall as he was. Calcelmo always did love a strong woman.

Meanwhile, Aicantar approached the forlorn Ondolemar, but startled him when he addressed him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. You just look upset and I'm concerned.”

“It's nothing.” The coarsness in his voice told that he drank too much and he didn't make any effort to look at the mage.

Aicantar didn't dwell on it out of respect. “You know, I made a major breakthrough with my machines. I wanted to tell you all about it, but I haven't seen you since this morning. You're more than welcome to join in the festivities. My uncle is buying all the rounds.”

“That's very kind of you,” Ondolemar mustered a fragile smile, but he looked like he would break down at any moment, and he still refused to look at him. “I shouldn't drink anymore tonight. Important matters to attend to. Thalmor duties, you see.”

Aicantar didn't like the sorrow in his tone. “If you need anything at all, Ondolemar, please don't be afraid to talk to me. Don't suffer alone.” He reached over and placed his hand over the captain's, who retracted at first, but relaxed when he realized it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, but he absorbed the warmth from his touch. There was nothing foul or obscene about it. His heart leapt and he finally turned his poisonous green eyes to look upon him. The younger elf was no longer disheveled and covered in metal and dirt, his robes were neatly arranged and clean. His silken hair was brushed and sleek and the candlelight of the tavern glistened on his delightful golden high elven skin. Everything about him was beautiful, and it made Ondolemar's heart throb, despite everything.

“Don't suffer alone,” Aicantar repeated, before he made to return to his uncle and friends.

It didn't take much convincing on Ondolemar's part. “Aicantar?”

He whipped around, which made his long hair flip over his shoulder.

“I think I'll join you.”

Not having expected him to respond in such away, his expression brightened. The others welcomed him politely, and perhaps they were too liquored up to really care, but it made the captain forget about his issues for a time. While everyone else got drunker, he spent the time speaking with Aicantar, slowly indulging in alcohol now, but still feeling the growing effects. Aicantar imbibed as well. In the background Calcelmo and Faleen were heard giggling frantically like children paying no mind to anything but each other. Aicantar didn't expect to see much of them for the rest of the night based on their behavior, and divines knew his uncle needed it. Moth and Ghorza returned to their lodgings at Understone, and Aicantar and Ondolemar were the among only ones remaining following the departure of the other patrons in the Silver-Blood Inn. The fires were burning hot and perhaps the pair had too much to drink, but Aicantar suggested they go outside for a walk. Ondolemar obliged, for he too desired to retreat from that stuffy tavern.

Aicantar was still coherent enough to handle himself, but Ondolemar seemed tipsy, however he was in a much better mood, and he even smiled. The young elf was glad to help the captain get his mind off whatever ailed him. He couldn't bear to see anyone in pain. They walked for awhile, and the Thalmor captain's happiness grew. At one point they stared into one another's eyes for a long time without a word, intoxication evident in Ondolemar's pulsating pupils.

“Can I see it?” Ondolemar spouted out of the blue somewhat enthusiastically as they looked out over the railing at the waterfall in the distance.

The young mage, who decided he may have actually had one too many, completely misinterpreted his statement. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Your centurion. Will you let me see? I know your uncle is particular about who is allowed in and out of the lab but...do you think maybe?”

He laughed at himself for his foolishness and replied. “I don't see what it will hurt. He's...occupied to say the least.”

The two of them meandered to Understone Keep. Such a funny thing that both of them worked and dwelled in the place. Aicantar fumbled around in the junk in his pockets until he found the key to the Dwemer Museum. Inside, a handful of Markarth guards patrolled. They didn't question it as Aicantar was authorized to be there at any given time. Ondolemar was a bit unsteady, so he'd taken his hand to keep him balanced so as not to risk destruction to any displays, and headed for the restricted section in the back. The guard stepped aside without asking questions, even with his unsual guest. Almost directly to the left was where Aicantar's workshop was situated, messy and riddled with cogs, levers, gears, soul gems, tools, books, parchment, and other such things strewn about without any regard, though everything had its place and the scholar knew exactly where everything belonged. Aicantar unlocked a case and extracted a staff of Dwemer make and lead Ondolemar to an open area, at the center of which stood an enormous humanoid automaton.

“Stand back here with me in case anything goes awry,” Aicantar instructed as he climbed up a ladder with a filled grand soul gem and opened up the back of the centurion and placed it in the center of three prongs so that it was snug and tightened the bolts around it. He hopped down from the ladder and stood by Ondolemar. “Would you like to wake him?”

The captain looked flabbergasted, eyes glassy from the alcohol still raging through his veins. “Are...are you sure?”

“Of course,” Aicantar beamed. “Just a little shock right here is all you need.” He pointed to the location in which he wanted the arc directed. “It will be fine, I promise.”

Reluctantly, he raised his hand, sparks charged in the center of his palm and sent a bright purple arc into the soul gem. Steam shot out out of the exhaust ports instantly, the eyes glowed and it straightened its posture. Naturally, it made him nervous, as the automatons were nothing to toy with.

“Stay where you are,” Aicantar stated gently and he raised the control rod. As he did so, the robotic machine raised its left arm. He cocked the rod ever so gently forward and the centurion lowered its massive metal limb. Then he held the rod vertically and waved it side to side and the centurion took a few steps forward until Aicantar held the rod upright again, then it stood in place.

Ondolemar looked on in childlike awe, still affected by the liquor in his system. “Fascinating...you're...that's incredible. Simply incredible.”

“It's nothing really,” Aicantar blushed. “I'm still working on a feasible use for him. I've come a long way from my work on the Dwemer spider, though. That thing was a mess...I never thought I'd ever get this far.”

“Don't doubt yourself. This is phenomenal,” he spouted. All the ways he could hunt Talos worshippers with such machines danced through his mind, but he kept it to himself, nearly letting it slip but catching himself knowing Aicantar wasn't particularly fond of his crusade.

The young wizard cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. “Well, I guess I should disable him for the night.”

After removing the soul gem again and locking away his dominion rod, he invited Ondolemar to sit with him on his bench, not without clearing away his clutter first, of course.

Aicantar really loved the change in Ondolemar's demeanor after he'd had a few drinks, and he loved the wonderment as he examined objects in the room. At least he was with him and wasn't drinking alone in the bar. Aicantar was still a bit tipsy himself, but pleasantly so. There was really something about Ondolemar that he could sense, but he did not want to act for fear of startling him or making him uncomfortable.

"You're a very nice young man," the captain slurred, which was humorous considering how crisp his words were during sobriety. His hand fell heavily onto Aicantar's knee, which made him blush hotly, but he didn't move it so as not to draw attention to its inappropriateness.

"I wish everyone could behave with such altrusm...ism."

Aicantar giggled at his inability to speak his sophisticated words properly.

Ondolemar's head turned sharply towards him. "You have a beautiful laugh."

"Oh...um.." before he could even react, Ondolemar's lips pressed firmly against his, sweetened from the wine still on them. As much as he wanted to kiss back, he pushed the captain away. "You're still drunk. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"You taste divine," he rasped seductively and made to dive in for another, but Aicantar held his head in place with his hands.

"Not like this. All right? Let's get you back to your quarters. You can sleep it off."

"I'm sorry," his words were pitiful and Aicantar laughed at him warm-heartedly.

"You have nothing to feel sorry for. It's just not right when you're intoxicated, okay? I'm not about to take advantage of you. You're vulnerable. And if I'm not mistaken, a tad bit confused."

The two stood shoulder to shoulder, but Ondolemar weighed heavily as he rested against him. His gait wasn't too awkward on the way out, but it felt as though he grew heavier with each step. He made sure he walked him directly to the Thalmor barracks before leaving his side. "Get some rest, Ondolemar. I'll see you tomorrow."

Aicantar maintained his happy charm all through the ordeal. If anything, he found it sweet and when he realized what had happened he grew giddy. Ondolemar had actually kissed him. His intuition always preceded him about such matters, but his heart broke for Ondolemar. It pained him to see a man in such conflict over who he was. It should never have been that way. Aicantar always had it easy since his uncle took him away from all of it in Summerset. Whenever Aicantar would ask why they left, Calcelmo always told him the people were no good, and he really believed him, even moreso now. People could talk down on Skyrim all they liked, but Aicantar loved living there, despite the cold. Cyrodiil had been beautiful, but the beckoning call of Skyrim felt like real home. Such a strange and humbling sensation.

After dropping off Ondolemar, Aicantar wandered into the quarters he shared with his uncle with caution, peeking his head around the corner, knowing he might have still been celebrating with his wife Faleen. Thankfully they had been complete in their endeavors. Faleen slept soundly, snoring rather aggressively for a woman and wrapped herself carelessly in the sheets while his uncle sat by the hearth still heedlessly reading through his own journals and scrawlings. He'd heard his nephew sneak in.

"There you are." He was smiling and knew well enough what Aicantar may have been up to. He might not have approved, but he did his best to be happy for him. "How was your night?"

"It's not what you think," he smirked. "However..."

Calcelmo stared a hole in him with his amber eyes and a single brow raised.

"Now don't look at me like that!" Aicantar snickered and kicked off his fur boots. He wasn't worried about disturbing Faleen. She was a heavy sleeper after all. His cheeks hurt from how hard he smiled as he went over the events of the day in his mind. "Ondolemar...well he kissed me."

"He kissed you? My my..."

"I'm just as surprised as you. But he was quite drunk. I dropped him off in the Thalmor's quarters. Uncle Calcelmo... he's hurting inside. I can tell. I know we have yet to have a deep conversation but he just feels so sad to me."

Calcelmo sighed from tiredness and crossed his leg over his knee. "Aicantar, you don't need to feel obligated to 'fix' everyone you meet."

"It's not that. I just don't want anyone to feel like that, you know? Such...loneliness."

"You love so fiercely, my boy. An admirable trait, but a burden all the same. Just be careful. Has he said anything about...well, you know what he does for a living.”

“Not a word, Uncle. Of course, I'm sure much of what he does is confidential, but he remained quite casual tonight. I really enjoyed his company.” He had begun to remove articles of clothing and clean up in the wash basin before bed.

“Aicantar, Faleen is present!” Calcelmo scolded.

“Oh Uncle Calcelmo! She sleeps like the dead! She won't see anything. I'll be dressed soon enough.” He grumbled and fussed with tying his hair back so he didn't get it wet. He didn't see his uncle roll his eyes, but he knew he was right. He let it go and continued with their conversation. “So how do you feel right now?”

“I'm not sure what you mean?”

Calcelmo uncrossed his legs and rested his feet flat on the floor. “About how it's going...you know. With Ondolemar.”

His nephew laughed through his nose, while appreciative of the openness of their relationship, it still surprised every time his uncle asked about his status with the men he chased after. “Well...I think there's a chance something might come of it.” His cheeks ached from smiling again, and vertigo surged through his skull from drunkeness. “I suppose I should lie down. Good night, Uncle Calcelmo. Tomorrow's Middas so I should get rested up for the museum tour.”

“Yes indeed, my boy. Good night.”

Ondolemar's head swam after he laid down in bed. His inferiors were already in bed snoozing away and hadn't heard him enter. “What was I thinking drinking like that,” he said aloud softly. After a bout of suffering from the whirlwind that was the ceiling above, his mind began to clear, and Aicantar invaded his thoughts again. “Please,” he begged. “Don't...”

But it was all he could do to forget their lips pressed together, the swelling in his heart, the heat from his knee beneath his hand. Oh what he would have given to slide that same hand further up his thigh. “No...stop it.” He'd bitten his tongue hard to distract himself, wincing and tasting his own blood. “It's not right!” After scolding himself, he'd turned on his side to face the wall. But Aicantar would not cease the haunting of his thoughts, and Ondolemar began to give in. No one could hear his thoughts after all. They'd never know. His fingers wove into Aicantar's and he tried to remember the feeling when he'd touched his hand earlier in the night. It came so naturally...how could it not be the right way to feel in his presence? It had been so many years he'd nearly forgotten the joys of life. But...why did it have to come from Aicantar? It just couldn't be.

And yet that lovely face still wouldn't leave him.

Chapter 5

The room smelled of torch soot and dust. Moment by moment, an excess of perspiration formed on Ondolemar's brow as the stuffy room heated more and more. He tore off his coat aggressively and let it lie sloppily on the chair while he signed documents and sifted through envelopes on his desk. He tore through some of the envelopes, only to find nonsense written by his Justiciars, but no real leads. He rolled his eyes and tossed a good many of them in the waste can until he happened upon a unique one with his name scrawled in ornate lettering on the outside. It must have come in with the post the guard brought that morning, as he didn't recall it sitting there the day before. He broke the ordinary wax seal stamped with a wispy letter “A” and opened it, and a small slip glided gracefully like a leaf to the desktop. He picked it up with his leather gloved hand and flipped it over to read the text, discovering that it was an admission ticket to the Dwemer Museum with no expiration. There was a message on the inside of the envelope as well which read:

 

Tours start at 4 p.m. sharp every Middas. I really hope to see your smiling face there soon. ~Aicantar

 

This gesture made Ondolemar's heart swell and he ended up reading that note many times. It never lost the effect of the first time. He tucked the ticket away in the desk drawer for safe keeping when one of his guards entered. “Captain, sir. Permission to speak?”

“Of course, what is it?”

The guard, adorned in brilliant gold elven armor, straightened his posture with his hands behind his back. “We may have a lead on Talos worship in the city. Shall we conduct a search?”

Ondolemar tidied up his work space, catching a glance of Aicantar's message again, but shook off his giddiness and addressed his guard. “I shall accompany you. It has been a great long while since I've seen any action in this skeever hole of a city.”

“I'm obligated to agree with you, sir. It is a skeever hole. I'll inform the others.”

“I'll meet with you posthaste.”

As the door latched, Ondolemar took a look at Aicantar's note one last time and sighed. Maybe next Middas he'd be able to make it , but combating heresy came first and foremost. Before he joined his troop, he prepared for the bite of the harsh Skyrim winter, thankful for the breath of fresh outdoor air after being cooped up in his office. He couldn't fathom how Calcelmo holed himself up in the ruins all day, let alone how the Dwemer thrived under such deplorable conditions. Skyrim's embrace seemed much more welcoming, in spite of his distaste for anything remotely Nordic.

Down below in the lower portion of Markarth, the Justiciars argued with a city guard.

“Jarl Igmund won't stand for this. You can't just search a citizen's home without a warrant like that.”

“By permission of the Empire and of the Aldmeri Dominion, we are wholly authorized to eradicate the worship of the false god Talos. Your Jarl is compliant in his relations with the Empire.”

“This is outrageous, you knife-eared bastards!” shouted the town guard and Ondolemar's inferior drew his sword, resting the point against the man's throat.

“You will comply, wretch, or we'll arrest you for insubordination. It's already suspicious enough that you defend such an abhorrent act.”

Ondolemar stepped in. They needn't escalate the situation or draw attention. “That will be all. Stand down, soldier.”

He lowered his weapon and the town's officer began to tremble and sob. “Please...don't do this.”

It was then that he realized it was this particular town guard's own private residence. “Unlock the door, citizen, or we'll break it down,” the captain demanded in a low and malicious tone. “I have no desire to vandalize your home.” It was over and this Markarth guard knew it as he complied unwillingly, tears dripped from beneath his helmet and the Thalmor officers stormed his home, looking for the evidence they would inevitably find, and they did with much ease, for there was a meager shrine resting loud and proud upon the hearth with candles shamelessly alight. Ondolemar's voice dropped to a vicious rumble. “Arrest him. Take him straight to Cidhna Mine. We'll do what we need to do with him later."

"Yes, Captain." The Justiciars bound the now helpless sobbing man's hands and feet. He put up a struggle, but the elves were too large even for a husky Nord. "No! Please! I've done nothing wrong!"

The commotion drew the attention of Aicantar even from the top window of the tower, though the waterfall nearby deafened any possibility of hearing what the screams below entailed. The only thing he could see were two golden-clad Altmer dragging away a thrashing town guard, which made his stomach churn as his green-gold eyes panned the entire rocky area for Ondolemar. To his relief, he didn't see the captain anywhere, and he hoped in his heart of hearts that this was merely the Thalmor Justiciars happening upon carelessly open Talos worship. What a pity...

"Aicantar, you look quite ill," Calcelmo took notice of how quiet his nephew was in his corner of the room.

He swallowed hard, trying to cull that nagging desire to vomit. "The Thalmor just hauled off a city guard," he said hopelessly.

Calcelmo clicked his tongue sympathetically, but said nothing more, instead made up something to distract the young mer from the menace that was the Thalmor. "Aicantar...I can't seem to read my own handwriting again on this journal entry. Perhaps you might be able to decipher it?"

Aicantar sighed in annoyance. "It's not in the Falmer tongue again, is it?"

"Well...yes it might just be." The old wizard scratched at his flax colored beard coyly.

"For crying out loud, I can make out regular characters, but it's much more difficult to read your scribbles in another text entirely."

It made Calcelmo laugh. At least the boy was distracted enough. He already knew what the convenient document said, but it was written sloppily enough for a believable alibi.

Aicantar scratched away on a blank parchment with clean, feminine handwriting, cheeks deeply dimpled from his smile while he teased his uncle. "Now I know how excited you get, but please learn to write more legibly."

"Of course. So how is your centurion coming along?"

He had begun organizing the disaster that was his uncle's desk. Even he had a point where enough was enough as far as clutter. "I don't think he's safe enough for an exhibit, but overall he's coming along very nicely. Better safe than sorry."

"Yes yes, we've lost too many great researchers and excavators this way. And overly curious guards."

"Don't remind me."

"It was an accident, Aicantar. Not your fault at all. They are well aware of the hazard to start with and they shouldn't have taken it lightly."

"I know, but still."

The mages chattered for a time while they worked, but Aicantar's mind fixed on the Thalmor again while he tinkered. "I can't believe Igmund tolerates that in this city. Divines' sakes, they're all Nords here. What do they expect?"

"Zealotry is a plague, my boy."

Aicantar snickered. "You're a zealot."

"Oh you know what I mean!" He rolled his amber eyes.

"I'm just teasing. But no...I really fear for that man who was taken away today, when his devotion to his hero is so objectively harmless."

He was forced to get his nephew's mind off it again. "Yes indeed, Aicantar. Now let's get things arranged for the tour this evening. We only have a handful of hours to prepare."

It hurt the young elf's heart not to discuss it further, but he complied with Calcelmo without a fuss. "All right then."

 

***

 

Ondolemar damn near fell asleep during his briefing with Elenwen. All he knew was that she was keeping him from his plans. Every moment or so, he glanced desperately at the clock as four o'clock drew ever nearer. Aicantar had been on his mind all day against his better judgement, but he derived so much joy from him that he couldn't resist seeing him. And how rude would it be not to accept the invitation? That, and the thought of a tour at the museum genuinely intrigued him.

“Did you not get enough beauty rest last night, Captain?” Elenwen tucked her wavy blonde hair over her pointed, erect ears, eyes like a sabre cat piercing through him hotly. It was unlike Ondolemar to lack alertness when she spoke. Her sharp tone startled him from his daydream.

“Apologies, my lady. I haven't been feeling well as of late.”

The Ambassador still sounded somewhat annoyed, but responded with false sympathy, “Well, we're only mer. We've all been there. However, I expect more from someone of your rank. You are dismissed.” She handed him a stack of dossiers and other such forms on his way out. The Thalmor and their damned documentation. There seemed to be more paperwork than anything. He had a great deal of respect for Elenwen, but he couldn't wait for her to leave the city. Thankfully, she didn't visit in person often, only enough to keep up appearances. She would be long gone by day's end. He “filed” his documents carelessly atop his desk, thanking the Divines he was just a short walk away from where he truly wanted to be. As much as he loved punctuality, he would have to be a few minutes late as he wanted to change out of his uniform. The doorman to the Dwemer Museum still accepted his ticket without any issues.

Once inside, he joined a group of patrons while Calcelmo gave them an introduction. Aicantar fiddled with objects just behind his uncle, and waved wildly when he saw Ondolemar had wandered in to join the group, as he towered over everyone. The enthusiastic greeting made him unable to contain a smile, his chiseled cheeks reddened. Aicantar also hadn't expected his guest so soon, and was genuinely chuffed by his attendance. What a delight. He would have to put on his charm for this evening's exhibit.

Calcelmo droned on about facts about the Dwarves, briefly mentioned Sotha Sil who managed to wake up some of the children interested in the former living god's secret Clockwork City which was very much inspired by the Dwemer's tonal architecture. Perhaps the old mer demigod may have even perfected it in his time before his murder. Even the Dunmer's rich history intrigued Ondolemar, especially when they had still been the Chimer thousands of years ago before Azura's curse, all of which somehow tied in to the mass extinction or general disappearance of the Dwemer. No one really knew for certain what became of them, if they had died out or gone elsewhere. Calcelmo was hell-bent on his theory that they'd ascended to another plane of existence...bold considering the Dwemer frowned upon using magic.

Calcelmo went on to describe the Falmer, the blind danger infesting the depths even below the very city itself, which terrified those same children inspired by Seht, but he did manage to assure them the twisted elves remained below and rarely wandered outside the comfort of their subterranean home. Once a noble race, the Dwemer deceived them, poisoned them, and now they have become feral creatures terrorizing the deep.

Aicantar had warned once about how boring an orator Calcelmo could be, and Ondolemar yawned in spite of himself, though the information truly interested him. Calcelmo, dull as he was, was the best man to relay these facts even still. The scholars didn't mind at all, for the information was valuable to them all the same, some of them were even taking notes during his presentation.

But it was Aicantar who kept the general public coming, for he was a showman. His flair and gusto entertained his guests while Calcelmo informed, and together they educated students and enthusiasts from all over Tamriel. There were children of varying ages, both men and mer, who clearly already visited the museum as the younger ones clung to their parents' hands, tugging at the hems of their shirts and hopping like eager bunnies. The preteens and teens, though they tried to suppress their childlike excitement, let some of their enthusiasm slip through the cracks. Aicantar new exactly how to appease their hungry little stares. Calcelmo could go on all day about steam pistons and ancient history, but only one thing put their entire audience on the edge of their seats.

With a stroke of magic, the lighting dimmed in the entire facility, and Aicantar held a ball of light within his hand which casted an ominous shadow over his pronounced elven facial features. Some of the children tucked away behind their parent's legs, but the older ones who had something to prove, gulped and remained still as corpses.

"What do you think of spiders?" he asked them.

"They're yucky!" spouted one small Nord girl.

"They're scary!" peeped a much younger Dunmer boy, who hid behind his teenage brother.

"Oh my yes, dreadful things," Aicantar exaggerated his disgust for theatrical effect. "But what if we could use spiders to perform tasks to make our lives just a bit easier?" With a flourish, his mage light went out and it fell dark for a moment. The children who didn't know what they were in for tensed in anticipation, and the children who had already attended a museum tour a dozen times before bounced eagerly on their toes while Aicantar returned the light to its original state and pulled his dominion staff from within his robes. Ondolemar crossed his arms and cocked his head with a cheeky grin, wondering just what Aicantar was about to do, for he'd already seen the glory of the Dwarven Centurion, but what of the meager spider?

The faceted gem on the end of the staff glowed, and Aicantar waved it with a flourish. It wasn't necessary to be so dramatic, as often times wizardry involved a certain mysticism, but it set the children on edge, even the skeptical older ones with something to prove. A housing in the wall opened a valve cover with a futuristic "pssshhhh" and a clang of heavy metal, and from within emerged two spindly legs of Dwarven bronze, which revealed the rest of the body as it pulled itself out. Its movements were as bizarre as a real spider, if not moreso, and it crab-walked towards the group of tourists. They were distracted, but Ondolemar kept his eyes on Aicantar and observed his subtle movements that commanded his robotic creature.

The children who hadn't attended before backed up against their parents in fright.

"You needn't be afraid, children," Aicantar spoke soothingly. "This is a Dwemer Spider Worker which I've rebuilt from the ground up with my very own hands. Their purpose is to repair the mechanisms inside the ruins, which is why they still function independently to this very day. We're still not certain how they know what to do, but might have something to do with the soul gem inside that powers them, like a tiny brain. As you may know, there are other makes of spider used as a security system. They attack trespassers with electricity...which also happens to be a specialty of mine." He winked in the general direction of the Thalmor captain, and something about that gesture swelled Ondolemar's heart, and he found himself a bit weak in the knees. Thankfully he stood behind everyone so they didn't see him buckle.

"But my spider is special," he continued. "These little guys have operated without the interference of man, mer, or beastfolk for a few thousand years, but this one heeds my every command." Aicantar raised the wand above his head, and the spider stretched its long legs and stood long and tall, pivoting what would be considered its head like a bird in all directions as if it had eyes to see its company. The motion made some of the children jump, but they giggled when they saw the creature wasn't a threat. It was actually cute in its own peculiar way.

"What a luxury it would be to live like the Deep Elves where everything is automated and all tasks are performed for you with a simple wave of a wand. And to think they created all this without magicka, for they believed magic to be antiquated. Could any of you imagine living in Tamriel without the convenience of magic?"

The children and even the parents shook their heads in response. Magic was everything, from using telekinesis to pick up the shoe they'd lost under the bed or starting fires with their hands to keep warm. Even chilling their ale on a hot summer day, the Dwemer needed none, for they had everything. "Fascinating, isn't it?"

The passion the young wizard spoke with pleased Ondolemar. He found his cheeks were sore from smiling and unseasonably warm. The joy that glinted from Aicantar's gorgeous almond shaped eyes and the deeply carved dimples in his cheeks could have melted all the snow on High Hrothgar. He had no business being that beautiful...

The Dwarven spider danced a brief jig and pranced back to its home in the wall, going in the same way it came out. Now onto the next mechanical creature on display which was disabled, a mere shell rebuilt for exhibition purposes, and Aicantar took a moment to explain it and its purpose. The Dwarven Sphere had a humanoid body and head, various weapons for arms and rolled on a structure that gave it its namesake. Some of the children already familiar began a dance of anticipation for what was to come, for he lead the group to a caged area.

"Stay far back for your safety," the golden mer instructed sternly, and the parents of the children held them by the shoulders to keep them contained, smaller children with their fingers in their mouths for security. Aicantar used his wand to summon two Dwarven Spheres and issued incomplex commands and the automatons began to fight one another automatically, battering one another with their sword arms. Aicantar had disabled the crossbows so a stray bolt wouldn't injure anyone after he'd find out from one of his own mishaps while experimenting in his tower.

The children laughed and cheered for whichever Sphere they'd chosen to win as their families stood by in shock and awe.

Soon one of the machines eventually blew apart shooting machine parts and gears in all directions. Ondolemar looked disconcerted knowing how hard Aicantar worked on his machines. The mer managed to sneak up beside him during the fray of children arguing about why their Sphere was the best.

"Not to worry," he said only loud enough for the captain to hear. "I've redesigned them to break away like that. I'll have them back together in a matter of minutes."

Part of the young elf desired to plant a quick kiss on the captain's cheek, but he refrained and returned to his exhibit to show the children the rest of his mechanical monstrosities and gadgets.

Ondolemar became hot under the collar yet again. He tried so hard to contain it but there was nothing he could do to stifle it. For the rest of the tour, his eyes remained on Aicantar and he didn't want to avert his gaze. His grace was entertaining enough for him.

The end of the tour was bittersweet, for Ondolemar truly enjoyed the presentation, even Calcelmo's dull droning, but parting from Aicantar's company proved more difficult than he ever imagined. Afterwards, Aicantar thanked the children and gave them souvenirs to take home. On the way out the door, they could be heard begging their parents to go again next week. The captain stayed behind to praise his host.

"I was so glad to see you here," Aicantar said warmly to him. "I didn't expect to."

"I had some free time for once, so I seized the opportunity." He was nervous. Why on Nirn was he so nervous? "I learned quite a bit from your presentation."

"I'm so thankful." His gem-like gold-green eyes glowed in the torchlight, brightening the entire museum with his presence.

Ondolemar debated on whether he should go back to his quarters or stay, but he knew what he desired, and the more he desired it, the more ashamed he felt, however he didn't care, for he couldn't remember the last time anyone's mere presence filled him with such joy. In his sea of bliss, he forgot his words, and stood there somewhat awkwardly before he decided it was better not to make a complete fool of himself. He began to wish the young mer a pleasant evening when he cut him off with a question. "Would you like to get dinner with me?"

Ondolemar choked on his own saliva. So much for not making an ass of himself.

Aicantar thought it may have been out of line. "If you don't want to, it's perfectly fine..."

"Um, no. Well yes! I was on my way to the inn anyway." A fire burned in his nerves all over his body so intensely he wished to scratch.

The youthful Altmer's smile stretched from ear to pointed ear on his gilded face, and he didn't care who noticed. "You go on ahead. I'll meet you in a few minutes."

What are you thinking? The captain questioned himself. You shouldn't be doing this... it's wrong. It's all wrong....but he's so sweet. After all, it's just dinner. There's no harm in that. It doesn't mean anything. Men dine together all the time. He made his way to the Silver-Blood Inn to wait for him despite his conflict. He didn't wish to be rude, after all.

"And just what are you grinning so cheekily about?" Calcelmo crossed his arms while Aicantar washed his face and hands in the basin.

"I'm having dinner with Ondolemar soon."

Calcelmo rolled his eyes behind his nephew's back, but he was happy for him anyway. "Does he know it's more than just a friendly meet up?" The old mer teased.

"Oh Uncle Calcelmo, please...I mean I certainly hope it ends up being more, of course, but I don't want to prey upon him, for Auriel's sake."

"You think it will?" Calcelmo questioned.

"I...I'm not sure. His body language says otherwise but...well you know. 'Traditional' Altmer and what not."

Calcelmo walked up beside him as he brushed his hair in the mirror and placed his arm around his shoulder. "You never know. Skyrim changes people. In the event he turns you down, just keep and open mind. I mean there's always Vorstag..."

Aicantar grimaced and scoffed in utter repulsion. "No thank you. That was a one off and we were both drunker than scamps. Besides that, he didn't bathe as frequently as he should have. And listen to you. You don't even like mercenaries."

The wizard shrugged and scratched at his beard. "Anyone is better than the Thalmor."

"Uncle!"

"Alright alright. No need to get testy. Go on your date before he thinks you stood him up."

"It's not a date!"

"Sure, whatever semantics you want to use, my boy. Now go, before I need you for something.”

Aicantar hurried down the jagged mountain pathway to reach the inn and found Ondolemar with a seat saved especially for him. He had to push through the happy hour crowd just to reach him. “All that work just for something to eat.” He was still just as cheerful as ever. The barmaid took their orders, and Ondolemar held a judgmental absinthe-green eye upon him, but all in good humor as Aicantar requested wine to drink again.

“I promise to behave myself this time,” he chuckled. “Only if you do though.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now,” Aicantar adjusted his seat for comfort. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you looked like you had a wealth of fun today at the museum.”

Ondolemar responded swiftly without even a thought. “It was incredible. Your machines are extraordinary. I can't thank you enough for your hospitality. And the free ticket, of course.”

He giggled proudly. “Of course! Only one time though. The next time you have to pay. Uncle Calcelmo said so.”

The pair laughed and simultaneously took a nervous sip of their drinks. The dynamic at dinner seemed different this time and both struggled with conversation, and for some reason Aicantar couldn't maintain eye contact with him. He didn't want to make him uneasy, but at the same time, he gave away his own feelings. After the barmaid brought them their meals, they remained somewhat quiet as they ate, only to catch each other staring and turn away multiple times. Aicantar finally decided it was time to bring it to light. “It's not the fact that you know I like you, is it?”

Ondolemar had been grinding his teeth unknowingly and unclenched his jaw. The butterflies he'd been feeling periodically over the course of the last few days came back in full force this time. It was much too real now. He rested his fist under his nose while he thought of the words he wanted to say, “Well...yes.”

His companion didn't give him the chance to fully complete his statement. “We can just stop it now if it makes you uncomfortable. I won't bother you again. I didn't want my feelings to get in the way of our friendship but I can't control them. Perhaps it's for the best...”

“No, no Aicantar. Listen,” he interrupted. “Please don't misunderstand. I've been...” his throat tightened and it was difficult to swallow. “I...you see...”

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he speak? His heartbeat pounded within his skull. “I like you too!” The words escaped his lips with such a vengeance even he slapped his own hand to his mouth. And the young elf had no idea how to take what he'd heard, nor was he certain if he'd heard correctly at all. “What?”

It was as if he'd stumbled down a hill and couldn't stop rolling. “You're all I think about. I can't do my work, I just keep looking for any excuse to be around you. It is what it is I just can't...I don't know what to do with these emotions.”

“Ondolemar...” Aicantar's expression became a mixture of incredulity and optimism and the only thing he could think to do in the moment was reach for his hand. He withdrew at first, but he enjoyed the warmth of his touch so much, he relaxed and let it happen, and even though it felt freeing to do so, he looked around as if someone would come to punish him. But nothing happened.

“Ondolemar,” Aicantar said again, and he squeezed. “It's perfectly acceptable to act upon those emotions if we like one another. There's nothing wrong with you.”

Could he read his mind?

Should he do it? Aicantar debated in his mind for a few minutes, but the twisting in his gut got the better of him as he bent over the table to hover just before Ondolemar's lips, so close he could feel his breath, giving him a moment to back away if it wasn't want he wanted to do, but when he didn't, he took it as an invitation and pressed his mouth against him gingerly. His hand quivered, but Aicantar squeezed it lightly again, letting him know he was safe with him. Ondolemar gave in to his yearnings at last.

And they kissed. Oh how they kissed...

Notes:

Ooh it's getting steamy!

Chapter 6

Notes:

Spoiler Alert:

 

Content Warning: Self Harm

Aicantar's lips tasted sweeter than honey, addictive, soft like velvet and just the perfect amount of moist, cool at first from the wintery draft blowing through the inn, but warmed up quickly. Ondolemar's heart thumped in his throat. Out of breath and panting, he freed himself from Aicantar's spell and stared with panic as if he'd performed an inexcusable act, though he felt comfort with Aicantar's nose just barely brushing the tip of his own.

"You don't have to worry," he consoled. "No one is going to hurt you."

The words were so distant to him, Ondolemar could not discern if he'd spoken those words to him or if he imagined them as the lines between reality and his suppression blurred. But what he knew for certain was the touch of Aicantar as he curled his long fingers around the nape of his neck and stroked his bristly cropped hair and rested his brow against his. It was so unexpectedly loving that Ondolemar almost lost himself entirely in the affection.

"Is this okay?" he asked him delicately and could feel Ondolemar's light affirmative nod against his head.

Panic suddenly overtook the captain yet again and he leaned back in his chair quickly as a sort of fight or flight reflex caught hold of him. He cleared his throat and took a hefty swig of his drink.

Sensing his unease, Aicantar made a request. "Perhaps this setting is too public. Would you like to go somewhere less crowded?"

"I...well..."

"I know what you're thinking, but that's not what I'm talking about. We can just kiss...or we don't even have to do that. We can just talk. Come on.” The mage tossed an uncounted and generous handful of coins onto the table to tip the barmaid and took Ondolemar's arm. “I know a place we can be alone.”

Ondolemar panned the room to see who was looking at them and to his surprise no one gave a damn, even with Aicantar's hand in his as he herded him though the hustle and bustle to the door. A wintery gust nipped at them before slamming and silencing the commotion of the tavern and leaving it in the past. A snowfall, gentle by Skyrim standards, landed delicately on their heads, and they both turned up their hoods to stay dry. Aicantar took Ondolemar by the hand yet again and escorted him to a hidden place behind the waterfall that cascaded from way up above Calcelmo's tower. Such an ideal spot for romance. The mist from the water drifted the other way so there was no fear of getting wet and freezing, and situated against the mountain was a bench. Torchlight from a nearby lamp refracted just enough to illuminate the nook like a cozy little room, and no one could see inside, and it was surprisingly quiet within to boot. Though Ondolemar wished it was warmer, giving Aicantar the perfect excuse to scooch right up against him. “Now where were we?” Aicantar spoke alluringly. He rubbed his hand up the side of Ondolemar's cheek. It made the elder elf smile, and the solitude set his mind at ease. Much better than the crowded noisy tavern. He caressed Aicantar's hand and held it against him, turning to place a kiss on his palm. “I never thought I could feel this way. Not for anyone. But you...”

Aicantar chuckled, over the moons with the way this situation began to pan out and nuzzled into Ondolemar's neck, placing many pecks with his cold, winter-kissed lips, making the mer's blood surge throughout his body.

“Aicantar...” he sighed with otherworldly delight. It was just like his fantasy.

The young mage tingled at the sound of his own name spoken so sensually. It had been a long time since he'd ravished anyone so.

The delightful sensations all throughout his body soon made Ondolemar force his guilt far into the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and absorbed every subtle thing Aicantar did, every tickle from a stray strand of hair, the brush of flesh against flesh, his wine-tinged breath, forearms crossed behind him and resting lazily on his shoulders while he rubbed the back of his head. Ondolemar's hands slipped into the curve of his partner's waist just beneath his robes like his body was designed for them and his bodily heat welcomed them there.The femininity of Aicantar's tender kisses and the contrast of his rough, calloused mechanic hands sent chills all over Ondolemar's body, though he was plagued by his ineptitude of what he should be doing with his own hands as they rested coyly atop his partner's hip bones.

"You're breathtaking," Aicantar's whisper slithered into his long elven ear making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He wished to say the same, but the words never found their exit while he absorbed all the attention.

"May I touch you?" Aicantar requested considerately. He had no desire to cross any unauthorized boundaries.

Ondolemar's head swam as he teetered on the brink of lustful intoxication. He didn't care. In the moment he truly wanted this to happen and pushed his hangups into the background, taking a moment to observe the superiorly bred mer against him. Altmer were true perfection, especially this divine creature who graced him with his zeal. "Of course," he growled hoarsely.

This answer gratified his young lover, and he was both careful and eager about the path of his hand, creeping like ivy over the inside of Ondolemar's muscular thigh right up to the bend, and he curled his fingers and rested there, observing the erratic changes in his pulse beneath his fingertips. He loved to tease.

A precious gasp escaped Ondolemar and Aicantar proceeded to caress his inner thigh while stealing a much more aggressive kiss from him, slipping him the tongue and tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. Whenever he backed away momentarily to observe his rapture, Ondolemar gaped at him and like a starved beast he'd throw himself back, the precise response Aicantar loved. The chemicals breaching Ondolemar's system caused him to laugh awkwardly. He enjoyed this far too much. Aicantar's hand maintained the same distance from his genitals the entire time out of respect, but before he could even ask, Ondolemar moved his hand for him and he compressed his fingers around the outline of his unrelenting erection. The ideal girth and length aroused him as he squeezed it.

Aicantar sighed sensually through his nose and spoke through a kiss. "I didn't expect you to be so eager right away." He hummed like Ondolemar was a delectable dessert, nuzzling him and enjoying the masculine feel of his beard and stubble on his skin.

Ondolemar could feel his release of preejaculate cooled from the winter air on the inside of his undergarments and it somehow turned him on more.

"Let me know if this gets too much for you," Aicantar stroked the length of his cock. He'd have preferred skin to skin since his hands had gotten so cold, but he remained within the captain's realm of comfort. Ideas of what he wished to do to him followed one right after another and did not do him any favors, but he tried like hell to behave, which proved damn next to impossible from the sounds and expressions Ondolemar made as he touched him. "By the divines," he sighed, but he gained no solace from it. "Fuck..."

That utterance disturbed Ondolemar in the best possible way, and he writhed beneath him. He hadn't realized how tense and still he'd remained until he shifted his weight.

"Everything all right?" Aicantar had to reassure.

"Yes."

Aicantar stood to stretch as well. "Do what you need to get comfortable." His joints cracked from the chill in the air, and when he came back to him he straddled him on the bench with his knees on either side, his pelvis pressed against Ondolemar's abdomen and he could feel his rock-hard erection. Aicantar just needed a little bit of weight and friction, for his own sexual appetite had gotten the better of him. The way he knelt gave him height on the captain, and something about the subtle display of dominance turned Ondolemar on even more. His shaft ached and throbbed inside the taut fabric of his pants.

It was much too hopeful, but if Ondolemar gave him permission, he would have ravaged him right there behind that waterfall. To Oblivion with the cold of winter, or if passers by heard their grunting, for there was a fire raging within him. The meager amount of grinding against him was more than sustainable, however. He embraced his lover and held him against his throat, stroking his head. Ondolemar snuck kisses onto his neck and he could no longer withstand the burning of lust in his loins and rocked against the captain ever so gently. It's all the stimulation he needed to sate his desire. "Gods damn," he panted and spoke to no one in particular. "It has been far too long..." He took Ondolemar's face in his hands and made out with him until he could not tolerate the lack of release any longer, and curled his hips and in just a handful of pumps spilled suddenly and to his own surprise inside his smalls, "Oh my gods...fuck..." he sighed with every spurt he milked from the subtlest of movements, the stitching in the crotch of his trousers held tight enough to give him perfect stimulation. Ondolemar knew exactly what happened based on his uncontrollable body spasms, and something about making someone come without laying a hand on them boosted his ego.

Aicantar snickered from the mixture of carnal ecstasy and embarrassment while his mind became clear. "Gods above, I am so sorry."

Ondolemar genuinely didn't mind it at all, despite his conflict. The fact his presence satiated someone in such a way made him forget himself. "Please don't apologize. Kiss me."

"As much as I'd love to stay and kiss you all night, I can only endure for awhile longer," the young mer beamed and then lowered his voice because he was ashamed. "But I came excessively more than usual and I'm going to require a change of pants..."

Why did such a personal statement make Ondolemar's heart jump? It was like the unfiltered intimacy level of those betrothed, where all boundaries were gone.

And Aicantar seemed so disappointed in himself and whined playfully. "But I've been so selfish. I can finish you off if you like." And oh how he wanted to. Badly. Just a taste...

However, Ondolemar wasn't quite sure he was ready to take another step, though he smiled wide. "Perhaps another time, Aicantar. It's...all so much for me to take in presently."

He didn't mind. "Of course."

"Please kiss me just a few moments more," he begged. He almost felt like a teenager experiencing first love. In some kind of way, Aicantar was a first for him.

"I'll do anything you ask of me. " The mage swooped in and obliged. Though it wasn't long before he burst into a fit of laughter regarding his predicament. "I'm sorry, darling. I can't stay any longer. It's turning into an icicle."

It was one of the more bizarre things Ondolemar had ever heard, and he laughed too from the sheer absurdity, but it was too funny. "Fair enough. Let's go home."

Aicantar left him at the door to the Thalmor lodgings and bid him a quick goodbye, though he kept smooching him. It was so difficult to part from him.

"Go on, hurry." Ondolemar chuckled.

Aicantar walked briskly, and ran into his uncle along the way, who'd caught a glimpse at the end of their departure.

"Well well well," he crossed his arms, a villainous grin slapped upon his face.

Aicantar blushed redder than a comberry. "Oh um...listen. Give me just a few moments of privacy to freshen up and I'll fill you in."

Calcelmo didn't want to know and shooed him away. He waited outside of their quarters until his nephew deemed it safe to return. Calcelmo, though interested in the evening his nephew had, could do without the details. Sometimes he forgot he wasn't a little boy anymore. But he loved him dearly and wanted to be someone he could confide in for as long as he lived, which meant all the uncomfortable stuff too. “Come on then. Tell me. How did it go...?”

 

***

Ondolemar had been concealing his still-raging erection under his coat. He needed a release desperately and the Thalmor quarters just weren't private enough for him. With the way the winter air chilled him to the bone, he had an idea. Back to the Silver-Blood Inn with him. Most of the patrons had gone home at last. He hadn't realized how late it was. Kleppr was still awake cleaning up the mess of the day and arguing with his children and wife as per usual. Kleppr wasn't fond of the Thalmor, but remained as respectful as possible. Ondolemar slid a generous few septims across the counter. “I'd like to use the bathing facilities please. If at all possible, I wish to be alone.”

“I think you'll be all right this late at night. Everyone is too drunk to bathe.”

Ondolemar nodded curtly. “My thanks.”

Kleppr's son surprised him when he entered the bathhouse.

“Oh forgive me. I didn't know anyone was coming in. I was just cleaning. I'll leave you be.”

He was a good lad for a Nord. He reminded Ondolemar of himself when he was young, always working hard and aiming to please with nothing to show for it while everyone nitpicked the things that were wrong instead of appreciating the things that were right. He sighed. And he noticed that he'd calmed a bit from his earlier shenanigans. It didn't take long for Aicantar to sneak back into his thoughts again, though. The erection that subsided returned with a vengeance. Ondolemar heated his bath water with magic from his very own hands. He had no time to waste waiting for a fire. He couldn't figure out why the Nords abhorred the use of spells when they made life so much simpler. “Damn this Skyrim weather,” he muttered to himself. His old bones ached something fierce from the chill. Aicantar helped him to ignore the cold, but he wouldn't mind visiting that spot again when spring arrived.

Is that how it would always be? Hiding behind a waterfall and engaging in inappropriate acts for a cheap thrill? Or would they walk hand in hand in broad daylight? No...it couldn't be that way. It could never be that way, he thought. He gritted his teeth and grasped his shaft. He masturbated vigorously until he emptied into a towel. He didn't even enjoy it. He just wanted it to go away. When he was done, that shame took hold once more.

Heart beating from panic, he slid into the bath water and winced, for he'd made it nearly boiling. Anything to feel clean again. And he wept. No one ever treated him with the same dignity Aicantar bestowed upon him. Caring and thoughtful was he. He called himself selfish, but that young mer was far from it. Ondolelmar hadn't expected their night to escalate from kissing to heavy petting. He hated himself for liking it so much. Aicantar, such a pure and emotional being. No pain at all...far more than the captain deserved. Vile wretch. Defying the gods and nature. It should not be this way. He would pay for his transgression. Ondolemar reached into the pocket of his leather coat lying on the floor beside the bathing pool and he removed an elven dagger, golden and sharp just like its makers. In one swift motion, he'd laid open his wrist vertically with the sharp blade, his dripping blood bloomed in the water and he admired the crimson specatcle before closing his eyes.

 

Chapter 7

Aicantar stayed up quite late speaking with his uncle. As per the natural order of things regarding a parental figure, their conversations evolved to all sorts of memories. The pair were so busy with their Dwemer activities they sometimes neglected their duties as a family and this was the perfect opportunity to catch up and reminisce all while appreciating the present and hoping for a fond future. Even though Calcelmo didn't care for the likes of Ondolemar, his nephew's happiness mattered more to him than anything after the life he's had. It was a long time since he saw the lad so happy about another living creature after he holed himself up in solitude to build machines. As much as he loved the solitary lifestyle, he knew it wasn't the healthiest situation for Aicantar.

Calcelmo yawned when their conversation reached a lull. "I think I'm going to get ready for bed, my boy."

"I'm right there with you," Aicantar spoke through a yawn. The exhaustion made itself plain on his face. Calcelmo was just about to climb in bed when a loud rapping in their chamber door startled them and then the person welcomed themself inside. The intruder was Faleen, and her expression was dire.

"What's wrong, my love?"

"Calcelmo, the guard said your assistance is required in the bathhouse at the inn."

"I'll come with you," Aicantar sat up, and Faleen shook her head wildly at Calcelmo, piercing him with her feral hazel eyes. He understood.

"No, no Aicantar. You need your rest. You've more than earned it. I'll be back."

After the bronze Dwarven door latched behind him, he hustled to catch up to his briskly walking wife.

"Sweetheart, what on Nirn is going on?" He inquired with gentle concern. He had a hunch of what he was about to find.

"You'd best see it with your own eyes."

The inn swarmed with a handful of Markarth guards and Thalmor soldiers. Jarl Igmund sat nearby, head in hand and a look of stress as he spoke with one of the Justiciars and Kleppr. Other guards and a Thalmor agent questioned Cosnach, a regular and well-known hellion at the bar.

"I dunno," he said gruffly. "I wandered into the bathhouse to take a leak. I didn't even make it to the latrine. In fact, I think I pissed myself when I saw all the blood, and then I saw the elf in the midst of it. That's all I know. Don't shoot the messenger! I found him this way and I did what I was supposed to do and reported it. I called Kleppr, he called you. Now, get off my back!"

Calcelmo didn't need to ask anymore questions about who this entailed if Igmund was there too. He pushed passed some individuals and stormed right into the bathhouse and gasped at what he discovered. Ondolemar had been pulled from the bathing pool and covered with a wool blanket. Over him stood Brother Verulus, the priest of Arkay, and Bothela, a Reachwoman from the apothecary still in her night gown as she was summoned from her slumber. She tried to pour a potion into him while Verulus used his meager healing skills.

"I can't believe this son of a bitch is still alive after that," grumbled the old woman with an ornately tattooed face. By all accounts, the woman was a witch, but she always meant well.

Ondolemar, now sickly pale yellow from the blood loss instead of his usual vibrant gold, laid completely still on the floor. If Calcelmo didn't know better, he'd have said he'd been dead for days. Bad feelings wrenched at his gut. He dropped to his knees beside the elf right away to administer aid. "What happened?"

Verulus answered him while Bothela spooned concoctions into the unconscious mer's mouth. "Looks like he did this to himself, Calcelmo." He lifted his wrist. They'd stopped the bleeding but the cut was deep. Only a master level wizard could help now.

"Gods above, Ondolemar," he whispered pitifully and he took his laid open arm and from within his own hands a warm glow emitted from them while ribbons of white and gold danced up and down this fallen captain's body. The wound sealed more, but he'd hoped it might give him enough vitality to cause him to stir, even just a little bit. "Do you have honey, Bothela? Get sweets into his system. It will help."

"I'm already on it," the alchemist's wrinkled hands pulled a jar from her satchel.

Verulus focused his own healing magic around Ondolemar's head. Hopefully his brain hadn't starved from the lack of oxygen in his system.

Calcelmo laid his ear on Ondolemar's chest to listen to his heart. There were far too many seconds between beats. He warned the other two to stand clear and he placed his hands directly onto his bare chest. "Blessed Auriel, I hope this works." His hands crackled and arced and he shot a blast of shock directly into Ondolemar's heart and listened again. He'd thought all hope was lost, but his heart began pumping rapidly from the literal shock and the inevitable blast of adrenaline from the trauma. He listened to his heart until it fell back into a normal pattern and lingered to be sure it maintained a healthy pace. Now only time would tell.

There was no logical use trying to transport this large being back to Understone, and Calcelmo didn't want to risk Aicantar seeing him like this. Kleppr offered a vacant room to allow for the captain to recover. They didn't have to like each other, but no one deserved to die like this.

One by one, everyone cleared out. The guards and Justiciars wrote their reports and left first, then Bothela and Verulus after they made sure Ondolemar no longer required their medical attention. The Jarl sat at Ondolemar's side and pondered what he should do. Whether the elf lived or died, it needed to be reported to Elenwen and quite possibly to the Imperial ambassador due to the contracts of the White-Gold Concordat. A dead Thalmor in his city looked bad, but a suicidal captain looked even worse. He'd rather have been a person about the matter, but the incident in and of itself became political. He figured he'd decide when—if—the Altmer ever came to. He thanked his court wizard for the assistance and went home to do his best to sleep. Only Faleen and Calcelmo remained at the bedside of the Captain of the Thalmor.

"Are you going to tell Aicantar what happened?" She gripped tightly to her husband's hand.

He shook his head. "If worse comes to worst, then I must. As of now, I believe Ondolemar is going to make a fine recovery. It's his business. I'll leave it up to him to decide what parts of himself he opens to the world."

Following a few moments of silent gawking, Faleen told the mage what she thought he needed to hear in that moment. "I love you, Calcelmo. You're a good man. I'm so glad I married you." She placed a tender kiss on his lips, and he brushed one of her many ebony braids behind her ear. He pulled back to admire the beauty of her battle-scarred cinnamon skin and dark hazel eyes. "I'm glad too."

She forced a smile. "You go back home to deal with Aicantar. Igmund wants me to keep an eye on Ondolemar tonight. I'll alert you of any changes in his status."

"Oh...yes my love. Thank you." Such a noble and dutiful woman was she, and Calcelmo fell in love with her over and over again. A graceful and terrible being who stole his heart. A real woman.

Calcelmo prayed to the Divines and even the Daedra that Aicantar would be asleep when he returned, but no such luck. Anxiety kept the young man wakeful, and he interrogated his uncle right away. He regretted not thinking of a lie to tell him on the way to the keep and had to come up with something on the fly.

"What happened? Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Oh yes yes. Quite stable now. One of the beggars came into the inn hopped up on moon sugar. Made a mess of himself. We had to calm him down."

"Oh..." Aicantar couldn't help but sound disappointed, but he bought the story and questioned no further. He might have suspected that he made it up, but perhaps tiredness got the better of him.

"Well I'm glad everything is all right. I think the peace of mind will help me sleep." He fluffed his pillow, but it wasn't nearly enough to make the stone bed any cozier to sleep on.

"Good night, my boy. I love you."

Aicantar rolled back over to look at him with his brow scrunched in confusion. Calcelmo never said that unless something bothered him. Perhaps the old man was finally losing his wits in his elder years. "I love you too, Uncle Calcelmo."

When dawn broke, Calcelmo made sure he woke before his nephew. He made his rounds to inform everyone he saw not to bring up Ondolemar and not to say anything about him if Aicantar inquired about him. The whole place knew the lad was fond of him, even the Justiciars and they were compliant with Calcelmo's request. "We'll tell him he's on a mission." They may not have particularly liked their superior, but they could respect orders. And after what happened, even they were shaken up by the events, especially since he was their highest commander.

Calcelmo rushed to the Silver-Blood Inn to check up on Ondolemar's status. When he entered the room, Faleen was fast asleep in her chair. She must have stayed up all night. He woke her and told her to go home, that he'd handle it from there.

Kleppr's wife brushed passed the open door and Calcelmo asked if they could bring him soup, but she'd already gone by. Kleppr could be heard from the main dining area. "What did Calcelmo say he needed?" And she screamed back from the hall. "SOUP! HE WANTS SOUP YOU DEAF OLD IMPOTENT GEEZER!"

"There's no need for the attitude, you wretched bitch!" Kleppr clapped back.

Calcelmo rolled his eyes. Thankfully it was Kleppr's young daughter who brought in the serving tray. At least the children maintained their civility.

"Thank you my dear." He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry they act that way all the time. You're better than that."

"It's okay," she shrugged with a shy smile. "I just ignore it."

"Good girl. When you're able, you and your brother get away from that. It's not good for you."

"Thank you, sir." The girl left him to care for the slumbering Altmer in the bed. Calcelmo was pleased to see his color had returned to him and he examined his lacerated wrist. Nothing but a scar now. Upon further observation, he noticed hints of more vertical scars just like it. He felt nothing but pity for this being. "What has this world done to you?" He also checked up on his chest. His lightning magicka caused some minor burns on the skin, but nothing he wouldn't heal from, though he'd certainly be feeling the effects for awhile. He slipped his arms under his armpits and boosted him in the bed, so he could attempt to feed him the broth from the soup. He wouldn't dare try anything solid until he was fully cognizant. He held the spoon to his lips, and Ondolemar did sense him there, for they responded to the stimulus and twitched. It appeared that he tried to form words. Amid the meaningless dreamy babble, one word fell very clearly on Calcelmo's ears. "Aicantar."

Even in his subconscious, he pined for him. Calcelmo chuckled warmly. Ondolemar would be fine. He tried to rouse him by lightly shaking his shoulder, and to Calcelmo's pleasure he stirred, eyelids opened sluggishly and drowsily and he took a moment to familiarize with his new surroundings. When his mind cleared, he knew where he was, but was startled to see Calcelmo seated beside him.

"What's going on?" His throat was raspy from sleep.

"You made an attempt on your own life. Had the others not been around to respond, I might never have been able to revive you."

He remembered, and upon this remembrance, he felt more shame. Shame for his weakness and pain. And even moreso that he failed to do the job yet again.

Calcelmo got up to to close the door and slid the soup tray over his lap. "Here. Are you all right to use your hands?"

Ondolemar cleared the phlegm from his throat before speaking. "I'll be fine."

"Eat. You need to build up your strength."

"Who discovered me?" He asked coldly in between sips from the spoon.

"Cosnach."

After reality settled in, Ondolemar became well aware of the repercussions, and he dreaded it. He'd hope it would not affect his prestigious rank among the Thalmor regime. He tucked it away into the back of his mind. A visage of Aicantar invaded yet again, and he worried.

Calcelmo seemed to have read him well, judging by the anxious look on his face. "Aicantar doesn't know about this. Out of respect for you and to protect his delicate sensibilities. After the lovely evening you had—that he spoke very highly of, mind you—I can't fathom why this would be the outcome."

It was almost teasing, with a hint of scathing, and it was his way of letting Ondolemar that who he was was no secret to him, but even though it should have been obvious, he was appalled he knew anything at all.

"He told you?"

Calcelmo looked at him like he had two heads and bull horns. "Of course he did. He's my nephew. He's the closest thing to a son I'll ever have and our relationship is open and honest. He tells me everything."

The tips of Ondolemar's ears burned red, and Calcelmo laughed. He was just glad to see any vibrant color on the elf after the previous night. Ondolemar didn't know what to say and he ceased consumption of his soup.

"No need to feel embarrassed. I have been with that boy from the very second his head crowned. Believe me, I know him. His values, his interests, his...orientation.” The emphasis on the word disturbed Ondolemar. "I've been right along beside him for every love, every difficult parting, every predicament...those exploratory teen years were the most unbearable hell I've ever had the displeasure to endure. And from very young he always expressed his interest in males."

Ondolemar inhaled deeply, but he had nothing to comment on.

"You should have heard his enthusiasm. He can't wait to go out with you again."

The captain's heart beat viciously. He was very much alive.

"Seems to be a strange reaction to being unconditionally loved by someone. Killing yourself in response to very healthy and positive emotions is peculiar, don't you think? Whatever has been done to you Ondolemar...those people were the broken ones. Not you. I don't think there's anyway to fix the trauma you've endured but...I've experienced all of it vicariously through my nephew, and I did my best to be there for him. You don't know how much it pains me that you didn't have anyone there for you...to treat you like the normal, loving, healthy elven being that I know you are."

You don't know me at all...

Ondolemar closed his eyes for a moment and trembled on the verge of tears, but nothing came. "Calcelmo...please."

Calcelmo cocked his head. It looked like he was getting somewhere with him after all. When Ondolemar looked upon him, he caught nuances of Aicantar's own mannerisms in his body language. Even the family resemblance made itself known from the shape of his long High Elven face and his sleek hair of flax. Had his eye color matched, he may have seen a glimpse into Aicantar's future. "You raised him?" The hints Calcelmo dropped piqued his curiosity.

"From his first drawn breath until this very moment," Calcelmo confirmed. "Like my own. My sister passed away giving birth to him, his father perished before he was born. I'm all he has."

Ondolemar couldn't stroke Calcelmo's ego by revealing what he really thought of him. Aicantar was perfect in every way, and he didn't want to believe his uncle's influence played any part in it, but to have a bond so close, so trusting. It was unheard of.

Calcelmo left behind his own life story and continued his therapy session. "I don't like what you do...but I do generally like you as a person. I mean...maybe it's too late for you, but I might be able to offer the guidance I've once given him. And to be frank, if you pull anything like this again and risk breaking Aicantar's heart, I'll kill you myself with my bare fucking hands."

There was no evidence of jest nor seriousness in his threat and Ondolemar couldn't figure out how to interpret it. He held his toxic gaze on Aicantar's uncle.

"Anyway, eat your soup before it gets cold and make sure you hydrate. Rest up for a few days here. You're going to need it. Igmund already took care of payment for your lodgings. I'll keep him occupied for the time being, as well as distract Aicantar to the best of my ability. The rest is up to you."

The elderly mer's knees creaked when he stood. Even the way he cracked his neck and rolled his stiff shoulders screamed Aicantar. Ondolemar stopped him as he turned to leave.

"Calcelmo...you owe me nothing but...thank you."

He understood and nodded. "You couldn't have wanted to die that badly if you're still here, no? Also, if you want to be close to Aicantar—and I suspect you very much do—you need to be completely honest with yourself." Those were his final words before he left Ondolemar to rest.

Notes:

*protective elf dad mode engage*

Chapter 8

Notes:

By the Eight! This wasn't supposed to get this serious! It was only supposed to be smutty. Why am I like this? XD

Days came and went and Ondolemar felt much better. Well enough to return to his duties, anyway, if Igmund was so inclined. However, dread seeped through his veins like snake venom. Jarl Igmund was respectful enough to allow him time to recover, but matters could not wait to be addressed.

And Aicantar...Ondolemar couldn't prioritize correctly anymore, for the visage of that angel of an elf interrupted his train of thought constantly. He wondered how he would behave when they finally crossed paths again, and he grew anxious.

He noticed his clothing now clean and folded neatly on the dresser, the same clothes he'd been wearing before his nearly deadly bath. Whoever took care of them possessed great knowledge in caring for leather, for it shined and was much more pliable and softer than ever before, but still tough as raw hide. It must have been the young lady Hroki, he thought. Kleppr's daughter. Ondolemar only grew suspicious when she'd bring him food, all too eager to do so, but Kleppr and his wife Frabbi were far too busy arguing to tend to him, so she took charge since he couldn't currently leave the room. The way she batted her eyelashes and blushed whenever he spoke. A lovely girl for a Nord, but still very much too young to be even remotely interesting.

"Hreinn and I cleaned your blood in the bathhouse...I'm glad you're okay." She bowed her head in a bashful manner.

"Of course, my dear. Thank you. I'm very sorry to have put you through that." Maybe the Nords weren't so bad after all.

Hroki lingered a bit longer in his room than he was comfortable with in his vulnerable state. The captain pulled the blanket over his bare chest feeling utterly exposed and he wondered just how much of himself this girl may have seen of him in hindsight.

Her hands flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to gawk... you're just very handsome."

He grinned at the compliment despite himself. A Nord attracted to an Altmer. He considered it an act of rebellion on the girl's part, only to do the unthinkable to spite her parents. But she did take good care of him during his stay and he thanked her for her kind hospitality and how his Thalmor uniform coat never looked better. His kind words to her made her blush. When she had gone he finished his breakfast and decided it was time at last to face the music. Better to get it done and over with and accept the consequences.

He washed in the basin and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Even though he'd utilized this period of recovery mainly for much needed sleep, he looked run down with bags under his eyes. "My age is beginning to show," he said to himself with an exasperated breath. His many scars decorated his flesh front and back like a road map of pain*, and reality settled in once more for him. Maybe hatred and malice really wasn't the normal way of the world. Even though it was all he knew from as far back as he could remember, he still found trouble fully accepting it. Calcelmo's assessment of him had been far too accurate. Was he just insightful, or was Ondolemar too telling of his traumatic past without even realizing? The old mer shrugged it off and dressed with care, smoothing out the hard leather of his coat, now very pleasant to the touch and much less squeaky. Jarl Igmund would be expecting to meet with him at some point very soon. It was time and he could delay no longer.

He carried himself as though floating in a dream cloud, detached and cold—literally cold as a blizzard began dumping snow early that morning. Fresh snow crunched beneath his boots and hardly anyone was outside save for the workers from the smelter and the beggar Degaine, drunk as always and complaining about the women at the Dibellan temple.

“Come on you Dominion dog! I know your pockets are jingling! You've got more septims than you know what to do with!”

Normally Ondolemar would respond to his heckling, but he wasn't in the mood and continued walking. A hard packed snowball thwapped the back of his head and he paused in anger, considering wringing the old loser's neck, but he gathered himself and trudged through the ever deepening snow back to Understone Keep to handle his affairs. The wind whipped cold snowflakes and stung his eyes and cheeks. What he would have given to be back on a beach in Summerset at that very moment to soak up the loving warmth of the sun, or to sit on the sun-kissed stone stairs in Cloudrest. Needless to say, the fond memory still didn't make him any warmer.

The temperature inside Understone Keep wasn't much better, but at least it was dry. Before meeting with Igmund, he checked in with his Justiciars, who remained silent as the grave when he entered the Thalmor office. Ondolemar didn't speak upon entry either, and went about his day as normal like nothing ever happened. After issuing a few commands to them while he still had the authority to, he headed for Igmund's court. Part of him prayed for a distraction, but none came on this dreary winter's day.

Faleen met him at the entrance of the throne room, both astounded and impressed by his recovery. He didn't know she had seen him on the brink of death. She spoke not a peep to him and respectfully stood aside for him to pass. Jarl Igmund, who'd been flapping his dog's ears jumped from his slouched seat on the throne like something bit him on the ass, both pleased and appalled that the Altmer lived. “Captain,” he nodded as respectfully as his own emotions permitted.

“My Jarl,” Ondolemar bowed halfheartedly. In his mind, he owed no Nord leader of Skyrim any allegiance.

They both understood. “Meet me in my quarters, Ondolemar,” the Jarl spoke scathingly. He gestured toward the old man sitting at his side Raerek, both his steward as well as his uncle, to follow. As the door latched, Igmund took a deep breath not knowing where he should even begin, as he didn't wish to be entirely insensitive to the mer and his plight, but this predicament very well could have been a serious strike against his relationship with the Imperials as well as the Aldmeri Dominion.

“I must preface that I'm pleased you are now in good health. I'm more than aware that you're technically higher on the food chain than me under most circumstances, but that stunt you pulled changes everything.” His animosity quickly made itself evident.

Ondolemar did his best to hold his tongue and address the issue. “Perhaps we may reach an understanding.”

“Understanding?” Igmund barked. “What kind of understanding? Ondolemar, you've clearly demonstrated that you're mentally unstable. You shouldn't even be leading those people if you're bloodletting like you are, let alone advising me on political matters! This is huge! How easy would it be for me to call upon Elenwen and have you removed from my city? And surely you'd be knocked down a few pegs if she doesn't have you locked away in some asylum in Summerset somewhere! This negatively affects my relationship with the Empire. My reputation is on the line here.”

“IGMUND! That will be quite enough,” Raerek roared. “There is no use tearing the man apart like this. Dignity and respect.”

“Dignity and respect for what, Uncle? A deranged Aldmeri dog in my court? I won't stand for that. I only allow the Thalmor here because the Empire wishes it, and nothing more, but as long as he continues to terrorize people in the Reach, I have the authority. Just what we need to add to the mix of these fascist bastards.”

Ondolemar would no longer stand for it and encroached on Igmund's personal space, towering over him. “You will hold your forked tongue, Jarl Igmund,” he hissed.

Igmund bared his teeth. “You don't frighten me, you knife-eared prick. I tolerate you here because I have to, but nothing more. Given the circumstances, I believe I've been quite hospitable to allow someone into my hold who throws my own guards in the mines over a measly statue and some candles.”

Ondolemar narrowed his toxic green gaze. “And why is that? Do you have something to hide from me, Igmund? I can assure you that what the Dominion will do to you for unsolicited Talos worship will be far worse than any punishment I may receive.”

Igmund raised his fist, but he did not dare hit him, and let his arm flop unsatisfied to his side. “You would have the gall to threaten me in my own keep?”

The Captain's angular lips twitched into a vindictive smirk. “Not unless you're keeping a deep, dark secret from me.”

Raerek intervened, voice cracking. “Gods above, will you two stop it already! You're acting like children. Let us stop thinking of ourselves and get this settled before you both end up in exile, or worse yet, the chopping block.”

As much as he wanted to flatten Ondolemar's smug pointed nose, Igmund backed down, and that was all the evidence the elf required to sway this in his favor. “What would you have me do?”

“My actions do not leave Markarth.”

“No. I can't do that, Ondolemar. Who's to say your bootlickers won't say anything to Elenwen themselves? Come up with something else.”

He crossed his arms tightly. “Or what? It would be so easy for me to search this room right now. Is that a hidden compartment in your wardrobe? What a convenient place for a Jarl to conceal his blashphemy...”

Each of his footfalls clacked on the stone floor as he ominously neared the wardrobe, keeping him on edge with every slow and deliberate step, and Igmund's nerves got the better of him, even though in his heart he knew it gave everything away. “Wait! Stop...I won't report what happened. Just...get the fuck out of my chambers!”

Raerek's jaw dropped in astonishment, and even the old advisor couldn't mediate this predicament. Ondolemar earned a victory, and the perfect ammunition for further possible blackmail. As much as the mer despised breaking the rules for his own gain, it needed to be this way. He could not lose his position, he could not lose his crusade...and he could not lose Aicantar.

“Get out! I said get the fuck out!” repeated the Jarl.

Notes:

*a small tribute to the late Alexi Laiho, may he rest in peace.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Oh you know. Complicated relationship stuff.

Perspiration formed on Aicantar's temples and he wiped it away on his dirty sleeve, smearing some of the residue on his face, which he could feel, but he didn't care. Calcelmo had been running him ragged relentlessly for the past few days and he simply couldn't do anymore. "Uncle Calcelmo, I need a break. Why are you working me like this? I haven't even had a moment to fart. My back is aching more than usual and I can't lift my arms anymore. I tripped over Igmund's godsdamned dog again and rolled my ankle. You're just being ridiculous!"

Calcelmo intended to scold him for whining at first, but he realized that he had been pushing him much too hard that week. Anything to keep him distracted from asking about Ondolemar, with an overwhelming success. He sighed with great strain. "No, you're right, my boy. I'm being inconsiderate. I apologize. In fairness, we had a lot that needed done."

"Well I think I've done enough," he said through exasperated breath. "I'm not asking for permission, I'm stopping for the day. I can't."

Calcelmo genuinely felt bad. Aicantar didn't typically verbally express his disdain and he often kept his frustration to himself, but he obviously reached his breaking point. "No it's fine. You're right."

Aicantar already began to walk away, and he also felt horrible for snapping at Calcelmo. "I'm sorry. I'll see you later." Back in the tower he kicked off his boots carelessly and gave himself a "thorough" whore's bath at the wash basin, then he laid flat on his back in his stiff and uncomfortable Dwemer bed, but it aided his posture and throbbing muscles significantly. He exhaled through his nostrils. "Ugh, fuck."

He rested his eyes and desirable images and sensations filled his mind, Ondolemar being the primary subject, naturally. Aicantar reminisced about the other night when they were together and he snickered to himself. So much for "just talking." He hadn't seen Ondolemar for awhile and wondered if he had frightened him away with his overbearing sexual appetite. No, of course not. They had a great time. He simply didn't seem to be present in Markarth at all and his first thought was that duty called him away. Though he'd have loved to have seen him even just in passing. The Justiciars still patrolled as per usual, but their captain was missing in action.

After a few moments of rest, which he felt he shouldn't have taken, for now he didn't want to get out of bed, he decided he'd better work on his own projects that had been forced to the wayside by Calcelmo and his insanity. Aicantar never could figure him out. His spine cracked as and his ambition dwindled while he stretched, so he grabbed a potion from his shelf and yanked a cork out of the bottle with his teeth to guzzle some of the stamina elixir contained within. "I hope this helps. And now for some 'me' time."

Upon his work bench sat a metal mechanism snapped in twain. No matter what he did he couldn't get the weld he made to hold together. So much for that much needed personal enjoyment. Time for a visit to Moth. As always, the Orcish blacksmith was delighted to see his dear friend who strutted into his forge with purpose. "Mmm mmm, now there's a sight to behold."

"Oh Moth please," he blushed. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Hmm. Never just come by to see how I am anymore. I see how it is."

"Moth!"

"Calm your britches. I'm just teasing. I know how Calcelmo's been this week."

"Oh he's insufferable!" Aicantar's hand immediately flew to his mouth due to his lack of restraint and Moth merely laughed at him.

"It's okay to let it out. So what project do you have for me?"

He displayed the two pieces of the broken metal object before him in his graceful, but calloused pale golden hands. "This weld won't hold. I've tried both fire and electricity and it keeps snapping."

Moth grinned, baring even more of his already exposed tusks. "There are some jobs not even magicka can fix, my friend. Give it here." His low, tough and gruff voice was surprisingly soothing. "You see, no magic is hotter than my forge, and you just weren't getting the appropriate temperature to hold." He took the parts from Aicantar and set them aside to work on later. "Oh, actually it's a good thing you're here anyway. I almost forgot."

"Hmm?"

"Ondolemar came by not too long ago. Said he was looking for you, and he handed me this note to give to you as soon as possible."

"Ondolemar?!" Aicantar's excitement got the better of him in the moment without thinking, but he caught himself and toned it down. "Oh, thank you Moth."

The Orc narrowed his beastlike yellowish eyes with suspicion and a cheeky smirk, genuinely oblivious of his friend's interest in the captain, though the recent companionship between them got his gears turning. He was one of the few who hadn't yet heard of the ordeal at the Silver-Blood Inn and Calcelmo never bothered to mention it to him, since he was asleep at the time the event occurred, so nothing else to lead him to such a conclusion, and he didn't think anything during their friendly dinner together, for he was too interested in drink and merriment to notice Aicantar's doe-eyes fluttering in Ondolemar's general direction. "There something going on between you two?"

"Huh? Oh!" Aicantar's cheeks flushed peach almost instantly, and he knew it was futile to hide it. "Um, well I mean we're seeing each other. Well, not exactly. I mean... I'm trying at any rate. He's...Moth please don't say anything to anyone. I'm still trying to help him be more comfortable with himself."

Moth laughed from deep within his belly. "Aicantar, always on the chase. You really are persuasive if you swayed a guy like him."

"I have a unique talent for falling for men entirely out of my league, don't remind me."

Moth crossed his burly forge-scarred arms, his lower jaw protruded more prominently than usual. "You know damn well that's not at all what I meant. I've spent some time in Summerset with the Legion. I know how uptight the native Altmer can be. Just never struck me as 'your type.'"

"Are you judging me?" Aicantar rested his hands on his hips, but the smile never left his face.

"A little." Moth shrugged and chuckled. "Well then, go on and read your godsforsaken love note, you little scamp. I'll have this back to you as soon as I can. Got a lot of orders in from the Empire to help Ghorza with and a couple repairs for Igmund."

"Thank you for everything, my dear friend. Have a blessed day."

The giddy Aicantar rushed away, for he could barely contain his enthusiasm. He had tried his best while meeting with his friend, and he felt he did quite well in that department. But suddenly dread overtook him. What if this message wasn't what he thought? What if this was farewell for good? After all, he didn't want to get carried away only to be disappointed twice as much. All the same, he still couldn't resist and popped the wax seal as he ambled airily out the door, nearly stumbling into a castle guard as he read it. "Sorry!" And lo, he was far from disappointed when the text on the parchment bewildered his whimsical eyes.

Aicantar,

I apologize for my unannounced absence. Rest assured, I've missed you terribly, for there are no pleasures in life as fine as your company. I wish to meet with you again as soon as your are able. Tonight would be perfect, if it so pleases you. I'm certain you'll soon find me meandering about the keep again. I'll be waiting. Take care.

Fondly,

Ondolemar

"Oh Mara, how you've blessed me this day!" Aicantar scrunched the letter to his breast, his heart rate skyrocketed. Forsaking everything he planned to do for the day, he ran straight back to Calcelmo to give him the uplifting news. He startled the old man as he flung open the door to the excavation site of Nchuand-zel.

"Good heavens, Aicantar! You'll give an old mer a heart attack!"

His nephew showed him the letter, and Calcelmo's smile bloomed. "You see? I told you not to worry." Though he wondered if Ondolemar would ever tell Aicantar the truth. For now, his nephew was ecstatic, and that was enough to satisfy him. "You seem awfully energetic."

"I drank a stamina potion. I may have had too much. But I feel great!"

Calcelmo shook his head. "Go on then. I don't need you anymore today."

"Wonderful! I wasn't planning on doing more work today anyway!" He flounced out of the excavation site, robes and long wheat-blonde hair whipping behind him like banners on a battlefield.

The wizard released a sigh to end all sighs. "That boy has no marbles left to lose."

The rest of the time Aicantar spent bathing and preening. He wondered if he should put on his fancier clothes—or if it would even be worth the effort as they might not stay on long. "Oh control yourself, you fiend!" He scolded himself as he stood before the mirror holding different shirts against him. He supposed it didn't entirely matter. If Ondolemar hadn't already run far away from their last meeting, then there was a good chance he wasn't going anywhere. Refreshed, primped, and smelling of sweet, Telvanni Bug Musk, a rare artifact he kept only for special occasions, he set out on his search for Ondolemar. The sooner he could see him again, the better.

It didn't take long, for he bumped into him conveniently at the junction of all the keep's main areas. For some reason the captain could not contain his grin. "You received my message, I take it?"

Aicantar beamed. "Indeed I did. Forgive my excitement, but it was truly good to hear from you after you've been gone for so long."

Ondolemar's throat clenched as he thought about the final thing Calcelmo said to him. "Listen...may we go to the place behind the waterfall again? To..err...actually talk this time."

The young mage laughed nervously. "Yes of course. Do forgive my libidinous behavior last time. I lost myself in the moment."

"I wouldn't have changed it for the world," he said sweetly. "As much as I'd love to kiss you again very soon, I truly must speak with you."

"As you wish." Aicantar's vibrant smile made Ondolemar weak in the knees.

Even in the cold of winter, that place beyond the waterfall welcomed warmly. The pair of mer sat on the bench, both of them quiet until Aicantar couldn't stand the silence anymore, but he gave Ondolemar an ample chance to formulate his thoughts. When he took his hand and interlocked their fingers, he spoke more loudly than any words that could befall his lips. The rush encouraged the captain to speak at last.

"This is all still very new. I hope you can be patient with me. And I hope you don't find me too withdrawn."

"To be fair, you are withdrawn. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. But I understand it."

Ondolemar looked him in the eyes. "I definitely want to keep doing this. I don't want you to think this is one-sided." He juggled the idea of telling him about the other night in his mind, but it didn't feel right to bring it up in this moment. "There is much you don't know about me. I might tell you one day; perhaps I may not. I don't wish to burden you."

He could feel Aicantar's grasp tighten around his hands. "If you're never comfortable with that, then you never have to say anything at all. Just be with me."

The young elf was far too sweet for his own good and something about it broke Ondolemar's heart. It wasn't fair, especially when he used him to sap any amount of happiness from him only to do what he had done a few days prior. How much of this elf did Ondolemar have to destroy before he would achieve a sense of self-worth of his own? In a way, he envied him. Aicantar never punished himself for his own pleasure. He never saw himself as a loathsome monster, easy-going and devil-may-care as could be. Was it moral to be so oblivious to one's own decadence? At any rate, Ondolemar began not to care, for what was life without pleasantry? Something in the back of his mind proceeded to egg him on.

Aicantar rested his head on Ondolemar's shoulder. "What we're doing now is fine by me. I still have perfectly functional hands, after all." The self-aware "teehee" at the end of his statement broke Ondolemar, and he laughed heartily.

"I love to see you like this," he nuzzled into the captain's neck and inhaled deeply of his fragrance of soaps of Altmer make mixed with leather. Something about the way he said it sent an unnervingly splendid chill up Ondolemar's spine. Just the skin to skin contact appeased the pair of them.

How could this be wrong?

Ondolemar rested his lips against Aicantar's brow, and solace graced his entire body. The younger elf wriggled from his sublime touch and expressed his glee with a soft giggle, not expecting such affection from him right away, but his heart danced a jig within his chest. “Would you like to have dinner together at the inn again tonight?”

The inn. The very thought of returning there made Ondolemar uneasy and there was always the fear that someone would say something they shouldn't. Calcelmo did his best to clarify with everyone that they were not to speak to Aicantar on the matter, but the “what if” worried him deeply. However, he did not want to dissappoint his young suitor anymore than he convinced himself he already had. “I'd love to.”

Aicantar sensed something was amiss. “If it's too much exposure for you, I'm sure we could scrounge up something from the kitchen in the keep.”

“The inn is fine. The food is slightly more palatable, at any rate.”

The way he said it made Aicantar laugh. Gods did he have a wonderful, uplifting laugh, and Ondolemar shouldered his joy all the way to the dinner table and thereafter. They remained quiet throughout most of their meal, but the silence built much tension between them, especially after sharing coy glances with one another. After cleansing his palate with his ale, Aicantar dabbed his lips on a napkin, catching Ondolemar's emerald eyes gazing upon him, and this time neither of them looked away. All in all, the message was quite clear, but for the moment they chose to admire one another a bit longer until Aicantar could no longer contain his immeasurable attraction to the elder elf.

“Come with me." Aicantar yanked Ondolemar to his feet with a surprising amount of strength and lead him to one of Silver-Blood's darkened and empty corridors. His grin was almost sinister as he pressed him lightly against the wall of stone with the weight of his body and vicious kisses. "Gods I want you badly," he growled hungrily.

Ondolemar had never been more nervous in his life and as much as he wanted this, he kept his vigilant and paranoid sights towards the lighted end of the hall for any unwanted spectators. The situation certainly wasn't ideal, but his mind swayed easily by the heat of Aicantar's hand down the front of his pants, yearning for more stimulation, both cursed and blessed by his demanding biological impulses.

Aicantar's aggression proved no better in helping the captain maintain his chastity, but he'd been alone for so long that restraint escaped him. He curled his fingers around Ondolemar's girth as well as he could in the confined space of his trousers and squeezed, and it struck such a nerve that he jerked. Ondolemar was not surprised in the slightest that he knew just how to maneuver and the rousing sensations caused him to lose himself. At least until Aicantar opened his shirt and kissed his way south in an enthusiastic rush to his belt line. His heart beat faster from both arousal and fear and he wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue it further, but he couldn't speak and his natural urges begged him to stay still and allow his partner to follow through.

"I'm going to suck you dry." The unexpected vulgarity hit Ondolemar in some kind of way, and he ended up with a fist full of Aicantar's soft flaxen hair while the young elf fiddled dextrously with the button on his pants and finally freed him. Aicantar wasted no time literally gobbling him up which knocked him off balance from the eel-like sensation of his tongue twirling around the hypersensitive head. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He couldn't say that this was an entirely new experience, for he'd been pleased orally countless times, however there was some kind of unfamiliar vigor in this act of fellatio.

Ondolemar's long fingers intertwined through Aicantar's sleek hair to get a good tight grip, which only further enticed the younger mer. He enjoyed the rough play, and had nearly forgotten what it was like to be intimate with another man. In fact he'd been so out of practice as of late, the size of Ondolemar's endowment made his jaw ache, and he a hoped there would be much more of this in the future in order to regain his endurance. However, his flavor and his girth was everything he could have dreamed of and more and he prayed this would lead to something more substantial.

Unfortunately, amidst the rise of their heat of passion, an unforseen visitor interrupted his plans to be ravaged by the Thalmor captain this evening. One of Ondolemar's subordinates happened to walk by on his way to the facilities to relieve himself and paused in utter shock. Aicantar froze, and Ondolemar glared hotly, unsure if it enraged or terrified him more. He almost wished he didn't care, but it bothered him immensely and he pushed Aicantar away gently. "Please. No more," he said quietly and gruffly from the mucus that formed in his throat.

Blushing, sweating, and with hot tips of the ears, the Thalmor agent who'd mistakenly intruded upon their act cleared his throat nervously and rushed away. Ondolemar tucked himself back into his pants, already having lost a majority of the stiffness of his erection. Aicantar wiped his mouth on his sleeve and rose to his feet, undoubtedly disappointed, but it was mostly because it had made Ondolemar so upset when he only wanted to satisfy him. "I'm sorry," he said, and tears glistened in the corners of his gorgeous high elf eyes.

Ondolemar shook his head. "Don't apologize. It simply wasn't written in the stars for us tonight."

Of course that didn't help Aicantar feel any less guilty for his spontaneity. That was fun for a normal person, but he had been inconsiderate of Ondolemar's emotional needs. He shouldn't have put him on the spot by allowing his eagerness get the better of him. Though even after being caught in an act of lust with the same sex, Ondolemar actually found himself less ashamed than he thought he should be for such debauchery, and he found his subordinate's immediate reaction most peculiar. But no...just simple embarrassment.

Aicantar continued to hold back his tears, but Ondolemar couldn't bear to see him like this. "Please don't be upset. We will resume this endeavor in the future, surely. For now I think I'm going to return to my quarters." He smoothed out his clothes and made sure everything was concealed and proper. He pressed his lips onto Aicantar's brow and held them there for a considerable length of time before looking him in the eyes once more. "I truly enjoy your company, Aicantar. I'm beginning to feel young and adventurous again.”

Aicantar didn't have anything to add but an approving nod, and Ondolemar's sensible words consoled him. There ignited a new flame in Ondolemar, one Aicantar had not seen previously, the very likes of which improved the young elf's mood. Ondolemar's sincerity and confidence peeked through at last. After bidding his new lover farewell, he returned to the dining area of the inn to imbibe and ponder. The Thalmor agent who'd walked in on them had long gone away, and he thanked his lucky stars no one else wanted to socialize with him.

Ondolemar walked with heavy footsteps for his knees remained weak from his encounter. The Keep was eerily quiet this night save for the rumbling of gears and machine pistons deep below. He couldn't stop replaying the events of the evening in his head. Something about the entire situation appealed to his senses and the thrill kept him wanting. Although he decided he was more agitated about the interruption than anything. Even still, it was almost humorous. Upon his entry to the Thalmor living quarters, the agent who'd seen him engaging in sexual acts with another man had been sitting at the dining table scrawling in some documents. As soon as he saw Ondolemar come in, he quickly lowered his head to pretend he didn't seen him, though his peachy golden cheeks gave him away.

"How much did you see?" Ondolemar questioned outright with his usual authority.

"What? Oh...no no. I didn't see a thing, sir."

Taken aback, Ondolemar cocked his head. It wasn't anything like what he expected and it rendered him speechless and something instantaeously clicked in his mind. "I..."

He sensed his captain's perplexity like a heavy hammer. "Captain...permission to respond as your equal?"

Ondolemar couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Um...oh yes, of course."

"Who you romance in your personal time is entirely your business...I... it's...not really my place...er, excuse me. Just... I'll forget the entire thing."

"Oh..."

The agent cleared his throat, his long ears were far redder than when Ondolemar entered, and immediately changed the subject. "I'll complete my work, sir, and I'll be off to bed. There have been no reports of Talos worship thus far."

Ondolemar didn't even care to hear about their mission and fell completely out of character, marvelling at this newfound respectfulness in his cohort. “Yes, very good. Whatever then.” He knew very well there were secret blasphemers all over that wretched city, but with everything out of the way for the time being, the only prominent topic on his mind was Aicantar, and a foreign sense of overwhelming jubilance that he welcomed into his life with open arms. Unacceptable.

Chapter 10

Summary:

Content warning: violence and mentions of self harm

The the gnarled fingers of rigid winter wind curled through the valley of gray, snowcapped stone, grasping for any living creature and hoping to strangle the soul out of any being. It moaned ominously against the rock. This was quite possibly the coldest day of the year, yet the Thalmor stayed hot on the trail of their prey and well on their way to raid a small farm nestled in a crevice in the wilds of the Reach.

Ondolemar did not commonly partake in the violence, but this time the rage swarmed within him. The kick of his heavy armored boot split the door in two and sent the pieces soaring back into the small farm abode, frenzying the inhabitiants that dwelled there. The Nords fought bravely, but to no avail, for they were no match against the wizardry of the elven Justiciars, and they were soon captured. There were no mistakes. These heathens openly praised Talos with reckless abandon, and they were about to pay the price for their unholy transgressions.

With hatred in his weathered heart, Ondolemar backhanded the burly patriarch of the family with his studded gauntlet. Nostrils flaring and exploding fury, he spat blood and broken teeth onto the captain's face. In that moment, the Altmer lost all sense of self control, and he yanked the blasphemer by his shirt and pummeled his skull until his fist numbed and he tossed him to the floor like a ragdoll while his wife and child screamed and cried in the background. “Where is your 'god' now?” he said with indignance through gritted teeth. The human groveled on the floor, revoltingly alive and resenting his own actions, but never his love and respect for Talos. He refused to die in shame. “Hail the Eight and One...”

Ondolemar lost all control. In one hand a flame ignited, and in the other electricity charged. Had the other soldiers not been there to intervene...

***

Ondolemar's eyes tore open and he sat up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. Now and again that old memory harrassed him. Salty saliva formed in his mouth and his throat clenched as though he would vomit. After a few deep breaths, he relaxed. He remembered perfectly clearly what had made him so angry that day, but it was the first time it ever affected his duties. Ondolemar never particularly appreciated that aspect of his job, and avoided it wherever possible. It reminded him too much of his own tragic past and he couldn't bring it upon himself to perform such heinous acts of torture on others. Though the pressure built and something snapped in him that day.

The overwhelming desire to punish himself intruded upon him, but he did his best to ignore it. Why was it so hard to break away from? What did he have to do to cure his ails? And then Aicantar formed in his visions yet again. His visage always turned up when Ondolemar was at his worst. Alas, the hour was late. Surely neither of the elves would have appreciated an intrusion at this time, and especially not Calcelmo. No, it most definitely would not have been appropriate to disrupt them.

However, Ondolemar needed to seek solace somewhere, so he dressed and snuck carefully out of the Thalmor quarters so as not to disturb his soldiers. To his delight, they were heavy sleepers and never even stirred.

Understone Keep late at night maintained a desolate feel with the absence of the hustle and bustle of Igmund's court. Nightwatchmen had been stationed at the entrance, but even they were fast asleep, their heads bowed and their chests rising and falling in slumber. This was the most peaceful Ondolemar had ever seen Markarth in years. Though he had to remind himself the presence of his Justiciars were to blame for much of the disarray presently. In fact it was quite dangerous for such a high profile individual to meander about alone, for an assassin could turn up at any time and slay the captain—that is if he didn't take himself out first. Part of him welcomed it. The hand of someone else would succeed. He played with the idea of trying it again, but this time considerably less willing. "I don't really want to die," he said to himself. "I just don't want to ache anymore."

And that was quite true. Which was how he found himself in the lab outside of the entrance to Nchuand-zel, attracted like a torchbug to the friendly glow of a floating mage light and precisely the person he needed to commune with the most.

Even with the vibration of the machines humming below, Aicantar heard Ondolemar amble in, and raised his head from his witching hour project to greet him with the most welcoming smile imaginable. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same," he replied. His words came out grittier than he'd have liked.

"Eh, just couldn't sleep. I had the urge to take things apart and put them back together as I tend to do. Come sit with me." Even with the dismal light of the hovering ball of magicka, Aicantar still gave off a warmth that would rival that of the sun itself. He slid his chair to the side so Ondolemar could fit beside him at the desk. Now that he was up close, he could see just how exhausted the captain really was with his somber face and baggy eyes and expressed his concern. "Are you feeling all right, friend?"

Ondolemar didn't feel like holding it in this time and it poured out of him with liquid ease. "No. I haven't been sleeping well at all lately."

Aicantar placed a consoling hand on his knee. "It's not me, is it?"

"No no no. Well...also yes. But you keep me up at night for different reasons entirely."

"Oh?" Aicantar responded in such a cheeky way it made Ondolemar chuckle.

"No use lying about it now, all things considered, right? You're on my mind often, but you are welcome there." He rested his own hand over Aicantar's. He was always so much warmer to the touch than his own cool skin.

It tickled when Aicantar nuzzled into his neck and electrified his entire being when he kissed him behind the hollow of his ear. He said nothing but the action implied his desire to understand him more deeply. This affection resonated with Ondolemar. For the first time in his life he felt protected by someone.

"Aicantar?"

"Hmm? What is it, love?"

"I..." he stopped as if the thoughts froze solid on his tongue.

Aicantar's face pressed right up against his cheek and he spoke soothingly. "You don't have to be afraid to talk to me about yourself. I already like you, you know." His usual playfulness almost ruined the seriousness, but his genuine personality put Ondolemar at ease.

"It's difficult to speak, but I must. I admit I'm still uncomfortable with all of this," he said, a tinge of nerves in his pristine speech. "But it's not for the reasons you might think. I...I grow weary of despising myself every time I feel good. And that's precisely how you make me feel, Aicantar, for lack of a more suitable term. It is so much more."

"That's how you're supposed to feel, Ondolemar. You're not a bad person for that."

You need to be honest with yourself. Calcelmo's words haunted the Thalmor captain.

"I always feel like I should be punished for it...like I don't deserve it..."

"Ondolemar, don't say that..."

"I'll just show you." With great care, he rolled up his sleeve, but even in the dim light, Aicantar could see the raised and battered flesh on his golden wrists, and one particularly new vertical scar on top of all the rest. His greenish eyes widened and he knew not what to think. He gasped at the sight of it, completely distraught, but he reached to caress his markings with his delicate touch, the fresh scar from the incident still tender. "By the Divines, Ondolemar. I never..."

"I can't remember what I was like before this...if I was ever different at all. But..." Be honest with yourself. Calcelmo's words reverberated in his brain again and he proceeded to tell his tale.

"I hurt myself badly...I bled out in the Silver-Blood bathhouse. I don't intend to to throw Calcelmo to the wolves, but he saved my life. As well as Bothela and Verulus."

All became clear to Aicantar at once and he burst with fury, his voice fell much deeper than usual. "That bastard lied to me?!"

Ondolemar took him by the arm at once. "No, please don't be angry with your uncle. He just didn't want you to worry because he cares about you. If anything...I think it was a test. This was my responsibility. It's my way of letting you know...I want to get better...I don't know how, but...gods I can't explain it!"

The young mage calmed to a level of compassion that Ondolemar couldn't fathom. "I'm sorry... this entire time I've been so self-serving."

Ondolemar ignored it, for he believed the mer was far from it. "I've been through so much hell...and it's only taken me until now to realize, that's not how it's supposed to be...and yet I know no other way. I never expected to be so enchanted by a man...by you."

Something in Aicantar caused immense guilt for his behavior as of late.

"I don't want to hurt...I don't want to punish myself...just for the mere thought of you."

Without any warning at all, Ondolemar kissed him, but at another level of passion Aicantar didn't fully understand himself. He wove his hands under his arms and embraced him tightly while he endured this heartbreakingly loving moment. Ondolemar's lips quivered as he fought back tears, but they escaped nonetheless and fell upon Aicantar's cheeks. He caught his breath and realized he'd made the younger elf cry too.

Ondolemar's voice trembled. "I'm so sorry... I'm very damaged. You don't have to deal with that if you do not desire it."

Aicantar tilted his head in that way that always struck Ondolemar, and wiped away his own tears. "Don't be ridiculous. You are an amazing man and if being with me makes you happy, then that's what you need to do. Happiness isn't shameful...

"Be patient with me," he begged. "It's possible I may never be able to give you everything you desire of me, but I want to be with you."

"You don't owe me anything, Ondolemar. I don't want a relationship like that. Things will fall in line in time."

At the very least, the brunt of Ondolemar's pain subsided, and opening up at last elated him. "I'm an old Thalmor soldier, Aicantar. I don't have much more time." He moved in on him to steal another kiss, slow, deep, and passionate. When he broke away, he opened his toxic green eyes, still glistening with emotion. Aicantar graced his cheek with the soft side of his hand and the beauty of him overwhelmed Ondolemar with bliss. His golden skin shimmered like that of the high blooded elves of long past. Truly perfect was he. In the back of his mind he repeated over and over "it's supposed to feel nice." Still, that negative demon that had been instilled in him from a young age fought to yank him back down. He ignored it and held Aicantar tightly against him, for he was his shield against everything bad in the world. They remained in silent bliss for a very long time until Ondolemar noticed the mage light dimming and snuffing out, and small, relaxed cat-like snores emitted from Aicantar. How precious, Ondolemar thought as he shifted gently away from him so as not to disturb his rest. He rolled up a set of robes that had been sitting on a nearby chair to emulate a pillow and lowered Aicantar's head down upon them so he'd have a somewhat comfortable sleep. He kissed the slumbering elf's temple and returned to his own room for the night forgetting entirely about misery for perhaps the first time in his long life.

***

Calcelmo scratched at his beard after he washed and dressed the the morning still wondering where his nephew could have gone. He was nowhere to be found in the tower. Faleen had already gone downstairs for her housecarl duties, but she hadn't see him. Neither did anyone else Calcelmo passed along the way. Not worried in the slightest, he made his way to the excavation area, and that's where he found Aicantar hugging the balled up pile of robes upon his desk. Calcelmo smirked, as the boy was notorious for sneaking off in the night for time to himself on occasion. He nudged his shoulder lightly until he groggily stirred and rubbed the crust from the corners of his eyes.

"Long night?" Calcelmo inquired gently.

Still not fully coherent, Aicantar mumbled to himself, but nothing could be discerned from it. His location startled and disoriented him at him at first, but he regained his clarity quickly when he realized how stiff his neck was from sleeping on it bent for hours. "Ugh...dammit."

The servants from the kitchen brought in their daily tea and breakfast tray. Calcelmo thanked them and poured a cup for Aicantar. "This should help to wake you."

Aicantar turned his head left and right until his neck popped. He groaned from the immediate pain, but it relieved him overall. And then he recalled the events of the night and laid it thick on Calcelmo.

"So, since when have we kept secrets from one another, Uncle Calcelmo?"

Calcelmo furrowed his brow. "That depends. What have you heard?"

He sipped his tea that was entirely too hot and winced. "Ondolemar met with me last night. I mean...it's a bit crucial to know if your love interest attempts suicide, don't you think?"

His current disdain didn't bother Calcelmo in the slightest. He knew how anxious Aicantar became over the small things, he couldn't imagine what an event like that would have wrought. "He's very much alive and you're welcome," he responded.

"Oh be serious! You lied to me."

"I stretched the truth."

"'Beggar on moonsugar' my ass."

"You believed me at the time. Don't be hostile about this. You know I can't bear to see you suffer for any reason. Besides, Ondolemar opened up to you, no? That changes everything."

"Of course it changes things! But...I..." Aicantar's realization drew much sadness to him. "I knew he struggled...but...I didn't know how much."

Proving his own words to be true, Calcelmo's heart ached for his nephew, and he placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder, but his hypocrisy needed to be brought to light. "Aicantar...are you willing to discuss your former demons with him?"

It offended and upset Aicantar that his uncle would bring up such a delicate subject, but the point came across loud and clear. "No...I suppose I'm not willing to talk about that with him. At least not right now."

"Exactly. Don't be so entitled. It wasn't my place to tell you. It will take some time. As I've said before, you are not obligated to fix anyone. People are nothing like your machines. You can't just add oil and a few bolts and screws to make them better, my boy."

Aicantar had nothing to retort. He stared at his feet below the desk. Calcelmo continued. "I've told you time and time again about all the reasons we left Summerset. Ondolemar is merely one byproduct of the wickedness that poisoned that place. I always knew you were different too, but different doesn't mean bad. I couldn't have you exposed to that."

Aicantar bit his lip nervously. "I suppose there's some kind of trust established if he told me about it so soon after it happened. It just baffles me...I never knew any differently. I've had a privileged and wonderful life and you've made sure of it...and Ondolemar..."

Calcelmo hugged him. "If you spend all your time trying to rationalize all the evil in the world, you'll lose your mind."

"I'm sorry I got angry with you." Calcelmo's robes muffled his voice while they embraced.

"It's okay to be angry. Just direct it where it needs to be. And I'm sorry for working you half to death this week. I only wanted to keep your mind off him because I know how upset that would have made you."

"I could have helped."

"You're too close to him. It's different. I couldn't allow for you to see him in such a condition."

Aicantar crossed his arms and gave a warm little smirk. "You can't protect me from every heartbreak and tragedy, Uncle Calcelmo."

The old mage pursed his lips. "No. But I can damn well try like hell. You're my best friend. I only wish to see you happy. You must understand how difficult it is for me too. You've been a man for so long, yet I still tend to forget you don't need to rely on me anymore. But you'll always be the baby, like it or not."

Aicantar smirked. "You have only yourself to blame for my soft nature."

Calcelmo laughed. "I suppose so. But you are also a formidable wizard. May I get some credit for that too?"

"We'll see." He winked.

“Since you're no longer angry with me, finish your breakfast then come down to the excavation site. I require your mechanical expertise.”

Aicantar vocalized his displeasure with an exaggerated groan. Such is life.

Chapter 11

Notes:

NOW we're talkin'...

Long chapter ahead. I did my best. I'm not a very good writer, but oh well. I'm having fun.

"CAPTAIN!"

Ondolemar snapped awake and promptly straightened his posture in his chair.

"Am I boring you?" The snooty, nasally, highbrow voice of his superior Elenwen seared through him. She had returned once again to Markarth for another meeting. Ondolemar wished she'd send letters again.

"My apologies, Ambassador." There was nothing he could say at the time to defend himself to remedy his apparent mistake.

"Still unwell, old friend? Perhaps it would be best if you take some leave."

The very concept of that threw his mind into a frenzy. "Absolutely not. I am needed here."

Elenwen's frustration with him formed ever so obviously in her already narrow eyes, but she maintained her keen professionalism when she spoke. She tossed her wavy golden hair over her shoulder.

Igmund and Raerek both sneered at him and he glared daggers right back. It was bad enough to have had the very ones who nearly destroyed Markarth patrolling about in their court, but their secrets needed to remain hidden to maintain a stable relationship with the Empire. They knew at any time one could blackmail the other, and yet there was an unspoken respect between the Jarl and the Thalmor Captain, despite everything. It could be that the captain at last began to feel at home in this city, and as for Igmund, Ondolemar's strategic and political knowledge proved a quite valuable asset to him.

In truth, Ondolemar needed rest and to seek help, but what could he do? Heretics against elvenkind required eradication. What would taking leave reveal about his honor? His current state made him question his own dignity. He could not abandon his life's mission.

Elenwen adjourned the council and all the important individuals filed out of Igmund's meeting hall with the same level of laziness Ondolemar had been caught with red-handed. Once the others had gone, Elenwen communed with him privately. Though he had tried to avoid her, there was no escaping it, and as he expected, the ghastly elven woman showed him no sympathy or mercy.

"You're slipping, Ondolemar. I don't know what it is...but you are slipping." She tried to mask her venom to lessen the blow, only making her statement even more abrasive.

He could have requested that much-needed leave at any time and she most certainly would have obliged because of their long-standing professional relationship. However, would never swallow his pride, especially not in front of her, and he responded with intense silence. When he was certain he seared through her with his gaze, he spun on his heels and marched away. He slammed the door of the Thalmor office which prompted his soldiers to immediately leave without question, and he headed straight for the liquor cabinet for Alto wine, popping the cork and chugging it directly from the bottle until he quenched his thirst. He already tingled from the alcohol seeping into his veins and decided enough was enough as he stuck the cork back into the opening and set the bottle on his desk hoping he would not require more later. He settled into his chair and leaned it back and allowed his body weight against the wall to balance him while he propped his feet on the desk. A rapid heart rate and tinnitus kept him from a proper rest, but he tried his damndest to fight it. Once more, Aicantar graced his mind with his presence and he found himself tight in the pants as he envisioned their lips locked and his hands all over him. It still didn't make him any less angry, just frustrated. Nothing a furious wank couldn't cure, surely.

But no. Ondolemar's darkly lined eyes peeled open and he contemplated as he studied the shapes in the hapless ceiling pattern. “You're losing your fucking mind,” he said aloud to himself. The urge for release and contact with another would not let up. His ears rang louder, his heart beat faster, and his legs grew restless. “Shit!” He let his chair back down and slammed his boots onto the floor and stormed out of the Thalmor office once more. He passed Faleen along the way. “Is Aicantar occupied at the moment? I wish to see him,” he asked her somewhat desperately. He blushed when he realized how forceful he'd been with his words.

The Redguard woman with cinnamon skin scratched at her small and pitifully round ear and tucked one of her braids behind it. It fell back to it's original state. “Well, Calcelmo has been called away by a cohort, so Aicantar will be filling in as court wizard for the time being.”

Ondolemar's heart sunk. “Oh...”

Faleen, of course, was no stranger to Ondolemar's courtship with Aicantar, but he surprisingly didn't know she had been aware of that this entire time. She crossed her arms and smirked. “Tell you what. Between you and me, Igmund doesn't usually drop much work on him out of sheer pity for putting up with my husband's incessant nagging. I think you just might find him in the museum playing with his toys. Strange boy. That's how he relaxes.”

A hint of excitement formed on Ondolemar's face for just a second, and he thanked her before scurrying away. The guard at the door stepped aside, as he was informed once before that Ondolemar was permitted to enter the museum at any time per Aicantar's request (especially since it also lead to the wizard's tower where Calcelmo and Aicantar both resided).

Aicantar had been discovered within with his arms elbow deep in Dwemer oil wearing an old blacksmith's apron that had once belonged to Moth and protective goggles over his eyes. Had the door not slammed behind Ondolemar, he'd have never noticed his visitor. Regardless of his hands being full, he took delight in Ondolemar's intrusion. “Welcome!” he spouted brightly. “Um...do excuse me. I've been lubricating the moving parts and pistons of the automatons and I'm a mess.”

Ondolemar inappropriately allowed his mind to wander, but shook it off.

“Lemme just...you know what? This can wait.” He carelessly tossed the rod he'd been dousing with lubricant to the floor and it struck with a heavy “CLONG!”

Ondolemar looked around. The rest of the guards the wizards' hired to patrol the museum and tower were nowhere to be found. “No guards?”

Aicantar had tossed his goggles on a nearby table and his apron to the floor and began to slowly scrub his hands in a pot of a mysterious solution used to break down the oil. “I kick them out when I'm working. They're far too curious and ask so damn many annoying questions. I don't mind answering them, just not when I'm busy.” He concluded with a cute laugh.

“These liquids won't harm you, will they?” Ondolemar raised his eyebrows with concern at a strong whiff of chemical smell coming from the basin.

Aicantar shrugged and responded honestly as he dried his hands on a towel he kept for working. “They might.” Everywhere but the area beneath his fingernails came astonishingly clean. “I'm going to the tower to make myself a little more presentable. Join me?”

Join him? Was he mad? All kinds of scenarios played out in Ondolemar's head, but he kept them tucked away and anxiously followed Aicantar beyond the restricted area that looked familiar to him from the night of his drunken escapade. After a long trek up many flights of stairs, they had made it to the top where the wizards lived and Aicantar happily invited Ondolemar inside. “Make yourself at home. I'm going to change out of these filthy rags and wash up.”

The captain's cheeks and ears heated up nervously, but he distracted himself by peering out the window that over looked the city below. He could see Ghorza's forge still burning hot and focused on the orange glow of the coals. What a phenomenal view.

The the sound of dripping water from wringing out a cloth in the wash basin distracted him. Part of him wanted to peek behind him, for there existed no partition for privacy in the room, but he did not wish to be rude or inappropriate while Aicantar bathed. A delicious aroma of floral soaps wafted his way and teased his senses. It reminded him of the first time they were intimate. Ondolemar squeezed his thighs together and fixed his stare back onto the forge below until Aicantar finished his deeds and took a seat beside his guest to let him know he could safely look again. This was the first time Ondolemar had seen him in anything besides mage robes. His shirt was loose and comfortable looking, open and showing a decent amount of his smooth golden chest. He wore tan pants that snugly hugged his waist and he hadn't bothered to put his boots back on, revealing somewhat large feet by Altmer standards, though they were nice and well cared for. The young elf never bothered to let his long hair back down after washing, and it was tied in a messy bun resting carelessly against the back of his head, a few strands hung down. He was strikingly beautiful...

Ondolemar didn't know how much more torture he could take, but he remained as collected as he possibly could. Aicantar didn't seem to notice if he was behaving strangely and took his hand into his to simply hold and show affection. It somewhat brought Ondolemar out of his lovedrunk stupor, though it bothered him immensely that he still had not spoken another word since they'd gotten there. What a peculiar thing. He'd never heard Aicantar so quiet about anything. Did he know something he didn't? Or was he taking advantage of his currently absent uncle?

Aicantar spoke at last and Ondolemar deflated. “Such a lovely view of the city, isn't it? The only others who would have a better view are the women of the Dibellan temple, but they don't have any windows.” He sounded sympathetic about it. Damn. Uncomfortable silence again.

The younger mer stared out the window, still and unflinching, but soon he released a rather flustered sigh. “You know what? To Oblivion with all this nonsense.” He lunged at Ondolemar and kissed him. Ondolemar feared his heart would explode, both from the fright and all the anticipation that kept him on the edge of his seat for the better part of the day. Now he had Aicantar at last, just the two of them completely alone with no worry of interruptions.

“By the fucking divines I've been dying to do this all day,” Aicantar gasped in between ferocious kisses. Ondolemar didn't want to admit out loud that he felt the same. He smiled widely, making it difficult to keep kissing but he forced his mouth out of that position just to taste Aicantar's lips. Intoxicating. They did not speak and the rest of what they both truly wanted in that moment communicated quite well through their actions.

Ondolemar pulled his partner to his feet and propped him against the nearest wall. An escape of eager and excited breath peeped out of Aicantar. Ondolemar could hardly believe he had another man pressed against the wall, gnawing hungrily at his neck and jaw, the roughness of a day or two's growth of stubble grating against his cheeks was something entirely new. Aicantar's chest heaved eagerly, hardly able to believe this was happening himself. The esteemed captain of the Thalmor bedding a young male partner...it was unheard of. Preposterous. And he wanted it badly, his eager erection constricted against the tight fabric of his pants making it throb and ache.

"Let me help." Aicantar turned him against the wall and knelt down straight away to unfasten his belt. He had to reach down inside the leg of his pants to coax it out, his experienced touch caused Ondolemar to withdraw and he yelped from simultaneous shock and delight.

While he was down there, Aicantar admired Ondolemar's length with his tongue as he'd attempted before, deprived of sex so long he nearly forgotten how delicious a man could taste...but Ondolemar was something else entirely, a decadent treat. The taboo only increased the thrill, and he aggressively yanked the captain's pants the rest of the way down around his ankles.

The Thalmor captain wanted to retract at first, but gave into lust, never having had anyone suck him off so enthusiastically, so....deliberately. It was different than their encounter at the inn. His long legs buckled and he supported himself with his arms on the wall above.

"Don't be coy," Aicantar let the tip pop out of his mouth with a slurp. "Just enjoy it."

Ondolemar's thoughts jumbled together with the unnerving sensations in his loins and his partner's alluring words.

Every motion of the younger elf's mouth and every touch of his hands encouraged him while the wanton desires seeped into his mind like a toxin. Aicantar squeezed his long cock at the base and pulled towards him, wrenching more tightly as he moved forward. "I want to feel your cum in the back of my throat."

The Thalmor captain still didn't expect such unabashed vulgarity from him. It made his heart race from both desire and shame, but it felt so good. It was difficult to smile with something so big in his mouth, but Aicantar basked in his partner's newly gained enthusiasm, moaning approvingly. Aicantar broadened their horizons and teased Ondolemar's anal opening with the tip of his finger and pushed it past the tight ring of muscle ever so gently. To his own delight and surprise it excited the elf more so he pushed it in deeper, but not farther than he was comfortable with, which his body language was so telling.

As much as he'd have loved for Ondolemar to spill right then, Aicantar wanted to do so much more with him, all the vile things he fantasized about on late nights. He removed his finger and pushed Ondolemar's hips away from his face, using him as support to rise onto his long, slender legs. He made sure to kiss the captain widely so he could taste himself on his breath, pleased by how eager and starved he was for him.

Aicantar began to undress himself. He pulled his shirt up over his head, eating up how lustfully Ondolemar's eyes ogled his bare chest, smooth, youthful and nearly hairless save for the blonde trail of manly ecstasy on his abdomen that led so temptingly into his beltline. Ondolemar slid his hand over his flat belly and over the coarse hair until he felt the base of his hardened cock, then pushed deeper so he could squeeze the tender head. He knew exactly what he should do to it, yet he didn't know how to begin.

It had been so long since he'd been touched by another man that Aicantar convulsed and giggled from his own response. "I'll get it out for you if you're too shy." He kissed the end of Ondolemar's nose. The captain of the Thalmor nodded anxiously.

Wasting no more time, the scholar at last dropped his pants and undergarments to the floor and stepped out of them, kicking them aside somewhat vengefully like they had been the ones to get in the way of his carnal depravity. Ondolemar still wasn't sure if it was appropriate to stare, but he couldn't help admire the divine being before him.

It was clear he was still uneasy and uncertain about his feelings toward men. "It's perfectly all right to look and enjoy. You're not doing anything wrong." Aicantar's sweetness in that moment got the better of Ondolemar. The young elf kissed him with great fervor, hands groping all over his chest fiddling with the many buckles on his uniform coat that smelled of hard leather. He needed to feel his skin against his.

Once he had it undone, he slid the coat over his shoulders, going out of his way to touch and admire the muscles of his lover while he seductively moved the fabric aside, and allowed it to fall to the floor. He ran his hand up the back of Ondolemar's head, delighted by the soft prickle of his closely cropped white hair. With nothing to hang on to, he merely pulled him closer, and the kiss that began with mild aversion grew to accept its destiny, his body teeming with so many pleasantries from this experience he had difficulty understanding how he could feel that way.

"Aicantar..." the strong Altmer sighed, but his partner took it as discontent.

"Do you want to stop?"

Ondolemar's pouting lips pulled into a cheeky grin. "No. And that's the problem."

Aicantar hummed contentedly in return and kissed him lovingly once more before he started to tear open his next article of clothing. It was the part he was most excited for; the rippling muscles of a mighty older mer, strong, aged and battleworn with hair and masculine qualities worth dying for.

Oh, and he was everything Aicantar could want! He pawed at him like a housecat begging for food. And Ondolemar enjoyed the warmth dancing from the mage's fingertips, convinced he had been charming him the whole time with the slightest bit of magicka. Eyes greener than alchemical poison stared quizzically at the young elf. He still wasn't quite sure what to do and feared he'd make a fool of himself, but Aicantar was keen to this.

"We don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he assured him. Strange to be such a high commanding officer of the Thalmor regime reduced to coddling by a young wizard. It made Ondolemar feel very small. He liked to be the one taking charge, but Aicantar managed to knock him down a few pegs in more ways than just this.

"Let's take this to the bed, shall we?" Aicantar wanted to explore his body in comfort.

"You're stunning," he admired out loud as he caressed the curve in Aicantar's hip. His erection rested against his leg, much warmer than the rest of his skin. Ondolemar was made less of a man in Aicantar's compelling presence. He sent chills throughout the captain's body with just a whisper. "What would you like to do?"

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it. The very clear image of plowing the younger elf's backside remained prominent in his mind, but he'd never done anything like that before. He supposed it wasn't different from bedding a woman, but he never had to consider if he was on the receiving end. Ondolemar was unsure of himself, and now desperately aroused and couldn't figure out what he should do in this instance to relieve it. This virginal display was far from new to Aicantar, and he found it endearing from someone so sexually experienced. "I'll do anything you ask of me. I don't care as long as I get off."

It was blunt, and Ondolemar appreciated the honesty, but he still hadn't figured it out. Aicantar decided a nice hand job was still within his comfort zone, and he took to stroking him, squishing his foreskin over the sensitive head. With a voice as smooth as silk, he asked, "Do you like this?"

Ondolemar's body tensed in the most wonderful way. It was difficult to think under pressure, but he nodded as well as he could.

"I can make you come like this, or we can play more." The sultriness of his voice melted Ondolemar. Aicantar knew exactly what he was doing. The more aroused he could get him, the more likely he'd want to try something out of the ordinary. "...or you can come in my mouth..."

He slinked down the Thalmor captain's body and ran his tongue up and down his shaft again. As much as he'd have loved for it to happen himself, he wanted to coax something more from him.

"I want to fuck you so badly," he hissed and took a good length of Ondolemar into his cheek, slurping it up and taking delight in his musky, masculine flavor. Ondolemar lost reasonable control of his hands and managed to grab a fistful of Aicantar's sleek golden locks, pushing him down on himself eager to release. He rarely cursed but an unruly "fuck" passed his lips. Aicantar loved that kind of energy and animalistic aggression. Ondolemar's pulse raged in his abdomen where Aicantar rested his own hand. He didn't think he could physically be as erect as he was, but his cock was swollen so much he thought it would burst, and it nearly did when Aicantar engulfed him deep into the back of his throat. He went easy on him once more. "What do you want to do to me, Ondolemar?"

The entire dynamic changed now that Aicantar planted the idea in his mind. He very well could fuck him. He didn't have to be fucked himself. And it was all the more compelling with Aicantar egging him on, and the degenerate Altmer knew he'd behave more roughly the more he teased him.

He situated himself over Ondolemar's hips and their erections touched. He took both of their lengths in his hand and stroked them together, throbbing and warm. He reached for a bottle of oil in the drawer of his nightstand and prepared them both. He would have sat upon it, but he wanted a clear sign from Ondolemar before taking that big of a step, so instead he continued to stroke him, the sensitivity increased exponentially from the lubricant and he squirmed under his weight.

"Do you want me?"

"Y-yes!" he mustered the word after a tight squeeze. Gods was he wicked.

Aicantar slipped him a finger once again, and it took much easier with the lubricant.

"If you're uncomfortable tell me," he reminded as he inserted his longest finger deeper than he'd done all night.

What a raw and enticing sensation, Ondolemar thought. Even just his finger burned a bit, so he couldn't imagine how his penis would feel. He wasn't sure about that, but he liked his asshole fingered to his own surprise.

"If I go deeper, you could expel instantly...especially if I'm inside you..." Aicantar really couldn't control himself at this point. He wanted that mer to ravage him something fierce otherwise he was going to do it to him. "...unless... you'd rather fuck me instead?"

The offer tempted him immensely and perspiration formed on his naturally scowling brow.

"...I could slide down onto you...would you like that?"

Ondolemar could not contain his heartbeat. He was certain it could be heard pounding throughout the halls of Understone Keep. He sat up, Aicantar still straddling him, and he kissed him like a wild animal eating fresh prey. Aicantar nuzzled him back down to the pillow and looked him directly into his toxic green eyes with his brilliant green-gold ones. "Is that what you want me to do?"

Aicantar was the only person he'd ever heard speak to him so fondly, so respectfully making sure everything was perfect. It took to him instantly. He felt loved and appreciated. It was the first time all night he verbalized what he wanted, and it astounded and gratified Aicantar to hear him say the words. "Ride me right now."

It sent a jolt through his loins and Aicantar keenly situated himself over him, supporting his lover's shaft and inserting it into himself carefully. It didn't bother him at all. He knew what to expect and shuddered when it lightly grazed his touchy prostate.

For Ondolemar, this sensation was entirely new, and nothing like that of a woman's orifice, but he enjoyed it far more than he'd ever anticipated. Aicantar moved slowly at first to acclimate to Ondolemar's size with his own hand stroking himself and bronze lips locked to Ondolemar's. He formed a steady motion on his knees and his actions became aggressive quickly when he couldn't take the arousal any longer. Ondolemar's massive phallus went deep, and all it took was one final hard press against his prostate, causing him to erupt ferociously like a steaming Eastmarch geyser onto his partner's chest and abdomen out of his own control, and he moaned loudly from the ecstasy.

Ondolemar didn't understand what had come over him, but that hot expulsion on his skin and the noises emitting from Aicantar were unbearable and his carnal instinct took over. He slipped out of him just to force the younger elf's face down onto the bed, backside up and spread wide exposing his slightly reddened opening. Ondolemar took him by the hips, thrusting his cock through the taut ring of flesh, and he hurled his hips into him with the vigor of a beast, his only goal to reach his orgasm. His vision darkened and his head spun, heart thrumming within his ears, but not loudly enough to dampen the sound of their skin clapping together. He hoped he wasn't hurting him, but also didn't care either, though the blanket-muffled outcries from the mer below didn't sound like protest. He writhed which bent Ondolemar's penis to the perfect angle, his sweaty hands hanging onto Aicantar's bony hips desperately until he ejaculated so immensely his legs buckled. He moaned so loudly he shoved his knuckles into his mouth and bit down for fear of waking everyone in the entire city.

Aicantar encouraged him with a few pleased words as he milked himself of his last spurts of semen before pulling himself slowly out of what reminded him of a finger trap and he blushed with embarrasment as some of himself leaked from his partner's now completely battered orifice. Now that his mind was clear, the air smelled hot and filthy, and to his surprise he no longer felt ashamed, but gratified, and for the first time in a long time, accomplished. Just before Aicantar could reach for the cleanup rag, Ondolemar pulled him back and placed the most emotion driven kiss he could ever recall upon his plump bronze lips. "What have you done to me?" he gasped.

Aicantar smiled, his cheeks turned warm and filled with peachy color. "I do believe I've made you fall in love with me, handsome." He caressed the underside of Ondolemar's short and professionally trimmed white beard with the back of his finger.

Ondolemar could feel his blood raging—but it was an enjoyable brand of warmth one only felt with the excitement of new romance. The fact it was with another man added a new sense of thrill, like he'd been missing out on something for all those years. He never thought he could feel this way, rather, he never thought he was supposed to, that this feeling was meant to be reserved for a woman who would carry on his noble Altmer lineage. What did any of that matter if the only purpose was to procreate rather than to experience something rich and fulfilling? Aicantar pleased him in a way no woman ever had before.

"I can't imagine I'd ever have gotten to feel anything quite like this had we remained in Summerset," Aicantar said out of the blue while he dried his moist areas. It didn't seem like something he'd meant to speak out loud.

Ondolemar admired Aicantar's nude body beside him for a time. This being was no abomination and he hadn't made Ondolemar feel anything but pleasure. What was so different about it truly? And he caressed his thin thigh without really thinking about it and found himself asking, "Can we do this again?"

"Give me a half hour to recuperate at least," Aicantar joked and tossed him the towel.

Ondolemar laughed genuinely, something he hadn't done in a very long time. "You know damn well what I mean."

The mage sat up and moved his hand up the side of Ondolemar's sunken cheek and sharply carved and prominent cheekbone. "Like I'd ever say no," he smiled. "I'm very happy you were willing enough to try this in the first place."

The Thalmor captain blushed. He didn't really want a sexual encounter to become a life lesson, but perhaps he needed his eyes opened. "You're just...different."

"Not at all," he smirked. "You just haven't been around the right kind of people for you, man or woman."

The gears began to turn in Ondolemar's head, thinking back of all the times he expressed such behaviors and every time he was reprimanded for them. What harm was he doing? And now there was no one here to see it, no one to hurt him.

"...Aicantar?"

He was finishing a sip of wine from a bottle on the nightstand to wet his parched mouth. "What is it?"

"How did you...well um...how did you know?"

Aicantar smiled sweetly. There was something very precious about an older man set in his ways delving into self exploration. He knew exactly what he was asking. "I suppose I always knew. Uncle Calcelmo suspected it, but he never tried to steer me away. There was no use of it. I remember when I was a boy, maybe nine or ten years old, in Western Cyrodiil where we lived at the time, he sent me to a school for advanced young mages. There were children of all types there. Well, you know my uncle. He was concerned how I'd fit in there and he hung around for about a week to observe. I suppose this one little Breton girl was sweet on me. I hadn't really noticed in all honesty, even though I was at that age where curiosity about romance began to show. Uncle Calcelmo asked me about it and I remember him just nodding. I'm still not really certain how to describe the look on his face when I told him I didn't like girls, whether he thought I might have still been immature or if it was some kind of relief because my disinterest would keep me focused on my schoolwork." Aicantar paused to chuckle about it as he reminisced.

"Uncle Calcelmo finally went back home when he realized I'd get on just fine without him and I boarded there for awhile. I shared a bunk with an Orsimer boy. His tusks hadn't grown in all the way yet, so he only had one. I took to him straight away because I thought he looked interesting, as I'd never seen an Orsimer my own age in person before. His name was Sharmog and he had Imperial parents who had adopted him. He was very bright and we partnered up with everything. Which was dangerous, mind you. We were both too smart for our own good, but the professors couldn't find it in them to give us bad marks even when we misbehaved for being so clever. At least until we started holding hands. That was after he kissed me one night hiding together under the blanket with a library book and a magelight. He looked so cute with his yellow eyes and silly snaggletooth...and then he made the move on me and cut my lip on his tusk. He felt bad, but I laughed and healed myself with what we learned in restoration lessons earlier that week. 'I like you, Aicantar,' he said. 'Will you be my best friend forever?' And in our childish innocence we pledged ourselves to one another. We were often found together hand in hand, but the administration didn't like it. It was a strict 'no public display of affection' policy, I guess, or that's what they said. Looking back now, I suspected it was something else, and so did Uncle Calcelmo. They separated us and changed all our classes, then sent letters home to our parental figures to discuss our 'behavior.' I remember that day so well because it was the last time I ever saw Sharmog. We sat together in the hall for the first time in weeks, and despite everything, we still gripped one another's hands as tightly as ever. We didn't understand why we were being punished. I remember Sharmog's parents yelling at the dean and Uncle Calcelmo's voice booming beyond the office door, and I remember it well because Uncle Calcelmo rarely curses. 'You're telling me you're going to expel this pair of remarkably gifted boys because they held hands? They're children, for fuck's sake! They're innocent! They only know love and compassion until scum like you rip it out of them!' Sharmog's family shared this sentiment as well. Children being kind to one another and 'in love' was the least of anyone's worries. To this day, I still don't fully know if it was racially driven or if it had to do with our budding sexuality, but Uncle Calcelmo removed me from that school and took me home immediately on the condition that Sharmog could remain there without punishment, and the dean agreed. I cried so hard on the carriage ride home. 'Don't be upset, my boy. You did nothing wrong, you hear me? You're a good boy with a big heart. Besides that, they weren't challenging enough for you anyway. You're much smarter than that.' 'I-miss-my-friend,' I snivelled. I got to hug Sharmog goodbye, at the very least. Uncle Calcelmo wanted to spite the school's administration. Sharmog told me he would write me a letter as soon as he could. His mother and father thanked Uncle Calcelmo and apologized profusely for such a waste of time, but Sharmog got to continue his education at least. I waited a month for his letter, which seemed like an eternity in child time, but it never came. I didn't know it at the time, but I guess they had moved away. His father was a member of the Legion, you see, and called away to fight in the war. My heart was broken. Then one day Uncle Calcelmo knocked on my door as I was casually entertaining myself with a book. 'Look what the courier brought for you.' It said 'To Aicantar From Sharmog' on the front, and I read it, and did my heart ever swell with happiness. Though there was something very off about it to say the least. I recalled Sharmog's notes and journals. His handwriting was atrocious. You'd be lucky if you were able to decipher it at all. Uncle Calcelmo at least tried to mask his own handwriting, but I just knew. I went to his study. 'Uncle Calcelmo...I know Sharmog didn't write this. It's not his script.' The man broke down and he hugged me more tightly than ever. 'I'm so sorry, Aicantar, you caught me red handed. I just couldn't tolerate seeing you so sad. I love you.' 'I love you too, Uncle.' Wow...”

Aicantar seemed choked up. “I've never told anyone that story before. Sorry it was so long winded. So... that's me, I suppose."

Ondolemar had been dead silent the entire time Aicantar told his story. There was not a moment in his life he could recall where anyone treated him with any amount of compassion or empathy. His first "deviation from the norm" was with a Redguard boy, but he remembered being removed by force, his parents refused to speak of it and they forced their ideals upon him ever since. He was starting to believe he'd been brainwashed. "You have truly been blessed by the Eight Divines, Aicantar."

"I wouldn't go that far," he grinned.

The pair of them were both still so mindlessly in their natural state without a care.

"Why only Eight, Ondolemar? What has Talos done to warrant such distaste from the Thalmor?

The captain felt sickly and hot with those sudden words. He had not expected a debate at this time. "He's not a God, just a man who has done horrible things to our kind. He has no place in our Elven pantheon."

"So don't worship him," Aicantar stated forthright. "The integrity of our divines remains the same, with or without his inclusion, does it not? Besides, it is to my understanding he only fought against evil and oppression.”

It rendered Ondolemar speechless, and he made attempts to speak, but all that came out were meaningless utterances. It wholly offended him.

Aicantar kissed Ondolemar on top of the head anyway, just as lovingly as ever, never knowing he was a monster who imprisoned and killed—be it directly or indirectly—innocent heretics who had nothing to do with the actions of a violent being from the past.

“I'm sorry I said anything,” Aicantar said. “We're supposed to be having a good time. It's not appropriate of me to question your religious values. I suppose I don't really understand anything about religion or politics outside that of the Dwemer, of course, so forgive my ignorance. Uncle Calcelmo was never really a temple-goer, so I never was either. Anyways...just forget it. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

For him, it was simple to forget, for the mer in bed beside him proved a distracting sight. Aicantar's lovely nude form glistened in the torchlight. The mage had just the build one would expect of him, not overly phsyically weak, just long and lean. Ondolemar was thin himself, but he felt bulky beside Aicantar, though they were about the same height. Every bit of the younger elf was beautifully carved and highly detailed like he was a living a golden statue. Ondolemar's fingers traipsed over every curve. His skin was slightly sticky from sweat, but silky and flawless. He arched his back to stretch and Ondolemar ogled every bit of him, now completely relaxed after their session. “Ugh...damn.You wore me out.” He forced himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, stood and retrieved a plate of sliced of fruits and cheese and a wine bottle for them to share from the table, then returned and crossed his legs in the center of the bed, all his bits exposed and free, and he consumed a handful of grapes.

“We're just going to eat snacks naked?” Ondolemar asked with an adorable inquisitive look.

Aicantar looked at him like he had two heads. “Uh, yes? You don't indulge after a good fuck? Have you ever even lived?”

He didn't know what it was, but there was something youthful and fun about the idea that appealed to Ondolemar's senses, and he smiled, happily munching apples and cheese and sipping Alto wine from the same bottle. Such a free spirit.

“Besides,” Aicantar mumbled through a mouthful of cheese. “I don't get to enjoy comfortable nudity in my own home much. I'll seize the opportunity wherever possible.”

Ondolemar spoke no more and simply watched his new lover for a few moments. What a strange and gorgeous creature, simple and content, also somewhat ravenous. It made him smile. He could definitely get used to this. He forgot all about agony and torture while in the presence of Aicantar and never wanted to leave. So he stayed.

Notes:

Calcelmo is the best uncle ever. Fight me.

Chapter 12

Notes:

Feelings and emotions again. Ugh. So many.

Ondolemar awoke with a start, sweating, heart pounding. When the world around him became vivid once more, he remembered and the nightmare soon faded into the past. Aicantar slept soundly beside him, his presence providing solace. Parched from their night of imbibing, Ondolemar crept out of bed to the pitcher of water on the table and drank a considerable amount to rehydrate. He looked to his sleeping mate, who was still blissfully in his natural state and only wrapped around the waist and one leg with his fur blanket. Some people were horrendous beasts when they slumbered, but not Aicantar. He was graceful and angelic. Ondolemar took a few moments to admire his elegance, which forced his urge to punish himself deep into the recesses of his mind. Aicantar was a gift from Mara that he could not deny. He observed the variety of scars on his wrist and clenched his fist. “I won't...not anymore.” Phantom pain from the old lashings tried their damndest to sway him, but he ignored it. Once he quenched his thirst, he joined Aicantar once more, and battled the wicked thoughts away while he wove his arms around him and pulled him close. Aicantar stirred this time, only enough to reach for Ondolemar's hand, and fell immediately back to sleep. This small affection moved him and the comfort of his touch soon lulled Ondolemar back to sleep until the morning.

After much stretching and joint popping Aicantar was ready to start his day, thrilled to see Ondolemar's handsomeness very much awake beside him. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Ondolemar replied with a rough sleepy voice. He couldn't help but smile.

Aicantar kissed his forehead. “I'll spare you a real kiss until I've freshened my breath.”

Ondolemar pulled his head down for one anyway. “I don't care.” Gritty, raw, masculine. All of it aroused him.

Aicantar hummed with pleasure before breaking away from him. He'd have stayed in bed with him all day if he could. "I'm sorry if my face is a bit rough. I haven't had time to shave for a few days."

Ondolemar's eyes wrinkled up when he smiled and he ran his thumb over Aicantar's considerable growth of stubble. "If I'm being honest...I kind of like it."

"Oh my," the mage smiled. "Unfortunately for you, my beard growing skills are lacking. I get that from my mother's side. At least that's what Uncle Calcemo told me. He said Grandfather had an exquisitely long beard."

"That's quite all right. I like you just the way you are, bearded or not." Ondolemar kissed his cheek.

"I'm run ragged this week. Igmund doesn't normally have much for me to do while Uncle Calcemo is away, but this time I've haven't gotten much time to myself."

Ondolemar facially expressed his displeasure. "No time for me tonight?"

Aicantar's neat and shiny blonde brows furrowed and he smirked sarcastically. "Of course there is. Igmund can damn well wait. You're more important."

The way he said it humbled Ondolemar as told by the bashful shift of his body. Aicantar took him by the chin and kissed him. He lowered his voice, soft and sensual. "Come back to my tower tonight and I'll give you the ride of your life."

That was all Ondolemar could think about all day after they parted from one another to tend to their work and he found himself staring at the clock every few minutes. If only there was a spell to move time forward, he thought. He even contemplated adventuring for an Elder Scroll just so he could skip all the time in between to the parts he could be with Aicantar, but he decided the idea was silly. He'd just have to be patient. He couldn't remember ever being this eager to lie with anyone. Perhaps that unabashed sexual fervor of his enticed him so. He'd never been with anyone so shameless and it was quite invigorating, so very liberating. In fact, he thought he really had fallen in love with him. Could it be so?

Hour after hour had come and gone, but as soon as 8:00pm rolled around he relinquished his duties and headed to the bathhouse to freshen up, which made Kleppr and his family leary at first, and rightfully so. He promised them it was actually to bathe this time and even gave them all his weapons to hold onto. There was an odd glow about Ondolemar and they all noticed, especially the young woman Hroki. She knew that look all too well. Smitten. It disappointed her to her very soul.

Hroki made it a point to be the one to bring him his bath towels and supplies over her brother Hreinn. Ondolemar had already partially undressed when she got there, which made her pause in her tracks and blush. "Oh I'm sorry...I just wanted to bring you some toiletries."

"How very kind. Thank you, my dear. " Ondolemar very much knew her ploy. He wished she would leave, but didn't want to be a rude patron so he said nothing and dawdled hoping she'd become discouraged and go on her own. Alas, she did not.

"Ondolemar," she said at last after she'd worked up the courage. "Are you seeing someone?"

Such an inappropriate thing for a young one to ask. "I don't feel comfortable answering that."

"It's just that I've seen you around the inn a lot with the Aicantar. I mean...I don't believe there's a man in Markarth he hasn't been with. You might want to have Bothela check you for ticklebritch."

Hroki's sudden vindictiveness bit him hard like a serpent and he automatically snapped at her. "Get the hell out of here, you little tramp!"

What did she honestly expect from this encounter? She jumped with a fright and rushed out of the bathhouse. She was far too young and immature for Ondolemar to even be remotely interested, but he never expected that kind of manipulative behavior. Though she was young and still learning. He hoped she would not carry that deplorable trait with her to adulthood.

Of course, he still didn't take what she said with a pinch of salt. Instead, it nagged at him and he didn't know why it irked him so much. As far as he knew, he was the only man Aicantar had been with for a long time and he didn't appear to be courting anyone else simultaneously, so it wasn't as though he was unfaithful. And why on Nirn did that little girl know so much about sexually transmitted illnesses? Ondolemar knew Hroki was sweet on him and decided his outburst may have been too much for her. After all, even though she was coming of age, she was still a little girl learning how to be a person. And with the way her parents fought, what could she possibly know about healthy behaviors? What did he know about healthy behaviors even?

In any case, he washed and dressed quickly and retrieved his belongings from Frabbi at the counter. He even quietly showed her his wrists, free of any attempted self harm, and she nodded. Death most definitely was terrible for business.

After that he searched for the young lady. He hoped his harshness didn't frighten her too badly. He found her outside sitting on a big stone and sobbing and he approached her gently this time. "I apologize for lashing out at you. You should know that kind of attitude is highly inappropriate. I didn't intend to scare you, but you really upset me. I'm well aware you are infatuated by me. It doesn't take eyes to see it. But my private life is none of your concern and you need to respect that."

Hroki indeed experienced immense guilt for her actions, but she did not respond in a manner he expected. "Get away from me, Thalmor dog!"

It was certainly only because he'd turned down her advances, but he gave her space to blow off steam and left her alone. As long as she didn't try to take it beyond this and make up a story to her father, everything would be fine. He didn't believe she would do that, though. It also made him glad he never had any children because he would hated to have had to deal with such absurd mood swings.

Even still, the fact she so haplessly revealed Aicantar's promiscuity to him really bothered him, and he wasn't sure it was for the right reasons. He met with him in the tower after his duty and worked up the courage to ask forthright as he made himself at home in Aicantar's bed.

"Aicantar...do you have ticklebritch?"

He looked up abruptly from his documents for Igmund. "What?! Why on Nirn would you ask such a thing?"

"Hroki is upset because I am unresponsive to her advances and you came up in conversation."

Aicantar's foul mood switched and he burst into an erratic fit of laughter. "Well there's your problem. Pay no mind to that poor girl. She's batshit."

"She won't...you know, tell lies about me will she?"

"No no no. Not to worry. She won't do anything serious like that. Her problem is that she likes mer, especially our kind, and we're all much too old for her around here. She's been after me since she was about ten or eleven years old and is still sour about me turning her down. I couldn't get her to understand that I'm four times her age and exclusively attracted to men."

"Oh..."

"The only one she hasn't tried for is my uncle. But he's legitimately ancient, so maybe that's why." With a chuckle, he slid his clerical work aside and cursed at it, then crawled beside Ondolemar in bed. "She told you I was loose, didn't she?" He remained good spirited about the whole ordeal. "Well, Ondolemar, my past is what it is and I can't change that, but do you feel incessantly itchy at all?"

He actually had to think about it and he reached for his genitals over his pants. Not even an inkling of discomfort. "No, I suppose not."

"I'm horny, not stupid," Aicantar laughed some more. "Rest assured that I do not, nor have I ever, had ticklebritch."

Both of them laughed at the absurdity. "I apologize for attacking you with such an asinine question. I shouldn't have let a woman-child get into my head like that."

But then the younger elf fell quiet and spoke softly. "I've never had any luck with any man I've been with. I've always been in it for the long haul...but no one would have me. I guess I'm just a cheap thrill and that's all. They suck the joy right out of me after they get what they want and they just...leave. I—sorry. I don't mean to ruin the mood. This was supposed to be a fun night together." He held Ondolemar close and his fingers mindlessly caressed him.

It was the first time Ondolemar had ever seen him like that. He always wore a bright smile and a fantastic attitude, but now his troubled look concerned him. Maybe Aicantar had some of his own problems to work out. After all, he was a person too.

"...and I fall for the same old routine. Every fucking time..."

Ondolemar could only look at him. He had no idea what to say, or if there was anything that could be done. He supposed the silence was what he needed, but he had no desire to seem cold to him.

"Ondolemar...please, I'm so sorry. Could we just not tonight? I...don't really feel like it anymore. I didn't intend to excite you all day just to flake. The unforseen has changed some things."

It wasn't difficult to be respectful towards him at all. After all, the new physicality of their relationship was far from the only thing that drew him to Aicantar. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

That somehow surprised Aicantar, and then he mustered a smile. Ondolemar lifted Aicantar's elegant, long-fingered hand to his plump lips and kissed it, lingering there for a long time before slowly laying it back down and looking into his eyes. Aicantar battled his emotions, but he wouldn't speak.

"Come here," Ondolemar made himself as comfortable as he could in Aicantar's stone slab of a bed, and the other elf nestled into the curve of his neck, and he held him until he finally worked up the gall to say his peace. "I don't want to reveal every detail about myself to you. Because that's not who I am anymore. I hope you understand."

The captain related more than anyone. He kissed the top of Aicantar's head and inhaled the sweet fragrance of his hair. "I'm fine with that. Because I'm in love with you now and that's all that matters."

Aicantar looked up at him at once, his expression was unusually stricken, and his skin blanched as if he'd encountered a wraith. "What...did you just say...?"

Ondolemar replayed his own words in his head and he decided that if that's what he chose to say, then that must have been what he felt deep within his heart and he repeated confidently in fewer words. "I love you, Aicantar."

He could not hold back his tears any longer. "Please...please don't fucking say that if you don't mean it."

"I do mean it, Aicantar. I do." He said with solemn sincerity.

"I..." his voice wavered and he squeezed Ondolemar tightly in an embrace. "I need to be alone."

The statement conflicted with Ondolemar, for he hadn't loosened his grip on him. "Er..."

"Fuck. Shit. Sorry," he finally let him go. "Sorry...just...let me think. That's all...I just need some time to process some things."

Ondolemar did as he requested and with much reluctance he left the tower. There was nothing else left to do but drink so back to the Silver-Blood Inn he went so he didn't have to be around his unit in the Thalmor quarters. He ordered his usual wine and some snacks to go along with it so he didn't drown his sorrows too much. It took him a moment before he realized Hroki had been the one to serve him.

"Captain Ondolemar? Sir?"

He didn't say anything, but nodded to acknowledge her presence and nothing more to avoid any chance of misinterpretation.

Her tune had changed a great deal since their last encounter. "I'm sorry for before. I didn't mean to throw Aicantar under the carriage like that. He's always been nothing but kind to me. He also tips me well so I can buy nice jewelry at the market."

"It's fine," he responded softly. "You're just a young woman. You're still learning about life. Believe me, it's difficult and it's all downhill from here."

She fidgeted after she arranged his order on the table. "And I didn't mean to call you a Thalmor dog, either."

"A spade is a spade, my dear."

"It's just...I don't know. The other men around here, they're just so...filthy!"

Ondolemar kept it to himself but agreed more than she could ever know.

Hroki continued. "I mean, the elves are so, so sophisticated and classy and clean and lovely...I...I like elves. It's who I am. I don't care if mother and father approve. Everyone hates your kind in the Reach, but you've all been the most respectful to me. None of you have ever tried to take advantage of me."

Ondolemar chuckled. "In all fairness it could be because you keep going after elves who prefer a male partner. Myself included." It was strange to say it aloud, but relief washed over him, especially when he noticed that detail never fazed the girl in the slightest.

She understood it was supposed to be humorous, but she wasn't sure how to take it and the captain continued with somewhat of a lecture.

"I also didn't mean to call you a tramp. You angered me and caught me at a bad time. Listen, you don't have to get attention the way you've been going about it. You'll draw in the wrong kind, sometimes the dangerous kind. I'm certain a nice mer your own age will come along someday. Don't rush it and enjoy your youth and innocence while you have it. We're old men. There's nothing we have in common with a young lady such as yourself. You understand?"

She nodded and felt a bit better despite herself.

"I appreciate your growth. It was very mature of you to realize this and to come speak to me. I know you don't have the best home life, but you've shown that you're better than that. You should be proud. If you were my daughter, I'd be proud of you."

Her cheeks flushed pink in contrast to her milky white skin. It must have been something she needed to hear. "Thank you so much. But...may I ask you a personal question?"

"I suppose it depends on the nature of the question."

Hroki figured it was best to come right out with it. "Why did you try to kill yourself? You're such a nice elf no matter what the others say. I... I'm afraid I don't understand."

Nice elf, eh? Ondolemar couldn't answer her question. "It's complicated. I..."

"No, no. You don't have to. I shouldn't have asked. I just..."

"It's alright. You're just inquisitive. I'm afraid I can't answer because I don't fully know the answer myself."

Her whole body seemed to deflate. "It was very hard for me to see you like that. I'd have been stricken with grief if you had died."

He felt an extreme sense of shame. "I'm sorry." There wasn't anything else to say about it.

The girl shuffled on her feet. "Whatever you're going through, I hope it gets better for you. I'm sorry...I shouldn't be pestering you when you're just trying to relax. Aicantar is a kind and loving soul. I sincerely hope it works out between the both of you."

He never admitted outright that he had been seeing Aicantar, but he supposed it was as obvious as the sky was blue. Peculiar as it was, there was something refreshing and enlightening about that therapy session with the teen human girl. Everyone had issues, no matter their age and he was not alone.

It made him want to be with Aicantar, but he wanted to allow all the time he needed to sort out his affairs. Ondolemar took a walk to refresh himself after he finished his drink.

***

Aicantar laid upon his bed wound tightly in a ball with his blanket, stewing in a brew of emotions. He wanted Ondolemar to be different than all the rest, but there was no way to tell. They all said the same things. Who could tell who lied or who was genuine anyway? The thought of taking such a risk frightened him. He wished he had someone to confide in.

Soon a light knock happened upon his door and he invited them in. It was Faleen.

"You don't have to knock you know. You live here too."

"I know you usually have visitors when Calcelmo is away. I just like to be respectful. Just in case. Are you all right? Did something happen?" As she hung her armor chest plate on the stand, she took notice that his eyes were puffy. He'd been crying.

"I swear to Ruptga, if Ondolemar hurt you in any way—"

"It's not that, Faleen," he interrupted her before she got too heated. "Don't worry. Do you know when Uncle Calcelmo is coming home?"

She was still removing pieces of her armor. "Actually, I have no idea. Hopefully soon. This coldfront is dreadful this winter. Sometimes I really miss baking in the hot, dry desert." She kicked off her boots and headed straight to the barrel of ale with her mug. "You are allowed to talk to me too, you know that? I don't mind."

"Of course I do. This is just...a matter I'm more comfortable discussing with him."

She placed her hand on his shoulder and took a sip of her beverage. "In all seriousness, though. He didn't hurt you?"

Aicantar shook his head. "No. He's been charming."

"Okay. That's all that matters. Because I will slit his fucking throat if he upsets one hair on your head. In a bad way, I mean." She winked to let him know her hostility was only partially authentic. "It's very sweet how you still look up to Calcelmo. He's such a good man." Her tone fell dreamy talking about her husband. "I envy that relationship you have. I was never close with my mama or papa. Guess that's why I'm a housecarl in Skyrim serving a Nord."

Aicantar squished a pillow between is knees and chest and locked his fingers in contemplation. "Uncle Calcelmo never wanted to be a parent, you know. Now he's stuck with me even in adulthood."

Faleen sat up and slammed her feet on the floor. "Don't you even start that nonsense again. Calcelmo loves you more than anyone. I'll wager every septim I have on that too."

"I just wonder sometimes how he would be if he'd never taken me in."

Faleen finished her final drops from the mug and the effects made their presence known. "A damn fool, that's what he'd be. And an ugly one at that." She was already at the keg for another round, her brown skin rosy on the nose and cheeks. After she inhaled another refreshing gulp she sighed. "His relationship with you is one of the reasons I fell so madly in love with him in the first place. That's a real tenderness right there, and quite frankly I'm into that shit."

The slurring and choice of her words gave away her ever decreasing level of sobriety. Aicantar always liked Faleen and Calcelmo couldn't have chosen a better wife for himself. The man needed someone to lay it on thick sometimes, and Faleen was certainly the right woman for that. Though she was not the picture for femininity by any means, Calcelmo loved a woman who could handle her own in a bar fight.

Aicantar fondly remembered the day they'd met when they'd first moved to Markarth for Calcelmo to apply for the court wizard role, hoping and praying to both Aedra and Daedra that he'd land the job and get his mitts on all those tantalizing Dwemer artifacts. It was only shortly after the Markarth incident when Igmund first inherited the throne. Faleen, a long time friend of Igmund despised newcomers, or any sort of change in the program, but Calcelmo changed that. A complete bumbling idiot, he melted in her presence, for he always admired the women of Hammerfell, mighty and beautiful. Success fell directly into their laps that day, and life has been swimming by ever since.

Faleen was Aicantar's good luck charm and his very first friend in the Dwemer city. Even before she noticed Calcelmo's inept crush on her, she mothered Aicantar like he was her own, for she was barren. Calcelmo wasn't the easiest man to like at first, but he grew on her like a parasite. With Mara's blessing, they came to be married, and Aicantar was very happy for this phase in his uncle's life since he'd chosen to stay alone and raise him all those years. Sometimes he felt he robbed his uncle of so much and it ate away at his mind. Faleen always reminded him. "You gave way more than you took, kid. So much more."

Aicantar loved his strange little family. They constantly reminded him of how privileged he truly was and he thought of Ondolemar's misfortune. He wondered who hurt him so badly and made him so fearful that he no longer wished to live. Yet he shooed him away, and for what? A wave of guilt crept through him.

"Are you going to be all right?" Faleen asked.

"I'll be fine."

Chapter 13

Notes:

Omg I promise I'll try to write more and finish these. I'm just struggling with time management whenever I get time to myself. I've been playing ESO, working on (and abandoning) fics and drawings, then I go through writer and art blocks and I get distracted by a great variety of things and activities! But here is another chapter finally after a few months!!!

Aicantar is filthy and I love him so much. That's really all there is to be said about this chapter. I hope my writing isn't too terribly blah. I don't really like to be too poetic or descriptive if it doesn't need it.

Ondolemar spent much of his time mulling over that special night with Aicantar. Oh how he strived to remember every exact detail, the touch, emotion, sensation, but it proved futile. It was right there on the cusp of his mind, but not anywhere nearly as satisfying as the real thing. Unfortunately, the nightmares tried their best to turn him away from the pleasant thoughts and caused sleeping issues that became so problematic he paid Bothela a visit at The Hag's Cure.

Though she wasn't a particular fan of the Thalmor herself, she was pleased to see him after they'd brought him back from the brink of death. "Captain. A pleasure to see you," the old witch said gruffly. "What'll it be? Salves, elixirs...aphrodisiacs?"

It was only a partial joke considering the nature of her clientele and their rampant erectile issues, but he quipped back. "No, thank you. I'm quite virile."

The tiny elderly Reachwoman cackled. She hadn't expected Ondolemar to be so on his toes. But his amused expression deteriorated rather quickly. "I don't sleep well, you see."

"Ah," she said sympathetically. "What's the nature of it? Insomnia? Anxiety? Too much moon sugar, perhaps?"

Ondolemar wrung his hands. It embarrassed him to bring it up, but since she played a part in saving his life he had no fear whether he was in good hands or not. "I've been having... nightmares."

He didn't have to go into much detail about it, for the Breton witch understood. "Hmm. Trauma. Yes. That will do that...unless you've had dealings with Vaermina?"

He bit his lip. "Let's go with that first thing."

Bothela rummaged through the items on her shelf. Glass bottles clinked and chimed against one another until she found what she needed. "Calcelmo's boy seems quite fond of you," she stated casually. The small talk seemed innocent enough while she checked the label on the bottle to be sure it was the correct concoction.

Ondolemar's skin flushed anyway. Did everyone know about them? Was it so obvious?

"Oh? Erm..."

She looked up for a second and caught a glimpse of his ruddiness and laughed, when she realized Aicantar was actually a hot button issue. Though she didn't seem bothered at all by the thought they could be an item. "I particularly like that color on you. Much better than that corpsey shade you had when we pulled you out of the bath." The woman laughed again, her Reachwoman tattoos wrinkled even deeper into her withered countenance when she showed a grin of impressively cared for teeth. "You needn't be ashamed of it. We've all suffered through tough times, even worse now with the war going on. I know even the likes of you aren't immune to the effects of that travesty. Here."

Thankful the subject derailed from Aicantar, he took the small, and voluptuously curvy bottle from her frail hand. The liquid inside was creamy in color, like a mother's milk. He opened it to sniff and his natural sneer distorted to something even worse from the foul odor.

"It tastes better than it smells," Bothela informed in her gravelly way. If Ondolemar had been blind, he'd have sworn she was just a hagraven. "But if you have the balls to get past that first sip, you'll sleep like the dead. Uh...well. Nevermind that. Anyway, you won't even dream. It's not ideal, but preferable to night terrors. I'm still working out the kinks, though I haven't had any report of ill effects. If you do, get your golden ass back in here so I can study you."

Though he didn't appreciate the thought of being the subject of a science experiment, he was thankful she had something that could potentially help him. He slid a handful of coins across the counter to her, but she shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It's on me. You've clearly been through enough. It's the least I can do. When you need more, I'll sell you some at a good discount. Don't tell anyone, though."

He wanted to go on a tirade about how she saved his life and he owed her a debt, but instead he held it in and accepted her offer graciously. He hadn't expected such generosity from anyone. "Thank you, madame. Divines smile upon you."

Ondolemar ventured back out into the bitter cold and tucked his medicine away in a pocket, then wrapped himself tightly to shield himself from the most vicious month of winter and he followed the path back up the mountainside to the keep.

A bit of commotion broke out inside since Calcelmo just arrived home from his recent trip as he reassigned his body guards to tend to their regular duties and had a few servants aid in carrying his luggage. He had way more in his possession than when he'd left. Ondolemar snuck past the group and acknowledged him with a friendly nod before returning to his office, not without peering around for Aicantar, for he merely wanted to look upon him, but the young mage was nowhere to be found. He hoped he was well.

Calcelmo also thought it curious that his nephew hadn't come down. He passed the burden of his luggage onto his servants and headed directly toward the tower, a fatherly instinct panged within him. "Welcome home, Master Calcelmo," the guard at the door greeted.

"Is Aicantar upstairs?"

"Yes he is." He stepped to the side for Calcelmo to enter.

He discovered his nephew in their quarters scrawling out documents with a quill trying to catch up on everything Igmund threw on him last minute. The door opening alerted him and he leapt from his seat so forcefully he nearly knocked the parchments to the floor and he charged to Calcelmo like a raging minotaur to embrace him.

"I'm so glad you're home!"

Utterly confused, but happy for the affection, he hugged him back tightly. "I thought you'd be causing mischief and engaging in debauchery in the tower while I was away. What is this?" That's when Calcelmo's heard a subtle sniffle in his ear. "Aicantar, are you crying? Did Igmund give you more than you could handle?"

Aicantar didn't want him to know how upset he'd been but he couldn't prevent the inevitable break down. "I need you."

"Oh come now boy. This isn't difficult work for you at all." He attempted humor to lighten the mood, but something was obviously wrong and he consoled his nephew with a gentle hand on his back. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. No. I...I'm not sure." He finally freed his uncle from his embrace, and now that Calcelmo could get a good look at him, he could see how disheveled Aicantar was, hair unkempt and greasy and shiny blonde scruff glimmering on his face and neck in the light. Calcelmo decided the young one must have been alone in the tower for days. "Forgive me. I'm a mess. I really must speak with you. I didn't know when you were coming home."

Calcelmo normally informed him in advance when he was leaving and for how long, as Aicantar was his assistant, but this time he embarked in a rush and never had the chance to. He had a feeling he knew what he was in for.

"I don't even know where to start," he hopelessly plopped into the nearest chair, totally done in by the looks of him. Calcelmo pulled up a seat across from him and hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

"Go on then. Tell me what's troubling you, Aicantar."

Aicantar stared at the floor and nervously bounced his leg. A quick and frustrated sigh wisped out of him and he got all his frazzled ducks in a row before speaking. "Divines, you've only been home for five minutes and I'm already harrassing you with my nonsense.” He sighed. “Ondolemar and I slept together."

It certainly wasn't the news he expected to hear based on his nephew's current state, and it perplexed him, and no matter how many times he heard of Aicantar's sexual escapades, he blushed vibrantly every time. "Um...that's good? Isn't it?"

"Oh yes, it was wonderful!"

He raised a tawny eyebrow. "Then I'm afraid I'm not following the story arc here."

"Shit! I'm sorry, Uncle Calcelmo. I'm still trying to make sense of things."

Calcelmo sat in quiet confusion trying to piece together Aicantar's vague rantings. Luckily, he knew his nephew well enough he could decipher all his complexities with relative ease. Aicantar eventually got what he needed to say out in the open. He was quiet again for a few moments entranced in thought until he spoke up again, soft and whimsical. "...he told me he loved me."

The elder wizard's heart rate quickened, neither furious nor pleased by the information, but caught in limbo between these distinct emotions. "Already? I find that difficult to believe."

"I know. That's what I thought too. I think he meant it but I also think he was caught up in the heat of the moment, you know? Hroki tried to get me in trouble with him (to no avail of course) but it got me thinking and naturally, it upset me. We were going to make love again that night when that ordeal happened but...something about him saying that...I've been ghosting him and I think I'm insane for it, but I don't want to hurt again..."

"Aicantar just calm down for a moment. I'm trying to keep up. Now tell me out right what has you upset? I know it's not anything Hroki did, even if she was the catalyst for...well whatever went on."

Aicantar took a deep breath. "I think what I'm trying to iterate here is that I'm actually terrified to be in love again. I can't know the future or if he means it or any of that...what if he's like all the others?"

Calcelmo remembered what a mess Aicantar was when his last relationship ended as though it was yesterday. It crushed his heart all over again. "Aicantar, you can't worry about the future in that regard. You'll lose your mind. What matters is if you're happy in the present? Are you?"

"Well yes. I haven't been this happy in years."

"See? You have to remember that your relationship with Ondolemar is an entirely new experience for him. A premature 'I love you' shouldn't make you question your entire reality. Gods, you had me thinking he did something horrible to you. I was about to go boil him in Dwemer oil."

It was kind of funny and it tore down Aicantar's wall of sorrow enough to let a hearty laugh escape. "Faleen said something similar as well."

"That's my woman. I love her to the moons and back."

The conversation relieved Aicantar. "I'm sorry for unloading on you. I've been bottling it in waiting for you to return home and I let it get the best of me."

Calcelmo clicked his tongue in pity. "Aicantar, firstly, you apologize way too much. You don't have anything to be sorry about. Secondly, you should have gone to Faleen."

"I know, uncle, but sometimes when I need advice, it has to be from you. She understands."

The elder wizard could have shed a tear when those words graced his ears. "My boy, I'm humbled." Then his heart broke again, for there would inevitably come a day where he couldn't be there for his nephew. "All I can really tell you is that the choice is yours to make and whether or not it's a risk you're willing to take. If you find value in a relationship with Ondolemar, then that's all that matters. You can't be afraid to take risks because you 'might' fail. If I'd done that, we most likely wouldn't be in Markarth right now, would we? All the way across Cyrodiil and to the north I took risks—many potentially fatal ones—just to better our lives."

"That you did and I am ever grateful."

"I might disapprove of your partners often, but if you're happy, I'm happy. I don't have any desire to interfere with that and I trust you to make good decisions. You're doing your best, but you're not responsible for anything they might do. Either way, it's your life. Live it. Erm...but do bathe and have a shave before you go live life. You look and smell like Degaine."

Aicantar burst into a hearty laugh. "That's actually an impressive feat. I think I'll do that now."

"I'll take over where you left off with work. You are phenomenal at handling things when I'm away. Take care of yourself. You've earned it."

Aicantar hugged Calcelmo again. "Thank you ever so much for imparting upon me your wisdom as always. I love you, Uncle Calcelmo."

The moment brought Calcelmo back to a time when Aicantar was but a wee Altmer, not much higher than his knee. He forced back a tear. "I love you too, Aicantar." Aicantar could never fathom just how much he did. "I'll take all this to the downstairs lab. You do what you need to do and go take some time for yourself."

A weight vanished from Aicantar's shoulders as the door latched behind his uncle. Calcelmo possessed such a talent for making everything feel right in his world. And he did not disagree that washing up would ease his tension, especially when he caught a glimpse of his dreadful self in the mirror. He scowled. "Ugh. I'm repulsive."

A mountain spring ran directly through the keep, so he headed to a private area they used for bathing and decided to clean up there. The water was quite frigid, though not terrible compared to outside water, but Aicantar needed a good refreshing wake up after the week he had. He finished detailing himself in his chambers and began his day anew, though he didn't know what to do, so he headed into the city just to meander. Not without bundling up to the gills for the cold front harrassing Skyrim's denizens. His robes were thick and difficult to move in, but he wouldn't be cold, that's for sure. Now to the city.


***


Ondolemar meandered into the inn to have his lunch. His eyes naturally panned over the patrons and one in particular caught his eye. He couldn't believe it. Aicantar, his fair prince, had at last returned from his tower retreat. Oh how he wanted to run to him and lift him off his feet, but he refrained. Aicantar did a double take from across the tavern when he noticed Ondolemar there too, but he wore a solemn expression. Ondolemar decided it would be best to give him space. That was until the mage shook him with the most inviting smile all of a sudden. Ondolemar tingled everywhere and floated as if on a cloud to meet him. Aicantar didn't give a damn about being discreet and kissed him immediately, hard and long in front of everyone. It made Ondolemar quite nervous, but when no one made any type of remark or even bothered to look at them, he felt at ease, and his enthusiasm to be back into Aicantar's arms swelled.

"I've missed you so much," Aicantar said when he finally freed his lips.

Ondolemar didn't entirely understand it, but he was too ecstatic to see him to let it bother him. "I missed you too. I was afraid I'd done something wrong. I suppose I got carried away, but I've never been that excited by anyone before. However, I meant what I said, even if it seemed too soon. Do with it what you will."

"I know you meant it, Ondolemar. I was being quite foolish and selfish and worried too much about irrelevant things. Uncle Calcelmo has returned home, so I have plenty of time to spend again. If you'd like to pick up where we left off, that's entirely up to you."

"Tch. Why wouldn't I?"

Aicantar's eyes wrinkled and cheeks dimpled. "From now on, if we have any kind of issues, we'll work through them together."

"Sounds good to me." They ate some lunch and forgot all about all their troubles. Without really thinking, he took Aicantar's hand in his and they walked. Afterwards, they huddled together to brace the cruelty of the cold and went down to the market to peruse.

The ballyhoo of vendors erupted from all directions trying to lure people in to buy their wares. One specific slogan made the pair of Altmer rather ill. "Bloodiest beef in the Reach!" Following the bust of Namira cultists in the city fairly recently, the new meat vendors had a terrible time regaining any trust from the locals, often needing to throw away much of their product when it became rotten, or frostbitten during such winter months.

Aicantar scorned them. "They shouldn't continue to use that catchline! Nothing puts me off more."

"Indubitably!" agreed Ondolemar. "I'm quite thankful the meat at the keep is sourced from Igmund's own stock."

The couple steered clear of the butcher and traveled the path to other shops.

"Aicantar! Aicantar! Aicantar!"

Both of them turned in the direction from which the squeaky voice came from. A little Imperial boy around the age of seven bounced up and down on his toes and waved erratically. Aicantar recognized him from a good few of the tours, a local child who dragged his parents to the Dwemer Museum so regularly they began to give him the money to go alone.

“Oh look, an adoring fan,” Ondolemar beamed sweetly.

The boy broke away from his mother's hand and ran up to greet Aicantar with tremendous child energy. "When is the museum opening back up?! It's been forever!"

In reality it had only been a week or two, but Aicantar obliged. “Goodness me, it certainly seems that way, doesn't it? My Uncle Calcelmo has just returned home today, so we should be back in operating order next Middas. I can't run it all by myself.”

“Sure you can!” piped the boy. “Calcelmo is boring!”

Aicantar howled with laughter at the child's bluntness. After all, Calcelmo was not the best orator, but his information was quite valuable, and Aicantar did his best to white-knight against the boy's attack. “No! You'd be quite surprised how not boring he is. Did you know my uncle had to fight off six centurion's at once—by himself—just to obtain a single broken resonator core, which he then restored to full power? The man's a legend. A hero, in fact. You should thank him.”

The boy's bright blue eyes widened. “All by himself!? Whoa! Awesome!”

“Awesome indeed!” Aicantar matched the boy's enthusiasm. “So when you visit us next week, you best listen intently to everything he says, all right?”

“Okay!” he spouted. “Hey, why are you two holding hands? Are you boyfriends?” They should have known better about the limited attention span of a child, the pair of mer shared an inquisitive look at one another, forgetting they were still locked together tightly, both from the cold and the craving for affection and contact. Aicantar looked upon his partner with such wistful greenish eyes, and his voice fell soft, almost comforting, but digging within his mate for something honest and tangible. “What do you think, Ondolemar?”

Although he'd gone red in the face from the boy's abrupt inquisition—and thankfully could attribute it to the bitter cold—he could not look at Aicantar and feel anything but euphoria. He never broke his gaze. “Yes. We're boyfriends.” He watched as Aicantar chewed on his lower lip to fend off a smile.

The boy's mother was about to leave the market after her grocery shopping and called out to her son and he doubled back to her. “Oh. Okay! I gotta go now! Bye Aicantar! Bye Thalmor guy!”

When the boy had gone, Aicantar's smile blossomed. “Well, well, well now. Is that so?”

Ondolemar pulled him in quite vigorously by the waist until they touched. “Absolutely.” He swooped in for a kiss in the middle of the market square, and he didn't give a damn who saw them together. A gust of bonechilling wind overtook them and froze their lips together for just a second. It was so comical that they both laughed. “This damn Skyrim weather,” Aicantar said and nuzzled against Ondolemar's chilled face before they embarked again.

“By the way, was that true?” Ondolemar asked.

“Was what true?”

“What you said about Calcelmo. Or were you just embellishing?”

“Oh, it's very much true!” Aicantar replied in earnest. “I don't even want to know how he obtained most of the items inside the laboratory!”

“Incredible. Have you ever joined in his expeditions?”

Aicantar squinted and shook his head. “Heavens no. I'm terrified of the Falmer. Uncle Calcelmo is far more of a daredevil than people realize. I just like the technology. He's quite the cutthroat if I'm being honest. Always the one who really gets his hands dirty and he doesn't really care what he has to do to get something he wants. All in the name of knowledge.”

Ondolemar's eyes widened in astonishment. “He's a madman.”

“More than either of us could ever fathom.”

“I am thoroughly impressed with your education on the topic. I don't think I understand even a small fraction of what you know about Dwemer,” Ondolemar complimented. “I admire your passion.”

He didn't respond but his cheeks flushed, though Ondolemar couldn't tell if it was from the cold or his flattery. Either way, he meant what he said. Aicantar truly amazed him, and he never suspected that Calcelmo was such a beast, he thought he was pompous and grumpy. Though he managed to snag two third's of a Jarl's keep for his own. He must have been quite the persuasive mer.

After awhile the cold began to get to them both. “I can't feel my fingers anymore,” said Aicantar. “Maybe we should go inside where it's warm.”

“I concur,” Ondolemar agreed.

Knowing full well that the wizard's tower would be empty for awhile, Aicantar invited him in once more and advised him to get comfortable. He removed his coats and revealed that he hadn't dressed up at all underneath. He then laid a few furs and pillows before the hearth so they could sit close and soak up the warmth and he served tea so they may warm their frosted hands. Aicantar bent over to Ondolemar to kiss his cheek and brushed him with his cold nose. It would most likely take awhile to warm up after being out in that harsh weather. Ondolemar sat with his legs crossed and his teacup cozily in between both hands, the fire flickered and made his shadow dance behind him.

Aicantar placed his teacup on the Dwemer saucer before him on the floor, rubbed his hands together. “Hmm. No good. Not warm enough.” Before long, he held out his hand and conjured a ball of fire, with which he playfully juggled back and forth, very clearly peacocking with his agile motions. Ondolemar thought it was cute and he couldn't hold back his delighted smile.

“So,” Aicantar said while he rolled the ball of flame down his elbow and popped it back into the air to catch and then it vanished into a tiny puff of smoke. “Boyfriends, eh? I quite like the sound of that.”

Ondolemar attempted to withold his bashful smile. “So do I,” he said softly with an air of pride.

The younger elf turned on his charm. “You know we...could...celebrate that milestone right here. Right now.” His eyes glinted and he glowed by the light of the fireplace, comfortable and natural in his sensible lounging clothes. Ondolemar had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life, and the mood was simply prime. No longer holding out, he took Aicantar's face into his hands and kissed him deeply. He leaned back slowly as Ondolemar lowered him to the floor with care and Aicantar hummed with pleasure, savoring the flavor of him on his lips. His heart already began to race from the thrill of Ondolemar's strong, heavy body over his. But Aicantar noticed his anxiousness, constantly glancing at the door like someone would break in at any moment.

"You don't have to worry. He knows you're with me. He won't walk in unannounced."

Ondolemar was embarrassed that he knew exactly what perturbed him and though he didn't verbalize his discontent, Aicantar could sense it. "Would you still like me to lock it?"

The captain nodded sheepishly. Aicantar remained in his position on the floor, only swishing his elegant mage hand and the bars on the inside of the door slid into place, an enchanting white light glowed and pulsed around the entire frame. He giggled sensually. "Now where were we?"

Ondolemar's fear subsided like the tide and tackled Aicantar to the rug like a wild animal.

"Oh my!" Aicantar yelped through the breath that was knocked out of him. He loved it. Ondolemar's unbridled sexual aggression finally reared itself and made the younger elf's blood boil. "Come on," he begged. "I want you, Ondolemar."

Wanted him? Ondolemar couldn't say he'd ever been "wanted" his entire life, in any context. Aicantar squirmed and squeezed his thighs together striving for anything he could to acquire subtle stimulation as his increased blood flow itched below his waist. "Come on. Get closer," he begged again. "Kiss me. Touch me..."

His wanton pleas sent a surge of excitement to all of Ondolemar's vital areas. It made it so much easier for him to forget he was a mer and not a beast. A glint from the firelight in Aicantar's lustful eyes, now gold like embers in the warm lighting drew him in. He still tasted sweet like milk, tea, and honey, although Ondolemar could have sworn that's how his kisses always tasted, welcoming and comforting like home. And as many times as they kissed, the captain always had to remind himself to breathe, and when he inhaled, his breath drew in all the fragrant air of him...always a faint hint of machine oil, metal, and electricity, but touched with fine floral soaps and his very skin...masculine, pheromonal...inviting...

Ondolemar secretly worried his erection resting against Aicantar's abdomen had been too forthright, though the hand inching down to grope him set his mind to rest while the other hand loosened the ties on his already unrestricted shirt, baring his pale golden chest. He pulled Ondolemar's large hand to meet with his flesh and flinched lightly at his still cold fingertips, but acclimated quickly, and Ondolemar's hand warmed on his body heat. He enjoyed his smoothness and desired to taste him again, swooping in to attack his neck. Aicantar failed to resist touching himself while the strong captain ravaged him, but did so with subtlety. "Blessed Mara..." his words came out raspy and feral. He moaned from his own stimulation. Why waste it, he thought and guided Ondolemar's unfortunately empty hand to his aching shaft. Ondolemar accepted with mindless zeal, causing Aicantar to lurch and gasp from his grip. "...oh fuck..."

Ondolemar kissed him hard and sloppy, making sure to meet with his partner's eager tongue, all the while he maintained a steady cadence with his hand. Aicantar's body tensed, striving for climax, and it was only a matter of moments before his warm fluid spilled, oozing between Ondolemar's fingers and dripping from his fingertips. He knew he'd be hypersensitive post-ejaculation and he teased with his touch, a wicked grin upon him. Aicantar laughed viciously at his involuntary movements then yanked him back down for more kissing with a brute force. He kicked off his pants the rest of the way in the process, tossed his shirt aside and got on all fours.

"Your turn," he spoke dutifully and arched his backside to him, exposing everything to his partner. It was a new view for him, but Ondolemar found himself exceptionally tittilated by this angle. He instructed him to the location of some personal lubricant, and Ondolemar removed his own clothing upon retrieval, prepared himself, and eagerly entered his backside. Aicantar winced from the initial entry. He pleaded to be fucked with force and demanded that he pull his hair. In his blind act of lust, he did so without questioning. With one hand on his bony hips and the other with a fistful of his golden hair, he proceeded to use his body to please himself. Aicantar moaned loudly.

"Tell me to come," Ondolemar growled through his teeth.

In a futile attempt to maintain his breath, the words seeped from his mouth. "I want you to come. Come inside me, Ondolemar."

Hearing his own name spoken in that velvety, starved tone was a grace to Ondolemar's ears. His cock throbbed. "Say it again."

Aicantar snarled. "Fuck me harder!"

Ondolemar ended up shoving his face down onto the fur of the rug he cried out in muffled ecstasy. "Oh fucking gods yes!" His mouth hung open, his brow furrowed into something that looked like an expression of agony though he clearly enjoyed himself. Ondolemar ceased the violent thrusting, curving into him as deep as it would allow, and he enveloped his body just to show a moment of tenderness by kissing and biting on the back of Aicantar's neck. He backed himself against his hips even more, if it was possible. "Are you close?" He asked.

"Very," rumbled Ondolemar.

"Blow your wad in me," he murmured. It sounded like he was completely spent, like he wanted it over and done with. After a few more thrusts of futility the sweat poured from him. Aicantar pulled away and pinned Ondolemar to the ground. "I'll make you come." He sounded almost annoyed, but Ondolemar tingled from the hostile attitude. He sat upon him and pistoned his body. He'd developed another erection or perhaps the first never fully subsided, but he touched himself and the visual must have been exactly what Ondolemar needed, because he at last erupted so immensely he convulsed, and he groaned more loudly than he ever had in his life. This pleased Aicantar. "Yes, come on. You like that don't you?" And the young one did manage to have more in him somehow, and he worked himself until his seed spurted much less violently than his first eruption carelessly onto his partner's belly. Meanwhile, Ondolemar's own spunk dripped from him and down his now relaxed phallus.

However, the release, still hadn't cleared his mind. Aicantar freed Ondolemar's limp cock, and he curled over him like a prowling cat to lick his own emissions from him. The imagery both shocked and aroused Ondolemar, but he was too spent to do anymore about those carnal needs. He stared with simultaneous desire and disgust until Aicantar completed his endeavors and plopped beside him with a satisfied breath. "By the divines..."

Both of them relaxed, minds empty as the void as they basked in the remainder of their bliss and their minds gained lucidity. Ondolemar's eyes flung open after he caught himself falling asleep, and reflecting back on their activities, he curled in on himself.

Aicantar sensed his change in demeanor and apologized. "I'm sorry... you're so appetizing. I lost myself in the moment. I shouldn't have been so..." he couldn't think of the word for it and the sentence faded away.

Ondolemar's voice was soft and soothing. "You like what you like, Aicantar. You shouldn't have to hinder yourself on my behalf."

"I know but...gods I really should have eased you into it. I'm really quite...distasteful."

"But I enjoyed it immensely. It was the most fun I've had in a good long while."

Was it lust that clouded his judgment? He couldn't deny his very real experience, and in the moment he truly had lost himself. It had been so freeing. Now that the moment was gone he felt trapped within his own confines once more.

He was met with a tender and loving kiss on the cheek and turned his eyes to see that gentle smiling face. It was still very difficult to comprehend the potential of his depravity. Ondolemar had a feeling these past few escapades were the most behaved Aicantar has ever been in bed.

"I like to please others. I like submission...to have my body used like this," he admitted.

Ondolemar exhaled through his nose. "I...I think that works perfectly. I like to maintain a sense of control."

Aicantar knew this extended beyond that of sex, but he didn't bother to go into it. "On very rare occasion I do like to be on top. But this is fine."

"Yes. Still...trying to come to terms with my...budding sexuality. That's all," he said. Verbalizing it in such a way liberated a crushing weight from his chest.

"I understand that," he replied sweetly. "From what Uncle Calcelmo has told me from his experiences...Altmer sexual practices can be rather dull. An act of duty rather than a simple pleasure of life."

Ondolemar couldn't deny that. Faustine had been the only woman he'd ever slept with in which he truly enjoyed the experience. He didn't think it appropriate to bring up a recently past relationship, so he remained quiet about it.

He could feel Aicantar watching him, and he melted with his gaze. He pondered their latest relationship struggles. "When I said I love you, I really did mean it. I don't want you to think that it's just because you've been along for the ride of my self explorational journey. You've been driving me...and I like it. I like you, Aicantar. I've actually been quite attracted to you for a long time in retrospect. My repression has made life difficult for me."

Aicantar stroked his prickly hair. "I know that. Since we're sharing, I hope you know I want to be with you because I find your company valuable. Of course the sex is nice...it's exquisite! However, I'm truly more emotional than I am physical."

Ondolemar chuckled, his smile genuine. "No need to defend your honor, young one." His happiness pleased Aicantar as well, and his warmth bathed both of them. He couldn't help but search for his hand and intertwined their long high elven fingers. "You've returned my faith to me."

Aicantar wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it, and the strange comment perplexed him. After all, Ondolemar was a captain of the Thalmor. Was the mission of a religious man not already driven by faith? Though it made him somewhat uneasy, he let it slip by. Ondolemar was a good man. Wasn't he? Perhaps Uncle Calcelmo was right about him, but Aicantar always saw the best in others no matter what. His tragic flaw.

Yet he found his heart swelled more and more with every moment spent with the captain. And as his soft flower petal lips graced Ondolemar's majestically pointed and erect ear, the words fell into it like a bottomless well. "I love you."

Chapter 14

Ondolemar awoke shivering during the night. Though the fire in the hearth had long since died out and the stone floor had drained whatever may have been left of his youth, the issue was not the cold of winter, but the nightmares. One particularly graphic vision from his tortured past did its damndest to haunt him. Aicantar's arms were wound tight around him, but he needed to retrieve that potion from his coat pocket. He wished he'd remembered it before he had fallen asleep, but they stayed up late talking and actually getting to know each other. He didn't reveal too much about himself, but he hoped it was enough to sate his partner's interest in him for the time being. After all he was indeed quite serious about their relationship. He knew there would come an inevitable time where some secrets could no longer be kept, such was the natural order of things.

They were lazy and never moved from their place on the furs before the fireplace, they never even bothered to clean up following intercourse, and Ondolemar found parts of his body to be intolerably sticky. He wriggled free of Aicantar's embrace without disturbing him too much. He stirred a little, inhaled a gulp of air and his lips smacked slightly, but he never woke.

A mage light would have been too disruptive, so Ondolemar channeled a small amount of magicka to light a candle with a tiny flame. First and foremost, he searched for a towel with which to clean himself. It wasn't the best, but it was better than the grime he felt and the loose fur from the pelts clinging tenaciously to his skin. Afterward, he moved on to find his coat. On the inner breast pocket he found his tonic, and he took a sizeable sip. There was most definitely some type of alcohol or other such fermented substance in the mixture, for it burned its way down his throat like a stiff drink. It wasn't too bad. Just like Bothela had told him.

He wondered how late the hour was. He shivered again, this time catching the chill from his environment. He wrapped a blanket around his still naked body and so he decided to allow his medicine to take effect then seized the opportunity to get the fire going again, especially now that he noticed Aicantar wound tightly around his own knees in his absence from their makeshift bed on the floor. He covered him up with another blanket in the meantime.

Ondolemar loaded up the fireplace with the logs nearby. He sat on the floor hugging his knees and blankly launched flames into it from the palm of his hand. At the peak brightness level and heat of the flames, Aicantar awakened from the flickers behind his eyelids. He groaned as he propped himself up, his elbow and shoulder popped simultaneously as he did so and he grunted. “Ow. Hmm...what are you doing up?”

“The fire went out, so I'm rekindling,” he spoke quietly. It wasn't a complete lie, after all.

“Praise the divines,” he said with a sigh and he rose to look for something to wet his parched mouth, binding himself up in his blankets to ward off the cold. The stone chilled his bare feet. After he drank a hefty amount of water from a pitcher on the table, he wondered the time out loud.

Ondolemar chuckled to himself. It was the same process he'd gone through waking up. Almost. He heard Aicantar release an annoyed breath behind him.

“What's wrong?” he asked tonelessly without looking back at him.

“I'm awake enough now to realize I have to piss, but I don't feel like unwrapping this blanket. Ugh...”

Ondolemar shook his head. He did eventually hear him shuffle to another part of the room and the sound of urine beating on the side of a trough. For that, Ondolemar was thankful for the Dwarven form of waste removal rather than the uncivilized Nordic. Aicantar returned after and sat directly against Ondolemar to sap his warmth, nice and toasty from how close he sat to the fire. He rested his head against him, and in a few moments began to snore like a snoozing kitten. Ondolemar nuzzled and kissed him, which woke him up enough to smile at him.

“No more sleeping on the floor tonight. You're exhausted. Let's get to bed.”

Aicantar fell back into him lazily, unwilling to move from his position, so Ondolemar lifted his whole body to carry him, much heavier than he anticipated for how slender he was, but he made it and lowered him down into the bed and tucked him in. It wasn't terribly better than the floor, but much more padded to say the least. Ondolemar gathered up the pillows from their old spot and brought them back to the nest. Aicantar had already sprawled out over the entire thing. He rolled his eyes, but crawled in behind him snug against the wall. He didn't mind too much, as he was happy just to share a bed with someone.

Ondolemar admired the being so cozy and carefree beside him. He never expected to stay the whole night with Aicantar, in fact he had wholly intended to return to the Thalmor quarters. It had been unwise to leave his post for unauthorized liesure at his rank, but he did not regret it. If his soldiers could not operate without him, they were unworthy.

After taking the time to self-reflect, Ondolemar's eyelids fell heavy again, his mind swirled with images of the softly breathing mer in his arms. It felt right. No matter what had literally been beaten into him his whole life...and Ondolemar relaxed and fell into slumber. No nightmares. No memories. No revisiting his trauma. Simple peace. That must have been what death felt like. Absolute nothing. Absolute solace.

An eternity passed, or perhaps only a few moments. Ondolemar awoke to frantic knocking on the door, and Aicantar had aleady lept out of bed to throw a cloak over himself. “Cover up darling,” he commanded the captain.

“Aicantar, open up. I'm so sorry to intrude,” Calcelmo's muffled voice came through the door. It was clear his voice raised to reach them, but he didn't sound terribly urgent, perhaps so as not to alarm the couple inside.

Aicantar disarmed the charm on the door and opened it a crack to protect Ondolemar's indecency in the background. “Uncle Calcelmo, what is it?” He was unbothered by this encounter, courteous but curious.

“The Thalmor need Ondolemar. They're looking for him. I didn't want to say flat out he was—well you know. Just in case. But it seems rather imperative. And it's not my business to ask what they wanted, though I believe the Ambassador is on her way again...if she's not already here.”

“Oh!” Aicantar exclaimed with a start. “Ondolemar—”

“I heard,” he cut him off, already sliding into his boots. “Shit.” Ondolemar did not curse often.

Calcelmo nodded and left the two to get ready for the day and deal with their matters. He didn't look at the clock, but Aicantar assumed it was mid morning. “I'm so sorry, Ondolemar. I hope I didn't get you into trouble!”

“You apologize too much,” he said simply, but it struck Aicantar the same way as it did when his uncle had made the same observation, and he didn't speak anymore. Ondolemar adjusted the buckles on his uniform and made himself presentable, thankful for his neatly cropped low maintenance hair. He went over his face quickly with a cloth at the wash basin, and after his brief session of preening, he stood before Aicantar and looked directly into his gold-green eyes. “I know what you're thinking,” he said. “I promise you, I don't care if I'm punished for being away from my post. It was well worth it.” And he kissed him slow and with fervor knowing full well he was wasting even more crucial time. It felt good to do something positive for himself for once and this small act of rebelliousness gave him a cheap thrill. “Have a wonderful day. I'll come see you later when I am able.” Hesitant at first, he couldn't leave his new partner there with something that pedestrian. “... love you.”

Aicantar beamed and shooed him out the door with an impish giggle. With Ondolemar gone, he had time to contemplate the night they had and words that had been spoken, overwhelmed with excitement at first, then everything fell perfectly into place. The realization of how truly head over heels he was for him struck him hard like a warhammer, and his heart pounded like he had too much stamina draught, that wrenching and twisting nervousness in his stomach like he needed to void his bowels, but it was nothing more than pure bewitchment. He could tell how slow the day was about to go before he could see the captain again, and tried to go about his normal routine to the best of his ability.

Ondolemar made haste to the Thalmor quarters. To his dismay, Elenwen had already made her grand entrance. She sat on the corner of his desk one foot resting on the floor maintaining her balance and she entertained herself by moving and poking at things that did not belong to her. He did not desire to speak out of line to his superior, but he felt the need to defend himself immediately. “Look Ambassador, about last night, I'm aware I had been away from my post but—”

“Forget all of that that,” the coarse woman cut his confession short, and with a level of crassness that was unusual of her. “I don't give a skeever's ass who's been cradling your balls in your spare time, Captain. Regardless of your recent and ever expanding list of insubordinations, by Auri-el, I still know you're the best damn man for this job and there will never be anyone better. We have something. We have something monumental.”

Even though he'd been itching for real action in the field, a lump formed in Ondolemar's throat. This changed everything. He was happy. Why did this have to happen now? Elenwen scattered a packet of documents across the Captain's desk. “Read'em and grin. Or weep. Whichever reaction you deem suitable for the inevitable joy you're about to experience.”

With a remark like that, he wasn't so certain he'd feel anything good at all. He pored over each and every word, slowly and with care, taking in every last detail in the dossier until he reached the end. An emotion he could not discern crept into a void within his chest.

 

***

 

Aicantar shuffled about in the lab, organizing his gadgets, machine parts, and soul gems, not really thinking about his actions, simply behaving out of muscle memory, and though he usually wore a pleasant expression, his smile was now wider, more prominent. After his mindless display, he realized a pair of amber eyes were fixed firmly upon him, and turned around to meet his uncle with his arms crossed, a sly smirk adorning his pointed face.

Aicantar released a ghastly puff of air. “Gods! Uncle Calcelmo have you been staring at me this entire time?!”

The old elf shrugged. “It's just that you've been singing to yourself again this morning. You never sing like that unless...well, you know.”

“Well!” he said with a flustered breath. “You don't have to gawk like a creep!”

Calcelmo laughed. “That and you haven't spoken a peep since you got down here which is incredibly out of character for you.”

The tips of Aicantar's ears burned.

“Also you're welcome for having the whole room all night,” teased Calcelmo. “Even though Faleen's bed is much too short for me, and I have a crick in my neck from the way I was sleeping...”

Although Aicantar blushed a vibrant peachy color, he could no longer pretend he wasn't smiling and holding in a laugh.

“I like seeing you happy, my boy. So...how'd everything go?” the elder elf winked.

Aicantar bit his lip timidly. “I think we made a lot of progress. I um...told him I loved him.”

It made Calcelmo flinch. “That was quick.”

The young mage sighed. “I know, I know! But it felt so right, Uncle Calcelmo.”

“I'm not going to judge you. It's your life. As long as you can focus on your work, I'll have no issue.”

Aicantar gleamed at his uncle. “Thank you so much for respecting me, uncle.”

“Of course. Now that you've had some ample time to get your affairs in order, I'm going to need your assistance with the items I've brought back from my trip. They could use your expertise. Many of them are broken.”

Aicantar groaned in discontent. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter 15

Notes:

I'm still writing, I swear! It just takes me awhile. Stuff is getting pretty intense, so please enjoy.

Elenwen had returned to the embassy that evening, leaving Ondolemar gawking at his paperwork. Jarl Igmund, their main target. That conversation had been completely confidential between himself, Igmund and Raerek. It was blackmail with no paper trail, absolutely nothing to lead back to any of them. There's no way it could have gotten out. At least not from him. And what was Elenwen thinking? The Thalmor had its political hold on the entirety of the Reach because of his coexistence with the Thalmor. He couldn't allow that to be severed. In fact, he thought his regiment already knew and kept it under wraps, hence why they infiltrated the city. After all, a shrine to Talos lay at its center. Everyone knew about it and it wasn't very hidden regardless. The simplest thing in Skyrim would be for the Thalmor to tear down Markarth brick by metaphorical brick. So why attack Igmund now? Unless this was a move on the board to get at Ulfric Stormcloak, but he didn't see how it would aid their conquest whatsoever. The Thalmor needed that insolent fool.

As much as he tried to rationalize this endeavor it made no sense, and he became drunk with worry. That was when Aicantar continued to slip into his mind until all his thoughts were of him. If the Thalmor go for Igmund's throat, the Stormcloaks would most definitely rebel, and he feared for the other Altmer in the city. Gold skin was gold skin to those barbarians, no matter their affiliation. He should never have gotten involved knowing damn well that romance would cloud his judgment.

Even so, the situation didn't sit well with him. Despite the draftiness of the mountain halls, his brow poured with sweat. After everything, he decided it was in Markarth's as well as the Thalmor's best interest to do Igmund this one favor, and no one could find out about it. Speaking to Igmund would be the easy part, but getting him to believe him after already trying to manipulate him after his attempted suicide fiasco was something else.

Easier still, he could show him the documentation, but they could not leave the room and needed to remain under lock and key. All hell would break loose if the wrong eyes fell upon those pages. And time was not on his side. He would have to brief his soldiers very soon after the ambassador's visit. Best to try his luck with Igmund before they even knew. At the very least the Jarl would have a heads-up to remove the evidence before they even conduct the search. And if it worked as he planned, the unsuccessful raid would only serve to make Elenwen look like a fool. Ondolemar was just following the orders of his superior, right? Best to hurry before his guards returned from their morning route. Ondolemar never thought for a second that he would ever help a Nord in all his many decades of life, but this act was imperative for both Imperial rule as well as the Aldmeri Dominion.

And why on this day of all days was the Jarl's court full of hustle and bustle? His eyes met with Raerek, and the old man sneered at him, still sour from their last encounter, but Ondolemar hoped his face was telling enough of his urgency. His heart quickened in his chest as the final grains in the figurative hourglass trickled away.

Raerek took the hint and rose from his seat, prompting Ondolemar to move onward. Maintaining such a distance perhaps would remove any suspicion. Ondolemar took the nearest turn into an old, abandoned storage room, conveniently stuffed to the brim with soft, sound dampening objects, and Raerek met him in there to address him with annoyance.

"Ondolemar, what is the meaning of this?"

"Keep your voice down, you loudmouthed buffoon!" he snarled. "I'm here to warn you. Somehow the Thalmor were alerted towards possible you know what from Igmund. Being that I'm the only one who knows for certain, you need to ask him to throw it out. We're coming."

The old Nord's face scrunched with distaste. "Why are you telling me? We're not your allies."

"No, you're absolutely not," Ondolemar admitted. "But it's a foolish move on the Dominion's part. The Legion needs us, and we need you. Of course you'd need my highly advanced mer brain to tell you that."

"All right, you piss-skinned bastard. I get it," Raerek rolled his eyes.

"I must admit, I don't know why the Dominion would so willingly invite the Stormcloaks here with such a blatant attack, but I know you and I both don't want that. Any attack on Igmund defeats the purpose of my mission here and we need Markarth's sovereignty. So tell him to get rid of it. Dismantle the shrine in the city as well for good measure, if it so pleases you."

"I still don't trust you, Ondolemar, but now I think we have an understanding."

"Consider it my good nature," Ondolemar interrupted with disdain. "Now make haste. We will not associate again until after the raid."

Before parting from the throne room, Ondolemar made good and sure Igmund's uncle had provided the intelligence as soon as possible. Raerek whispered into his ear, and as Ondolemar walked past, he caught Igmund's eye. Ondolemar hoped that the look he shot him intended no malice, but he wasn't even sure he he could express himself through his eyes anymore. Even from the distance he kept, he could see Igmund's pitifully pinkish skin flush crimson, though Ondolemar was also unsure of which emotion he expressed. Faleen, the housecarl thankfully paid him no mind. He crept away from the scene, remaining in earshot, and soon after he could hear Igmund excusing himself from his daily duties.

"I'm afraid I cannot accept anymore questions or requests for the day. I'm not feeling very well. We will carry on as scheduled. My court is closed to the public until further notice."

"Jarl Igmund, wait! I have these documents from Uncle Calcelmo that require your signature!"

Ondolemar halted in his tracks. Aicantar? How could he have missed him?

"I am very sorry, Aicantar. Another time. Whatever it is, as long as you're both not getting anyone killed in the excavation site again, you have my express permission to carry on anything you may be working on for now. I have to go."

"But—" Aicantar gave up when he sensed the urgency in his Jarl's tone.

Ondolemar shook himself free of his bindings and rushed away before Aicantar could see him. Now was not the appropriate time to fraternize. He had work to do and time to stall for so Igmund could clean up his little shrine before Ondolemar could organize the raid. Thankfully he had paperwork.

Once in his office, he took his sweet time, reading and rereading documents until he bored himself. His agents sat in the other room patiently awaiting orders from their Captain.

He couldn't stall any longer. It was time. He gave the rundown about the raid to his agents and he lead the way. By the Eight, he hoped Igmund had been swift and thorough. With heavy and reluctant footsteps, he approached Jarl Igmund's private chambers, on the threshold of which guarded Faleen, the Redguard housecarl.

"Step aside, Redguard," Ondolemar spoke firmly and clearly. He could not allow any suspicious behavior to escape at this time.

"Ondolemar? What is the meaning of this?!" She growled defensively.

Wordlessly, he showed the decree to her and she swatted it away. "Get this filth out of my face! You're not coming in here!" Without a second thought, she drew her weapon against the Thalmor, as was expected of her.

"You are in direct violation of the White-Gold Concordat and the business of the Aldmeri Dominion as well as the Imperial Legion." Ondolemar, though he spoke poignantly, could feel his throat tighten as he said it. He prayed his nervousness did not peek through. He didn't want to do this, not to her. Not to someone so close to the one he loved so dearly.

His leather gloved hand rose in the air to signal his guards. "Do NOT harm her!" he commanded. "...unless you must." He added it as an afterthought.

"Ondolemar you filthy skeever!" Faleen spat before the Thalmor guards paralyzed her with a spell to keep her contained. Only her eyes could move, and even then he could see the malice within them. One guard remained with her and the other stood beside Ondolemar ready to give his life for his captain. They may not have particularly liked him, but they were exceptionally loyal to their cause. Something about the gesture warmed him in a way. Maybe they did care...

For sake of pure showmanship, Ondolemar booted open the heavy Dwemer door and waltzed in with a grin, only to find Igmund sitting there rather comfortably for a man whose door had been forcibly opened, and Ondolemar put his acting skills to the test once more, and to maintain a sense of diplomacy, stated the Dominion's purpose and what was about to ensue, resistance is futile, and all the other nonsense Ondolemar didn't realize he was actually weary of reciting during the course of every raid.

Raerek, who sat at a table near to his Jarl and nephew, drank nervously. Good. It only served to make this situation more legitimate. Ondolemar commanded his officer to begin the search. This time it actually caused Ondolemar great stress. What if Igmund had actually missed something? No, he wouldn't do that to himself. There was nothing to worry about. Although he did feel a rush of sincere guilt for tearing up the place. It did seem rather cozy even for a sloppy Nord dwelling.

One of Igmund's two dogs showed teeth for the first time ever, and barked at the mer with fervor.

"Down. Down you stupid flea-bitten mutt!" Igmund scolded and the dog returned to a place beneath the Jarl's chair with his tail between his legs. Ondolemar already knew about the hidden compartment in the wardrobe. It served him better to allow his officer to make the discovery. Ondolemar "knew as much as he did," after all.

And so he did find it all his own after they'd thrown books and pillows all over the place in search of any mechanical switches to secret compartments. Oblivion knew Nords weren't about to enchant anything.

"Captain!" The officer signaled for Ondolemar to approach the compartment, the door ajar ever so slightly. The officer opened the door further, brightened the area with a mage light and entered before his captain, and Ondolemar followed behind with his own conjured ball of light. Beyond the secret threshold, a decently sized room opened up, and there existed not even a trace of a burnt out candle or shrine. Not a relic to be found. Old dusty rugs leaned in the corner, clearly unused for some time. A nice touch. Empty and cracked burial urns of Nord design. Barrels molded over on the outside. Igmund truly outdid himself in such a short amount of time.

"What the—there's nothing here!" True anger befell the Thalmor officer as he lifted lids off various containers and searched for even a single broken link of a chain of an amulet of Talos. "Ambassador Elenwen herself gave the damn orders!"

Ondolemar proceeded to keep up appearances, though immeasurable relief tingled within his veins. "You will hold your tongue, Officer. There will be no disrespect towards our high commander."

"Apologies, sir."

***

“That idiot broke my grandmother's vase."

"A small price to pay for saving your ass," Ondolemar snarled with disdain.

"The only thing that makes me wonder is...why? Why did you warn me?"

"Certainly not for you," he responded carelessly. "The Dominion needs Markarth. End of discussion. The rest is confidential."

"Is that so? Or is it because you want to stay here? You don't want to be stationed away from that young wizard, so you defied orders from that elf bitch. Oh, Ondolemar. Oh Captain, my dear Captain. It doesn't take eyes to see."

The Jarl's words dripped with condescension. Ondolemar could have sworn the tips of his ears were on fire. He didn't know where to store his humiliation and outbursted in immediate defense. "That is none of your concern!"

Igmund laughed somewhat sinisterly from deep within his belly. "There's no shame in being in love, Ondolemar. You don't even really care what the Dominion wants, do you? I never would have expected the likes of you to defy your precious Concordat, or even your devout crusade against Talos. Damn elves and Imperials with their rules."

"Yes, how dare we prefer civilization and not live like wildmen. Markarth is a particularly fantastic vantage point," Ondolemar made an attempt to redeem his own honor. "To allow the Dominion to lose the Reach would be a waste. The silver, the history, the city itself. It belongs to mer. We have a right to it. I'm not about to allow it to fall into filthy Stormcloak hands!"

An insolent smirk befell Igmund's lips. "Is it really your place to make decisions on behalf of the Thalmor Ambassador? Or are you a rebel after all, Ondolemar?" His arms crossed smugly as Ondolemar proceeded to clean up the mess he had helped create in Igmund's private chambers. But he paused and thought for a moment. Rebellion?

"Unless you no longer desire my help, I suggest that you keep your mouth shut." Ondolemar growled through gnashed teeth.

Igmund provoked the tall elf no further.

"How did you do it, anyway?" Ondolemar's tone softened immensely.

"Do what?"

"Hide your shrine?"

Igmund laughed out loud. "It certainly helps...when I've never had one in the first place. My love for Talos is in here where it belongs." His hefty Nordic hand patted his chest.

It made Ondolemar twitch and he whirled around. "You rotten troll anus! You absolute...dog filth! All this time you've been lying to me?"

"Yep."

"Gods above!" If he had hair, he'd have ripped it out just then.

"We Nords aren't as dimwitted as you might believe, Ondolemar. In any case, I think we've reached a mutual understanding. After what you've done for me, I know I can trust you. That little incident at the inn?" The Jarl shrugged. "What incident?"

"But why?" Ondolemar had been rendered truly humbled.

"Because, you yellow-skinned buffoon. The Reach is my land, as it was my father's before mine, and I refuse to allow Ulfric Stormcloak to take it from me. No Stormcloak, no Forsworn, no Silver-Bloods, and no damn High Elves that's for certain. You're the only one here making it easy for me to maintain my cozy ruling. I owe you that much, don't you think? We don't see eye to eye, but considering the circumstances, I think we have an ally in one another like it or not." Igmund outstretched his hand to him in an offering of truce.

As much as he hated to admit it out loud, Igmund was right. Reluctantly, he took the Jarl's hand in a firm and dominating shake.

"Good grip for a pansy elf."

Ondolemar rolled his eyes and immediately regretted the action, but Igmund only laughed.

"I still find it strangely satisfying that you snuck in here to help me. Maybe you have a heart after all. Either way, I'll finish up. Can't risk anyone seeing you in here with me after that. So go. The young pup is probably looking for you anyway."

Ondolemar waved his hand over his body and turned completely invisible while Igmund held the door for him, only knowing he was fully out by the shuffle of the Altmer's feet. Ondolemar lamented the heaviness of his boots, as it was a struggle to tread softly.

On his way he passed Faleen, hoping that Igmund would explain the situation to her later on to save him a severe beating. Other than that, the Keep was dead. Ondolemar sighed and rematerialized now that he was far enough away from Igmund's room.

"Ondolemar?"

He about jumped from his flesh. Aicantar was now behind him. How did he pass him and not see?

"Aicantar?" He was visibly nervous and had no way to hide it from the young wizard's keen gold-green eyes.

"What in the name of Oblivion is wrong with you?!"

Ondolemar hadn't expected such heat from him, forgetting that he'd seen him earlier in the Jarl's court. But he'd been long gone? Faleen must have said something, still sour about being paralyzed.

"Shit."

Aicantar proceeded with his tongue-lashing until Ondolemar did the only thing he could think to do and silenced him by pressing him against the wall with an unintentionally rough kiss, from which Aicantar forced himself away and attempted to wriggle free. "How dare you?! Unhand me, you cretin!"

One of the Keep's guards neared, and Ondolemar whispered as quietly as he could into Aicantar's ear. "I'll explain everything to you in a minute, but stars above, please keep your voice down!"

Aicantar's tension eased under his tight grip, and Ondolemar loosened his hands on his wrists and kissed him much more gently this time while the guard walked by. He didn't care if he saw them like that. In fact, the guard didn't seem to care much either. Nothing to see here.

Both their hearts beat vigorously. "Let's go somewhere private." Aicantar immediately led him to the now vacant research lab. He could have continued to kiss Ondolemar, though the fury that continued to overwhelm him took precedence.

Aicantar crossed his arms and gave Ondolemar a look that could have disabled all the Dwemer machines in Tamriel. "Well? You'd best explain yourself."

Ondolemar supposed distracting him with a kiss could only last so long, but once he informed him of the situation, the young wizard's temper subsided.

"You...protected Igmund? He was in on it? " Aicantar's demeanor softened greatly upon realization.

"Yes, of course." It wasn't a complete lie, though not the complete truth either. Either way, it got him off his back. "You could ask him, if it so pleases you. My officers don't know, nor do I want them to. I'd greatly appreciate if you could keep this between you, myself, and Faleen. Speaking of whom, be sure to give her my sincerest apologies. It was the only option and it had to look good. I'm certain Jarl Igmund will inform her as they're so close."

"Yes." Relief washed over Aicantar. Although he knew that Ondolemar had his own duties and values to uphold. There must have been another reason behind his deed. "I'm...sorry I got so upset with you."

Ondolemar cocked his head to the side. "There you go apologizing again when it is not necessary. It's your right to be furious. These are your friends. I'm...an enemy to all of you, really."

The sorrow in his voice broke Aicantar's heart. But in reality, it was the truth. He didn't have anything to add and Ondolemar continued.

"I care about you Aicantar. I...dare I say like Markarth. You've made this place more of a home than anywhere I've ever lived."

"Darling, that's sweet of you...however..." Aicantar paused to think. "...it's dangerous for you to do something like that. There's a lot at stake for you."

"I'm not so sure that's true anymore, young one. Perhaps I've placed value on things that don't matter for quite some time."

The only thing Aicantar could think to do was take his hand. "You're a good man, Ondolemar. I knew I sensed something more within you."

The captain's normally furrowed brows raised and softened with sorrow and pity for this poor soul. "You don't have to lie to yourself just to seek the perception of me you desire most."

Aicantar did love him. But did he do so honestly? He squirmed in his seat. Maybe it was a truth he did not wish to explore.

"I'm not going anywhere," he claimed. "No matter what."

Ondolemar only thought it to himself. You will. It's only a matter of time.

Aicantar's intuition warned him of discomfort, so he cleared his throat and moved on. "Is it all right if Uncle Calcelmo knows? I mean, I'm certain Faleen has brought it up already. She's probably coughing up some intriguing ways to maim you, surely. And he is most likely encouraging it."

Though intended to be a lighthearted joke, the thought made him sweat. "Well...yes. I suppose. I know I can trust you. Please...I beg you, it can't go any farther than this."

"Uncle Calcelmo won't care," he assured. "He has other things he's focused on at the moment. And Faleen would die for Igmund. She won't betray him." He caressed Ondolemar's sunken cheek and sharply angled cheekbone.

"Divines smile upon you, Aicantar." He pulled it away from his skin and kissed his palm.

He smiled warmly, with deep dimples and eyes wrinkled in that way that made Ondolemar melt into a puddle into his own boots, a complete turnaround from how they'd met one another earlier in the night. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this honesty. I love you."

Even though he'd said it before, those words still caught Ondolemar off guard. Was this how it felt to be cared for? Aicantar offered for him to spend the night in the tower once more, as Calcelmo was off with his wife, but Ondolemar politely declined. He still had much to do, reports to prepare, and other such things as he suspected Elenwen would make her return very soon after this bust of a bust.

He returned to his quarters, and his two officers were still awake, drinking, furious, and defeated. Ondolemar allowed them to mourn their losses. After all, he'd been there before. He understood the feeling of failure more than anyone. But for now he needed to silently enjoy his personal triumph.

Though something seemed to be in their inquisitive minds, as he drowned in the tension in the air.

"Captain..." one of them broke the tension. "There's no need to be so secretive."

Ondolemar switched instantly into panic mode. What did they know? It seemed rather inappropriate and unprofessional. Ondolemar halted in his tracks with his hand resting on the door handle, heat and a mix of emotions undulating within his entire body.

"We know you've been spending time with that young wizard."

Caught red-handed, though he did little to nothing to keep his relationship a secret these days. Of all the things he could have felt, he welcomed the relief in more ways than one. Though only partially true, he was content to let them believe he snuck away for carnal comforts.

"Forgive us, sir. I understand it's out of line. This will remain separate from our Thalmor business. It's just that we've seen how happy he makes you, and...well that's fine. Your demeanor has changed over the course of these few months, and...though we may find it strange, we support you. You're hard on us but you're a fine leader. Always have been. You're captain for a reason."

Ondolemar still hadn't turned around, and sincerely had no idea what to do with the compliment. Surely they saw the points of his ears emanating a peachy glow. They could never find out he betrayed them and committed treason against all elven kind.. "You're both fine officers and you performed exquisitely today," he told them, genuinely. "I'll see to it that you're rewarded for your superb actions, regardless of the outcome. The Dominion has made no mistakes in selecting you both to get the job done even in times such as these."

After all, you're far more loyal than I...

"Th-thank you sir." Neither of them knew how to react. It was completely out of character for him.

"Do not be discouraged. At any rate, I'm exhausted. We'll complete our reports in the morning." Ondolemar finally opened the door to his private room. Without even undressing, he curled into bed. He sipped the final dose from his medicine and fell asleep quickly while imagining life with Aicantar, but soon the nightmares returned. It seemed they weren't over after all.

Chapter 16

Notes:

I was feeling uh...some kind of way when I wrote this chapter.

Enjoy the delicious smut. I'll have to wrap up this project soon though.

"No! No, father! Please! It was only a kiss. I won't do it again, I swear to the gods! Please...don't let him hurt me anymore."

A whip cracked against Ondolemar's back. Just a young boy of barely seventeen. His father stood before him, and commenced more torture from a distressed reform school servant.

"Sir, don't you think he's had enough?" He didn't want to partake in this barbarism any longer. This wasn't the kind of rehabilitation he believed in. These actions were reserved for the truly deplorable. Ondolemar knew his father had threatened this poor mer's life and thus had no choice but to do what he was told.

"He's had enough when I say he's had enough," droned a bitter and malicious voice.

"I'm so sorry dear boy," the servant muttered under his breath and whipped him again. Only when the flesh of his back exposed his vertebra did Ondolemar's father order him to stop.

Shaking, the servant backed away while the golden mer knelt before his battered child. Ondolemar did not want to look at him, but his father yanked his jaw upward, squeezing so hard it hurt his teeth. Ondolemar's eyes batted tears away as his chest heaved in defeated panic.

"You dared to make such a mockery of my fine lineage," he growled, yellow eyes like a lion seared through the boy. "No doubt you inherited this vile trait from your whore mother."

A memory of his mother flashed before Ondolemar's eyes, tall, fair and proud with her loving green-eyed gaze and silken white-blonde braid that nearly reached her ankles. Ondolemar never knew how she met her demise. Now he had a searing idea what may have happened to her.

"Hulkynd, Ondolemar's father spoke with venom. "I don't even know why I bother to try to fix you. You'll never be anything worthwhile anyway." He released Ondolemar's face, and he quivered with fear that his father would strike him. This time he did not, to his surprise.

"I'm done with you. There's no possible way you're the fruit of my loins."

How could he say that? Aside from his hair and eyes, he possessed the strong jawline and bold nose of his father. One would have had to been a fool not to see such a blatant resemblance. Anything at all he could do to rationalize that his wife had somehow committed an act of infidelity. Ondolemar began to recall the fight they'd had before she disappeared.

He whipped around so quickly Ondolemar hadn't the time to flinch, stricken so forcefully that the young elf's vision blackened.

Ondolemar shot up in bed, drenched in sweat from head to toe, heart pounding in his chest. He threw off the uniform he'd fallen asleep in, anything to stop feeling like he was stewing in his own fluids. The hands of the clock read four-thirty.

After taking a moment to ease his nerves with a swig of Alto wine straight from the bottle, cleaned himself up briefly and dressed to face Skyrim's arctic cold. He carefully tiptoed around his sleeping officers so as not to wake them and rushed out of Understone and followed the mountain path to The Hag's Cure. He didn't care if Bothela was still asleep. He needed her and he pounded on the door like his life depended on it. Young Muiri, the witch's apprentice, answered the door.

"Sir, I'm sorry, we aren't open yet," spoke the young Breton, a tinge of tired annoyance in her tone.

Ondolemar towered over her in an unintentionally intimidating manner. "I need to speak with Bothela. It's very urgent."

The old woman shuffled up behind Muiri and wrapped herself in a housecoat. "It's fine girl. He can come in. We have private business together. Go back to your room."

Muiri looked at her like she had two heads but obeyed the elderly Reachwoman, and Bothela only spoke after she was sure she heard the door latch.

"What ails ya at such an hour?" She asked harshly but with sincere concern.

Ondolemar scratched at his arm nervously. "The potion...it worked for awhile. I'd run out but I've been resting quite well without it. Until tonight."

"Hmm... that really should have helped you. Well, I can sell you my latest batch, and I'll tweak the ingredients for next time."

"I'm so very sorry for bothering you so late," he said anxiously.

"It's part of the job," Bothela spoke emotionlessly and rummaged through a special chest to find the tincture. "Up your dosage this time." She pressed the little bottle into his much larger hand. "No other issues then? Skin rash? Diarrhea? Impotence?"

Ondolemar shook his head. "Uh, no. Nothing...bad that I can recall."

"Great news, indeed. I was afraid you might have grown an extra limb.” She winked. “Go sip on that and have a rest."

He handed her his gold and ventured back to the Keep. Now that he was coherent, he realized how intense the cold was this early in the morning and he moved sluggishly to avoid more drafty air entering his coat.

He bumped into Aicantar almost as soon as he returned. The young elf could feel the cold of the outdoors radiating from his body. "Ondolemar, are you all right? Where have you been?"

It was so much more of an effort to lie, and in such a state of weariness he couldn't be bothered to care about it, so he unearthed his feelings.

"I've been taking medicine for my anxiety. After waking from one of the worst nightmares in a long time, I had to go replenish the supply."

Aicantar's head cocked in such a sweet way that it almost made Ondolemar laugh. "Gods above, darling. After all this time you've been having such terrible dreams?"

"I was embarrassed," he responded plainly.

Aicantar's tongue clicked pitifully and he embraced him, and Ondolemar accepted his literal and figurative warmth graciously.

"So why are you up?" He whispered softly into his ear.

He let him go and smiled, still resting his hands on his biceps. "The insatiable urge to tinker. I didn't want to bother anyone with the noise—or my cursing—so I came down here. You may join me if you like. I have the kettle on. Come on, pour yourself some tea and warm up."

Ondolemar supposed he hadn't much choice as he pulled him into the downstairs research lab just outside the entrance to Nchuand-zel. Everything he had needed was already sprawled across a long table. Gears, levers, and other such objects that Ondolemar could only identify specifically as "thingamajigs."

Aicantar took some of his "thingamajigs" and began to fasten them together with a ratcheting type of tool Ondolemar had never seen before, and he fixated on the nimble movements of Aicantar's hands, flexing their muscles and displaying his veins, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. He would piece a few more parts together and scrawl in the journal beside him. His handwriting was far more legible than his uncle's, and the blueprints he drew and labeled were pristine. Ondolemar sipped his tea and couldn't help but peer over his shoulder to admire his creations. He caught himself swelling with happiness as he watched him so blissfully in his element. Aicantar soon felt his gaze upon him and glanced up with a coy smile and a blush blooming over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. "What?"

"Nothing," said Ondolemar. "I merely find you pleasant to my sight."

The captain's presence gave him butterflies. He bit his lip and paused his writing.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" Ondolemar worried.

“Not at all,” he responded with a sultriness that gave Ondolemar chills. "But you are a bit distracting."

"My apolo—"

Aicantar pulled him down by the collar and kissed him, deeply and passionately, tasting the tea from his lips. Intoxicating. "That's better," he hummed with delight and released him before resuming his construction.

Ondolemar composed himself and proceeded to question with genuine intrigue. "What is this?" He pointed to a curved piece.

"An oscillator," Aicantar explained. "It's a part that helps the spheres roll. Quite fascinating, really. They don't move how you think they would, and because of that they're far more nimble than one would expect. They operate with a mechanism called a gyrosphere. I'm redesigning this one for the duel in the museum. Of course, I have to keep the safety of the patrons in mind. Though, if it were up to me, I'd make them fight at their full potential."

He rambled of course, and Ondolemar couldn't find himself able to keep up with all the technical details, but the joy that befell Aicantar while he spoke about his passion made Ondolemar content. He wished he could do the same, but these days he wasn't so sure what it was he was actually passionate about, if anything at all. He'd lived his life as an act of duty and nothing more, and he envied the childlike wonder that Aicantar still managed to possess in this cold and wretched world. Nothing ever fulfilled him, and spending time with Aicantar gave that to him for the first time, and now no one was around to stop him. No one could stop him...from loving him...

“You are simply breathtaking.”

“Oh? Smooth,” Aicantar laughed playfully. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Could be," the captain replied with confidence and rested his hand over Aicantar's. He then moved in and kissed him slowly, Aicantar's returning grip tightening as the situation intensified. His kiss was deep and deliberate, wrought with the fires of passion. He even nibbled at Aicantar's tongue a few times. When they released one another to catch their breath, they were both left with an insatiable tightness in their trousers. Aicantar's shoulders heaved with every excited exhalation.

Ondolemar slid his bench to Aicantar as closely as he could so he could sit behind him. His strong hands caressed his throat and the frame of his long ear, then traced the point gently with the tip of his tongue and nibbled at it causing the exuberant young elf to shudder. Every moan and wanting gasp made Ondolemar even harder pressed up against Aicantar's back. He shifted his hips to discreetly stimulate himself, though shy to make himself seem too eager.

His arms slinked around Aicantar's slim waist to the lacing on his trousers. Ondolemar loosened the ties and opened the fly, then slipped his hand inside over the blond mane of fluff and took a handful of hot throbbing hard-on. It sprung forth from its confines and twitched at his touch. He sunk his teeth into Aicantar's neck and began to stroke from the base up, this familiar angle made it easy. Aicantar moaned and gasped louder as the tension built in him, overstimulated by the sensations on his ears, neck, and phallus. He broke a sweat and bit his lip, and Ondolemar didn't let up until he felt Aicantar's muscle pulse in his tight grasp. He spilled his seed violently onto his hand. He admired the potent, healthy blast of his creamy ejaculate spewing like a geyser.

Aicantar muffled a powerful groan behind pursed lips and rode the wave, heart pounding and chest writhing. After a brief period of recuperation, he tucked his now half limp cock back into his pants and spun around to fall to his knees. He wasted no time ripping Ondolemar from his own pants and licking the length from the underside of his long shaft.

"I finally get to fully enjoy this," he growled and gobbled the majority of his penis voraciously, teasing the folds of the head with the entirety of his tongue making Ondolemar's legs buckle uncontrollably. Dreamy greenish eyes gazed upwards, starved and wanting. Ondolemar grabbed him by the ears and shoved himself into his throat and Aicantar couldn't stifle the rekindling of his arousal. He smiled but curved his lips back into their tight position and concentrated on the salty staff of flesh in the back of his throat. He'd performed this act of pleasure enough times that he learned not to gag. Ondolemar's enthusiasm of pulling his head into the rhythm he wanted frenzied Aicantar with desire. He hummed like he'd been eating a decadent dessert made by The Gourmet himself.

Ondolemar's abdomen burned with anticipation, his lips twisted into an intense snarl as he focused on fucking Aicantar's mouth. For a moment he didn't care about anything. Sensations rose until he could bear it no longer, his cock flexed and teased him, the delay in climax caused him to hold his breath, but when he burst, he burst with the force of a dam breaking and Aicantar had pulled his bellend into a resting position on his tongue, parted his lips and let the pearly essence coat it like warm webs, some seed dripping from the corners of his maw and some had spurted onto his upper cheek. When Ondolemar's cock quit pulsing, he sucked the whole thing clean and savored the tart, briney flavor. The hypersensitivity caused Ondolemar a most pleasurable agony.

Aicantar licked the hole delicately of any final drips and wiped the remaining cum from his face on his sleeve. "Fuck, you tasted like a dream," he puffed out a sigh of satisfaction. His mind had not yet cleared of filthy and debaucherous thoughts. "I've wanted to do that since I laid eyes on you." He crawled onto Ondolemar's lap oh how he wished the captain was still erect because he would have sat on it. He yanked Ondolemar in by his coat and kissed him hard, and he made sure to twirl his tongue around his so he could taste the remainder of his own spunk. This surprised Ondolemar but he didn't fight him, however he needed to be reminded that day was about to break and they were still very much in the research laboratory. Soon the members of the Jarl's court would file in to start their daily tasks. Were it not so public, Ondolemar would have allowed the stunning mage to use his body to fulfill himself in any way he saw fit.

He peeled him away from his lips. "We have to stop."

Aicantar wished he wasn't so hard again. It wasn't often he wanted to give rather than to receive, but he would have bent Ondolemar over the enchanting table without hesitation right then and there. He knew he'd probably never be comfortable with it, but the disappointment aided in blowing the wind out of his sail for now. Even if he could just rest it in the cleft of his buttocks and grind against him...

"I've gotten carried away." He nuzzled Ondolemar and kissed the tip of his nose. His breath contained a hint of Ondolemar's musk.

"You'll have me again. How about tonight?"

"Mmm," Aicantar hummed like he was thinking about his next meal. "My pants are going to be tight all day now."

"Good." An image of Aicantar masturbating to ease his tension while he waited for him intruded upon his thoughts. His balls tingled at the mere concept. To Oblivion with the guilt, he'd love to watch him pleasure himself...

Ondolemar stood and turned to leave before he riled himself up again, but forgot the most important parting gift. He pivoted so swiftly and fisted a wad of Aicantar's shirt to yank him forward and he kissed him. The meaning of it felt so different to the younger mer and he melted into him. Ondolemar pulled away and looked at him, intense emotion storming in his poison eyes. "I love you" was all he said before he returned to his station.

A happiness swelled within the mage's breast and his heart beat anxiously like he'd drunk too much stamina potion. Calcelmo had come down from the tower to begin his day, his nose twitched like a rabbit's. There was no doubt he smelled the aroma of sex hanging in the air, but he made no remark, though the tips of his ears displayed his embarrassment.

He brought Aicantar his notebooks from the desk, his eyes fell immediately upon the milky stain on his nephew's dark sleeve. Heat burned Aicantar's cheeks and he rolled it up promptly to conceal it, even though he'd already been caught.

Without uttering a single word, Calcelmo cleared his throat, cheeks still rosy. He tapped his own neck to alert Aicantar of the bite marks and bruising on his. His eyes widened with a start and he gasped somewhat dramatically, but he cupped his hand over it and willed the golden ribbons of healing into it, making it mostly vanish, though it remained faint. He smiled awkwardly and Calcelmo sighed and finally spoke.

"Stars above, Aicantar. In the public lab? Have you no decorum?"

His nephew shrugged.

With nothing more to add, Calcelmo bounced his foot nervously. "Just...get to work, please."

He offered him some leeway. After all, he couldn't judge the lad too harshly. Not after the unspeakable things he used to do with Orsimer women whenever the opportunity presented itself. It didn't happen frequently, but when it did he went all out. He blushed at a fond memory of a former lover, hoping Aicantar didn't notice him smiling. He couldn't smile now. He needed to be serious. Everything was serious. Enough time passed that he was no longer embarrassed and he glanced over at his nephew wearing a jeweler's loupe, completely engrossed in his work. He noticed a bronze colored chain and various miniature parts now organized on his desk and decided he was interested.

"What are you building?" He asked with genuine intrigue and he noticed it was a timepiece as he approached.

"A pocket watch," Aicantar smiled proudly. "It's a gift for Ondolemar. He seems to have trouble keeping the time, so I thought it would be a nice present for him."

Calcelmo thought it rather sweet of him to pour his heart and soul into a gift, even though it was never out of the ordinary for him to be so thoughtful. The skeevaton he built from an instruction book he'd given him for his tenth birthday still sat on his shelf near his bed, reminding him of his dear nephew's youth and innocence and his natural talent for creating things. It was like Aicantar was always meant to be his research partner.

He just had to examine this gift more closely. "May I?"

"Of course, Uncle."

With great care, Calcelmo lifted the rounded object that would soon hold the clock face, the hands and all the inner workings. Designs had been intricately etched into it, giving it a Dwemer feel uniquely mixed with a distinctly Altmeri touch, keeping in mind its future holder.

"This is very beautiful work, my boy," Calcelmo could not contain how impressed he was. He couldn't imagine how lovely it would be when it was fully complete.

"You think he'll like it?" Aicantar asked with a lack of confidence that was unusual for him.

"He'd be a fool not to swoon for such craftsmanship. Besides that, it's useful. I'm sure someone like him would appreciate that."

"Thank you."

"Did you make all the parts yourself?"

"I did. It was rather tedious."

"Spectacular. You are brilliant."

The compliment warmed him, but he didn't say anything. They resumed their business and Aicantar inquired about Faleen after the whole ordeal with Jarl Igmund.

"So how has Faleen been?"

Calcelmo laughed. "Holding a grudge, but she'll get over it eventually." He looked around to make sure the guards or caretakers were out of earshot, and he lowered his voice anyway. "I still find it difficult to believe Ondolemar did what he did."

"I know," Aicantar spoke softly. "We shouldn't speak of it anymore. Out of respect. It's over and done with."

"Of course," said Calcelmo. "I simply wanted to pick your brain, hear your take on the matter. Do you believe his intentions to be good or foul?"

While it was absurd to think that Ondolemar would ever dare protect a Talos worshipper, Aicantar failed to believe the captain defied his superior's direct orders with ill intent. In fact, he thought the act selfless. Ondolemar knew Igmund's relationship with his court wizard and his nephew/assistant. Who could say what would become of them and their research if war waged in the Reach? Who would take over in Igmund's absence and who could say if he had any respect at all for magic and discovery? Above all else, Aicantar didn't think Ondolemar wanted the responsibility of wrecking the place just to return to Summerset where he would be miserable and lonely. Surely the youthful mage could never look at his lover again with the same enthusiasm after he upturned his entire livelihood. Could he truly have sabotaged the entire Aldmeri Dominion in Tamriel because he was in love? To protect someone he cared for deeply?

"I..." Aicantar opened his mouth but had trouble speaking the words, though he knew it must be said aloud as all the pieces fell perfectly into place. "I think...I think he did it for me..."

Chapter 17

Summary:

Had a long chapter so decided to split it. Just a little cuteness. Nothing major. I suppose this one is going to be a bit longer than I anticipated and if I'm being honest I have not fleshed out the main conflict so it may take awhile to complete. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants. Knew what I wanted to do and what the outcome is, just not sure "what."

Ondolemar spent his morning organizing his documents and cleaning his desk. The day started slow but he welcomed it, as he was uncertain how much more mental anguish he could take. Though he tried to concentrate on important things, he replayed the events of the early morning. Reflecting on it, he felt grimy. How could he succumb to such vile deeds?

Were they, though? He'd performed foul sexual acts with plenty of women. Though he wasn't quite sure if they really enjoyed what they were doing in retrospect. Altmer women only sought him for his pedigree in hopes to possibly wed and sire superiorly bred children with him. He held no such interest. He was a lone wolf with pesky primal urges that required fulfillment. Biological distractions, if anything.

He bedded Bosmer a handful of times, if only for the stereotype of their affinity for sex. The only woman who ever sought him because she found him truly interesting was Faustine Auberjonois, The Last Dragonborn herself, a petite Breton woman with shape-shifting magical abilities that even Ondolemar could not comprehend. The way her ears formed the slightest peak from her elven lineage warmed him to think about even still. She was stunning. And sneaky. And an absolute pest. And he believed he truly loved her once. Faustine loved him too, but she knew it could never be between them. She pleased him countless times, and he pleased her, but something was off about it. Faustine was always kind, albeit cheeky, but their final time sleeping together before she called it off, she made her observations known to him.

"You have a lot of love to give, Ondo, but it's not intended for me. You have something you need to work out for yourself."

He never understood what she meant. At least not until recently.

Ondolemar reminisced about his time spent with her. He never regretted it for a second. Even when she asked him for that favor at one of Elenwen's many get-togethers. At the time he'd been upset with her, as well as the spy Malborn, however when she explained how the remaining Blades thought the return of Alduin a Thalmor conspiracy he could see the humor in it. He had answered to her request without considering the cost, without even so much as a second thought. He'd have done anything for her and all she needed to do was ask.

Even Elenwen herself found the ordeal comical and forgave the misdeed and crashed party. However she thought Ondolemar's affair with Faustine may have benefitted their cause at the time, though it was not what the Dragonborn wished. If anything, she did it for the laughs, fully aware the Thalmor had nothing to do with it. She just wanted to tease and seized the opportunity, but otherwise indifferent to the Thalmor directive.

Ondolemar smiled in remembrance with his feet propped on the heavy oak desk when one of his insubordinates entered his office rather urgently. "Sir, you have a letter sent via raven from Ambassador Elenwen.

His heart sunk and he returned to a normal seating. "Leave it here on the desk. Thank you."

"Yes sir." He bowed respectfully before exiting.

The captain sighed and rolled his eyes before popping the wax on the envelope. Enclosed was a separate leaflet and her letter:

"Esteemed Captain Ondolemar...

(He nearly gagged at the falsity and emptiness of the greeting).

...I did not believe you had it in you to betray Igmund. It mattered not to me one way or the other if he secretly worshipped Talos. And you passed the test. I should never have doubted your faith and ability to see reason. I suppose I should reward you for your continued excellency, so please accept this letter as an invitation. I will be hosting yet another party at the Embassy this coming Loredas in the evening. I hope to see you make an appearance. Your boy is welcome to attend as well, if you'd like.

Cordially,
Ambassador Elenwen"

Anger boiled within him. A cheap trick. Had he risked his own kind for that swindling snake of a woman? It didn't matter. She didn't know he had played her cards against her. Frankly, the situation fell deliciously into his control. The treachery still vexed him immensely. After everything he'd gone through to keep that woman happy, she dared to test his trust. He felt so betrayed. How could she think that he would make any decision that would implode their main objective?

Bad enough he found himself lingering too long on “your boy is welcome.” Aicantar may have been much younger, but he was a grown man, and an accomplished one at that. To diminish him in such a way sickened Ondolemar.

He gave himself ample time to cool off before even considering attending her party. It was obviously best to keep up appearances no matter how furious she made him so as not to seem suspicious. Besides that, it gave him the opportunity to possibly get Aicantar some fresh air away from Understone Keep for a bit. He hoped he'd say yes. He didn't actually want to go alone. In fact he'd never felt more alone than when he attended a social gathering. He didn't fit in with the other prestigious and noble peoples. He wasn't even certain if he fit in with other Altmer at all anymore.

He picked up the leaflet and examined it. Written in elegant script, it stated his full name and +1 and served as his formal means of entrance into the Thalmor Embassy for the party. All the wealthiest dregs Skyrim society would attend. It would not surprise him if Aicantar firmly declined his offer, but he needed to make an appearance regardless. It would harm nothing at all to shoot his shot, but the thought of actually verbilizing it to the young man made him nervous every which way. He wouldn't like such an event. Though Aicantar was very friendly to everyone, he was also very much a loner with all due respect to his special interests. Ondolemar himself didn't even like it. But maybe with someone he cared about would make it different. He hyped himself into courageousness, took a deep breath and returned to the entrance of Nchuand-Zel.

Calcelmo glared from the side of his eye when he walked in, and it only served to make Ondolemar more uneasy, knowing he knew damn well he had desecrated his workspace. Aicantar smiled brightly as he approached him. "Well hello, handsome. Back so soon?"

"I, uh...I need to ask you something, if it's no trouble."

Aicantar crossed his arms in his adorable cheeky way. "That depends what you're asking, my love."

My love. Hearing the words made him weak and he stumbled for the correct thing to ask.

"Why are you so nervous?" he inquired.

Why was he so nervous? Best to get it over with. "Would you like to accompany me to a party at the Thalmor Embassy?"

In the background, Calcelmo accidentally knocked a loud and heavy object on the floor making them both jolt with a fright.

Aicantar took the hint that the request upset his uncle, but it made no difference. He just didn't want him hanging around with the wrong crowd, but he knew better, and this seemed rather important to Ondolemar. It was difficult to say no to him, though he was apprehensive. "What goes on at these embassy parties?" he asked.

Ondolemar feared the worst but he answered the question. "They are rather uneventful, if I'm being honest." He looked around to be sure no one else could hear. "I'm only going because I have no other option right now. I'd rather not be trapped alone with those pigs...I know, it sounds bad asking you to go when I put it like that..."

This astonished Aicantar. He once believed Ondolemar would have thought rather fondly of these high class ambassadors, politicians, and wealthy entrepeneurs. The idea of a party didn't appeal to him in the slightest, as he was much happier playing with his machines, but it appeared Ondolemar needed the moral support more than anything. The event presented him with an opportunity and experience to become closer to his lover. He agreed.

"I'll gladly go with you."

Calcelmo cursed loudly after he dropped another object on his foot. Aicantar was well aware the clumsiness came from his displeasure, but he very well couldn't leave Ondolemar hanging. The captain flung his arms around his partner. "Oh Divines bless you, sweet Aicantar! I couldn't ask anyone else a more important favor."

It pleased the younger mer to come to his aid. "I suppose I'll need a new outfit then. I damn well can't go to a party that fancy looking like this."

He gestured to the robes he was now wearing over the clothes he had last seen him in, dusted with metal flakes, ripped fabric, some burn holes, oil stains and with a withered and filthy bottom hem. Ondolemar found him exceptionally beautiful in spite of it. He was so accustomed to seeing him and his uncle in their work garb in their natural habitat that he forgot these mer possessed their own wealth as well and had only seen Aicantar dressed either for work or for comfort, so humble. He grew increasingly excited trying to imagine how he would look in formal wear.

"This means so much to me," he said while cupping his hand in his. "It's on Loredas. We'll have to leave early in the day by carriage to make it on time."

To Aicantar's shock, Ondolemar kissed his cheek before he returned to serve his duties. He caressed the spot where his lips touched. It tingled still.

Calcelmo's vexed breath snapped him out of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Uncle Calcelmo," the young man said. "It's just a party. I highly doubt it will have any influence over me."

"That's not what I'm worried about, my boy," Calcelmo said. "Just be careful. I don't trust anyone from the upper crust."

"I'll be fine. I can handle myself pretty well, for your information."

It was only intended to be lighthearted, but Calcelmo took it personally, and he held it in. How easy it still was to forget his nephew was a fully grown man and had been for a long time. "Sorry," he said.

Aicantar learned in that moment where he inherited his excessive apologizing habit from. "Don't be sorry for caring about me. Everything will be fine."

Calcelmo couldn't be certain of that knowing the lecherous atrocities people of high status commit, knowing that their wealth makes them untouchable. Aicantar though intelligent, could be very naive. Perhaps he'd done a disservice to him raising him and keeping him from harsh realities.

"You fret too much," said Aicantar. "Besides, Ondolemar won't let anything bad happen to me. You know that."

"You're right," Calcelmo agreed. "He's become very fond of you over the last few months."

"I think I'm going to go finish the pocket watch now. I want to give it to him."

Calcelmo mustered a weak smile. He hoped nothing detrimental would happen at the Embassy.

Chapter 18

Notes:

I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long! Life and mental health struggles. I fell off on doing anything I enjoyed. Executive dysfunction is a living nightmare. This Chapter has been revised as of 10-21-24. I just didn’t like how it was going. I feel like I got ahead of myself and I’ve been really thinking lately about how I want to end this piece. I had the perfect ending planned out, however that was when I had eaten an edible…told myself I did not need to write it down and that I would remember and, well…here we are. I’ve been trying for weeks to remember the perfect ending I had cooked up…

But alas…

Anyways, there are still mentions of sexual abuse in this chapter. It hasn’t changed much up until about the half way point. Unfortunately this will still be longer than I would like, but I hope I’m still capturing the essence of this “doomed form the start” relationship, and I also hope that I got a good look inside my interpretation of Aicantar and Calcelmo’s relationship. I love them so much. I needed them back in my life. <3

Loredas encroached before they knew it. Aicantar had spent his whole morning getting ready, fussing over his hair and constantly straightening, changing, and smoothing his clothes. Faleen helped him choose his garb and fixed his hair for him.

"Aicantar, you look great. You'll be the finest looking person there, guaranteed," she said and placed a gold and emerald circlet on his head over his fishtail braided half ponytail. The metal band twisted like thorns and came to a point where the gem dangled perfectly just below a delicate widow's peak. It accented his light bronze skin tone and hue of his eyes beautifully.

He wore a form fitting tunic of forest green silk with fasteners of gold. Golden thread embroidered the edges with distinctly high elven filigree, a wide fine leather belt etched with similar designs that cinched his already narrow waist. His pants were a soft velvet, taut and accentuating both to his back and front sides. His hard brown leather boots rose to his knees, laced with great care so that there were no twists or knots.

Faleen draped a hooded velvet cloak lined thickly on the inside with fleece over his shoulders as the final touch.

"This shit is positively ridiculous," Aicantar huffed. "I feel like it's my wedding day."

"Let's not get carried away," she said unamused.

"That's not what I meant," he sighed.

"There." Faleen fastened the brooch that matched his circlet and gave him his traveling gloves for the ride. It would take a few hours to reach the Thalmor Embassy to the North. "It's going to be cold. Big surprise. Sometimes I miss the desert."

He laughed good heartedly. "Thank you so much for this. I'd still be searching in the closet if it wasn't for you."

"Glad to be of service. Believe it or not, I can have a feminine touch now and again. Now go have some fun. Ondolemar is already waiting at the main entrance for you."

Aicantar passed his uncle on the way down from the wizard's tower. He paused to compliment him with great surprise as he was not accustomed to seeing him dressed up to the gills. "You look dashing. Safe travels, my boy. Do your best to enjoy yourself."

"Thank you, Uncle."

He then passed Moth in the center hall, who stopped dead in his tracks to admire his fancy garb and done up hair. "Whoa!"

The orc always managed to make him blush no matter what. "Oh, please, Moth."

He laughed heartily and patted him on the back. "Don't drink too much of that good wine at the embassy. You'll get into all kinds of mischief. Ondolemar has no idea what he’s in for."

Aicantar gave his dear Orsimer friend a warm smile and a hug then at last reached his main destination. Ondolemar propped himself against the wall waiting patiently for his partner, and his jaw nearly fell off at the sight of him. "You look so...wow..."

Aicantar's eyes wrinkled up as he smiled. "Oh don't you harass me too. I've gotten way too much attention on the trek downstairs."

Ondolemar couldn't control his eyes, but chuckled about it. "I certainly don't blame them. I'll keep my hands to myself then."

"The way you were last night, I don't think you can." Aicantar touched his nose to his. "You look great too."

Ondolemar's attire consisted of a fine Thalmor issued dress regalia. Still themed black and gold, however it differed from his usual uniform and actually appeared more casual and comfortable. He also wore a warm woolen cloak with his hood up to fend off the cold, the occasional hum of a frost resistant enchantment chimed from time to time.

"Let's go. If we leave now, we'll make it early. The skies are clear so far, but looks like a storm is on the rise, and the wind is positively frigid."

Aicantar threw up his hood and tightened it. He couldn't afford for his hair to get mussed now. Ondolemar led him to a covered carriage and helped him in. His guards took a separate carriage so they could have their privacy.

The winter air chilled the entire cab. When they were inside, Ondolemar conjured a flame to heat the space, and Aicantar played with his own fire spell absentmindedly tossing about a ball of fire.

"I don't know why Elenwen chose the dead of winter for a party." He was obviously annoyed.

Aicantar smoothed his hands over his thighs, actually enjoying the feel of the velvet on his dry hands, though some did catch on his chapped and calloused skin. He chose to sit closely beside Ondolemar rather than across from him because he enjoyed the intimacy, and frankly he needed his warmth, though he didn't admit it out loud. "I'm used to the cold,” he said.  “Uncle Calcelmo says Summerset is warm and tropical."

"Very much so," said Ondolemar proudly. "Even on the coldest days all you need are light coverings. Storm seasons can make it chilly at the seafront, but not unbearable like this insufferable tundra. The air hurts my face and makes my old joints and war injuries ache. Why would anyone wish to live in this inhospitable wasteland?”"

Aicantar's laugh burst forth. The captain was right, but the tone in which he expressed his displeasure was rather comical. The carriage jolted the mer slightly as the horses kicked off.

Not too far down the road, Aicantar pulled a basic wooden trinket box from his pocket. "I was going to give this to you when we arrived, but I couldn't wait any longer. I hope you like it."

"What is it?" Ondolemar asked incredulously, surprised that anyone would give him a gift. No one ever gave him anything but a hard time.

"I made you something.  I'm too excited to keep it to myself any longer. Go on. Open it up."

Ondolemar could not deny his childlike enthusiasm over the present. He flipped open the hinged lid and moved away some straw that was used for padding to pull out the pocket watch nestled within. Aicantar never expected his eyes to light up so brightly. "This is...exquisite," he said in awe as he fingered the etching.

"I made every part of it," Aicantar said proudly. "And it's enchanted so you never have to wind it."

"I love it," he said. "And I adore you." He thanked him with a slow kiss.

"You deserve something nice," Aicantar spoke softly and leaned intimately against him.

Ondolemar's core warmed from the bliss, but he wasn't sure he deserved a one of a kind magic watch or this treasure of an elf beside him.

After a moment of resting his eyes, Aicantar began to snore lightly. Ondolemar wondered how early he'd gotten up to prepare for the party, but he thought it best to allow him to rest as the ride would be long. He slipped his arm around him and held him close, placing a kiss on his temple and inhaling his clean, floral scent. He couldn't recall anyone igniting such a fire in his belly, nothing remotely like this one did. It almost hurt to love him so much. And he did. He truly did. It was in this moment he realized he would do anything for Aicantar.

In just a blink of an eye, the private chauffeur employed by the Embassy began to wake his passengers. "We've arrived, good sirs."

Ondolemar didn't remember falling asleep, and certainly couldn't recall a time in which he slept as peacefully as he did on this journey. He nudged Aicantar who groaned lazily. "Wake up my darling. We're here."

Aicantar thought he was still dreaming due to Ondolemar's changed demeanor. He seemed...light. As though he might up and float away. Snow began falling delicately around them, but in just a few minutes became ornery as it whipped around in the vicious wind.

They met the Thalmor doorman at the wrought-iron gate before the Embassy building. Upon sight of the captain, he had forgone asking for his invitation and allowed them both access. Aicantar wondered what other privileges Ondolemar's status gave him and he found it rather disconcerting. He already sensed a heaviness in the atmosphere, making him feel burdened and misplaced, even though he stood tall and his ears were the appropriate length and sharpness and his skin was a divine hue of gold. The captain was one thing, but he wondered if that may have been why the doorman didn't bother to ask him for proof of clearance.

Ondolemar sensed his tension. "Don't be nervous. You'll be fine. Just a few drinks and some idle talk for a bit, then we can go home whenever you're ready. Even if only after five minutes."

He called Markarth "home." For lack of a better term or was it his true sentiment about the place he'd been stationed for so long?

Ondolemar placed his mouth almost directly onto his ear. "Believe me, I'd have normally sat this one out."

"I know," he whispered back. "Let's try to make the best of it."

The pair entered the threshold together, and Ondolemar bewildered him yet again by openly holding his hand. Perhaps his own racket in his mind made him not realize his obvious mistake. Elenwen always met her guests in the vestibule as they arrived and unfortunately they could not avoid this unnecessary interaction with her as it was the only way the guests were allowed inside.

"Ah! Captain! Welcome, welcome!"

The false enthusiasm nearly made Aicantar want to gag and he hoped his face didn't give that away.

"Ah, Aicantar, is it?" She looked him up and down as if surprised he even owned expensive clothing, even though Calcelmo was the third wealthiest individual in the Reach. "You and your father have quite the reputation."

"My uncle," he corrected. He was already annoyed. Perhaps it was simply a minor oversight, though it still peeved him immensely, no matter how irrational it seemed.

"Oh yes, do forgive me."

He didn't realize he'd been squeezing Ondolemar's hand so desperately, crushing it in his frustration. Elenwen glanced at that as well. Their host nearly scowled, but caught herself, knowing full well about their relationship already. After all, she did rightfully invite them as a couple. "Please enjoy some refreshments and festivities. I'll leave you both to it." She gave a light bow and gestured inside.

Ondolemar attempted to wriggle his fingers free. Aicantar took the hint. Ondolemar grimaced in anguish and flexed them trying to get the blood to return and the stiffness out of them.

"I'm so sorry. It's just—"

"You don't have to explain. I understand. I've been dealing with the same charade for many long years."

The Captain had to respect Elenwen. No one said he had to like her. "Now I know you'll appreciate the wine so let's get a drink."

A Bosmer man all too eager to serve poured them both goblets of the finest beverage they had to offer. The wine was exceptional, but as Aicantar mingled and looked about, he noticed a common theme. All servants and entertainers were Bosmer, Khajiit, and Argonian—those who are deemed as lesser beings in the eyes of extremist Altmer. Orsimer must have been even less, as he saw not one on the whole property. He hoped it was a coincidence. He grew increasingly more uncomfortable the more he observed. Many of Skyrim's more Imperial leaning Jarl's and associates were in attendance at this diplomatic event, yet he noticed Igmund's absence, though rumor had it he had still been invited even after the raid incident. He couldn't blame him for not showing. Such a spit in the mouth after the way Elenwen treated him.

Aicantar observed his surroundings in silence. He would have rather had his hands in a project, covered in oil and metal flakes in the quiet of his laboratory with soft utterances of curses from Calcelmo in the background than the hustle and bustle of this gathering. Too many conversations carried on at once and he was unable to focus on anything but his overstimulation. Ondolemar distracted him from this dread as he placed an ornate golden goblet into his hand. A deep garnet liquid splashed inside. “My favorite wine from Summerset. Not so sweet it rots your teeth, and you can barely taste the alcohol.”

Aicantar smacked his lips after his first sip, truly appreciating the fruity, tart flavor of berries, perhaps elderberry, with just a light note of some sort of spice or herb.

“What do you think?”

The young mer cracked a smile at the captain, for the expression he wore was that of a child eager to share something he enjoyed with someone else. It was a pure side of him he thought he would never have a chance to see and it moved him so. Even if he had hated it, he wouldn't have had the heart to burst his bubble. “It will most definitely be my drink of choice for the rest of the evening.”

“Just wait until you pair it with the cheese. It is to die for.”

Aicantar couldn't deny he was a sucker for wine and cheese, but he became even more of a sucker for this version of Ondolemar. For someone who hated parties, he seemed rather excited, but more for the food and refreshments than any of the people he so prudently avoided. The tingle of the wine made both of them more prone to adapt to the environment. Aicantar took advantage of the calming effects and admired the surroundings now that he could tolerate it a bit. Candelabras with delicately warm flames flickered. Strings of magical lights hung along the walls and around picture frames and mantlepieces, fading into different colors creating a comforting ambience. He preferred that contrast to the boisterous Nords yapping in the crowd. Everyone else seemed more refined, but still, the gaggles of false laughter and over accentuated enthusiasm canceled out the pleasant visual of the place. At least the food and entertainment was good, however Aicantar still experienced discomfort, and Ondolemar could sense it as familiars began to approach and make small talk with the ever esteemed Captain of the Thalmor.

Overall, Ondolemar remained as quiet and austere as he did back home at the Silver-Blood Inn, but he did desire for Aicantar to derive at least some enjoyment out of it, otherwise he wouldn't have asked him to tag along. As the talented bards played and other guests frolicked and raised their glasses, he took Aicantar's hand and bowed low and gracious. "A dance, my lord?"

The gesture left Aicantar beside himself. Here? Now? In front of all these prestigious guests? Had he gone mad?

Aicantar's ears flushed. He loved dancing, but thought he could use more booze in his system first. However, he begrudgingly accepted and Ondolemar herded him by the hand to the other dancing nobles.

As expected, there were whispers and gasps behind the scenes, not only from boorish upper class Altmer, but other attendants merely surprised the Captain was seeing anyone at all, and they were as surprised as the rest that he would attend this event with another male, though it did not entirely displease them, aside from a handful of foul, glowering women who may have once fancied him and would have otherwise attempted to woo him into the private quarters this night. Little did they know, they never had a chance in the first place.

Aicantar's heart beat in his throat. Even he worried about Ondolemar's reputation, even if it was foolish and arbitrary. Ondolemar didn't appear to care much about what anyone thought about seeing them together, and that's what truly frightened the younger mer. Status, refinement, and regality meant everything to him. Was he giving up on them? On this way of life?

Ondolemar moved with such light feet that Aicantar thought himself to be clunky. He never recalled suffering this level of clumsiness in public ever before until now, but perhaps it was because the people surrounding him were truly foreign to him. The burden of impressing them for Ondolemar weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he couldn't for the likes of him figure out why. He'd never experienced this type of “stage fright” before an audience, always proud and outgoing, and this time he felt so small and insignificant. He wanted to remain unseen.

Furthermore, most of the attendants at least heard of Calcelmo, though most of them thought him just a lunatic and knew little if anything at all about his spritely nephew. There were too many "poors" at the museum for them to even consider visiting the place without renting the whole thing to themselves. Yet Calcelmo didn't care how many septims they offered, he would never leave out those who deserved and appreciated the education the most. If others couldn't enter, no one could.

Aicantar already felt out of place but even more so now that everyone had their sneering eyes on them. Though he cared little about social or financial status, none of these people knew he was actually someone. Someone of value and vital to uncovering the pervasive past and mysteries of Tamriel.

Ondolemar honed in on his distress. He caressed Aicantar's smooth cheek with the back of his hand, pulled him close and rested his forehead against his. He spoke so only he could hear him. "Daedra claim them all! I don't give a squirting gryphon's shit about any of them or what they think about us."

The confidence and assertion of dominance made Aicantar swoon. Some spectators appeared uneasy, most others indifferent, and very few others...mischievous. It was an unusually cosmopolitan gathering in spite of the Thalmor's political interests.

The pair danced for a few moments longer, which seemed to last an elven lifetime, and Ondolemar closed the song with a tender kiss. He didn't give a damn who saw it. Skyrim was not Summerset. These people were not his father. No one could touch him now. He felt so happy and liberated by this public display that he laughed, leaving Aicantar smitten by him once more.

"Thank you for being here," said Ondolemar. "Unfortunately, I must part from you to mingle with others for a short time to talk...business."

Aicantar smoothed his hand lovingly over his face, admiring the sharpness of his handsome cheek. "I understand."

"If you need me for anything, come find me. Do not hesitate." Ondolemar left him with another shock to his system with a kiss on the cheek. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this new behavior, but he would never complain about the thrill. Aicantar watched him walk away and stood there listless for a moment before attempting to socialize so as not to seem too out of place. Since the other High Elves here were too much for him, he fraternized with the servants instead, for they were more like real people to him than anyone. This seemed to surprise them.

Aicantar took a seat on one of the plush stools. 

"Not much of a party-goer, I take it?" The wood elf bartender poured him more of the special wine that Ondolemar liked. He was boyish in the face, as many Bosmer men were, and compared to the Altmer, they were very short, making it damn near impossible to discern age unless they had visible signs of graying hair or wrinkles. Like the many races of mer, the shape of his ears differed from the rest. They were erect and thin, and quite a bit longer than an Altmer's ears. His face was tattooed with traditional Valenwood designs and framed his insect-like dark eyes wonderfully. A pair of small, antler-like buttons poked through the hair draping his forehead, a trait rare of many modern Bosmer that Aicantar found fascinating to look at and admire.

The bartender took note of his patron's curious ogling of his features, but took no offense. He seemed innocent enough. "I'm Torgoth," he said.

"Pleasant to meet you. I'm Aicantar."

"The Captain seems abnormally happy this evening.”

"Oh?"

"Sorry if I'm being too personal. Just never saw the man smile before tonight. He obviously fancies you. I'm sure you know it's not common in high Altmer society. They're so...uptight."

"So I've heard," Aicantar said. "I was raised far away from that."

“You're not from Summerset?” Torgoth slid the drink to him.

“No. Grew up in Cyrodiil for much of my life. I've lived in Skyrim for many years. I don't even like the Thalmor or what they stand for.”

Torgoth's fluffy brows furrowed with perplexity. “Yet you're with the Captain of the whole Skyrim regime?”

“It's...complicated,” Aicantar blushed.

The Bosmer laughed. “Well I'm certainly not here to judge. I'm here to serve drinks and merriment.”

“Much appreciated,” Aicantar raised his cup to him. “A truly thankless job.”

Torgoth nodded pleasantly and tended to the decent sized group of patrons who approached the bar. Drink in hand, Aicantar seized this opportunity to explore the venue some more. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, as everything seemed usual on the surface. The people mingled and chatted, and to his delight ignored him as he brushed by. Now and then he'd catch conversations of the Civil War or talks of large business endeavors. He looked for Ondolemar just to make sure he was doing okay, but actually managed to lose him in the crowd. He wasn't terribly upset, just disheartened. He hoped he didn't have to be without him long.

In the meantime, he followed the sound of music and spectated for a time. The evening's entertainment consisted of a lovely and rather young Dunmer woman, sleek hair of raven black and tied in a tight braid. One accompanying band mate playing a set of hand drums looked so much like her Aicantar assumed he must be her sibling, possibly a fraternal twin. The third of the trio, another Bosmer man, strummed a lute that looked like he'd made it himself from animal bone and sinew. It was perhaps one of the most peculiar things he had ever seen, but he admired the cultural craftsmanship, and the acoustics of said instrument sounded so much bigger than the room they were in. And the singer's voice was so angelic that Aicantar had lost himself in her melody. When the song ended, he placed a wad of septims to divvy up between the three of them into her dainty, ash-gray fingers, in shock not only because he hadn't once laid a single eye on her chest, but because she'd never received such a generous offering in her whole life.

“I'm...I'm so sorry, sir. I can't accept this. We're not allowed to take tips here at the embassy.”

Aicantar pursed his lips and scowled. “Who says? If anyone has a problem with it, they can answer to me.” A small amount of lightning crackled as he snapped his fingers, which startled the girl, but also made her smile. He winked and moved on. Most of the guests that bothered to notice him offered polite nods and other common courtesies, which put his nerves somewhat at ease. Until he heard a loud mouth ingrate hollering across the ballroom floor. The room hushed at once to rubberneck.

“You're going to come with me right now or you'll be experiencing a lot worse than what I'm about to do to you!” a rough and drunken Nord voice bounced off the walls of stone while a Bosmer serving girl struggled to break his grasp on her wrist.

Aicantar whipped his head around, the rage boiling within him, his feet already skating in their direction to cease this abhorrent behavior. Ondolemar had hoped Erikur, Thane of Elisef the Fair, would have had one of his more behaved nights, but to his misfortune he could not. He bound like an indrik across the floor to get to his partner, but to no avail, for Aicantar had arrived, red in the ears with malice.

“What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?” he hissed. “Unhand that woman this instant. She isn't your plaything!”

Erikur, even as a tall Nord, found himself looking up at the slender elf, puffing his broad chest out like the primate that he was. He could have said anything he wanted, and almost did, but he hadn't been liquored up enough to speak down to an Altmer in their own embassy quite yet, especially not the romantic interest of the Captain himself, lest he cut out his blasphemous snowback tongue and feed it to him. 

Elenwen herself even scoffed, set her own drink aside and followed behond Ondolemar to mediate the situation. Even though Erikur was an esteemed noble guest, she couldn't have him acting a fool in front of all these people...again. 

The other guests tried to pretend they weren't snooping, and some voices continued to mind their own, even though they still listened in with one ear open.

“Erikur, that will be quite enough,” Ondolemar growled. He knew Erikur could do nothing to him here in this neutral zone or he'd be hauled away for treason against the Empire and a direct violation against the Aldmeri Dominion.

When Elenwen finally reached them, Ondolemar shot her the hottest glare he could, knowing full well she normally forced the servants to go with Erikur just to get him out of her hair. For now, in the presence of Aicantar and the wrath of both of them, she decided upon the proper moral choice. 

“Enough of this, Erikur or I'll throw you out in the snow. You know better.” Her gritty yet feminine voice cut like a jagged blade. This only served to irritate the Nord, and he let go of the serving girl with such force he still caused her physical pain, though it did not injure her. He looked at Ondolemar with his arm simultaneously consoling Aicantar and holding him back. Erikur longed to say something snarky about it, but he straightened the fur lining of his overcoat and stamped away without another word.

Elenwen pursed her lips, rubbed her aching head and returned to her drink without saying a thing to either the captain or the mage. There was no point to keep it going. Aicantar trembled with fury and Ondolemar pulled him in close to ground him, seeing the tears he held back welling up. 

“He is Nord scum. Nothing more.”

“I'm sorry,” Aicantar huffed, his voice wavered. His heart thrummed in his head and throat from the rage as he fought back his furious tears.

Ondolemar stroked Aicantar's silky hair, feeling the texture of his braid under his fingertips. “Don't apologize. You've done nothing wrong. We can leave if you wish. I wouldn't blame you one bit.”

The young elf inhaled deeply and composed himself. “No. I'm not going to allow a single cretin ruin our night.”

“Are you quite sure?” Ondolemar asked incredulously. “I only care for your comfort.”

It warmed Aicantar and helped calm his nerves. He wiped his wet eyelids on the back of his hand and smiled at him. He felt a little better, though his heart ached for all the servants who suffered this abuse. “Yes, I'm sure. Unfortunately, I'm not too unfamiliar with men treating women like slabs of warm meat...or me for that matter.”

That addendum made Ondolemar's gut twinge. His willingness to kill anyone who would dare hurt his beloved made itself known. Aicantar could see the unnerving darkness behind his eyes.

“It's all right. I'm fine now,” he redirected him. “Forget that drunken imbecile.”

Ondolemar gulped down the enraged saliva that had formed in his throat and indulged him. 

Throughout the course of the party, the blizzard outside worsened monumentally. Thalmor guards entered the establishment to change shifts, for it had become so cold they had icicles forming on their breast plates and pauldrons. One scowling justiciar remarked that he couldn't even see his hands in front of his own face and advised Elenwen that it would not be safe for anyone to leave until the storm subsided. The Ambassador rang a glass with a fork to make her announcement.

“I regret to inform all of my fine patrons that the weather has become too foul for travel. We will provide accommodations for our guests until the storm clears. My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience.”

No one seemed tremendously upset by the matter. None of them had any desire to brace themselves against the cold and snow, moreover, many were too drunk to function by this point. 

This disheartening news made Ondolemar and Aicantar restless. 

“Shit,” Aicantar muttered. “Uncle Calcelmo is going to be so worried!”

Ondolemar had no desire to tell him about the item Calcelmo had secretly given him to hold onto should tensions arise, but since the opportunity presented itself, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bluish, quartz crystal. A conversation stone.

“What…?” Aicantar gingerly removed the object from his hand.

“Calcelmo wanted to be sure you could reach him if you needed him,” Ondolemar said with a sly smirk.

“That sneaky bastard,” Aicantar laughed. “Oh but I'm so thankful he is! I love him so!”

He requested Ondolemar take him somewhere quiet, and the captain led him to a vacant corridor. Aicantar polished the stone on his shirt and traced the flattest part of the stone in little circles until it glowed a dim white-blue hue. It chimed delicately like a nirnroot. Calcelmo answered the call almost immediately as he kept his corresponding stone on his person. His voice echoed ethereally from within the object.

“My boy! How do you fare?” he attempted to hide his panic to no avail.

Aicantar chuckled and spoke directly to the gem. “Everything is fine, Uncle Calcelmo. I just wanted to tell you that we're stranded thanks to the blasted Skyrim weather.”

The sound of Calcelmo nervously clearing his throat reverberated in return. He wasn't thrilled that his nephew would not be able to come home that night. “As long as you are safe. The blizzard has become worse here as well within the last hour or so.”

“Stay warm and safe. I will see you sooner than you think.”

“Of course,” the crestfallen Calcelmo replied. “I love you, Aicantar.” 

“I love you too, Uncle. So much. I’m very glad you packed this little trinket for us. I was getting restless.”

The smile could be heard in Calcelmo’s speech. “I know you better than you think. It’s been a long time since you’ve been away from home on your own. I won’t keep you any longer, my boy. Enjoy yourself. I’m actually down in the ruin at the moment. Got through some more of Nimhe’s webs.” 

“More webs?” Aicantar said incredulously and with genuine interest in his uncle’s endeavors. “My, she was a busy girl. I’m very thankful the Dragonborn was able to be rid of her for us, but I didn’t think she had gone any deeper, and I certainly didn’t think we’d still be cutting through more of her webs all these years later.”

Ondolemar jolted at the mention of his previous lover Faustine, remembering she had helped a great many people in Markarth during her time there. He wondered if Aicantar had known about their former relationship. Perhaps not, as he had never brought it up. 

“Indeed. Some dessicated Falmer corpses were found caught in some,” Calcelmo explained. “Er…and some of our former guards, it seems.”

“My stars,” Aicantar gasped. “Also why are you down there so late? Is Faleen with you?”

“Great heavens, no! It’s dangerous down here. I’m alone.”

Even though he couldn’t seen him, Aicantar pinched the bridge of his nose in vexation. “Gods above, Uncle…” 

“It’s fine.”

He sighed. “Fair enough. Just don’t get crushed. Or electrocuted…or set on fire…or impaled…”

Calcelmo laughed. “You know I’m always mindful. Anyways, I’m sorry for keeping you. I’ll leave you to it. Once more, I love you. Thank you for contacting me and I'm blessed to hear you're doing well.”

“I love you too. And same. Goodbye, Uncle.” The ring of the conversation stone faded away, and the gem returned to its unlit natural hue.

Ondolemar looked at his partner, pale gray brows raised and moderately aghast. “He's in the ruin alone? At this hour?”

Aicantar shrugged. “Typical Calcelmo. I told you, he is positively mad.”

“Are you not worried?”

“Yes and no. He can hold his own. It's not often my uncle takes excavation parties with him these days. He has lost many people he's cared about over the years, and now he works alone as often as is reasonable. Although…it's never reasonable.” He scratched at his head,  forgetting about his braids and retracting when he remembered he'd muss them up. 

The captain cleared his throat. “Good grief…”

Aicantar's bright smile widened, his eyes fixated on Ondolemar's.

“What?”

“So were you not going to tell me about the stone?”

“I saw no reason to,” he stated firmly. “It was for emergencies, and one happened to arise.”

Aicantar laughed through his nose and pulled Ondolemar in close by the lapels of his formal Thalmor outfit. His party boots gave him a small amount of height on him, and he took advantage of the mild dominance that gave him as he nuzzled his partner's nose. It made the captain weak in the knees. “I'm thankful all the same. I try to brave these social events, but truth be told, I do get homesick.”

The corner of Ondolemar's mouth upturned. He tucked a loose lock of Aicantar's shiny hair behind his ear. “I love that Calcelmo cares so much about you. I never had any familial relationships like that.”

Aicantar clicked his tongue with sweet pity and stroked his cheek. “Oh, my darling.

They looked into one another's eyes. There was something different behind Ondolemar's that Aicantar began to notice gradually throughout the course of their relationship. He'd been opening up. 

“I was humbled when Calcelmo entrusted the stone to me. He told me he knew I wouldn't allow anything bad to happen to you and…I don't know. There was something endearing about the way he asked me to keep hold of it until you might have needed it. He didn't want you to think him overbearing. All the same, he knew you wouldn't mind, though he still had his doubts. However, I never had the impression he particularly liked my type wooing his nephew. His leariness turned acceptance has made me feel…well…like family. For the first time.”

Aicantar moved in slowly and kissed him in the center of his forehead. “I'm pleased he's warmed up to you.” He pulled Ondolemar into a tight embrace resting in the crook of his neck and inhaling his delicious fragrance. If his uncle entrusted his safety with Ondolemar, then he knew it to be so with utmost certainty. 

Ondolemar felt his lover's warmth as he slid his hands over the  delightfully sleek silk on his overcoat. He could not recall another time when he felt at home in someone's arms. He held him tighter. Aicantar hummed in solace and placed a string of kisses on his neck and jaw, and then he whispered, “Thank you so much for humoring him. It means a great deal to me.”

 

Notes:

*an indrik is a magical deer like creature, for those who don't know Elder Scrolls lore

Fuck Erikur. Everyone hates Nazeem, but the real worst NPC is Erikur. I hated that scene at the Embassy in the game. He's gross and disgusting and loud and I hate him, but what can we expect from a guy who sleeps in the same bed as his sister?

Chapter 19

Notes:

This chapter is the absolute zenith of Aicantar and Ondolemar’s relationship. There is nothing more I can say. Please enjoy.

The vicious blizzard winds howled through the iron fences and beat on the stained glass windows of the Thalmor Embassy. Party guests huddled at fireplaces, now holding warm beverages as the icy draft seeped into the stone. Servants rushed about to replenish hors d'oeuvres, sugar cubes and cream and other such snacks and refreshments. As the party carried on later into the night, more sustainable food items were supplied.

In the meantime, Ondolemar and Aicantar suffered through idle conversations of land ownership, precious ore mines, business trade, and stock. They could have cared less about what these people did from their luxurious and hedonistic positions as they played with other people's septims. Ondolemar could tell that most of them had never seen combat from any place other than a plush armchair before a grand fireplace. Even though he outranked a good many of these men and mer on the social caste, he still felt beneath them. He wished he didn't have to pretend to enjoy their company.

Aicantar had been out and about, mostly checking on the wellbeing of the servants and helping them where he could, much to their surprise, as the guests grew more ravenous. He didn't mind at all, but soon returned to Ondolemar's side. He looked a bit peaked.

Concerned, Ondolemar forgot the company he was in and questioned his status. “My darling, are you all right?”

Aicantar still couldn't believe he'd speak such endearments so casually, though it worried him, he couldn't help but feel pride.

“Oh I'm fine. Just a little tired, is all.”

A high elven man from the group to which Ondolemar conversed with forced a rather bitter grin. 

“My my, and who is this? I've been seeing you both together much this evening." The acrid, scathing tone could be tasted in the air.

Ondolemar had no reason otherwise to cause a scene, so he behaved accordingly and introduced his plus one as he would have anyone. "This is Aicantar. He runs the Dwemer Museum at Understone Keep with his uncle."

"Ah I see! This must be the new toy everyone has been chatting about." The elf held out his hand to shake.

Everyone knew about them now? Aicantar shook his hand reluctantly but firmly to establish dominance.

"Oh! What a mighty grip he has!" The mer yelped in surprise. "No wonder you fancy him, Captain."

Aicantar felt warmth in his face, but said nothing. Ondolemar's nose wrinkled into a sneer and he bared his teeth. “This conversation is hardly appropriate. You will speak to my partner with the same courtesy you bequeath to me. Do you understand?"

His piss-hued skin blanched. "My...yes of course, sir."

Ondolemar slipped his arm around Aicantar's and excused them from the group. He needed to cool off. The pair went outside into the snowy mountain gusts.

The Captain sat upon the stairs and held his head in his hands. A migraine throbbed within his skull like never before. It wasn't hard for Aicantar see the plethora of wars Ondolemar waged within his mind. He wasn't sure how the man tolerated the likes of these people for over a century. 

Ondolemar inhaled deeply of the frosty air, so cold it stung his nostrils and released slowly before taking Aicantar's hand into his and apologizing. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so very sorry.” He didn't know what else he could say.

"My stars, Ondolemar. Please don't apologize. You've done nothing wrong.” Aicantar spoke soothingly as he sat beside him on the frigid stone stairs dusted in drifted snow. His backside froze. They were mostly out of the snowfall beneath the awning. The winds began to whip around more violently, and they couldn't see but inches in front of themselves with the aggressive whiteout. The snow was already knee high to an Altmer in such a short period of time.

"Besides, saying sorry too much is my thing," the young mer joked to ease the tension.

"I shouldn't have asked you to come. If I don't enjoy it, why in the name of the Eight Divines would I expect you to?"

"Listen, Ondolemar. I'm not dumb. I know you needed someone to keep you grounded. I want to support you no matter what, even when it's something as insufferable as this."

"The way that sniveling sea adder spoke to you set me off."

"I don't care about that anyway. I've endured far worse sexual remarks." Aicantar huddled close to him as the frigid Haafingar hold air sapped his body heat. The storm progressed, much too bone-chilling to stay outside, but it helped Ondolemar's head, and Aicantar's sweat cooled. He began to shiver, despite all the cold resistant enchantments he'd placed on his clothing.

“It doesn't make it right,” said the captain. 

“They're assholes. Fuck them,” the young mer shrugged.

“You deserve better,” he replied distantly.

“You do too, Ondolemar.”

The captain only moved his eyes to look at him. His soft flaxen hair fluttered in the wind, now dappled with large snowflakes, some of his braids loosened. His eyes were as bright as ever like peridot, teeming with benevolence and passion, and he smiled as he always did with those charming dimples Ondolemar adored. 

“How can you be so blithe after all of this?”

Aicantar leaned in and held his arm. “Because I'm with you.”

It humbled him and he gave a bashful smile.

 "It's too damn cold out here to kiss you though. Even I have my limits. While we're here, let's make the most of it. How about we sneak off?”

The very notion of it made Ondolemar's heart jolt and his nethers tingle, knowing full well Aicantar intended to seduce him. Here at the Thalmor Embassy? So tempting to defile this place with sexual depravity. The captain rose to his feet and helped Aicantar to his trying his best not to appear too eager. 

“I suppose we could…go to my solar.” He blushed but thankfully he could blame the cold for his peachiness. 

The inside of the facility felt sweltering compared to the artic outdoors. Ondolemar took his mate to the kitchen, wherein was a shortcut to the lodgings within the Embassy.

Inside, a very feline suthay Khajiiti woman stirred a large pot of stew at the fire. Almost as soon as they entered, the fur on the back of her neck bristled and her jewelry laden ears flattened, a low growl in her throat and a gusty "snfff snfff!" from her nostrils.

"Who does Tsavani smell in her kitchen?"

They halted in their tracks and Tsavani turned on her paws to face her intruders, flour dusted the fur on her arms and she wore an apron stained from fruits and vegetables.

Tsavani noticed Aicantar first and narrowed her cat eyes suspiciously until she saw him hanging from the arm of Ondolemar.

"Ah Captain,” the Khajiit bowed respectfully and immediately changed her tone, which made Aicantar clench nervously.

Tsavani growled in the back of her throat once more, but Aicantar could not discern her attitude. “You know I do not like strange smells in my kitchen.”

Ondolemar met Tsavani with an abnormally endearing smile and gestured at his arm candy. “Strange? I happen to believe he smells lovely.”

She rolled her eyes, but met him in kind. They've had this kind of exchange before. It was obvious she commanded respect in her environment, but it seemed bizarre the Thalmor would allow such a cat-like Khajiit handle food stuffs, considering all the fur. The Nords wouldn't even allow their kind in the cities.

“High Elf always pesters Tsavani. What is it? Does this one require more Elsweyr fondue and bread for dipping?”

“I wouldn't mind a platter to take along the way. After all, you make it best.”

“Of course Tsavani makes it best,” she agreed proudly. “But she supposes the captain desires more than snacks.” Her eyes briefly darted to Aicantar and back to Ondolemar in understanding with a knavish little smirk. “By the Twin Moons, be gone. Make your mischief.”

After shuffling about near the stove for a few minutes, Tsavani handed them a heaping platter of garlic bread and a steaming bowl of cheesy, melty fondue, just the perfect consistency, and a large bottle of Ondolemar's favorite wine. Aicantar raised his eyebrows cheekily with the realization that he's done this before, and that this cat knew him well.

Tsvani was also no stranger to such unsavory endeavors. Her ears twitched and her whiskers flared. “Extra moon sugar in fondue just for you. Come.”

She gestured for them to follow with her claws and led them through what appeared to be a storage closet, slid a crate and barrel out of the way and opened a secret door that led deeper into the Embassy. 

Once the door closed, the grating of wood against the stone floor could be heard. 

All of this was simply too much for Aicantar and he giggled. “Why on Nirn is there a secret door in the kitchen?”

Ondolemar fondly remembered a time he distracted the party guests so Faustine could slip through the kitchen unnoticed. He did think it strange in retrospect that the Embassy didn't think twice about a hidden pathway into what would otherwise be a restricted area.

“I suppose it's for traitors and other such lecherous beings,” Ondolemar said plainly. After all, he had no real idea why such a thing would exist or why it had never been blocked off for all these years. Perhaps it had once served as an easy way for the kitchen to deliver meals to the private quarters. Maybe a tempting setup for anyone willing to seek the Thalmor's secrets.

“Ooh,” Aicantar beamed in jest. “Which are we?”

Ondolemar could not stifle his laugh, and brought Aicantar's hand to his lips. The back was soft and delicate, whereas the palms were calloused and rough. Ondolemar got a thrill out of the contrast. “I'll show you to my room.”

They could have just as easily gotten there without using the “backdoor,” but Ondolemar wanted to slip away at his discretion. He could not be distracted by any more incessant droning about petty nonsense from people who didn't have any real world problems when he'd had his partner on his mind since he first saw him gussied up early that morning, and the closer they got to their inevitable intimacy, the more it rattled his cage.

The restricted areas of the Embassy were rather serene, save for a stray servant sweeping the floors, or an off-duty Justiciar in lounging attire.

The door to Ondolemar's solar was very ornate and distinctly Altmeri. He unlocked the door with a spell and invited Aicantar to enter first. Much like his office and living quarters at Understone, the place was tidy and organized, though he had more personal effects and possessions here, albeit the room was a bit dusty since he did not allow servants to clean this area without him present. His long absence from this place made itself known in this cold room. He took a few moments to light some candles and kindle a fire, then he popped a warmly hued magelight into a fixture in the center of the room. The solar was more welcoming already. The pair hunkered down on the loveseat by the hearth and placed their snacks on the console table. Those could wait. 

Ondolemar sat back for a moment and released his tension with a sigh. It did wonders for him to be away from the hustle and bustle. 

“You all right?” asked

“Yes. I am now,” he replied.

The younger elf cozied up beside him and rested across his lap. He needed this moment of respite as well. 

Instinctively, Ondolemar's fingers combed through his lover's hair. The warmth of him on his thighs brought him much contentment.

“I'm sorry for all of this,” he murmured unprovoked. 

“Don't be,” Aicantar gently stroked his knee. “I'm happy to support you. Besides that, I really thought it would be worse.”

The captain laughed. “It certainly could have gone sour.”

“Also, I'm very proud of you,” Aicantar looked up at him sweetly and with great admiration. “I'm happy that you're becoming so comfortable and open with yourself.”

The remark struck Ondolemar hard. He hadn't realized how far he had come or how liberated he felt in Aicantar's company. Not to mention the relief that he did not have to look over his shoulder in fear of harm. In addition to that, fewer people judged him about his relationship than he thought would. He once saw his father's malice in everyone, but they were not that cruel, unloving, bastard. 

Lost in thought, he hadn't realized he'd been squeezing Aicantar's shoulder. “Goodness! I'm so sorry!”

“Uh ow!” the elf laughed and sat up to nuzzle on Ondolemar's neck. “I hope that squeeze was because you're feeling good about your life.”

The captain inhaled deeply of Aicantar's sweet scented hair. “It wasn't,” he admitted. “However, I am feeling quite good right now, in spite of everything.”

He took Aicantar by the chin and delicately turned him so he could gaze upon him. Everything in that moment urged him to steal a kiss, and he seized it. He began with slow delicate pecks that evolved into primal and intimate kissing filled with conviction and hunger. Aicantar fell prey to him, yielding to his embrace. He paused to gulp for breath and to admire the handsome mer with fire in his eyes.

“I'm going to take care of you tonight,” he uttered, and Aicantar all but melted with his warm, honey-like voice. Ondolemar's poisonous eyes sparkled in the firelight. He stood from the sofa and put one hand under Aicantar's backside and the other across his back for support. Was he going to lift him? 

“Ondolemar, I don't think you can–”

Before he could finish, he already cradled Aicantar in his arms and stole another kiss before carrying him to the large canopy bed centered at the far end of the study. 

Aicantar's heart fluttered, taken by Ondolemar's strength, especially since they were nearly the same size. “Oh my,” he giggled as Ondolemar lowered him onto the plush gryphon down mattress. He grinned, clearly knowing that such a bold gesture would both surprise and entice him. He pulled off Aicantar's boots and kicked off his own before crawling over him to meet his lover's neck with his lips. Aicantar gasped and whimpered with ecstasy as every kiss Ondolemar placed prickled and burned splendidly. His heart quickened and his blood began to boil. 

Ondolemar could not suppress his wicked smile as his hands roamed over the Aicantar's chest, soft velvet beneath his fingertips, admiring the warmth of his body and excited thumps of his heart. He began to unclothe him, savoring every squirm, every breathless whimper of the man beneath him. 

“Gods above,” Aicantar rasped, ferocious yearning in his glassy eyes. 

Ondolemar grew hungrier still, urgently needing to defile these halls with his immense love for Aicantar. He bared his chest and placed his lips upon it. He took in the tenderness of his flesh, his sweet scent, just a taste…

Aicantar bit his lip and wriggled at the slimy sensation of Ondolemar's alluring and possessive tongue passing over his lean body from his navel to his nipples. His body exploded with agonizing ecstasy. He shuddered and his muscles twitched and tensed from the tickle but he loved every second of Ondolemar’s unrelenting touch. He struggled to contain his pleasured gasps.

It didn't take much to get him panting and heaving, but Ondolemar wanted to play the long game this night. Every utterance and wince of gratification from Aicantar made him hot under the collar, which he remedied by removing his own coat and shirt. The sight of the captain's strong, robust body aroused Aicantar ever so much more, wishing with all his might he would demolish him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could bear this sweet torture, however, he knew the wait would be worth it. 

Ondolemar could not help but relish in the way Aicantar's body responded to his touch. The gasps and tremors that rippled through him at the press of his lips and slithering of his tongue. It was intoxicating for him to see Aicantar so undone by him. 

The captain knelt over his prey, marveling over the power he had over him as his own desires simmered within his core. He lowered himself to Aicantar's bare chest once more and kissed a trail down to his waistband. Aicantar grabbed a fist full of blankets and arched his back, a rogue groan escaped him as he squirmed beneath

“By the fucking Divines…” fled a low and shaky moan.

With a wicked smile, Ondolemar unfastened the ties on Aicantar's pants, but not before he traced his fingers over the insatiable bulge that begged to be freed, making Aicantar stifle an impetuous chirp. He laughed at the absurdity of his own vocalization. 

The captain found it endearing. He didn’t care what sounds he made, any howl from him would have turned him on even more. “You are stunning…”

He quietly relished in Aicantar's raw, primal beauty, unable to forgive himself for so many years of silencing these immaculate and natural desires when for the first time everything fell into place. The innocence and beauty of the moment enthralled him, and all his troubles fell away from his mind like shards of a broken mirror. Everything that had happened up until the day he first kissed this bewitching Altmer man did not matter. He owed himself this precious gift. For the time, he forgot where he was. The burden of his duties and expectations, his rank, and of his past felt distant and meaningless. There was only this magnificent being below him, and the realization that this was exactly where he was meant to be. 

Ondolemar lowered himself over Aicantar, stealing a starved and ravishing kiss from him, teasing himself as well as his partner as he curled his hips into his, trying so desperately to devour the connection between them whole. “Gods, I'm so in love with you, Aicantar,” he whispered coarsely into his ear. “I want you…I need you…”

Aicantar was never certain of his lovers’ words, ever haunted by the knowledge of the inevitable end. No matter what the future held, his time with Ondolemar, no matter how fleeting or uncertain, was a blessing. He surrendered to Ondolemar's raw and unfettered confession of love to him and cast all his fears aside to fully escape within this moment. Their moment, so profound and well beyond that of physicality or lust.

“I love you, Ondolemar,” he uttered with pride.

The old mer longed to hear those words spoken with such decadent honesty.  The gravity of their love for one another proved itself. They fell desperate and helpless to reality now.

Aicantar entwined himself around Ondolemar's husky torso, tracing the scars on his back with loving deliberation. He bared his neck, begging silently for more kisses and increasingly vicious nibbles.

Ondolemar brushed his lover's long hair to the side and indulged in this open invitation, savoring the taste. He slipped a hand into his pants just above the base of Aicantar's cock and held it there, as his partner begged for his touch. He whimpered, “…please…”

Aicantar trembled beneath Ondolemar with desire, but he knew damn well he was not done tormenting him. The older mer puffed out a playful scoff and crept gracefully back into his position above Aicantar's hips, and he carefully peeled his trousers from his body, freeing his throbbing organ from the prison of his clothing.

Ondolemar had never done what he was about to do before, but he knew what he liked. He anticipated a great many things, but instinctively knew he would take great pleasure in the forthcoming activity.

Aicantar felt the elf's hot breath graze his most intimate areas and his heart thumped in his ears, his body radiating with a fever like never before. He bit his lip hard, unwilling to spoil the sanctity of this moment with any possible uncouth words or noises. He looked down at Ondolemar at his waist, with his barbaric grin staring back at him as he began lightly stroking him from the underside of his sensitive testicles to the tip of his penis with just the edges of his fingers. After all, he couldn't simply dive in and give Aicantar the satisfaction right away. The torture was part of the fun. 

“Fuck,” Aicantar huffed as Ondolemar squeezed the head of him, reaching down to cover his hand with his, stroking in rhythm with him. The old mer hummed contentedly as Aicantar tried so desperately to stimulate himself beneath his partner's hand. But he released him and pushed his hand aside, making his way forward and eager to try something new.

Aicantar gulped down the thick saliva that formed in his throat and focused on the sensations between his legs. He needed to see it with his own eyes. Their eyes locked with scorching intensity. He knew what came next. 

The captain finally took the plunge and allowed his tongue to slide over the underside of Aicantar's cock, to his surprise enjoying the pleasantly musky taste of him, licking away the bead of savory preejaculate that formed at the peak of the blushing head, all the while they did not avert their eyes. Aicantar smiled from ear to pointed ear, and Ondolemar followed suit with such confidence in himself he knew he couldn't stop now. Aicantar’s involuntary yelps and sighs encouraged him.

“You absolute fiend,” he muttered thickly with desire, and Ondolemar smiled uncontrollably, enjoying fellating his partner so much more than he ever could have imagined.

“You like that?” He crooned with nefarious confidence.

Aicantar gripped onto his pointed ears like handlebars and pulled him closer, to which Ondolemar resisted teasingly. “Gods yes, my darling. Please don’t stop.”

Ondolemar smirked, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare come yet,” he said and fully committed to taking him inside his mouth as far as he was comfortable, twirling his tongue and sucking gently at first, then with more ferocity, intoxicated by his ecstasy. Aicantar writhed and gasped joyous curses under his breath, electrified with anticipation and struggling hard to hold back, every molecule within him had awakened with aggression.

When his legs began to quiver, Ondolemar’s intuition let him know it was time to pull back. With great thrill and urgency burning in his abdomen, he leapt up to meet Aicantar’s lips and kissed him fiercely, hungry and wild. He held him tightly and dug his nails into the tender flesh of his back, grinding his hips into him, desperate to gratify his own needs. Without a second thought, he leapt out of bed  and hurriedly stripped off his trousers with ragged breath and a cumbersome pounding heart.

Aicantar took a good look at his body, mouth watering, before his captain returned to ravish him, panting and heaving. He desperately needed him inside, to feel that wondrously pure connection.

Ondolemar wasted no more time. He firmly held Aicantar’s leg  and positioned himself as they devoured one another, teasing his tender and aching opening with the tip of his cock. At last he pushed through the taught ring of flesh, fully engulfed by him. Aicantar growled at the abrupt barbarity, he’d nearly bitten his tongue from the sharpness, but he smiled and cursed joyously through gritted teeth, loving every second of the roughness as the sting turned to euphoria. Ondolemar straightened himself and curled deeply into him with purpose and a stalwart and steady cadence, grunting and never breaking his gaze. In the meantime, Aicantar reached down to touch himself, arching his back, drunk with elation and the intense connection between them. 

One particularly rough thrust sent an unexpected jolt through the entirety of Aicantar’s body, roaring through him like a torrent. He moaned loudly, his lower back and abdomen tensed out of his control as he erupted with great force, creamy release spurted and struck Ondolemar in the face. It startled him at first, but wearing a sinister and satisfied smirk, he licked away a trickle that had drizzled over his lips, savoring the salty taste. An obscure part of him hoped there was someone outside the solar who could hear the debauchery within those walls. The thought only served to entice him further as he strived for his climax.

Aicantar rode the waves of aftershock through labored breaths, managing a weak smile amid the haze of rapture, which Ondolemar returned with both satisfaction and affection. “You naughty little thing,” he panted and persisted with his seduction. Aicantar yanked him down for a kiss while his body still seared and trembled. Ondolemar’s final pumps were deep, steady, and unrelenting. Aicantar gnawed at the captain’s neck, the graze of his teeth helped push him to the edge. “Come on,” he hissed.

Tension built steadily, and Ondolemar insistently increased his speed. He plunged his tongue deeply into Aicantar’s mouth tasting him and losing himself in ecstasy as he kissed him. He scoffed in frustration at the delay in release. His body tensed and strained, but once the floodgates opened at last, he melted into his lover, a guttural groan escaped him as he came, consumed whole by a plethora of sensations and emotions. He pulled Aicantar close and buried his face in his neck, whimpering from the incessant, fiery pulses of his orgasm.

Exhausted and overwhelmed with the chaos of endorphins, his brain temporarily losing all sense, Ondolemar collapsed into Aicantar and laughed in relief. His chest heaved with each tired breath and he held Aicantar tightly grounding himself in the young elf’s embrace. Aicantar kissed his temple with tender affection, caressing the prickly hairs of his scalp sending delightful shivers down Ondolemar’s spine as he came down from his high. “Fucking Oblivion.”

As his erection subsided, he pulled himself gently from Aicantar, the tightness milking the final emissions that remained. After a brief respite, his breathing steadied, his mind cleared, and he looked at the handsome, glowing Aicantar with his soft and glassy greenish eyes beside him. His precious Aicantar, the love of his life. This joy that flounced within his soul was real, offering a sense of peace that eluded him for so long. Here in the safety of his solar, they were untouchable. This was their moment, fully and completely.

Chapter 20

The snowstorm outside persisted with a quiet fury. The winds had calmed, but the thick blankets of white continued to drape over the mountainous countryside. To the dismay of the Altmer couple, it appeared that it would be a few days before they could travel safely again.

Aicantar sat up in Ondolemar’s lavish bed, still peacefully nude following their passionate evening together. He glanced at his formal wear lying on the floor and realized he had nothing else. They hadn’t anticipated the potential severity of the storm and arrived painfully unprepared. 

“What ails you, my love?” Ondolemar sensed his partner’s dismay, tenderly tracing his spine with his fingers. 

“I realized I have nothing to change into.” A calm yet defeated sigh hissed from his nostrils.

Ondolemar grunted as he lazily lifted his heavy and tired body up onto his elbows. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll fit my clothes. Over there in the wardrobe. Take your pick.” He gestured toward the massive and immaculate carved oak wardrobe in the corner.

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Aicantar’s lips, half-amused by the notion. The thought of wearing Ondolemar’s clothing was endearing and intimate. His heart fluttered with both joy and terror. No relationship he’d ever been in had reached such a milestone. 

“Come on,” the captain had already gotten out of bed and extended his hand to help Aicantar to his feet. “Let’s wash up together in the bathroom, then find something warm and comfortable to slip into.”

Feeling tremendously loved and suddenly self conscious, Aicantar giggled as he accepted Ondolemar’s hand.

“What a pleasure to have heated running water,” Ondolemar remarked, his voice muffled through a cloth as he washed his face. “I’d taken it for granted being stationed at Understone Keep for all these years.”

Aicantar silently agreed with him. The Dwemer boilers that would have mattered were currently inoperable, and Calcelmo was more preoccupied with delving deeper into Nchuand-Zel rather than repairing the devices in the immediate habitable area. He made a mental note to see to them when he had the time.

“It’s a surprise any of the Nords and Reachmen bathe at all,” Ondolemar mussed with a hint of distaste. The statement was a subtle reminder to Aicantar that the captain was a member of an extremist group, but he chose to ignore it while he focused on his own cleanup. As he passed the washcloth over his private areas, he winced and sucked air over his teeth once he reached his sore backside.

Ondolemar ceased his preening at once and coddled him. “Are you all right? Was I too rough with you?” 

Aicantar smiled softly. “You know me well enough, my love. You were amazing. I enjoyed every waking second. Nothing a little health potion won’t fix.” He kissed the tip of Ondolemar’s nose. “However, I do appreciate you caring. It’s sweet.”

The mage's thoughts turned inward, memories of former lovers dredged up. He could not recall sharing himself with any unselfish man, always taking what they wanted and then leaving him. His heart grew heavy as he pondered his past, how his partners never made any effort to even meet him halfway. Ondolemar, in spite of his reputation and his associations, was unusually warm and deeply considerate. Was this how it was supposed to be?

In his silent pondering, Aicantar wove his arms around Ondolemar into a firm hug, and rested his cheek against his. Ondolemar smiled in quiet understanding, and placed a loving kiss upon his temple.

Aicantar chose a comfortable set of lounging attire from the wardrobe, a soft, loose tunic, and a pair of perfectly fitted pants. He brushed out his disheveled braids. They had left parts of his hair wavy.

As Aicantar preened, Ondolemar found himself standing still, staring at the bed where they had lost themselves in one another, the place where they had shared a very real connection. He glanced at Aicantar now wearing his clothes. It was more than just a polite gesture. A strange heat ignited in his chest—something unexpected. Over a century in age, he was no stranger to relationships, yet the sight of Aicantar there in his clothes stirred something profound within him. He imagined Aicantar wearing clothes in his home—their home.

A place where they prepared food together and shared cuddles on the couch. A place where they had little disagreements and made up for them with the most ordinary gestures—shared mornings and nights. Something tangible and sustainable within his very grasp…

Ondolemar rubbed his hand over his scalp, absolutely mortified by the future. Could he really have this? His duty to the Thalmor had always occupied his mind. Now he had allowed himself in his vulnerable state…he’d willfully given himself to the young inventor. Their bodies collided in the heat of passion, and Ondolemar never once considered that this could become more.

Watching Aicantar return to his side, looking so at home in his clothing struck him. Aicantar had become an undeniable part of his life and this small exchange acted like a bridge between who they were and who they could be. Could they possibly share a life together? A happily ever after?

Ondolemar swooned, admiring how comfortable and beautiful Aicantar was, as he was so used to him with tousled hair, torn robes and grease under his fingernails. “You are perfect.”

The younger mer closed the distance between them and rested his hand on Ondolemar’s collarbone. Admiring his vulnerability, he placed a kiss upon him.

Ondolemar’s heart thudded excruciatingly. Everything he shared with Aicantar now was everything he hadn’t dared imagine. For once, he hadn’t felt despair. He no longer felt afraid of tomorrow, not with Aicantar. He allowed himself to feel…hope.

 

***

 

Fire crackled at the hearth, flickering serenely, it’s glow painting the walls with hues of amber. Ondolemar had fallen asleep earlier in the night, and he snored softly like a napping cat. Aicantar found trouble sleeping himself, but he let the captain be. After everything he’d been through, the rest was well deserved as the weight of the day had finally been lifted from his shoulders. Aicantar admired the tranquility, and the pipe dreams of this potentially being a constant in their lives together. Existing, doing their own things, and being present at the end of all of it to share their feelings, their bodies, their struggles and values—yet the very concept was bittersweet.

A servant had delivered tea to the solar, and Aicantar warmed his hands on the cup while he sat cross legged on the bear skin in front of the fireplace, enjoying the plush fur. Sipping here and there, he pondered a great many things in the serenity of the night, such as the incident with Erikur and the servant girl, how much the lecherousness of the nobility disgusted him. The noble that had made an inappropriate remark to him particularly rattled him, regardless of how he personally handled the situation. It was all too common of an occurrence in his life, as he had said, though Ondolemar had no idea of the severity of sexual abuse Aicantar had endured by some of his former partners. He’d thought he’d overcome it through the test of time, but the incident had dredged up old memories. He well understood why his Uncle Calcelmo was so protective of him, but Calcelmo also knew Aicantar needed to live his life to become a well-rounded person. He knew the importance of confronting reality and learning from it. He couldn’t protect Aicantar from the cruelty of the world and the vileness of men. Aicantar grew weary of being used—a plaything. He didn’t want the looming shadow of that fear to ruin what he and Ondolemar had strived so hard for. Aicantar admired the fierce love between Calcelmo and Faleen, and he wanted something just like that for himself, wishing every day he could feel a love so pure and honest, and he wished the path he walked with Ondolemar could be more clear.

He thought about how quickly and easily he fell in love. Every honeyed word, he drank up without a second thought. Aicantar’s fatal flaw: the way he could only see good in others, the way he thought he could be everyone’s savior by simply loving them with all his heart and showing them kindness, regardless of their troubles. Time and time again, they left him picking up his own broken pieces. He choked down the tightness that formed in his throat, longing to confide in Calcelmo and considered contacting him with the conversation stone again, but he could not bear the thought of burdening him further. His uncle had done so much for him by raising him from birth, teaching him, sculpting him into the man he was, and Aicantar knew he had to take accountability for some things in his own life, if he truly wanted that independence that Calcelmo worked so hard to foster in him. That harrowing thought that Calcelmo would not always be around to rescue him, to console him. There would be times he would need to confide in himself, and trust his own abilities. It was not the time for him to take more from his beloved uncle.

Aicantar’s thoughts then drifted to the delicious sex he and Ondolemar had earlier in the evening. There was no doubt that Ondolemar truly cared about him. He was as cautious and reassuring as Aicantar was, always patient and respectful not to push any boundaries without consent. Perhaps his experience and his repression made him this way. Though he’d never laid with a man in such a way before Aicantar, he felt very practiced, deliberate, and loving. A seed of hope cultivated in Aicantar’s heart. They had something that very well could survive the test of time if properly cared for, and he knew this with utmost certainty.

After everything he’d experienced here in this environment so foreign to him, he wondered how Ondolemar could feel so out of place here in spite of his high rank and the respect he commanded. These were his people, yet he seemed like a stranger in this world of power and politics. Ondolemar seemed so disillusioned by all of it, and yet he firmly held his beliefs, his loyalty to the Thalmor. Did he believe any of it, or had his own hundred plus years of experiences leave his broken mind brainwashed, easy to influence? Aicantar knew he would never understand. The man he loved had been shaped by a lifetime of service to an abhorrent ideology, difficult culture, difficult domestic life, and yet there was so much more to Ondolemar even still. Could he ever defy the Aldmeri Dominion and free himself from their stranglehold? If he defected…would they arrest or execute him? 

Aicantar placed his empty teacup on the console table before him, and sighed, so very exhausted by his busy mind. There was no chance he could sleep now with such anxiety, so he decided he would distract himself by taking a stroll around the solar. The environment was very Ondolemar. Neatly stacked books, perfectly filed documents. Everything had a place. The competent order that the captain so craved out of every aspect of his life.

Curiosity got the better of Aicantar as he took a seat at Ondolemar’s desk. This was the captain’s sanctuary, a place where Ondolemar’s thoughts and work came together. Aicantar could not fight the urge to snoop and opened drawers hoping to find anything of interest, moving aside quills and parchments, wax stampers and the like. And he did find a curious thing beneath the pile of unused stationery, compelling and elegantly bound in etched leather, unmistakably a journal. He didn’t even know Ondolemar kept anything of that nature.

“No, no. You can’t violate something so personal,” he whispered, almost apologetically . He knew better. He respected Ondolemar more than that. And yet…

Aicantar had no idea what made him even entertain the idea of opening such a delicately private item, but he did it anyway, and turned to a random page within the journal. This particular entry was dated for the recently passed Sun’s Dusk, and his eyes fell immediately onto his own name written within the page. It must have been written during a visit to the Embassy during the early period of their courtship. The timeframe was just right.

He could have closed the journal and left it at that, but his name was right there, written so elegantly in Ondolemar’s neat and deliberate script that it had to be something good. He convinced himself he would only read a passage or two and then return the book to its home in the desk drawer.

 

I can’t keep my mind off Aicantar. I don’t understand my own emotions, but somehow whenever he is near, I feel peace. He’s an exceptional mer, wise beyond his years. I admire him and his companionship immensely-his intelligence, his insight, his presence. I admire his uncle as well. They are interesting Altmer with remarkably absurd and necessary talents and endeavors. I’m almost envious of them and their conviction. 

I know he’s romantically interested in me. I can see it in the way he looks at me, but I am only pulled back to my father’s beatings every time I feel any bit of warmth in my heart. I feel like he ruined me. I fight these urges knowing they are so wrong…but they still don’t feel wrong, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise. I question every day if my father was truly looking out for my best interests…but it only feels like he hated me. In fact, I know he did. He hated me as much as he hated my mother. I miss her…from what I remember, she was so kind. I still don’t know for sure, and I don’t know if I ever will, but I suspect she had been assassinated.

As a result of my perplexing emotions, the nightmares started again. I obtained a potion from a Reachwoman in Markarth. It helps sometimes. 

I can't stop thinking about Aicantar, however. He may be a catalyst for some of what I'm feeling, but whenever he is on my mind, if just for a fleeting moment, I feel a sense of calm. He grounds me. I am so very eager to see him again when I return to Markarth. I should fight these urges, but I don't want to. I don't see the harm. And he is ever so beautiful, with a smile brighter than the sun. I want this. 

 

Aicantar shot a misty-eyed glance at the slumbering captain, his heart heavy with both pity and sorrow for the life Ondolemar had endured. Yet, despite everything, he felt a quiet sense of gratitude—thankful that, in some small way, he had been able to offer Ondolemar a sense of solace, a fleeting reprieve from the pain that had shaped him.

“He never asked for any of this,” Aicantar whispered in despair. 

The thrill of reading these taboo texts only edged him deeper into solving the mystery that was Ondolemar. His heart beat in his throat as he sought out another random passage from the journal.

“Just one more, and I'll put it back,” he said, but the words felt empty. He'd already violated Ondolemar’s trust unbeknownst to him. He read on anyway.

It seemed Ondolemar did not document his thoughts often until he truly needed to get something off his chest. Aicantar flipped farther back into some of the earlier pages of the journal, just a handful of years ago, to a shakily written passage dated the 17th of Midyear.

 

My heart is still racing…I still have his blood on my clothes. It's still warm. Why? Kjorin, my old friend…how could you betray me? I should have known better than to trust a filthy snowback! All these years he had been a double agent for the Stormcloaks…and I was too naive to see it. Scum! I'm so thankful I had gotten to him before he could spill our secrets to those wretched pigs.

And yet…I only feel remorse and regret…Kjorin had shown me kindness when others did not. The look in his glassy eyes as I cut him down…he was proud of his heritage, as I am proud of mine…but there was something else in them…something deeply unsettling, like he was begging for my forgiveness, like he never wanted to hurt me.

I will never know now…I'll never know if our friendship had been true…he had to be slain…

I never wanted it to come to this…in all my years with the Dominion, I never had to stain my hands with the blood of someone so dear to me.

He was smart…he was my ally. Why? In the moment, I had felt a hatred so intense, I've never known its equal. Slaughtering him was the wisest course of action. I very well could have taken him prisoner…but I could not have allowed him any chance to escape. He possessed our most vital information and he'd gotten it from my very own lips. 

Elenwen was pleased. I still don't know how to feel. My mind is a whirling torrent of chaos–of anger, betrayal, and pity. Who even am I? How dare I miss his companionship. How dare I feel this ache in my chest!

I will spit on Kjorin's grave.

 

Sick to his stomach, Aicantar snapped the journal closed as quietly as he could, quickly returning it to its home in the desk drawer. He wished he had never read it. It was an invasion, an inappropriate breach of privacy that now left him carrying the weight of those words.

Ondolemar killed his friend. 

Aicantar scrambled for justification, trying so hard to convince himself of the necessity. Tamriel was at war, after all. Imperials and Stormcloaks fought so desperately to keep peace with the Aldmeri Dominion. Many people have fought and died. What might have happened if Kjorin blew the whistle on the Thalmor operations? 

Would he be here now to feel such animosity? Or would Stormcloaks have removed the lives of him and his uncle just because they were High Elves with no regard to their affiliations?

Even still, Aicantar couldn't fight the disgust churning in him. Such moral depravity. It was survival, he tried to reason. He did what he must. 

The thought of Ondolemar actually befriending a Nord also shook him. Perhaps much of his hatred stemmed from this act of betrayal, nevermind the prejudices the Thalmor spoon fed to him his entire life. Ondolemar was so misguided. It hurt Aicantar's heart. His shame became pity as he glanced at the peacefully sleeping Altmer in his bed. Regardless of what had been revealed, he loved Ondolemar immensely. He'd been improving so much. Perhaps he just needed someone in his life he could trust. 

After pulling himself together, Aicantar returned the desk to its previous state. He hoped Ondolemar wouldn't notice.

Chapter 21

Aicantar’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, the previous night felt like a dream. Ondolemar’s body was wound peacefully around him, his breath slow and steady, his face unusually relaxed. A rare, soft smile even tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked so at ease, so unlike the hardened captain he knew.

It was almost a shame to wake him.

Aicantar shifted slightly, feeling the familiar tingle of his arm going numb beneath Ondolemar’s weight. He gently caressed his lover’s shoulder, his touch light but insistent.

“Hey.”

Ondolemar stirred but didn’t wake.

Aicantar smiled, his voice dipping into something sweeter. “Ondolemar, darling, you have to move. My arm is asleep.”

Ondolemar stirred again with a low groan, still half-lost in sleep. Aicantar repeated himself, nudging him gently.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ondolemar mumbled, his voice rough with drowsiness. But instead of moving, he pulled Aicantar closer, pressing lazy kisses along his neck and jaw.

Aicantar let out an involuntary giggle, unable to help himself. It was almost impossible to reconcile this Ondolemar—the affectionate, teasing lover—with the man he had read about in the journal.

Should he say something? Should he bring it up instead of letting it fester? He had no way of knowing how Ondolemar would react, but the weight of it lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to fade.

For now, he decided it was too early in the morning to potentially ruin the day. He had to remember that they were both trapped here, and he did not want to spend this time with the possibility of resenting one another. He loved him. He knew many of his actions were of self-preservation and he did not think of Ondolemar as some deranged monster.

With the way he loved and cherished Aicantar, he was far from it.

Aicantar shifted lazily to face him, meeting Ondolemar’s sleepy green eyes, still softened by the remnants of rest. That small, contented smile—so rare, so unguarded—made Aicantar’s chest ache.

He reached up and caressed his bristly white hair, committing the sensation to memory. He could not fight the urge to kiss him. He claimed his mouth, slow, fiery, and deliberate with the realization that Ondolemar’s secrets did not touch how he felt about him. An unsolicited tear escaped him.

“What's wrong, my love. Are you all right?” The captain asked with tender sincerity.

“Just…happy,” Aicantar smiled. It was the gods-honest truth.

“I love you, Aicantar,” he said, his voice hushed and deep. “I'm so thankful you're here with me.”

The words nearly broke him, but Aicantar did his best to maintain his composure. He smiled in response. “Me too.”

Aicantar’s hands wandered aimlessly over the captain's bare chest. He absorbed the solace of the moment and enjoyed the warmth of his partner against his bare flesh.

Without warning, Ondolemar's hands slid into his silky flaxen locks, and he took him, kissing steadily, deeply as if trying to paint this moment into permanence. “I need you,” he whispered, in spite of it sounding so desperate.

“Oh, my darling Ondolemar,” Aicantar rasped, voice thick with starvation, his hands roaming down, down, lower. He rolled the captain onto his back with experienced ease, straddling him with sinful intent.

There was something deeply vulnerable in the way the captain yielded to him now—how he let himself be moved, touched, guided, loved. Ondolemar had always been the one in control, the protector, the one who led. But here, now, he surrendered to Aicantar without hesitation, giving himself up so willingly, so beautifully.

Aicantar devoured him with great care, absorbing every sensation and storing it in his mind. He did not wish to think. Only to feel.

His kisses were greedy, possessive, nipping at his throat, dragging his teeth over sensitive skin just to hear the little gasps that escaped Ondolemar’s lips. He savored the way the captain squirmed, how his body tensed under every touch before dissolving into it.

Ondolemar went still beneath him for a moment. His breath hitched, just slightly, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his features before it settled into something else—something wanting. He allowed Aicantar to kiss him and touch him everywhere, biding his time and savoring every sensation. He sighed into it, breathing his name and melting in the young, virile wizard’s arms.

Aicantar smiled against his jawline. “I want you,” he uttered, voice low and firm. But there was something else beneath it—a need to remember, to savor, to hold onto this before it slipped away.

Ondolemar’s fingers began to tremble as he held onto Aicantar’s thighs. He ached with the depth of his love.

Aicantar paused to gaze into those toxic green eyes so that he may never forget them, glassy and pleading as he allowed himself–at last–to be loved. He cupped Ondolemar’s cheek and allowed his other hand to slide down the smooth planes of Ondolemar’s chest, following the rise and fall of his breath. He felt the way his muscles tensed, the slow roll of his stomach beneath his palm. The sharp inhale as his fingertips skimmed lower, his nails grazing soft skin, dragging over the shifting muscles of Ondolemar’s abdomen, then lower, teasing over the growing hardness between his legs but never grasping it.

He pressed reverent kisses along his throat, down the sharp cut of his collarbone, lingering over every inch of skin he could reach. His hands roamed lower, mapping Ondolemar’s body with careful, deliberate touches. He could feel the way his lover trembled beneath him, how his breath came shorter, how his hands gripped Aicantar’s thighs just a little tighter.

He took his time. There was no rush.

Aicantar memorized everything—the way Ondolemar looked beneath him, golden and undone, his breath hitching with each slow movement. The way his hands shook where they held onto him. The way his body welcomed him completely, without restraint, without fear.

“I love the way you touch me,” Ondolemar gasped through harsh breaths.

Something in the way he said it made Aicantar’s heart disintegrate. “I love the way you feel,” he breathed and overtook him, hooking his leg with his own to clear himself a path–Ondolemar did not resist. He did not protest. He needed to feel him.

Aicantar hesitated. He needed to be sure it was what he wanted.

“Take me,” he surrendered.

Aicantar obeyed.

Ondolemar bucked slightly under him, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as Aicantar pressed in, slow but unrelenting, stretching him open with exquisite pressure, a compelling heat of passion and pain, claiming what was his.

Aicantar stilled, holding himself steady, his fingers gripping Ondolemar’s thigh in silent reassurance. Giving him a moment to adjust to this new feeling.

Ondolemar let out a choked gasp as Aicantar tested him with a vigorous thrust. He rocked his hips into him now with a steady cadence and Ondolemar released a shuddering breath, tilting his head back against the pillows, his fingers now gripping Aicantar’s waist and looking back down at him with wanton desire. “Ugh..fuck…yes…”

The rhythm between them started slow, deep and unhurried. Aicantar moved with purpose, his fingers skimming along Ondolemar’s ribs, his lips finding his lover’s again and again.

“You like that? You like me inside you?” Aicantar’s lustful whisper slithered into his ear like poison. “You feel so…fucking…good…”

Ondolemar, shaken and enticed by his partner's vulgarity, breathed his name, a whispered prayer against his cheek. His thighs tightened around Aicantar’s waist, pulling him in deeper, his body moving instinctively in response. His back arched majestically beneath him, his breath catching with every thrust.

Aicantar held him through it all—through every gasp, every shift, every quivering moment of surrender.

The pleasure built steadily between them, the room filled with soft moans and whispered names, hands grasping, fingers tightening. Ondolemar clung to him, his nails biting into Aicantar’s back, his body tensing—the first, unmistakable edge of release.

Aicantar didn’t let up, guiding him through it, drawing every last sound from him, every tremor, every helpless shudder.

He pulled back, then thrust in deep, drinking in the way Ondolemar gasped, how his body arched against him, how his lips parted in wordless pleasure. He whimpered, his body clenching tight around him, his breath ragged.

Ondolemar lost himself beneath him, his body quaking as he screamed out Aicantar’s name one last time, his fingers gripping his lover’s body as if he were the only thing tethering him to the material world.

“That's good,” Aicantar’s voice was laced with velvet as he carefully arched himself into Ondolemar, allowing him to ride the waves of his climax. He continued to fuck him through it dragging it out, making him whimper, making him squirm.

“That’s it,” Aicantar purred, keeping his rhythm steady, thrusting deep into his overstimulated body.

Ondolemar, panted, cried out, and trembled, and Aicantar did not relent.

“You can take it,” he crooned, licking a stripe up the side of his throat. “Just a little longer. For me.”

Ondolemar was wrecked, overwhelmed, desperate.

And Aicantar loved every fucking second of it.

He slammed into him once, twice, three more times before he finally let himself go, spilling inside him with a guttural moan, sinking his teeth into Ondolemar’s shoulder and biting back a sound that felt too much like a sob.

He buried his face in the crook of Ondolemar’s neck and relaxed over top of him, panting. Heart thumping out of his chest, placing exhausted kisses wherever his lips rested.

This was the most beautiful relationship he had ever known.

And he feared it would end.

Hot, tattered breaths teased Ondolemar’s neck. As his mind cleared, he felt the searing of pain beneath him, but Aicantar was still comfortably inside, relishing in their intimate connection.

“Gods…fuck…” Aicantar pulled his hips back slowly, warmth seeped out onto the sheets. He looked at Ondolemar, part pleasure, part shame in his awakening clarity.

“I can't believe you let me do that,” he said with an incredulous roughness. His fingers traced absently over Ondolemar’s chest, as if grounding himself in the reality of it. “I'm sorry…I got so carried away.”

“Shh,” Ondolemar pressed his finger to Aicantar’s lips. “There you go with unwarranted apologies again.”

Before Aicantar could protest, Ondolemar pulled him in for a slow, lingering kiss, his lips parting just enough to steal the breath from him.

“I'm glad for this. For all of it. You ignite an unquenchable fire in my belly. You are filthy, exuberant, brilliant, beautiful…I adore all aspects of you.”

Aicantar shifted, pulling himself closer to him, his breath catching just slightly. For all his confidence, for all his bravado, he had never quite learned how to accept adoration like this without questioning it. He'd never been in this deep before, well beyond his realm of experience.

“I'm so in love with you,” Ondolemar spoke as naturally as the wind, absolute and undeniable.

Aicantar forgot how to breathe. His throat tightened. Something in his chest ached—wretchedly, wonderfully. He had no doubt that Ondolemar meant it.

It frightened him and he could not understand why.

It left his mind in a harrowing state of limbo. He could have remained here forever. He wanted to. He wanted to feel Ondolemar over and over again, to bask in his passion, his lust. Forever. He didn't want to forget…

“I don't want to go home,” Aicantar said.

“That’s not true.” There was an insight to Ondolemar's response that Aicantar found unsettling.

“But I understand,” he said, his warm, reverent lips resting against Aicantar’s temple. “The moment we rise from this bed…reality sets in. All our troubles and responsibilities flood back in. I also wish I could stay like this forever.”

Hearing those words spoken aloud broke Aicantar’s heart. He exhaled carefully, entwining his fingers between Ondolemar’s, squeezing. Loving.

Could he ever make room for Ondolemar in his life? It would be nothing but war, trauma, politics. All a danger, all a threat. Perspiration beaded on his brow as he considered all the awful possibilities. It made him sick…sick how in love with that elf he was. Yes, they should stay here in this bed…decay…leave everything else behind.

Neither of them moved to get up. They treasured the silence of unspoken words until it became unrealistic. Both of them sat up, stretching and groaning, Ondolemar sore from the morning's event. Aicantar helped him to his feet, steadying him as he winced. They took care of each other in the bathroom, tending to the remnants of their passion with soft touches and serene affection.

Aicantar’s mind drifted to Ondolemar's journal again. He should never have read it, but he couldn't take it back. He wanted a relationship built on honesty, so he broke the ice as delicately as he could.

As he helped Ondolemar fasten his shirt, his elegant long fingers working the clasps, he cleared his throat.

Ondolemar's eyebrow arched, unsure of what Aicantar would reveal to him.

“While you slept last night, I was… well, I was snooping.” He exhaled sharply, forcing the words out before he lost his nerve. “I was bored. And I… I read some of your journal.”

“…Aicantar?” His voice was careful—too careful, measured in a way that mortified Aicantar more than outright anger would have. “Why would you do that?”

There was far more disappointment than rage in his tone, a weight to his words that made Aicantar’s stomach twist.

“I’m so sorry.” He swallowed, his fingers loosely hanging on to the front of Ondolemar’s shirt. “It was inappropriate of me. I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to tell you—”

“What did you read?” Ondolemar’s voice was ice cold, cutting through the warmth of the room.

Aicantar’s nerves shook. He stammered. “I…one entry that was about me…another about your friend. Kjorin.”

Ondolemar’s face flushed crimson, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. But Aicantar saw it—the way his eyes flickered, the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled slightly, tense.

Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

He looked away.

“Aicantar… I just… I don’t know what to say.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, frayed at the edges.

Aicantar’s chest twinged. “Fuck.” His own tears welled over, falling hot and fast. “I didn’t intend to hurt you…”

Ondolemar let out a heavy, shuddering sigh.

Slowly, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, his jaw tightening as he forced his composure back into place.

“You’re lucky that’s all you read.”

The words came out firm, frigid, and controlled, but he hated having to speak to Aicantar that way.

With a soft exhale, he pulled him into a hug.

“Please…don’t do it again, all right?” His voice was lower now, gentler, his fingers pressing into Aicantar’s back as if grounding himself in his presence. “Promise me.”

Aicantar swallowed hard, his chest tight with emotion.

“I promise,” he sniffled, squeezing him tighter, clinging to the warmth of him, even as the cold truth still lingered between them.

Ondolemar pressed his lips to Aicantar’s forehead and lingered for a moment. “I’m sorry I’m so secretive,” he uttered, his voice softer now, laden with something Aicantar couldn’t quite place. “But some things about me need to stay that way. I hope you understand.”

He pulled back slightly, searching Aicantar’s face. “It has no bearing on our relationship. Yeah?”

Aicantar recalled a conversation he had with Calcelmo. That there were things about him Ondolemar was not entitled to know as well. It was all right to have demons, as long they remained chained in the past.

“Yeah.” His reply was weak, but he meant it.

Ondolemar didn’t hesitate. He pulled Aicantar into a firm embrace, holding him as if to anchor them both. “It comes with the territory of being a soldier,” he said gently, but with a wisdom hard-earned.

Aicantar closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of him. He didn’t press further.

Ondolemar pulled back and rested his hands on Aicantar’s biceps. “Breakfast?”

Aicantar smiled warmly. “Yeah.”

Chapter 22

Notes:

I don't have much to say at this point. I'm certain you all can see the turn this will take.

The dining hall of the Thalmor Embassy was as grand as it was austere—a space designed not for warmth, but for power and display. Massive barred windows framed the snow-covered peaks of Haafingar. The world beyond was a frozen wasteland, but inside, everything was opulent, pristine, and rigidly controlled.

Several long polished oak dining tables stretched across the room, a finely carpeted path in between. The cook Tsavani, along with the other servants, scrambled about bringing food and table settings.

Already laid out at the serving table was fresh fruit, slices of cured venison, warm Altmeri bread with imported preserves, and steaming cups of spiced tea. Not indulgent, but refined. 

A handful of Thalmor officers, pristine and uniformed, as well as some of the stranded dignitaries were already seated, engaged in hushed morning conversation. The sound of clinking utensils and muffled speech filled the space.

“You will enjoy Tsavani's breakfast,” Ondolemar said, an air of whimsy and affection in his voice as he was eager to share it with Aicantar.

The realization that this environment was all this man knew, all he had to look forward to while in service here, leeched into Aicantar’s veins. So many people present, but only one Khajiit to make his time here worthwhile. 

Ondolemar held onto Aicantar’s hand, guiding him lovingly, yet absent-mindedly, to the space at the table near Ambassador Elenwen where he was expected to sit. Among them sat other high officers of the Thalmor, and diplomats from various regions of the province.

At the head of the table, Elenwen sat poised and composed, lifting a delicate porcelain cup of tea to her lips. Her expression remained unreadable, but the sharp edge of her coarse, feminine voice gave her away.

“Captain, so nice of you to finally join us.” Her tone was smooth, but something scathing lurked beneath it.

Ondolemar’s brow raised in slight confusion. 

Elenwen’s gaze flicked over him, then down to his attire.

“You’re not in uniform?”

His brow furrowed discontentedly as he pulled out the chair beside him for Aicantar. “I beg your pardon, ma'am?”

Her lips smacked following her sip of tea, then she placed the cup down with a soft clink. “You are on duty, are you not?”

Ondolemar paused briefly, his already prominent scowl deepening, but he was honest. “I wasn't aware of this, no.”

“Well,” the ambassador clicked her tongue,  eyeing Aicantar with venom, then darting back to Ondolemar. “My party was scheduled for one night and one night only. The poor weather and circumstances does not mean you get to forgo your duties.”

Ondolemar, though perplexed, was not angry, and responded cooly. “My sincerest apologies, ambassador. I could go change if you like?”

“Sit down, Ondolemar.” Elenwen’s voice was pointed like a dagger.

Ondolemar lowered himself into his seat, struggling to mask the lingering ache beneath him. It did not go unnoticed. Nothing ever did in this company. But for now, no one commented.

Elenwen’s gaze darted to Aicantar, sweeping over him with an expression that he couldn’t quite place—something inscrutable, something cold.

“I see you’ve brought your—” She paused, lips curling slightly. “—friend.”

Aicantar felt the weight of her scrutiny, but before he could react, she continued, voice smooth as silk, sharp as steel, though Ondolemar wasn't sure she intended to be insulting. 

“I don’t recall him holding an official rank within the Dominion.”

Aicantar tensed, embarrassed and out of place. The tips of his ears burned, but he forced himself to remain still, to remain silent. Her demeanor from the previous night seemed to have shifted from welcoming to pragmatic.

“If my Justiciars are expected to remain on duty, then I see no reason why an… auxiliary figure should be enjoying the luxuries of a morning meal among them.”

Ondolemar grew worried, jaw tightening and a flush creeping up his neck. He did not want this experience to be a bad one for Aicantar. 

“Forgive me,” he said, voice strained but measured, “but he doesn’t know anyone here and would prefer to stay by my side.”

Elenwen’s brow arched, inquiring bluntly. “Is he a child?”

Aicantar shifted, uncomfortable. “I… I can just go back to the solar…” He made to rise, eager to remove himself from the scene, but Ondolemar’s hand shot out, stopping him.

Ondolemar had considered Elenwen a friend once upon a time. But this behavior confused and frustrated him. She was meant to be a mediator, a political bridge between factions, a woman of refinement and control. Yet here, away from her grand parties and polished smiles, her true nature revealed itself.

Ondolemar met her gaze, hard as stone.

“Are we discussing policies…” he asked calmly, authentically. “...or simply eating breakfast?”

Elenwen looked at him, unsure if he was challenging her or genuinely asking.

“If it’s the latter, then what is the harm?”

Elenwen did not respond immediately.

Instead, she held Ondolemar’s gaze, measuring, considering.

Then, ever so slightly, she tilted her head, as if indulging a child’s tantrum. “Very well.”

She reached for her tea again, lifting it with the same practiced grace as before, as if the conversation had already been dismissed. “Since you seem so intent on keeping your…companion close, I suppose we can make an exception.”

Ondolemar exhaled slowly, relieved that he'd managed to sway her so tactfully.

Aicantar remained uneasy beside him, hands in his lap hanging tightly to the hem of the shirt of Ondolemar’s that he now wore. His ears still burned, but he said nothing.

The conversation around them resumed, hushed at first, then growing louder. The tension remained, unspoken but tangible.

Aicantar reached for his fork, but his hand was unsteady. He didn’t expect to feel so…small. Ondolemar noticed. He always noticed.

“Ignore them,” he uttered under his breath, keeping his voice low, just for Aicantar to hear. “They are just trying to get to me.”

Aicantar swallowed nervously. “This is…peculiar. Is this normal behavior?”

Ondolemar huffed a quiet, unamused breath. The look in his eyes remained hard, but honest. “Yes.”

Across the table, one of the Justiciars, a tall, hawk-nosed officer with sharp eyes and sharper words, leaned back in his chair, observing them. And then, he spoke.

“Captain, you seem a bit…stiff this morning.”

The words were innocuous on their own. But the curvature of his lips, the slow, deliberate glance between Ondolemar and Aicantar—there was nothing innocent about them.

A soft chuckle rippled through some of the officers nearby, quiet but unmistakable.

Ondolemar’s jaw tightened, his shoulders squared, his posture even more rigid than before. But he ignored them and continued to focus on his meal.

Aicantar could see it—the barely contained aggravation beneath his carefully controlled exterior.

“Did you enjoy the festivities here last evening…Aicantar, was it?” Elenwen lifted her fork to her lips with a precisely Altmeri etiquette Aicantar was not familiar with. Though he carefully tried to eat in a way he believed to be polite. 

“Oh, uh yes.” It was a half truth.

“Wonderful.” Her contrived smile gave him unsettled chills.

Ondolemar squeezed his hand, openly, lovingly, and without shame, doing his best to comfort and reassure him. This gesture did not go without more leers from the other patrons seated at the table.

The other Justiciars proceeded to make idle conversation with Aicantar, looking to pry.

“So what is it that you do?”

Aicantar felt put on the spot. He had no desire to speak to these people. Ondolemar held his hand in plain sight on top of the table and squeezed supportively, passing him a look that begged him simply to answer. It was easier that way for both of them. 

“I…umm…I research Dwemer. Rebuild and design automatons…” his voice wavered against his control as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

“Wait?” One of the other Justiciars scoffed. “You related to that crackpot Calcelmo?” 

The officer leaned back in his chair, beaming smugly. “I’ve heard of him…absolute madman. A lunatic spending all his time underground wasting resources on dead ruins and robots. They're full of naught but revolting chaurus and those blind, beastly excuses for mer. Frankly, I’m shocked Jarl Igmund allows him to keep excavating. What in Oblivion does he expect to find down there anyway?”

Ondolemar knew that would be Aicantar’s breaking point. No one insulted Calcelmo. His only family. Ondolemar’s eyes begged him not to react harshly, warned him that they will use his anger against him. 

Aicantar obeyed his unspoken command for the time being, but refused to remain silent. His nerves hardened into disdain, his tone darkened in a way Ondolemar could not comprehend from his sweet Aicantar. “You will not speak ill of my uncle.”

Elenwen intervened at last. “Enough! Captain Ondolemar is your superior! You will treat him and his revered guest with utmost respect. You are not children!”

Aicantar relaxed and regained his confidence, for these soldiers were woefully ignorant of the true power and influence he and his uncle wielded.

They had fallen quiet for most of the morning meal after the ambassador's tongue lashing. However, toward the end, their focus shifted back to Ondolemar, and their observation of his physical status.

The predatory bird of a soldier hummed thoughtfully, finished his beverage and spoke again. “I never thought I'd see the day our great Captain allowed himself to be conquered.”

Ondolemar’s poison eyes burned like green flames, the look he shot warned the justiciar to choose his next words carefully.

He chose to ignore the danger of that warning.

“To think—a man of your status, a warrior of the Aldmeri Dominion, brought to his knees by some common scholar.” He gestured toward Aicantar with thinly veiled disgust. “Absolutely pathetic.”

Ondolemar remained tense, unyielding. But Aicantar could feel the way his muscles coiled, the way anger trembled beneath his skin. His knuckles white as he gripped his fork.

“I wonder…” He swirled his cup, watching Ondolemar over the rim. “Does it haunt you yet? Knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how many orders you give, everyone in this room will still see you like this?” His lips upturned, amused and sinister. “Tamed. Mutilated.”

Ondolemar’s breathing quickened, his pulse hammered, his fingers dug into the table, but he could not break. He laid down his fork and dabbed his lips on his napkin. An unsettling sense of calm befell him now, and he rose…towering above all of them, in both height and hierarchy.

“What a privilege you have,” his voice disturbingly calm, bordering the line of psychosis. “Bloated by arrogance as you sit here at this table right now, amusing yourselves with absolute vulgarity under the guise of wit.” His words were lethal, venomous.

“This treasure of a man who has blessed me with his companionship–with his love and devotion–is more intelligent, more accomplished than any of you parasites will ever be. He did not have to fellate boots to reach his goals, unlike you lot.”

“You have made the mistake to assume that I am ashamed to have shared my bed–my body–with him.”

He paused. Let it hang in the air. Let them soak it all in.

“I am not. Of all the things to choose to tear me down, you chose my pleasure? As if it lessens me? As if it erases everything I have done for our great cause? I have survived the Great War. I have fought countless battles, both in my personal life and for you to have the privilege to sit here now just to disrespect me. To disrespect everything I've ever done. For you. I have persevered. I have earned my place time and time again among the ranks of the Thalmor.”

"How does it feel," he said cooly "to know that despite all your titles, all your so-called superiority, I am still more powerful than you? Regardless of who I choose to share myself with? Now, while you sit there snickering like a petulant child, I outrank you. I always will.”

Ondolemar did not break his stare. The justiciars who had dared to mock him sat stiff like statues, mouths agape, unable to retort.

Even Elenwen herself suffered the aftershock. She cleared her throat, but her voice shook. “This will be quite enough…”

Yet Ondolemar spoke boldly over her. “Even collectively, none of you have accomplished even a fraction of what I have done. I implore you, reap the benefits of my abilities. But remember that I am the one holding the cards. I am the one who ultimately determines your fate should it come to all-out war in this godsforsaken land. One day, when our descendants indulge in our most glorious history…they will know my name. And none of yours. ”

The Captain took a slow, composing breath, then turned his attention to Aicantar. “We’re leaving.”

Aicantar nodded, his pulse still thrumming from the tension.

Without even a second glance at those miscreants, Ondolemar helped Aicantar to his feet, his movements composed, dignified. 

He shot a look of finality at Elenwen before dismissing himself. “I expected better of my leaders.”

 

Chapter 23

Notes:

Once again I am hoping everything I'm trying to convey comes across. 🙏

By the time Ondolemar and Aicantar returned to the solar, Ondolemar was at his wit's end. His fury erupted the moment to door closed. The anger he bottled in tore out as he rampaged through the room, upturning the desk sending papers raining down like fallen leaves and throwing everything within his arm's grasp. 

Aicantar allowed him to blow off steam and approached him when the storm settled, his breath heavy and ragged. “My love…” he wove his arms under his and rested against his back, cheek resting against the back of Ondolemar’s head.

“You were very brave to stand up for me and yourself like that. I hope your insubordination doesn't get you in trouble.” Significant worry weighed heavily on his sweet voice.

“To Oblivion with all of them.” A deep growl reverberated in the back of his throat. He pulled away from Aicantar so that he could look him in the eyes. “I'm so sorry for all of this. You didn't deserve that. You and Calcelmo are respectable, remarkable mer with talents beyond recognition.”

“It's nothing we haven't heard before.”

“That does not matter!” he nipped. “These are the people who are supposed to set an example and they…berate you–our guest–like that? Unforgivable!”

Aicantar did not verbalize it, but Calcelmo was right all along, and he fully understood now why he had whisked him far away from Summerset–why he was so anxious for Aicantar to attend this gathering. 

The young mer knew the world was cruel, but he did not comprehend just how much. Better to remain in his tower with his machinery than to expose himself to the world outside. 

And yet, this was Ondolemar’s whole world. This was what he knew, what was normal. It took its toll on his mind time and time again.

Without a single utterance, Aicantar rolled up Ondolemar’s sleeve, exposing the years worth of scars from self harm, and he caressed them with a gentle touch, tracing the freshest one with loving deliberation. He brought Ondolemar's marred wrist to his lips and held it there. He understood. 

Ondolemar did not understand how to react, but he experienced the intensity of Aicantar willing his love into him, trying to heal like failed restoration magic.

His entire life had been spent concealing. The beatings, the shame, the years of servitude to a cause that no longer filled the void inside him. He had hardened himself, learned to endure, learned that pain could be controlled if he was the one to wield it. The blade was his. The wounds were his. The scars belonged to him.

But Aicantar saw them. Touched them. Kissed them.

And for the first time in decades, he had no control.

Aicantar was trying to fix him. Trying to love his broken pieces back together. That's precisely what Aicantar did best. Fix things. 

Gods, his lover was brilliant, but he was a fool if he thought there was anything left to repair. It was too late. Two hundred years too late.

If love was enough, he wouldn’t feel like this—hollow, rotting from the inside out, wearing a uniform that felt heavier with each passing day.

And Aicantar was here with him, with the rough hands of a creator, holding onto him as if he were something worth preserving.

As his eyes met his lover’s, the tears flowed, lamenting the man he could have been, grieving the man he should be now, for Aicantar’s sake. 

Aicantar pulled him into an embrace and allowed him the release he deserved, held him tight through his trembling, through his grief.

“Every time,” he sobbed and sniveled. “Every time you entered my mind…my father…still tried to take my joy.”

Aicantar hushed him with gentle, yet firm reassurance, cradling his neck, holding him close. “He's not here. I'm here.”

Ondolemar’s breathing remained uneven, shuddering against him. Aicantar held him, fingers combing through his clean-cut hair, grounding him with steady, deliberate touches. His own heart pounded, aching for the man in his arms, but he remained still, a fortress against the storm raging inside Ondolemar.

Minutes passed in silence.

Slowly, the tension in Ondolemar’s body began to ease, his grip loosening, but the weight of his sorrow did not lift. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

"I don’t know how to stop him from haunting me."

The confession nearly broke Aicantar in two. He wished he could rip the memory of what that monster did out of Ondolemar’s mind, wished with every fiber of his being that he could remove his pain. 

“Then let me in.”

Though Aicantar didn’t know where the words came from, he knew he meant them. He pulled back just enough to look into Ondolemar’s glassy green eyes, still brimming with lingering sorrow.

“Let me be the one to stand in front of him.  Let me block him out.”

Ondolemar’s breath hitched, something in him fracturing all over again. Aicantar’s hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the damp trails beneath his eyes, willing him to believe, to see the truth in his words.

"You are here. With me. And I love you."

Ondolemar exhaled, unsteady. He leaned into Aicantar’s touch, let himself be held, let himself accept his warmth. 

Aicantar stole a kiss, delicate, slow. Pouring every ounce of devotion into him. 

Ondolemar allowed himself to be kissed, allowed himself to feel what real love is like–without pain or consequence. When their lips at long last parted, they both hung there, kept close by the very aura between them, too afraid to disturb the fragile stillness.

“I love you.” Ondolemar’s voice was weak, but the meaning behind his words was the strongest force he knew. He nuzzled into Aicantar's neck. At last, he could finally breathe again.

 

***

 

While Ondolemar rested and cleaned up, Aicantar took the time to tidy up the aftermath left behind by his frenzy. He flipped the desk back onto its legs and gathered and stacked the scattered parchments as neatly as he could, unsure of the proper order but certain Ondolemar could sort them out easily. 

By the time everything was back in place, Ondolemar approached, his steps lighter but his face still wearing lingering emotion. “Thank you,” he said, voice softer than usual. “I appreciate this.”

“You're upset. It's the very least I can do," Aicantar’s kind smile warmed him as it always did. That smile could end wars.

“Do I look…vulnerable?” He asked self consciously. He would be meeting with Elenwen shortly and did not want to display even the tiniest amount of weakness. He could not give her the satisfaction. 

Aicantar tilted his head and appraised him playfully. “You've looked better,” the corners of his lips quirked, but then authentically, “But No. You look strong. You carry yourself differently and that will play in your favor.”

“I hope so,” he said doubtfully.

He straightened his uniform, the pristine black leather squeaking with even the smallest movement. His hard-soled boots clicked against the stone floor like a warhorse’s hooves, the sound echoing sharply against the Embassy’s cold walls.

“You're dressed for duty now. That should please her,” Aicantar observed, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

Ondolemar scoffed as he adjusted the mantle of his coat and rolled his shoulders back as he adjusted his sleeves. “It will take far more than a proper uniform to please Elenwen.” His voice was steady, and his lips twinged, but his serious demeanor did not falter. “I suspect what she truly needs is a good, hard fuck.”

Aicantar choked on his saliva, completely blindsided by Ondolemar’s blunt remark. He struggled to stifle his giggles.

“Don't laugh,” the captain retorted. “It is the gods-honest truth. Perhaps she's jealous of us. The last time she even saw a penis was likely during the erection of the Adamantine Tower.”

“Ondolemar!” Aicantar snorted. “That was ancient times!”

Ondolemar's arms outstretched in a smug and knowing shrug. He said what he said.

Aicantar punctuated his sharp jest with a peck on the nose, relieved by his shift away from complex emotions to playfulness. “I think you will be all right now when you approach her. You've got this.”

“Thank you.” Ondolemar hugged Aicantar tightly. “No matter what the outcome, I regret nothing that has happened between us. It's been so long since I've felt even a glimmer of happiness. I don't want to lose this.”

Aicantar sighed, resting his forehead against Ondolemar’s shoulder for just a moment. “I can’t wait to get back to Markarth. The farther we get away from this, the better.”

“I agree.”

Before departing, Ondolemar left him with one last quick kiss. 

The moment the door shut, Aicantar exhaled slowly, draining the breath from his lungs until there was nothing left. The events of the morning still rattled him. How quickly things could go awry.

“I should never have fucked him today,” he muttered to himself. “All of this could have been easily avoided.”

But why should he feel such shame for his act of intimacy? For his desire to please the man he loved? It was not a mistake. It was not a crime. Yet, all it had done was complicate things. It left Ondolemar vulnerable and compromised.

But Aicantar felt such pride swell within him. Would he have fought this hard for anyone else? Would he have thrown himself into the fire for anyone but him? There was no denying that Ondolemar loved him. Truly loved him. 

As Aicantar sat on the bed and wallowed in his invasive thoughts, Calcelmo came to mind. He needed to talk to him, to hear the voice of someone who always understood him even if they did not always see eye to eye. It was too hard without the influence of his advice. He'd nearly forgotten the conversation stone he'd left for him.

 Aicantar reached into his satchel and retrieved the stone, a bluish crystal attuned to its twin in Markarth. He turned the asymmetrically faceted piece of quartz over in his calloused hands, hesitating, feeling the gentle hum of magic beneath its surface. He drew little circles on it with his finger and it flickered to life, a steady buzzing from its counterpart could be heard from beyond, then soon an ethereal rendition of his uncle's weary voice.

“Hello? Aicantar, my boy. Is that you?”

Aicantar snickered. “It is two in the afternoon. Were you…napping?”

Calcelmo rarely slept, so he could imagine Aicantar’s surprise. The embarrassment in his voice did not go unnoticed. “Oh, I…um…I was with Faleen…”

Aicantar laughed again, unsure why his uncle whispered into the stone like he was a teenager caught in the act. “Uncle Calcelmo, you don't need to be so bashful. I understand. You deserve to spend time with your wife. I would have taken advantage of such an opportunity as well. I can call back later if you like.”

“No, no,” the old wizard bumbled. “We're er…quite finished for the day. Just resting after…”

Aicantar could hear Faleen striking his uncle with a pillow in the background. 

“All right!” Calcelmo’s voice was distant now. “I'm going to talk to him! Will you stop?”

Aicantar shook his head at their absurd antics. For all of Calcelmo's sagely wisdom, It amused him knowing what an absolute dog his uncle was behind closed doors, but when it came time to actually discuss those intimate acts, the old scholar was reduced to a flustered, awkward mess. 

Calcelmo cleared his throat. “Is everything all right? You sounded distressed.”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a sigh and he paused to think about what he was going to say.

“Where is Ondolemar?” his uncle asked, the stone causing his voice to ripple like he was under water.

“He is on duty. Despite the severity of the storm last night, he was still expected to work. Right now he's having a discussion with the Ambassador about events that transpired during breakfast.” In spite of himself, his voice cracked.

The worry was evident in Calcelmo's tone. “Did something happen to you?”

Aicantar sighed. “Yes and no.” He proceeded to divulge the intimacy he shared with Ondolemar and the way his compatriots treated both of them, as well as the few occurrences from the previous evening in as much detail as he could, though he was not so eager to relive it while the wound was fresh and tender on his mind. 

“The way he stood up for me, Uncle Calcelmo…he was incredible. Stars, he could lose everything just because he shared his body with me.” His voice wavered. “I can't help but worry about him.”

Calcelmo hummed thoughtfully. “You have to stop blaming yourself for the behavior of others. And I'm sure you know he didn't progress to such status because he's an idiot, that's for sure. He knew the stakes and was willing to risk it. Admirable as it is, there is a possibility it was a poor decision.”

Aicantar sighed sharply through his nose. “I already know that.”

“Don't misunderstand me,” Calcelmo's voice rippled in the ether, steady and certain. “It may have been a poor career decision, but I sincerely doubt he will resent you should he be punished for his transgressions. Do you really think he likes being the Captain of the Thalmor when his peers are naught but sniveling, uptight pricks?”

Calcelmo's curses always threw Aicantar for a loop.

“That man has suffered more than either of us can ever fathom, and he's only now realizing it. Abuse is conditioned into his very existence. It is a damn shame.”

Aicantar took a moment to reflect on his uncle's words. He was always honest, and never led him astray. “You were right about everything, you know.” His voice fell soft and contemplative. “I've truly come to appreciate you raising me as you have.”

“I've told you time and time again, you can't just add fresh oil and new parts to people like you can with machines." He said it with a note of sorrow, but also affection. “You have a good heart–perhaps the best in all of Tamriel, but sometimes you can be naïve. I don't blame you for it. You're a good boy–man,” he corrected. “I know you love him dearly, and I've no doubt he feels the same about you, but you need to really…step back and look at things. Sometimes I think your immediate happiness blinds you to outside forces.”

Aicantar sighed. Calcelmo was right. He was always right. But Aicantar wanted this with all his heart. He knew what he would have to sacrifice to maintain his relationship with Ondolemar, but he began to wonder if it would be worth it. The harassment would never stop. Ondolemar would remain under constant scrutiny–simply for being in love. It was almost as if they wanted him to remain miserable. They saw Aicantar as a distraction–nothing more than a toy for the captain. Even as an Altmer himself, they still perceived him as a lesser being. Even the Nords back at home respected him more, even as a golden elf. People could say what they wanted about Skyrim, but it was a land of freedom and opportunity, and of hardworking people who, for all their faults, were far kinder and more accepting than his own kin.

The integral parts of Altmer culture focused heavily on high elven supremacy–on hatred, even toward their fellow countrymen. And Aicantar would never understand it. 

“Aicantar? Hello? Did I lose you?”

“I'm here, Uncle Calcelmo.” Aicantar spoke gently. “I'm going to let you go. I have…a lot to think about.”

Calcelmo sensed his despondency. “If that is what you wish, my boy. The conversation stone will remain in my pocket should you need to speak again. Or if you need me to retrieve you. I'll conjure up a portal if need be.”

Regardless of his inner turmoil, it made him laugh. He always found Calcelmo's care of him deeply endearing, and he smiled. “Thank you. For everything. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I hope to see you soon.”

 

***

 

The restricted corridors of the Thalmor Embassy were silent, save for the rhythmic click of Ondolemar’s boots against the polished stone floor.  He had donned his uniform with precision, every buckle fastened, every fold immaculate. The sharp scent of polished leather clung to him, the rigid high collar shielding his neck. He was dressed for duty, for diplomacy, for war if necessary. And yet, beneath the armor of propriety, his mind churned.

Aicantar’s voice still echoed in his ears, the weight of his embrace lingering in his bones. His sweet Aicantar, so trusting, so full of warmth and understanding, even for a man like Ondolemar. That young, naïve mage somehow managed to look past everything that made him horrible, and find it in his heart to see someone else entirely. The captain didn't know how much longer he could live up to his impossible expectations. 

Ondolemar’s lips still tingled from their parting kiss, a reminder of something delicate and fleeting. He clung to it, even as he prepared to step into a room where sentiment had no place.

The guards stationed outside Elenwen’s solar straightened at his approach. They did not speak, only exchanged knowing glances before opening the heavy doors without question. Ondolemar stepped inside, his expression stern as always.

Elenwen was waiting for him. Seated behind a grand, carved desk, her fingers laced together, golden eyes sharp with expectation. The tall, arched windows behind her revealed a world buried beneath a thick blanket of snow from the previous night's detrimental storm. Though the blizzard had passed, it made departure impossible for now.

The room, as always, was pristine—obsessively so. Not a single paper out of place, not a trace of dust on the polished mahogany. The scent of parchment and fine incense gave it a falsely cozy atmosphere, yet the chill of the outside world still seemed to linger within these walls.

Ondolemar exhaled slowly, steeling himself.

Elenwen barely spared him a glance, her quill scratching against parchment as she scrawled a few final notes. Only then did she stand, hands clasped neatly behind her back. She did not know where to begin.

Ondolemar began for her. “Let this conversation be both professional as well as personal. There seems to be a great deal of things that need to be addressed as of late.”

She sighed with an undetermined emotion, but continued to gaze out the window at the wintery hellscape outside, and still said nothing. 

“Dare I say, I'm disappointed,” Ondolemar admitted, hoping that he could still speak to her as they once had in the past in this private space. That she would still listen. That there was still something left between them that could be salvaged. He waited patiently for her response.

“Go on,” her voice remained sharp, but cool. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Say your piece, Ondolemar.”

It was a long time coming. Ondolemar braced himself, for the sincerity of his concerns, for the possible consequences he may face for his brutal honesty. 

"I expected better from you." The sentence alone carried an unsettling chill. He took a deep breath before pressing on. 

"I did not come here expecting pleasantries or favors, but I did expect civility. I expected my authority to carry weight. And yet, this morning, I was utterly humiliated. I suffice to say you were amused by the morning's developments.”

Elenwen did not flinch, did not move. The distant howl of wind outside filled the silence. She continued to lend her viciously pointed ear. 

"Aicantar was your guest–one that you invited." Ondolemar continued, voice steady. "And yet, you allowed your officers to berate him, to degrade him. You watched as they attempted to strip me of my dignity—not as a soldier, nor as a captain, but as a man. You let it happen."

Finally, Elenwen turned to face him, her expression as insufferable as always. Ondolemar pressed on. 

"You know I have given my very soul to our cause. I have followed orders without question. I have sacrificed my entire life for the might of the Dominion. And yet, you allowed them to treat me as if I am nothing. As if I am somehow beneath them."

His fingers curled into his palms. "Tell me, Elenwen. Is this what the Aldmeri Dominion stands for? Hypocrisy? Cowardice? Because that is what I saw today. When did we become…this?”

The ambassador pivoted slowly on her heel and faced him head on at last.

"Captain, you have always been an exemplary officer. Disciplined. Respected. Feared. That is why your conduct as of late troubles me so.”

“I don't understand,” he fought tooth and nail to maintain his dignified stoicism. “What has changed, Elenwen? I have followed orders. All decisions I have made have been for the betterment of elven kind. I would never do anything to compromise the Aldmeri Dominion. Preserving our fair race…keeping us pure and holding all the power…please, I implore you. What have I done to warrant such disrespect?”

Elenwen moved her arms to the front, stretching them over the desk top, splaying her fingers and tapping the glossy varnished wood as she carefully searched for the words she needed. Her tongue clicked.

“Have you not considered how you represent the Dominion?”

“Every waking moment. But I'm afraid I still do not understand.” 

She pursed her lips. “You've laid with another man, Ondolemar. You wear that boy on your arm like an accessory. Your…kissing…and touching–it is a spectacle. You've allowed him to consume you…weaken you.”

Ondolemar sneered. “How dare you. With Aicantar at my side, I have never been stronger. You once said that who I laid with did not concern you–that you didn't care.”

“I didn't…at first. I assumed it was nothing more than a passing indulgence—something for you to entertain yourself with before you saw reason." Her face distorted with transparent disgust. “And then you allowed him to…take you.” She emphasized the word with sourness. “Now I'm beginning to suspect that you actually see him as a partner.”

“Of course I see him as a partner," he countered, his tone edged with quiet defiance. "I am proud to have him. To share with him.”

Elenwen cackled. “Share? What could you possibly share with him? Don’t be daft. There are aspects of yourself he will never know—can never know. And we both know what happens when you make a friend, Ondolemar.”

Ondolemar’s throat tightened, rage flashing behind his sharp green eyes. It was so many years ago now, but she wielded it like a blade against him. "And I dispatched him accordingly," he growled. "I did what needed to be done."

“That spy knew our secrets because of you, Ondolemar! You got too close!” Elenwen’s teeth gnashed as she leaned forward, her voice brimming with scorn. “I daresay you were even attracted to him…just like you are now with that young wizard. What secrets have you already spilled to him?”

Ondolemar's fists clenched. No one had known Kjorin was a spy. He had been manipulated, just as they all had been. They were no better. 

Ondolemar snarled. “He doesn't know anything, nor does he want to.”

“And you don't see a problem with that?” The question almost sounded like pity. “He doesn't share in your beliefs and likely never will, so what business do you even have thinking you can be together? Your ‘relationship’ is a liability. ”

Ondolemar’s fists clenched, but his voice remained eerily calm, almost venomous. “A liability?” He let the word linger in the air before exhaling sharply through his nose. “Tell me, Ambassador, what exactly have I compromised? What victory have I cost us? What battle have I lost? Or is it that you can’t stand the idea of me having something of my own?”

Elenwen’s lips pursed, but she did not interrupt.

“I have bled for this cause. I have upheld every order, executed every command, secured every foothold you and your predecessors have deemed necessary. And yet, here we are, discussing not strategy, not war, but who I take to my bed.” A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him.

The ambassador shifted her weight uncomfortably, though she attempted to maintain her coarse demeanor. She could not award him any satisfaction, even if he was right. 

“Appearances are everything, Ondolemar. You, of all people, know that.”

“What appearances?” He scoffed defiantly. “Happiness? Do not mistake my joy for weakness, Elenwen. You know the life I've endured. Hatred and oppression is not always the best approach to gather advocates for a greater cause.”

“Listen to yourself!” She had finally cracked and abandoned all composure. “I know we haven't always seen eye to eye,  for better or worse, but this is absurdity!”

The Captain and the First Emissary both fell silent, burning one another with the fires in their eyes. Elenwen broke the silence, razing the field with her innermost thoughts. 

“You let that boy fuck you. Did you moan, for him, Captain? Did you whimper like a little whore? You couldn't even walk straight and you're somehow proud of that little show at breakfast? Are you willing to throw your entire life and military career away for a mage that tinkers with toys and bats his pretty little lashes at you?”

The rage boiled within Ondolemar, his voice fell deathly low. “How dare you speak to me this way.” 

“I'm the only one with the gall to speak the truth to you!” Elenwen spat, bristling like a furious feline. “I would pity you if you weren't so godsdamned good at what you do!”

Elenwen froze in place, realizing too little too late that she complimented him and she could not retract.

The captain's eyes narrowed. “I am the best at what I do. I am irreplaceable…and you know it.”

She would never admit it, but he was right. No one ever came close to Ondolemar's skill. She returned to her place by the window, and remained silent for a spell with her hands clasped behind her back as before.

“Tell me, Captain, do you love that boy?” she finally asked, disturbingly calm, as if the argument had never happened.

Ondolemar swallowed hard. “I do. Let it be known. I love Aicantar. I'm not ashamed, Elenwen. I've lived this life bearing the weight of shame and misery for far too long. He's brought me a small amount of happiness–hope. I promise you, it does not affect my duties. You have my word.”

Elenwen smiled, but Ondolemar could not discern the intent behind it. 

She smoothed down the front of her robes as though bored now. “Very well, Captain. You are dismissed.”

He took a single step, then spoke over his shoulder. “Before I take my leave, I have but one request…”

Her golden stare snapped to him and his audacity, but she humored him regardless. 

“Say what you will about me. Judge me all you like, but please–because he is your guest–apologize to him. Like it or not, you also have a reputation to uphold.”

The door latched behind him and Elenwen remained in silent defeat.

Chapter 24

Notes:

My heart slowly breaking...

And I loved writing Tsavani so much. I'll have to put her in something else. I love her. ❤️

Confined within the embassy walls with nothing to do, time crawled unbearably slow for Aicantar. He didn't know when Ondolemar would return from his duty and he wondered what was so important that Elenwen couldn't afford him a moment of respite while they waited for safe traveling conditions. 

Aicantar took a seat at Ondolemar’s desk—not to snoop this time, but because it was the only place in the room that felt structured. His fingers tapped against the polished wood in a restless rhythm before he sighed and searched for a clean sheet of parchment and something to draw with. 

Perhaps he could draft a new schematic for a machine he had been working on at home in his lab. His drawings were as crisp as his handwriting. He scrawled and labeled each component, separating mechanical parts into categories, writing concise instructions on how to machine the parts and assemble them. In the side notes he wrote mathematical formulas to calculate precise measurements. It felt like it had been a month since he actually got any of his own work done. 

Minutes passed him by as he focused on the design. Or was it a few hours?

When he finally leaned back and took it all in, the weariness settled in. He barely remembered starting the drawing. A mechanical schematic, rough but already intricate, stared back at him. Something new. Something his.

His thumb smudged a line as he traced over the framework, considering its function. And for a brief moment, he was not in the Thalmor Embassy, not waiting for Ondolemar, not burdened by the morning’s events. He was simply himself again.

But the weight of reality settled over him soon enough as his gaze wandered across the solar, sterile and suffocating in its uniformity. Not like Calcelmo's lab scattered with all the relics he scavenged from Nchuand-Zel. All the mess of journals, books and diagrams splayed every which way. Organized chaos born of fascination and a will to discover. And Aicantar would sort and number it neatly to keep his uncle's mind on track while he buzzed like a honey bee from project to project. That was home. It was an absolute disaster, but it was familiar and welcoming. Back at the lab, Aicantar had his uncle to share his passion with.

Aicantar rubbed his eyes, the parchment before him blurring as his mind finally registered the weight of fatigue settling in. A rumble most insatiable resounded from within the pit of his stomach, so loud that it echoed in the room. He laughed, knowing how carried away he'd get sometimes, so much so that he forgot to yield to his instinctive calls. The evening had crept in, and he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since breakfast. 

With a moderately distressed sigh, he rose, stretching the stiffness from his back before fastening the door to Ondolemar’s solar with an arcane lock—his only means of securing it in the captain’s absence.

He made his way downstairs, passing many familiar faces of nobles and guests from the party, many of which looked as eager as him to return to their homes, others counted down the hours, still imbibing in alcohol like the party never ended.

It actually surprised him that the Thalmor were not eager to kick them out yet, but of course they had no real options. They needed to remain as hospitable as possible to keep up appearances. 

As he neared the bar, the unmistakable sounds of drink being poured and glasses clinking filled the atmosphere. Torgoth, the ever-busy Bosmer, worked furiously to keep up with the unrelenting demand of the inebriated. Despite the chaos, he managed to catch sight of Aicantar and greeted him with a warm, familiar smile.

“Well, hello again. Could I get you something to drink?”

“Water, actually,” Aicantar realized how dry his mouth had become and how his head thrummed with a dull ache.

“Don't want to join the drunkards? I don't blame you.” 

With a flick of his wrist, Torgoth chilled a drinking glass to a mouth-watering frostiness and poured from the tap of a barrel holding crisp, clean spring water. 

Aicantar slammed the beverage, the cool liquid soothed his parched throat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve with little regard for decorum. 

“Thirsty?” Torgoth chuckled.

“Yeah, a little,” Aicantar admitted with a small laugh. “I could use something to eat, but it looks like everyone’s turning in for the night.”

“Tell you what,” Torgoth said slyly. “Since you’re with the captain, I’ll let you in the back. Tsavani’s probably doing morning prep anyway. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“That would be Aetherial,” Aicantar said, smiling in thanks.

“Go on,” Torgoth gestured toward the kitchen door with a tilt of his head, his small button antlers catching the dim light. “Before someone sees.”

Aicantar slipped passed the bar and through the kitchen door, a lovely aroma of deliciousness wafted into his nostrils as he shut the door behind him. 

Tsavani's ears twitched at the sound of the door creaking shut. She glanced briefly over her shoulder.

Aicantar waved meekly in response. 

“You again?” she feigned annoyance. “But the Twin Moons! All day, golden mer bothering Tsavani. ‘Got more bread?’ ‘Apple cabbage stew is superior.’ Of course it is superior. Tsavani made it.” The Khajiit clicked her tongue but Aicantar could hear the undertone of pride in her words. 

“They'll never admit out loud how much they appreciate your services,” he complimented, stepping further inside. “But I will. I'm starving.”

She turned back to analyze him, her yellow cat-eyes studying him up and down. “Skinny elf, of course you are. But Tsavani is busy.” Without warning, she slid a butcher knife over the counter to him. “Chop vegetables and we will see what this one can concoct just for you.”

Tsavani was stern, but Aicantar sensed the subtle affection in her gruffness. He picked up the knife with a smile, happy to earn his keep. He began to chop in swift, short strokes–not as quickly as Tsavani, of course, but with enough skill to please the old cat.

Her whiskers twitched pleasantly with her satisfied smile. “Good. Golden mer can handle a knife. This one will not have to sweep fingers from her floor.”

“After a few close calls with the sharp blades of Dwemer machines, you learn what not to do,” he responded with a chuckle.

From then on the Khajiit and the Altmer performed quietly in the kitchen, both of them comfortably in their element in many ways. Tsavani hummed cultural songs of Elsweyr, content to create and Aicantar happy to quell the idleness of his hands while he assisted. In an odd way, it felt a little like home. 

Before long, Tsavani ladled a generous portion of stew into a bowl and slid it across the countertop to her latest helper. “Eat,” she purred with motherly affinity.

Aicantar enjoyed her home-cooked meal with a bit more enthusiasm than he intended to show, but his unbridled joy made Tsavani smile, her tail curling to and fro, displaying her contentedness.

“You remind this one of the captain,” she said fondly. “Sometimes he visits Tsavani just to talk. And this one just listens or gives advice–depends on what feelings Tsavani smells at the time.”

Aicantar hesitated. He was so used to seeing Ondolemar looking down at others, indifferent, disdainful. It surprised him to hear that he confided in a member of the beast races. And yet…it didn’t surprise him at all. Ondolemar was more complicated than he let on. A far better man than the Thalmor would ever allow him to be.

Tsavani, ever perceptive, caught his pensive look. “This one has seen how the captain looks at you–and how you look at him. Tsavani must wonder what has skinny mer so troubled. She can see sadness in your pretty green eyes.”

“I…” Aicantar paused as his thoughts ravaged him. He thought about his homesickness, the terrible morning he had, the awkwardness at the party…and the way Ondolemar had changed so much during the development of their relationship–or perhaps how he had become more like his true self. Aicantar could not feign the sorrow in his heart for him.

“Sometimes I feel like Ondolemar realizes little by little that he does not belong here.”

Tsavani sat down, the first time Aicantar had seen her take a rest during his time here. He began to suspect that the cat never slept.

“And yet, he is so good at his job,” she mused, her tail curling and uncurling with a slow, absent rhythm as she crossed her digitigrade legs. Her clawed toes tapped mindlessly in the air. 

“Yes. Concerningly so,” Aicantar took a calm bite. “Elenwen places too much on him.”

“Aldmeri Dominion is a strange force,” the Khajiit growled. “Not much room to be people when stepping on the throats of others.”

It was the most openly rebellious sentiment Aicantar had heard from anyone here. He knew the servants spoke in hushed voices behind closed doors, but few had the nerve to say anything outright. Tsavani’s boldness was refreshing, and in a way, comforting. She wasn’t afraid to acknowledge what was plain to see.

But what intrigued him more was her familiarity with Ondolemar and their unique friendship. It was difficult to picture the rigid, disciplined captain outside the frame of his duties, stripping himself of his rank to linger in the warmth of the kitchen to absorb all the aromas of simmering roasts and spices. This was Aicantar’s chance to get to know more about him without intruding on his private ruminations. He couldn't help but smile as he inquired about him. 

“Does Ondolemar come here often?”

“Oh yes, the captain slips away from the hustle and bustle,” a distinctly cat-like sound rumbled in her throat. “Tsavani listens without judgement. And Captain Ondolemar gets to enjoy her cooking.”

Aicantar smiled warmly. “He was very excited to share that with me. I would have enjoyed your delicious breakfast far more though, had the events of the morning not transpired.” His fingers tightened slightly around his spoon. “I'm sure you've heard.”

She nodded, “Servants talk. This one pays no mind to frivolous scuttlebutt.” She paused and hummed thoughtfully. “Although, Tsavani must admit it was a surprise to most when Ondolemar walked into the embassy so openly with you on his arm. And...surprising ever still when captain wished to wander off into mischief with pretty, skinny elf.” Her tone was flat but the twinkle in her eye was telling, pupils dilated in the dim light of the kitchen. She enjoyed witnessing the moments Ondolemar was simply a man rather than a looming public figure.

“But it was also very heartwarming,” she added, her whiskers twitching with a grin. “To see him with a smile broader than Jode. He frowns so much, his face stays young and smooth.”

Aicantar chuckled. “He's very handsome either way. But I do love when he smiles.”

Tsavani responded with a warm laugh and rested her paw over his hand. “You are good for him. Perhaps too good.”

Aicantar stared into his half empty bowl, bits of cubed potatoes breaching the surface of the savory broth, a pensive, half-cocked grimace.

Tsavani glanced at him, her sharp feline eyes observing him. “You worry for him.”

“I do. The way they treated him. Because of me…”

Tsavani’s tail flicked. "Go on. Then tell Tsavani what really happened. This one listens without judgment."

That was the push he needed. Aicantar set his spoon down and rubbed his temple. "At breakfast, the other Justiciars went after him. After us. They humiliated him. Mocked him. It wasn’t just the usual scorn for his choices—it was crueler, more calculated. They knew exactly how to hurt him."

Tsavani stilled, then gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, as if she had already suspected as much.

Aicantar clenched his jaw. "They fixated on our relationship. They treated him like he'd been reduced to nothing, just because—" He hesitated, heat creeping up his face from embarrassment. "—just because I was the one who took him last night. I admit, I had been a bit rough..."

Tsavani let out a small, unimpressed huff, ears flattening in distaste. "Male dominance and foolish egos. Always about control. They did not like that their strong, untouchable captain was touched in a way they could not comprehend. Perhaps they should not be so uptight.”

Aicantar nodded grimly. “Oh, and how bravely he stood up for himself. For me. Right before Elenwen. He eviscerated them with his words and his authority, but I could tell–" he hesitated, pressing his lips together. "–I could tell it wounded him. Far more than he let on.”

Tsavani remained silent for a moment, tapping her claws on the oak countertop. “And what did the ambassador do?”

Aicantar scoffed bitterly. "Not a damn thing. She let it happen. Only when things escalated did she bother to step in—probably more to control the situation than to defend either of us, that much is clear.”

“Now what do you want to do?” Her tail and foot swung together in steady, perfect rhythm.

Aicantar shook his head. “I really want to go home. I want Ondolemar to enjoy the peace and freedom he gets in Markarth away from Elenwen and the Thalmor's oppressive gaze. I wanted to spend time with him, but she insisted that he return to duty after the party. She didn't even have the decency to tell him prior, further humiliating him in front of his peers.” He sighed loudly and pushed his now empty bowl to the side. 

“He had gone to discuss the incident with her. I hope it went well.” He rested his head in his hand, a forlorn expression settling over him. 

“I understand, young one. You are afraid.” 

“Very much so,” he admitted softly. 

Tsavani tilted her head knowingly. “Not only are you afraid for him, but you are afraid of what this means for you. Your relationship.”

A jolt of realization forced a sharp breath from him. He truly was afraid. Not just for Ondolemar, but for himself. For what this all meant. For what he would have to face if Ondolemar’s world kept crashing down around them. Would Ondolemar keep fighting for them? Or would he let himself be swallowed whole by the Dominion that owned him?

His chest tightened with the burden of everything. He fought back the burn of tears welling his eyes. “He means everything to me. I... I’ve never had a relationship reach this stage before, and I’m absolutely terrified.” His voice trembled. “I don’t know if I can properly coexist in his world. I didn’t fully understand how different it was. And the worst part is that I keep falling deeper for him, and he falls deeper for me. It seems like simply loving him hurts him.”

“Oh young mer,” Tsavani sighed. “Your love for Ondolemar is not a weapon, but there is also no love without pain.” Her pink nose wriggled and she folded her paws in her lap. 

Aicantar wiped away a stray tear that escaped him and listened intently.

“Ondolemar is who he is, shaped by many long years before you, by choices made for him and by him. And you? You are something new. Something he does not yet know how to hold.”

Her yellow eyes softened. “That does not mean he does not wish to hold it.”

Aicantar looked down, fingers tracing the shapes in the grain of the wood. “I just don’t want to be another thing weighing him down.”

Tsavani scoffed, shaking her head. “You are not.” She pointed with her index claw at him. “You make him smile. This one has seen it. You make him something more than what they wish him to be.”

She tapped the same claw lightly against the table. “You worry for the burden you place on him. But tell me, young mer–does he not carry it willingly?”

Aicantar hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose he does.”

Tsavani purred softly. “Then let him.”

Aicantar sat with her words for quite some time, adding her wisdom to the rest of his experiences in the recent past. 

Across from him, Tsavani's nose wriggled as it honed in on a scent and she pushed herself up with a languid stretch, her tail whipped behind her. “This one must check on the bread,” she muttered to no one in particular, padding toward the hearth with purpose. Her ears focused on sounds from all directions as she geared up with her oven mitts. “Tsavani hears the stepping of oppressive boots, elf cub.”

Aicantar straightened instinctively at her warning, snapping out of his dissociative pondering and composing himself thusly, ushering in the unmistakable presence of Elenwen.

Not long after, the door to the kitchen creaked open, and he was met with the voice of Elenwen, her voice a silk-wrapped blade, falsely warm, effortlessly condescending.

“Ah, there you are.” 

“You were looking for me?” His brows knit together prudently.

“Indeed. I figured you'd be fraternizing with the servants.” There was a cold insult in her tone that Aicantar didn't even think Elenwen noticed. It came far too easily to her.

Elenwen’s expression remained poised and unreadable. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her with cautious skepticism. “Do you?”

Tsavani turned her ear toward their conversation but minded her work. 

Elenwen stepped further into the kitchen, her presence as unwelcome as it was unexpected. “What transpired this morning was…regrettable. Certain officers overstepped their bounds, and I allowed it to go on longer than was appropriate.”

Aicantar watched her closely. Her voice was smooth, her words perfectly measured, but there was no true remorse behind them.

“I see,” he said carefully. 

Elenwen’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “It was improper conduct.”

Aicantar kept his cool, and shot herba look. “Improper? Not because it was wrong?”

A brief glint of something crossed her face–annoyance, perhaps–but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Wrong,” she repeated, as if tasting the word, weighing it. “An interesting distinction.”

Aicantar didn’t waver. “Very distinct.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them settled like dust in the quiet hum of the kitchen.

Elenwen, never one to linger in discomfort, inclined her head. “Regardless. Consider this a courtesy, nothing more.”

“Of course.” Aicantar inclined his head in return, matching her cool civility. “And you can consider my acceptance of it a courtesy as well.”

She studied him, as if reassessing him in real time, but did not rise to the bait. Instead, she simply straightened her posture, smoothed the front of her robes, and offered a final nod before turning on her heel.

As she left, Aicantar released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

From across the room, Tsavani chuckled, her voice like silk over gravel. “Mm. Skinny elf holds his own.”

Both of them shared a bought of laughter together. 

 

***

 

Ondolemar ascended the stairs, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he neared his solar. He had anticipated feeling relief upon his return, a brief respite from duty, from Elenwen, from all his worries pressing down in him. But when he reached for the handle, the door did not budge.

His brow furrowed.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Aicantar.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Ondolemar pressed his palm against the lock, expecting to dispel whatever precautionary measure the mage had put in place. But the resistance hummed against his fingers, a stubborn barrier of arcane energy woven tightly into the mechanism. Aicantar had locked the door magically, and Ondolemar couldn’t undo it.

The corner of his mouth twitched—half irritation, half amusement.

“Well then,” he muttered to himself.

With no other option, he pivoted on his heel and strode back down the halls, knowing exactly where to find his wayward scholar.

The warm scent of spice and simmering broth drifted through the embassy halls, guiding Ondolemar toward the kitchen. As he stepped inside, he found exactly what he expected–Aicantar, sitting comfortably with an empty bowl before him, and Tsavani tending to her preparations for the next morning.

Aicantar looked up, smiling. “Oh, you’re back.”

With half a smirk, Ondolemar folded his arms. “You locked me out of my own room.”

Aicantar took a slow sip of water, unbothered. “I had no other way to secure it. Rest assured, no one is going to get in that room.”

Ondolemar pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply before puffing out a laugh. “Including me.”

“Including you.”

Aicantar's impish smile made the captain’s heart skip a beat. He approached him with his arms out wide for an embrace and Aicantar stood to oblige. They kissed briefly. 

From across the kitchen, Tsavani hummed contentedly. She had been watching. When Ondolemar glanced her way, she winked.

He ignored her teasing and turned back to Aicantar, resting his forehead against his with a quiet sigh. “I appreciate you doing that.”

“I figured you would,” he replied. “You deserve your privacy.” The tinge of guilt did not go unnoticed, but Ondolemar was well past him reading his diary.

Ondolemar pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You know I already forgave you for that. Don't dwell on it.”

Aicantar met him with a weak smile, reassured. And yet, as much as he loved seeing Ondolemar’s entire demeanor brighten in his presence, he hesitated to disturb the moment by bringing up his meeting with Elenwen.

“How did everything go?”

Ondolemar sighed through his nose. “It went about as well as it could have. I haven't been punished, so there's that.”

“That's wonderful,” Aicantar remarked with relief. “I'm sure you would be pleased to know you just missed her.”

“Oh? She came to the kitchen? Why?” Ondolemar asked, stunned.

“I suppose she was apologizing to me about this morning. Though it did not sound very sincere to me.” Aicantar shrugged.

“Hmm.”

Ondolemar was surprised she had done it at all. It was certainly more than he expected, even if it was only a formality. Still, it meant something. Perhaps she had a modicum of respect for him left. 

The ever perceptive Tsavani let out a knowing purr. “No more reason for long faces. Come my Captain, sit. This one will fix you a bowl of delicious stew.”

Ondolemar let out a quiet sigh, rolling his shoulders as the tension of the day began to unravel. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until now. “I wouldn’t say no to a warm meal.”

Aicantar gestured grandly to the stool beside him. “Sit, my love. Tsavani has taken excellent care of me in your absence. Now it’s your turn.”

With a tired chuckle, Ondolemar took a seat beside him. Tsavani, already bustling, slid a steaming bowl of stew in front of him with practiced ease. “Eat, Captain. You are wasting away. Skin and bones.”

He laughed at her exaggeration, but didn’t argue, eagerly digging in. As he settled into the warmth of the savory meal, his eyes found Aicantar, looking as lovely as ever, resting his face in his hand, fingers idly drumming against the table. “So what did you do while I was away?”

Aicantar stretched lazily. “Eh, tidied up a bit. Found some parchment and drew up some blueprints. Did some mathematical equations. You know. The usual.”

Ondolemar beamed warmly. He was glad Aicantar found some peace doing something he enjoyed. “I wished I could have been with you today.”

“Me too.”

Their gazes lingered, holding each other in a moment of quiet understanding. The embers of affection glowed between them, unspoken yet undeniable.

“Go on and kiss. This one will turn her back. Pretend Tsavani is not here.”

Ondolemar rolled his eyes while Aicantar laughed as all their tension eased. 

“I'm not going to have dessert before I finish my meal,” Ondolemar responded so slyly that even Aicantar, usually the instigator, blushed at the implication.

Ondolemar’s hand slinked over Aicantar’s thigh–dangerously close–and rested there, giving an occasional teasing squeeze until he finished eating.

Tsavani immediately sensed the shift. “No mischief in my kitchen!”

“I thought you said to pretend you weren't here?” He quipped.

She hissed playfully in response. “Behave yourself, Captain.”

Aicantar giggled and found himself leaning on Ondolemar seeking closeness. Ondolemar held him for some time, absent-mindedly stroking his hair, enjoying his warmth, his scent, taking in all of him and committing the sensations to memory.

“I love you,” he said. “I really love you.”

Tsavani purred with a knowing smile. “I think this one has some dish towels to launder.” She slipped out of the kitchen and left them to their privacy.

Aicantar melted deeper into Ondolemar’s embrace and gripped the sleeve of his uniform. Before long, Ondolemar could feel tremors against him. Aicantar was crying.

“Aicantar?” He spoke sweetly. “What's wrong?”

“I don't really know,” he sniffled. “I just…I want to go home.”

He kissed his temple. “Soon, my love. We'll be home soon."

We'll be home soon. 

It was then that Aicantar realized that Ondolemar’s home was wherever he was. He loved Markarth not only because it got him away from his rigid lifestyle, but because it reminded him of Aicantar. 

Markarth was his home as much as it was Aicantar’s. It's where they met. Where they fell in love. Where everything felt right.

Aicantar had never felt more homesick. He clung to the hope that if they could just get away from this place…everything would be okay.

Chapter 25

Notes:

I have to let them have their fun for now. I think you all know what's coming.

Aicantar vibrated with excitement as he checked his satchel, once, twice–thrice–making sure he did not leave anything behind. Elenwen announced early that morning that the roads were finally safe enough for carriage travel again, and he couldn't be more thrilled. 

Ondolemar stood in the door frame, arms crossed and wearing a crooked smile as Aicantar frantically checked his belongings multiple times. 

“You really don't want to come back for any reason, hmm?”

“No.” The word shot out more aggressively than intended, but Ondolemar did not take offense and laughed at his zeal.

“I don't blame you.” He spoke coolly. He checked the time on his lovely new pocket watch that Aicantar gifted him. “Departure will be in about an hour.”

“I seriously can't wait. I'm going to let Uncle Calcelmo know we will be setting out soon.” 

Ondolemar chuckled and moved in for a quick kiss. “I have a few things to take care of. I'll meet you downstairs.”

Once Ondolemar was gone, Aicantar sat on the edge of the bed, already halfway grinning as he fished the conversation stone from his satchel. He turned the crystal over in his hands until the familiar hum began to stir beneath the surface. With a quick circle of his fingertip, the stone sparked to life.

It didn’t take long before the buzz of its twin reached him, and Calcelmo’s voice–always slightly irritated–spoke to him through the ethereal droning of the magic crystal.

“It's early,” he signified. “I hope that means you have good news.”

“We're coming home, Uncle Calcelmo! The ambassador announced it this morning. It may be a bit of a slow trek, but we should be home at least by nightfall.”

Calcelmo hummed pleasantly at his nephew's excitement. “Wonderful news,  indeed. It's been pitifully quiet in the lab without you welding and hammering on the hollow shells of automatons.”

“Speaking of which,” Aicantar pulled the rolled up parchment of the schematic he had drawn up to admire it again with pride. His devotion lit up his eyes. “I have a new design to share with you. I had a lot of downtime with Ondolemar on duty.”

“I can't wait.” It was clear in Calcelmo's voice that he was smiling. “Safe travels to you, my boy. I've actually got a bit of a situation down here. Nothing you need to worry about. Just some chaurus egg sacs.”

“Oh? Please be careful.” It was more of a courtesy than a true well-wish, knowing how daring and positively insane his uncle could be. 

“I'll see you when you get home. I love you, Aicantar. Ondolemar better get you home in one piece, or I'll feed him to the chaurus larvae.”

Aicantar chuckled, but he knew he wasn't joking. “He will. I love you too, Uncle Calcelmo. See you soon.”

After stowing the conversation stone back in his satchel, Aicantar left the solar with a noticeable spring in his step. He descended the stairs quickly, eager to find Ondolemar and get underway, but before they could depart, there was one thing left to do.

He found Ondolemar waiting near the entrance, arms crossed, boots polished, and posture already set for travel. His eyes gleamed when he spotted Aicantar approaching.

“There you are,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Is everything in order?”

“It is.” Aicantar nodded, then added, “But before we go, I want to say goodbye to Tsavani.”

Ondolemar smiled most affectionately. “Of course.”

Together, they made their way to the kitchens, which still held the lingering warmth of the morning’s hearth fires. The scent of onions, garlic as well as the tantalizingly sweet aroma of baked goods lingered in the air like a comforting blanket. Tsavani was hunched over the prep table, paws deftly kneading dough, tail swaying in rhythm. Her ears perked as soon as she heard their footsteps.

“Tsavani?” Aicantar called gently.

The Khajiit turned with a puzzled look–until she saw them both.

“Ah.” Her features softened. “You did not forget Tsavani after all.”

Aicantar crossed the room quickly, pulling her into a firm hug. “Of course, not. Thank you so much…for everything. For the excellent culinary craftsmanship. For the company. For the advice.”

“This one is happy to serve,” she purred, her tone tinted with motherly pride. “You are a sweet thing, even if you talk too much.”

Ondolemar stepped forward, less comfortable, but no less sincere. “I appreciate you, Tsavani. I don't think I've ever told you. Thank you for always taking care of me, and thank you for showing Aicantar the warm hospitality he deserved during his visit here.”

To her surprise, he stepped in and hugged her tightly as well, the fur of her cheek slid against the hard leather on his chest. She returned the embrace most fondly. 

“Anything for Captain Ondolemar.”

When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered, though she masked it well. “Take good care of Aicantar. He is sweeter than moonsugar.”

Aicantar glowed at her compliment, and squeezed Ondolemar’s hand.

“I will,” Ondolemar said, his voice catching slightly in spite of himself.

But as they turned to leave, Tsavani’s tail snapped with purpose. “Wait.”

She turned, rummaging through a cupboard before retrieving a small bundle wrapped in cloth–still hot and fresh, and smelling delightfully sweet.

“You think Tsavani will let you leave without snacks?” she scoffed, though the affection in her voice was unmistakable. “Sweetcakes. Fresh and soft. For the road.” She lowered her voice so no one else could hear. “Made with moonsugar. The proper way.”

Ondolemar did not even flinch. There was contraband all over the embassy. Supplied by servants and mostly dealt by Justiciars.

Aicantar accepted the bundle with wide green-gold eyes and a delighted grin. “You spoil us.”

“Nonsense.” She tapped his nose with one clawed finger. “This one rewards good behavior.”

With hearts warmed and hands full, they finally stepped away, the scent of Tsavani’s kitchen clinging to them like a protective charm as they made their way to the front of the Embassy.

Aicantar never thought he'd be excited for snow but after being trapped behind those walls for five days, he embraced it fully. He inhaled so deeply of the sub-freezing air that it burned his nostrils.

The roads were still quite messy, but manageable for horse travel, as the Nord teams sent out to clear them worked diligently and quickly to ensure goods could be delivered across the province. Even Ondolemar was impressed by the speed in which they worked and how efficiently they carried out their task.

He took Aicantar’s hand and helped him into the carriage. 

“You're so polite,” the younger mer teased, but he had to admit he loved this kind of attention. He did not mind being more submissive–at least in some situations. 

They hadn't been on the road for more than an hour, and Aicantar was already biting his lip, biding his time like a predator hunting prey.

He'd begun innocently, starting by working the tension out of Ondolemar’s neck and shoulders. As his captain fell into a more relaxed state, his lips and teeth dragged over his neck with reckless abandon, and Ondolemar pushed him away with reluctance.

“The carriage driver is right there,” he whispered harshly. “What if he sees?”

“What if he sees?” Aicantar echoed and sealed his lips around Ondolemar’s before he could protest. He didn't have the fortitude to fight him off, instead submitting, melting into his kiss as his body heated and his heart quickened.

“You horny little shit,” he panted, but he was smiling anyway. 

“Mmhmm.” Aicantar’s hand slinked to Ondolemar’s belt buckle and unfastened it with far too much skill for one hand. 

“You're not even trying to fight me,” his hot breath grazed Ondolemar’s ear, then the tip of his tongue slithered along the length. 

“Mmm…I really don't want to,” the captain hummed, shivering at the eerily arousing sensation.

“I love how bold you've become,” the young wizard's satiny voice teased Ondolemar almost as much as his touch did. 

His calloused fingers slipped beneath the waistband, dancing over the fine trail of hair, curling around the hardening length. He let him simmer, enjoying the weight in his palm, before drifting lower, cupping and massaging the sensitive flesh with reverent care.

Ondolemar shifted beneath his touch, taunted and breathless, and Aicantar hummed pleasantly at his response. His lips trailed along the captain’s throat, open-mouthed kisses leaving a heated path as he paused now and then to sneak a taste with his tongue. Each breathy exhale made Ondolemar’s pulse race beneath his skin.

“You can stop me anytime,” Aicantar purred, his voice rich and inviting.

“Hmm…no,” he murmured, cracking one eye open to meet his gaze with lazy defiance. 

“Ooh, you naughty boy…” The mage grinned, breath warm against his lover’s skin.

Ondolemar closed his eyes again, savoring Aicantar’s delicate strokes. Every touch was designed to tantalize, to push him right to the edge of indulgence without letting him fall. Not yet. 

“You're enjoying this far too much,” the captain said, though there was no bite to his words, only an indolent pleasure, drawn out in the curve of his lips.

Aicantar's mouth brushed against his jawline. “I love spoiling you.”

There was the faintest creak of shifting leather and wood from the driver’s bench. The captain remained blissfully unaware, but Aicantar’s keen senses caught him.

The driver had turned his head just enough to sneak a glance.

“Eyes forward,” Aicantar warned sharply, his voice authoritative.

The driver flinched and returned to his post, reins tightening in his gloved hands as if nothing had happened.

Ondolemar’s eyes opened lazily, a pleased vocalization rumbled in his throat. “Ooh, you've got some bite to you.”

“You like when I'm dominant, don't you?” 

“Hmm…I do.”

Aicantar lowered his voice and spoke sincerely, directly into his ear. “Are you okay? From the other night I mean.”

Ondolemar turned to look at him, and he smiled sweetly at his lover’s concern. “I'm fine. Physically and mentally. Let's not spoil the mood.” He kissed the tip of his nose. 

A wicked smile crept onto Aicantar’s face, deepening the charming dimples that Ondolemar adored. He leaned in again,  letting his breath fan across Ondolemar’s cheek before capturing his lips in another kiss–this one deeper, hungrier. 

“How about I make you come?” He spoke loudly enough to deliberately pique the interest of the carriage driver, asserting his dominance. The driver nearly choked on nothing, but he remained a bit too rigid and a bit too focused on his horses and the road ahead.

Ondolemar’s eyes shot open, and he gasped, but smiled through it. Beside him, Aicantar sat like the picture of decadence, his hand still tucked in Ondolemar’s pants, that same wicked smile curling on his lips. Eager. Proud. Filthy. The captain shifted again for optimal comfort, and Aicantar took it as permission. 

He rested his head against Ondolemar's and stroked his length with an experienced rhythm, moaning and panting purposely in his ear to get a rise out of him.

“You're so big,” he moaned, voice thick with lust, every syllable dripping with sin. His hand continued to work with smooth precision, the heel of his palm brushing the sensitive base while his fingers curled perfectly around the shaft, pulling upward and constricting the fleshy head. 

Ondolemar lurched forward with a particularly firm grasp. He groaned, gruff and guttural, eyelids fluttering closed as he surrendered to Aicantar’s mercilessly skilled grip. 

“You like that, don't you?” Aicantar whispered, lips brushing against Ondolemar’s ear as his hand kept working him with cruel precision. 

The captain gasped, breath catching in his throat, unable to answer with more than a staggered yelp.

The driver, poor soul, sat stiff and silent as ever. But Aicantar saw the way his ears flushed red. That only made it sweeter.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, thumb gliding over the now slick head. “Let him hear you. Divines, I want you to come so badly.”

Ondolemar grimaced, focusing intently on the intense grip on him, pulling him closer to the edge. As he drew nearer to the precipice, he whimpered helplessly from the pleasure.

“Oh, poor baby,” Aicantar cooed, voice dark with delight. “Feels so good it hurts?”

Aicantar cast a knowing glance toward the carriage driver, fully aware he could hear every sinful word, and loving every second of it. He wanted him to hear Ondolemar fall apart. He wanted him to know exactly what he was capable of–how thoroughly he could unravel a man as proud and disciplined as the highly regarded Captain of the Thalmor.

“You're so beautiful when you're losing control. Gods…fucking come for me.”

Ondolemar bit his lip so hard he drew blood. He remained on the torturous edge for far too long, every breath a tremble, every twitch a plea.

“Yeah…that's good,” Aicantar hissed. “You're so close.”

“Fuck!” Ondolemar snarled in frustration through clenched teeth.

Aicantar hummed a wicked laugh into his ear, and stroked him with more vigor, pleased by how hard he was for him.

Ondolemar couldn’t take it any longer. A low guttural moan ripped from his throat as he bucked into Aicantar’s hand. His whole body tensed, quaking as his climax tore loose with a strangled moan, raw and involuntary. He spilled heavily into Aicantar’s hand, pulse after pulse wrung from him with merciless precision, until he teetered on the edge of tears. 

His young lover didn’t let up, stroking him through it, eyes fixed on his. He was flushed, undone, beautiful.

Aicantar then pulled his hand free, slick and glistening. He admired the volume of the load for a moment then slowly lifted his fingers to his lips. He dragged his tongue over each digit like he had been starving, his eyes half-lidded and fixed on the captain’s flushed face, making sure he was watching. 

Ondolemar stared, chest still heaving, lips parted in awe and disbelief.

“You are…magnificent,” he breathed.

Aicantar gave a pleased hum and licked the last of it from his thumb, then flashed that signature dimpled smirk. “You made such a fucking mess.”

“I can't believe I just let you do that,” he laughed incredulously, now feeling a peculiar mix of both elation and shame.

The carriage driver did not dare to look back. 

Aicantar straddled his lap and straightened Ondolemar’s coat, a lustful glimmer still dancing in his eyes. He wanted a turn–gods, he wanted it–but instead, he teased himself, rolling his hips against him, claiming a deep, lingering kiss. He made sure Ondolemar tasted himself on his tongue.

It wouldn’t have taken much more. Just a few strokes, a little more friction, but with great effort, he held back.

“Stars above, I want you badly,” he murmured against his lips. “But I’ll wait until we’re in a warm bed again.”

The ache was maddening. His body cried out for release, but Ondolemar’s pleasure had been enough for now.

With a breathy sigh, Aicantar slid back into his seat, cheeks flushed, lips peachy, his eyes still heavy with hunger. He reached into his satchel and produced a handkerchief for Ondolemar to clean up. 

The captain sighed, but found himself smiling in satisfaction as he wiped up. “I feel…absolutely inappropriate.”

The beautiful young wizard with crafty long fingers and gorgeous dimples glowed. “Is that a good thing?”

Ondolemar hummed sweetly. “Yes. For the first time in my life something feels…right.”

Aicantar hummed and entwined himself around Ondolemar’s arm, resting comfortably in the crook of his neck like he belonged there.

Ondolemar’s heart still thumped in his chest, not just from the aftershock but because Aicantar was close. The reality of his immense love for him had finally settled over him. Everything that had led up to this moment guided Ondolemar to be his truest self, and it was liberating. He took risks. He had fun. Their connection was deep, understanding, and founded on care and compassion, respect and support. 

The captain had never known a love like this. 

As the carriage wheels churned softly against the snowy road, Ondolemar sat in tranquil silence with Aicantar curled against him, warm and drowsy. The younger mer’s breathing had slowed, his soft exhale ghosting against Ondolemar’s collar as he dozed in the crook of his arm.

Ondolemar gazed down at him, his heart aching in that strange, tender way it only did when he looked at Aicantar like this. Unguarded and safe, his brilliance momentarily stilled in sleep.

Aicantar single-handedly demolished his walls of discipline, releasing many long years of repression–and he made himself at home within him. And he had done it with grace and care as he inspired Ondolemar to rebuild himself. All by merely existing. By being brilliant, charming, clever and maddeningly sweet.

This new feeling terrified Ondolemar, but he was more terrified of a life without Aicantar. 

"I really do love you," his hushed voice was too quiet for Aicantar to hear, but perhaps he heard it in his dreams. "So godsdamned much. More than I ever thought possible.”