Chapter Text
Fear is often described as holding a sort of power over us. We feel fear, but what we do with it afterwards seems to change everything in our lives. Ondolemar's fear led him to Markarth. It wasn't a particularly beautiful place, nor was it ugly. It seemed to live in the inbetween. In the mornings, he awoke to dogs barking for their food. In the evenings, he slept to the familiar sound of dwarven lighting instruments just outside his room in the main hall of Understone Keep. It was a routine, that was for certain. He had grown used to it. Waking up, eating breakfast, meeting with the Jarl, speaking with his two guards, sending them out for patrols, receiving them yet again-- and all of this before lunch.
But alas, this was the price for his fear, and he resigned to paying it.
He sat at his desk, penning another report for Elenwen. In it, he reported the suspicion of Ogmund the Skald, and the recent capture of a band of Talos worshipers living just outside Markarth. He had been impressed with them. They lived so far into the Reach, and yet the Forsworn had not yet cut into their supplies or their lives. When he finished, he stood, pulled up his hood, and strolled out of his room to the kitchens where Salrion and Endath sat, eating their dinner.
"Take this to the nearest courier, would you, Salrion?" Ondolemar asked, setting the letter beside his plate of food. Salrion stood abrupty, giving a little bow to his superior and took the letter in hand, running towards the steps. Ondolemar sat in the now unoccupied space across from Endath and resigned himself to having a peaceful evening--as it seemed all his evenings were these days.
At least he was.
"Watch where you're going!" A voice shouted.
"Hold your tongue, Imperial. You have the honor of addressing a member of the Thalmor," he heard Salrion retort.
She scoffed. "My apologies--"
"That's better--"
"--that you seem to have the most uncomprehensive vision that ever graced Tamriel."
By now, Ondolemar had deigned to turn around and watch the scene. This was, perhaps, one of the smallest Imperial women he had ever seen before, and yet there she stood taunting a much larger, much stronger Altmer.
He thought it was utterly ridiculous.
He watched as Salrion began another sentence before they made eye contact and with the sternness of Ondolemar's look, Salrion knew to walk away towards the entrance yet again.
"What? No apology?" She yelled after him, murmuring a few choice words under her breath.
She turned up towards the Jarl, who likely watched the entire scene and lightly laughed before moving quickly up the stairs to talk to him in a more hushed voice. He wondered what they could possibly have to say to one another, and he was amazed that Igmund had not raised his voice to scold her.
Endath's voice broke him out of his trance. "Got fire, that one," she said simply.
Ondolemar laughed dryly, "Perhaps too much."
The bowl of soup before him was relatively plain compared to the dishes in the Summerset Isles, but he had grown fond of the stew he had ever so often. The keep was mostly quiet, but he could still hear her laugh every so often echo on the stone walls.
Salrion returned soon after, joining the two at their table. He removed his helmet and sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair more than once. Ondolemar and Endath gave him looks out of the corner of their eyes, asking wordlessly what had happened. He seemed to notice, and sighed loudly yet again.
"I have never met a more intolerable human in my life," he murmured through clenched teeth. He had started to ramble on about how it wasn't his fault, and that even if it were, he was owed the apology. This continued until a cough was heard behind them.
"Salrion, is it?" the same voice from earlier voice asked.
"My gods woman, go away," Salrion said bitterly, not turning to look back.
She continued anyway, and by now had captured Ondolemar's attention. She was small. Very. But she held an ebony sword on her hip, and he knew there must be some merit to her skills if she had managed to carry that. The hood she had on earlier was pulled back, and he had to admit that for a human, she didn't look terrible. Much like Markarth itself.
"I came to apologize for earlier," she said with a smile.
"You came to--" Salrion started turning around angrily before it registered what she had just said. "Oh," he murmured. "Let's hear it then."
Her smile turned to a laugh, and she continued, "My uncle tells me I actually was in the wrong in this instance, and though I rarely am, I am willing to recognize when it happens. I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. Forgive me. My temper gets the better of me too often."
Ondolemar watched as a light flush graced Salrion's face, but he couldn't quite place the emotion behind it. "Apology accepted," Salrion grunted.
"Thank you," she said giving a small bow. "Might I invite you three to the Silver-Blood Inn?"
"Whatever for?" Endath asked, incredulously.
“Well, it seems that my friends have put together a little something to celebrate my return. I was told to invite every person I meet. ‘Mer, human, argonian, orc—all are welcome’--at least, that’s what Klepper said.” He noticed now her amor. It was blacker than night, and each piece that was stiched together was embroidered with delicate silver details. A bit of fabric bunched at the front at the neck, and the cape on the back draped delicately, framing it all.
“We are on duty,” Salrion said, shaking his head. “Thank you for the offer but—”
“What time?” Ondolemar heard himself asking. Had he really just said that aloud? He had never been one for parties, choosing instead the comfort of his own solitude, but the words had slipped, and it seemed there was no taking them back. He could have framed the expression on Salrion’s face as the solider looked at him in disbelief.
“7, I believe,” she replied. Her face lighting up a bit. He noticed the curve of her lips a bit more now, and their pinkish hue. Nothing like the yellow that adorned most Altmer lips. “But the party will really kick up around 10, if you’d like to wait for that.”
Ondolemar nodded and turned to Endath, looking for any sign of approval from his friend. She shrugged, “What could one party hurt?” She said smiling at Ondolemar.
“Alright, we’ll be there,” Ondolemar said, turning back to her. There was no trace of a smile on his face, but his eyes might have given it away to any perceptive person that he was in fact, excited.
“I’ll see you all tonight, then,” she smiled, warmly, turning to walk away.
“Oh! I nearly forgot!” She exclaimed swiveling on her heel, “When you get there, ask for Aelia!”